Faced with a perilous situation, the wise counseled that by honest words and oaths, one may escape great danger, but should never strive for destruction, even out of effort. At this moment, Nandā was urged not to leave; abandoning her own child for the sake of truth was an act of unrighteousness. The elders reminded her of an ancient verse spoken by sages learned in Brahman: when the giving up of life is at stake, breaking oaths bears no sin. If speaking an untruth preserves the lives of beings, then that untruth becomes truth, and what was truth may become untruth. They explained that in matters concerning women, marriage, the freeing of cows, or calamities involving Brāhmaṇas, breaking oaths is not sinful. But Nandā replied with conviction: “For the sake of protecting others’ lives, I would indeed speak untruth; but for my own, even to save myself, I cannot. Alone one enters the womb, alone one dies and bears burdens, alone one experiences joy and sorrow—thus, I speak the truth.” She declared, “The worlds rest upon truth; righteousness is founded on truth; the ocean, by truth’s power, does not cross its bounds. Bali, having given the earth to Viṣṇu, dwells in the netherworld; though bound through deception, he never abandoned his word. The great Vindhya mountain stands firm by truth and does not exceed its limits. Heaven, liberation, and hell all depend on truthfulness in speech; whoever destroys truth in speech destroys all these. Whoever, being one thing, presents himself as another—what sin has he not committed, this thief of his own self? He who destroys himself by his own action will go to dreadful hell; King Yama will cut away half his righteousness.” Nandā continued, “Bathing in deep, pure water at the holy ford of truth, in the lake of forgiveness, one is freed from sin and attains the highest state. If truth and a thousand horse sacrifices are weighed on a scale, truth surpasses the sacrifices. Truth is the noble fruit, learning is supreme and free from affliction; among the good, truth is their treasure, the fruit of all stages of life; attaining it, one goes to heaven—how could it be abandoned? In this assembly, always speak the truth, without fail.” Her friends responded with reverence: “O Nandā, you are worthy of respect from gods and demons alike, for you, in supreme truthfulness, are giving up your life, which is so hard to surrender. What is there that you, bearer of righteousness, cannot attain in the three worlds by this act of renunciation? Because of this, there will be no separation from your son; for a noble-minded woman, there are no misfortunes anywhere.” Having seen all the cowherd folk and circled around Gokula, Nandā took leave of the gods and the trees, preparing to depart. She bowed to the earth, Varuṇa, Agni, Vāyu, the moon, the guardians of the ten directions, the trees, the stars, and the planets. She informed them all, bowing again and again: all the perfected beings dwelling in the forest, and all the forest deities. With a mother’s anxious heart, she called out: “May the grasses that roam the forest protect my son; O campaka, ashoka, punnāga, sarala, arjuna, and kiṃśuka trees, hear my message. My calf, alone and distressed, wanders in the difficult forest. Protect my little calf, the child, as if he were your own son, motherless and fatherless, helpless and sorrowful. He wanders this earth, crying out in deep sorrow—here, in this great forest, my son cries out, overwhelmed by grief, afflicted by hunger and thirst, alone, seeing the world as empty. For one wandering, protection must be given with compassion.” Thus, Nandā, overcome by motherly love, gave these instructions with affection. Inflamed by the fire of sorrow, parted from her son, she was like a chakravaka bird separated from its mate, like a creeper fallen from a tree. Like one blind, deprived of sight, stumbling at every step, she made her way back to the flesh-eater. The tiger sat, mouth wide open, sharp-fanged and terrifying. Meanwhile, her son, swift as one with tail raised, arrived. He came before his mother and stood before the king of beasts. Seeing her son arrive, Nandā saw death standing before her. She addressed the tiger: “O king of beasts, I have come, steadfast in truth and righteousness. Fulfill your desire now, satisfy yourself with my flesh; nourish your kind, drink my blood. When I am dead, then eat this calf.” The tiger replied: “Welcome, O virtuous cow, speaker of truth. Nothing inauspicious befalls those devoted to truth. What you said before was truth, and you have returned. Because of this, I am curious how you could return; for the sake of testing your truthfulness, I sent you again. Otherwise, having met me, how could you depart alive? My curiosity was for the search of truth. Therefore, by this truth, you are released by me; you are my sister, and your son is my nephew. O auspicious one, having instructed me, though I am sinful in deed, worlds are established in truth, and righteousness is established in truth.” Thus, the power of truth and righteousness prevailed, and Nandā’s devotion was honored by all.