With a heart heavy yet resolute, Nanda, the devoted cow, prepared to fulfill her promise to the king of beasts. Before departing, she offered her reverent farewells to the earth itself, to Varuṇa, Agni, Vāyu, the moon, the guardian deities of the ten directions, to the trees, the stars, and the planets. Bowing again and again, she informed all the perfected beings who dwelled in the forest, as well as the deities who watched over its sacred groves. With deep concern for her calf, she prayed aloud, “May the grasses that wander this forest protect my son. O campaka, ashoka, punnāga, sarala, arjuna, and kiṃśuka trees, hear my anxious plea. My little one, alone and distressed, wanders this difficult forest. Protect him as if he were your own, for he is now motherless and fatherless, helpless and sorrowful in heart. He roams the earth, crying out in deep sorrow, here in this great forest, his voice echoing with grief. Overcome by hunger and thirst, he sees the whole world as empty, wandering alone.” Moved by motherly love, Nanda entrusted her child to the compassion of all beings, instructing them with affection to watch over him. Consumed by the fire of sorrow at her separation, she felt herself as sundered as a chakravaka bird parted from its mate, or as a fallen creeper torn from its tree. Like one blind and stumbling, deprived of sight, she made her way back to the place where the flesh-eating tiger waited. There, the tiger sat with mouth wide open, his sharp fangs exposed, a terrifying figure. At that moment, her son, swift and alert as one with tail raised, arrived before her. He stood in front of his mother, placing himself before the king of beasts. Seeing her calf return, Nanda felt as if she were staring death itself in the face. Yet, gathering courage, the cow 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. And when I am gone, O sir, then you may eat this calf.” Hearing her words, the tiger replied, “Welcome, O virtuous cow, speaker of truth. For those devoted to truth, nothing inauspicious ever befalls. What you spoke before was true, and you have returned as promised. Because of this, I am curious how you could come back; it was to test your truthfulness that I sent you away. Otherwise, who could depart alive after meeting me? My curiosity was for the sake of truth.” “Therefore, by this truth, you are now released by me. You are my sister, and your son is my nephew. O auspicious one, you have given me instruction, though I am sinful in deed. Worlds rest upon truth, and righteousness is founded in truth. By truth, the cow gives her milk, the beloved offering; truly blessed is the cowherd who lives by your milk. Blessed are the lands where your grass grows; blessed and fulfilled are those who have done good by you. By your milk, the very essence of birth is attained by those who drink it.” Filled with wonder at the cow’s steadfastness, the tiger declared, “This is the command of truth, shown by the gods. Seeing such truth in cows, I have no desire to live as before. Therefore, I shall perform an act to free myself from sin, for I have devoured countless lives. Desiring the right path, I now depart, having witnessed such truth in you. Sinful, ill-behaved, cruel, a destroyer of life—what worlds await me after such deeds? I will seek out holy places and undertake purification from sin. I will climb a mountain and cast myself down, or enter fire. O cow, what austerity should I perform today to cleanse myself of sin? Instruct me briefly, for there is no time for lengthy explanations.” The cow replied, “In the Krita age, austerity is praised; in the Treta, knowledge alone; in the Dvapara, sacrifice is declared, and in the Kali age, charity alone is supreme. Of all forms of charity, granting fearlessness to all beings is the highest. Whoever gives fearlessness to all creatures, both moving and unmoving, is freed from all fears and attains the supreme Brahman. There is no charity greater than nonviolence, and no austerity equal to nonviolence. Just as all other footprints disappear within the footprint of the elephant, so too do all dharmas merge into nonviolence. The shade of the yoga tree destroys the threefold suffering; its flowers are knowledge of dharma, and its fruits are heaven and liberation. For one scorched by the threefold suffering, the shade of the yoga tree is remembered; having attained supreme nirvana, one is no longer afflicted by suffering. Thus, the highest good has been described to you in brief; you have understood, yet you continue to question me.” The tiger spoke again, “Once, I was cursed by a deer to exist in this form of a tiger. Because of killing creatures, all memory was lost to me. Yet, through your association and instruction, memory has returned, and by this truth, you too shall attain the highest path. Therefore, I ask you again a question that has remained in my heart for nearly a hundred years, O auspicious one, as I have pondered. By the union of your fortune, at some time in the splendid heaven, the foundation of dharma was established, set upon the path of the virtuous.” Thus, in the shadow of the forest, truth, compassion, and the highest dharma shone forth, transforming even the heart of the fiercest beast.