Arjuna, his heart ablaze with righteous fury, swiftly approached the fierce son of Gautamī, whose eyes were red with anger. Without hesitation, Arjuna bound him tightly with ropes, as one might restrain a wild animal. Dragging his captive enemy toward the camp, Arjuna was interrupted by the lotus-eyed Lord Kṛṣṇa, whose own anger now burned brightly. Kṛṣṇa spoke with force, urging Arjuna not to spare the so-called brāhmaṇa before him—a man who, though bearing the name of brāhmaṇa, had slain innocent, sleeping children under cover of night. Kṛṣṇa reminded Arjuna of dharma: that one who truly knows righteousness does not kill an enemy who is intoxicated, distracted, insane, asleep, a child, a woman, helpless, surrendered, unarmed, or afraid. Yet, he condemned the wickedness of one who, devoid of compassion, sustains himself by destroying others’ lives, declaring that such a person’s death is preferable, for his sinful acts bring him ruin. Kṛṣṇa recalled Arjuna’s promise to Draupadī, made in Kṛṣṇa’s own hearing: that he would bring her the head of the arrogant slayer of her sons. Therefore, Kṛṣṇa insisted, this sinful aggressor—a killer of kin, guilty of a vile act displeasing to his master and disgraceful to his lineage—must be slain. While Arjuna wrestled with the demands of dharma, torn between duty and mercy, and urged by Kṛṣṇa, he found himself unable to kill the son of his teacher, even though the man was a great offender. Returning to his camp, the charioteer dear to Govinda reported the events to his grieving wife, Draupadī, who still mourned her slain sons. Meanwhile, the gentle Kṛpī, mother of the captive, saw her son brought like an animal, bound and shamed, his face turned downward, his glory dimmed by Kṛṣṇa’s intervention. Filled with compassion, she bowed, unable to bear the sight of her beloved son in such a state. With a heart full of faith and pain, she pleaded, “Release him, release him! He is a brāhmaṇa, truly a guru.” She reminded Arjuna that all the secret arts of archery—its use and withdrawal, the array of weapons—had been learned from her husband’s favor. Droṇa, though gone, lived on in his son, and half of himself remained in Kṛpī, the mother who bore this heroic child. Kṛpī implored Arjuna, a knower of dharma and a great soul, not to stain his noble and revered family with infamy. She begged that Gautamī, the devoted wife, not suffer as she herself had, weeping endlessly for her dead sons. She warned that if the brāhmaṇa lineage were angered by unruly kṣatriyas, it would quickly destroy them and their kin, no matter how pure they were. The son of Dharma, King Yudhiṣṭhira, accepted the queen’s words, recognizing their righteousness, justice, compassion, honesty, and impartiality. Nakula, Sahadeva, Yuyudhāna, Arjuna, the divine son of Devakī, and many others, both men and women, were present. Yet Bhīma, enraged, declared that death was the proper fate for one who, without cause, killed sleeping children—not for the sake of his master or himself. Hearing both Bhīma’s and Draupadī’s words, the four-armed Lord Kṛṣṇa, glancing at Arjuna, spoke gently with a smile: “A brāhmaṇa, even if an aggressor, should not be killed; yet an aggressor deserves death. I have taught both sides—uphold my instruction. Fulfill the promise you made to the Kuru, given to comfort your beloved; and what is dear to Bhīmasena, to Draupadī, and to me as well.” Suddenly understanding Hari’s intention, Arjuna took his sword and cut off the jewel, along with the hair, from the head of the twice-born one. Releasing him, bound only with a girdle and his brilliance dimmed by the sin of killing a child, deprived of the jewel’s radiance, Arjuna led him out from the camp. Shaving the head, taking away wealth, and expelling from one’s place—this, Kṛṣṇa explained, was the bodily punishment for those who are brāhmaṇa in name only; there is no other. The Pāṇḍavas, afflicted with grief for their sons, together with Draupadī, performed the necessary rites for their dead, carrying out the bodies and honoring their memory. Now, as the seventh chapter began, Śrī Bhagavān spoke: “What you have asked of me, O greatly fortunate one, is exactly what I wish to do. Brahmā, Śiva, and the guardians of the worlds all desire to dwell in my realm.” In the days that followed, the people flourished in happiness. The loving couple cared for their children, delighting in their cooing and babbling speech. The gentle touch of their wings, their cooing, and their charming gestures brought joy to their parents, who were now free from sorrow. Their hearts, bound by affection and deluded by Viṣṇu’s māyā, the two nurtured their children and the people, though their minds were troubled. One day, for the sake of their young ones, the two householders ventured into the forest, seeking food. They wandered for a long time, unaware of the danger lurking. A hunter, roaming the forest by chance, saw them and spread his net, capturing the young ones as they moved near their nest. The male and female pigeons, always eager to nourish their offspring, returned to their nest with food. The female, seeing her children trapped in the net, rushed toward them, crying out in distress as they cried for help. Overcome with affection and sorrow, bewildered by illusion, she herself became ensnared in the net, losing awareness as she saw her young ones bound. The male pigeon, seeing his beloved children—dearer to him than life—and his wife, equal to himself, bound and helpless, lamented in great sorrow. He cried, “Alas, see my misery—of little merit and foolish mind! Unsatisfied, unfulfilled, my householder’s pursuit of the three aims of life is ruined. She who was my devoted and agreeable wife, my goddess, has left me in this empty house, going to heaven with our sons, the virtuous ones. So I, left in this empty house, bereft of wife and children, miserable, why should I wish to live, afflicted by a life of sorrow?” Surrounded by his own offspring, seized by the grip of death, and writhing helplessly, the pitiable bird, though seeing the arrows, fell down in ignorance, overwhelmed by the pain of loss and illusion.