Yudhishthira, the noble king, was troubled by strange and ominous signs. He saw the sun's brilliance fading, and the planets seeming to collide in the sky, while the heavens themselves appeared ablaze and crowded with unfamiliar beings. The rivers and streams were restless, just as the minds of men were agitated; even the sacred fire did not blaze up, no matter how much ghee was offered. He wondered anxiously, "What does this time hold for us?" He noticed that the calves no longer drank from their mothers, and the cows, with tears in their eyes, gave no milk but only cried. The bulls, once proud and strong, no longer rejoiced. Even the household deities seemed to weep, sweat, and tremble; towns, villages, gardens, lakes, and hermitages had all lost their former splendor and happiness. Yudhishthira pondered, "What misfortune are these omens trying to show us?" Reflecting deeply, he thought, "Surely, by these great signs, the earth has been deprived of the Lord’s feet and of those rare souls who share in His fortune. The world has lost its prosperity." While his mind was thus disturbed, Arjuna—the one whose banner bore the monkey—returned from the city of the Yadus. But Arjuna was changed. He fell at Yudhishthira’s feet, unlike before, his face downcast, tears falling from his eyes. Seeing his brother so troubled and his appearance altered, the king, recalling the words of Narada, questioned him in the presence of their friends. Yudhishthira asked anxiously, "Are our relatives in Anarta city—the Madhus, Bhojas, Dasharhas, Ahukas, Satvatas, Andhakas, and Vrishnis—well and happy? Is Shura, our maternal grandfather, safe, and his wife also? Is our uncle Anakadundubhi and his younger brothers well? What of the seven sisters, their husbands, other maternal uncles with their sons and daughters-in-law, led by Devaki herself—are they all well?" He continued, "Is King Ahuka alive, and his son, though wicked, and his younger brother? Is Hridika, with his son, Akrura, Jayanta, Gada, and Sarana, safe? Are Shatrujit and the others well? Is Rama, the Lord of the Satvatas, living happily? Is Pradyumna, the great chariot-warrior, well? Is Aniruddha, full of youthful passion, growing and blessed? Are Sushena, Charudesha, Samba—the son of Jambavati—and others, the foremost of the Karsnis, with their sons like Rishabha, well?" He asked further, "Are the followers of Shauri—Shrutadeva, Uddhava, Sunanda, Nanda, Shirishanya, and other chief Satvatas—safe? And all those who rely on the strong arms of Rama and Krishna, are they well? Do our friends remember us? Is Govinda, the Lord, who is devoted to the Brahmanas and affectionate to his devotees, living happily in the city of Sudharma, surrounded by friends? For the welfare and prosperity of the world, does the primeval friend, the infinite one, remain amidst the ocean of the Yadu dynasty?" Yudhishthira’s mind wandered to the Yadus in their city, protected by many strong arms, playing in supreme bliss like great heroes. He thought of Satyā and the other sixteen thousand wives, who, by serving at Krishna’s feet, surpassed even the celestial goddesses in beauty, receiving blessings worthy of Indra’s beloveds. The foremost Yadus, fearless and mighty, would stride into the Sudharmā assembly hall—fit for the gods—having brought it there by their own power. Turning to Arjuna, Yudhishthira’s concern deepened. "My dear brother, are you well? You seem to have lost your radiance. Have you failed to obtain something, been disrespected, or stayed away too long? Have you suffered inauspicious disturbances, or failed to give or fulfill what was promised to those who sought your help? As a giver of refuge, have you ever turned away a Brahmin, child, cow, elder, sick person, woman, or any being who came to you for shelter?" He pressed on, "Have you approached a woman you should not, or failed to approach one you should, or been defeated by superior or inferior paths? Have you eaten food meant to be shared with elders and children? Have you done anything disgraceful or beyond your capacity? Do you feel empty or deprived because of your own kin, or do you think otherwise? If not, then there is no cause for sorrow." As Yudhishthira spoke, memories of Krishna’s pastimes surfaced. The friends once welcomed Krishna, saying, "Welcome! Not one has eaten a morsel; come, please eat with us." Then Hrishikesha, smiling, ate with the children, showing them the python’s skin, and returned from the forest to the village. Adorned with peacock feathers, flowers, and fresh minerals, rich in the festival of flute and horn, praising the calves, singing holy fame, and with the gopīs’ eyes drinking him in, Krishna entered the cowherd settlement. The children sang joyfully in the village, "Today, by the son of Yashoda and Nanda, the great serpent was slain and we are protected!" Yudhishthira then turned to the sage, "O Brahmin, how did such great love arise for Krishna at his birth, even among those who had never felt it before, even more than for their own children? Please explain this mystery." Śuka replied, "O king, for all beings, the self alone is most dear; others—children, wealth—are dear only because of the self. Just as attachment for one’s own self is strongest among embodied beings, it is not so for sons, wealth, homes, and other things that are merely possessions. Even among those who identify the body as the self, the body itself is not as dear as those who follow it. If the body is regarded as ‘mine,’ still it is not as dear as the self; for even when the body ages, the desire for life remains strong. Therefore, the dearest is one’s own self for all embodied beings; for its sake, the entire world, moving and unmoving, exists." He concluded, "Know Krishna to be this very self, the self of all selves; for the welfare of the world, he appears here as embodied, by his own divine illusion. In truth, for those who truly know, Krishna alone is the abiding and moving reality here; the entire form of the Lord—there is nothing else at all in this world.