When I came of age, O lord of beasts, I gave birth—my firstborn son, a little calf, is most dear to me. My calf still drinks only my milk; he does not even sniff at grass yet. He is tied up in the cowherds’ pen, hungry and searching for me. It is for him that my heart aches—how will my son survive without me? Overcome by motherly affection, I long to give him my milk. Let me go to him: I will nurse my calf at my breast, lick his little head, and entrust him to my companions, instructing them in what is good and what is harmful. Then, I will return to you, and you may do with me as you wish. Hearing these words from Nandā, the lord of beasts—the tiger—spoke again. “What will you do for your son? Do you not understand death? All living beings tremble and perish when they see me. Yet you, full of compassion, keep speaking of your son. But neither sons, nor penance, nor charity, nor mother, nor father, nor teacher can save a person afflicted by time. How, then, will you, by going to the cowherds’ settlement—so crowded with women, resounding with the calls of bulls, adorned with calves and children, an ornament of the world of the gods, a place as joyous as heaven itself—how will you wish to return from such a place? That place is ever joyful, divine, worshipped by the gods, purest among the pure, most auspicious among the auspicious. It is the holiest of all sacred sites, the great abode of the Lord, renowned as the highest place on earth and in heaven, known as ‘Gopīmaṇthana’ and also as ‘Bālavatsaraveṇa.’ There, the lowing of cows drives away misfortune; the plaintive cries of calves longing for their mothers fill the air. The cowherds, strong and valiant, weary from wrestling, fill the place with singing, dancing, friendly talk, and joyful clapping of hands. Calves stand here and there, lowing all around, so that the cow-pen shines like a lake adorned with moving lotuses. Having seen this gentle and blessed abode, crowded with joyful, healthy people, resembling Goloka itself, how could you wish to return? Let the five elements, O blessed one, drink your blood! I do not merely appease the elements with words.” Nanda replied, “O lord of beasts, listen to my words. Let me go to see my friends, my young son, and the cowherds who care for him. I will take leave of the cowherd women, and especially my mother, and then I will return, swearing oaths—if you trust me, release me. If I do not return, may I be stained by the sin of killing a Brahmin, or slaying mother or father. If I do not return, may I be stained by the sin of hunters, outcastes, or poisoners. If I do not return, may I bear the sin of those who harm cows or beat those who are sleeping. If I do not return, may I bear the sin of one who, having given a girl in marriage, gives her again to another. Or if a man makes unfit bullocks pull a load, or interrupts a story being told—may I bear that sin. If a guest comes to one’s house and leaves disappointed, may I be stained by that sin if I do not return. By these dreadful sins I swear: I will come back.” Hearing these solemn assurances, the tiger replied, “By these oaths, Dhenuka, our trust in you is established. But if you think, ‘Having gone, this fool has deceived me,’ know that some will say there is no sin in an oath. In matters of women, in marriages, in the release of cows, and at the time of giving up life, trust is not to be placed. In this world, there are atheists and fools who think themselves wise; they will confound your mind in an instant, as if spinning it on a wheel. With false arguments and stories, their minds veiled by ignorance, these petty men, unskilled in the scriptures, lead others astray. Clever people can make the untrue seem true, just as skilled painters make flat things appear raised or lowered. Generally, when people have achieved their purpose, they forget their benefactor—just as a calf, when the milk is gone, abandons its mother. I do not see anyone in this world who truly repays a favor; once their aim is fulfilled, their minds turn elsewhere. Oaths were once made by sages, gods, demons, and men to achieve their goals, but now they are not regarded. Even if someone swears truthfully before gods, fire, or a guru, King Yama cuts away half of his merit. Let your mind not be deceived by oaths; you have shown everything—now act as you wish.” Nanda replied, “So it is, O great sage! Who could deceive you? Whoever tries to deceive another deceives only himself.” Then the tiger said, “O cow, go and see your calf, you who are so fond of your child. Let him suckle your udder, and lick him on the head. Having seen your mother, brother, friends, and relatives, and keeping truth foremost, return quickly.” Thus, with the tiger’s permission and her vow of truth, Nanda went to her calf, her heart full of love and duty.