As Yudhishthira observed the world around him, his heart grew heavy. Everywhere he looked, he saw troubling signs: the temple deities appeared to weep, sweat, and tremble; the towns, villages, gardens, lakes, and hermitages seemed stripped of their former splendor and joy. He wondered aloud what misfortune these omens were trying to reveal. Deep in thought, Yudhishthira pondered the meaning of these portents. He feared that the earth had lost the touch of the Lord’s feet, and with the departure of those extraordinary souls blessed by His fortune, prosperity itself had faded from the land. While his mind was thus unsettled, Arjuna—the one whose banner bore the image of Hanuman—returned from the city of the Yadus. But unlike before, Arjuna fell at Yudhishthira’s feet, overcome with sorrow, his head bowed low, tears streaming from his eyes like drops from a lotus. Seeing his brother so changed, his spirit troubled and his radiance dimmed, Yudhishthira, recalling the words of the sage Narada, questioned Arjuna in the presence of their friends. He asked with concern, “Are our relatives in the city of Anarta—the Madhus, Bhojas, Dasharhas, Ahukas, Satvatas, Andhakas, and Vrishnis—living happily? Is Shura, our maternal grandfather, well? Is his wife safe? What of our uncle Anakadundubhi and his younger brothers—are they unharmed? Are the seven sisters, their husbands, our other maternal uncles with their sons and daughters-in-law, led by Devaki herself, all well? Is King Ahuka alive, and his wayward son and younger brother? Is Hridika, with his son Kritavarma, Akrura, Jayanta, Gada, and Sarana safe? Are Shatrujit and the others unharmed? Is Rama, Lord of the Satvatas, well and happy? Is Pradyumna, the great charioteer of the Vrishnis, safe? Is Aniruddha, passionate and blessed, thriving? Are Sushena, Charudesha, Samba—the son of Jambavati—and the other foremost Karsnis, and their sons like Rishabha, all well? And what of the followers of Shauri—Shrutadeva, Uddhava, Sunanda, Nanda, Shirishanya, and the other chief Satvatas—are they unharmed? Are all those who trust in the arms of Rama and Krishna safe? Do our friends remember us with affection?” Yudhishthira’s concern deepened as he asked, “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 all worlds, does that primeval, infinite friend remain among the Yadus? When the Yadus are honored in their own city, protected by their mighty arms, do they revel in supreme joy like great heroes? Do Satyā and the other sixteen thousand wives, surpassing even the celestial goddesses in beauty, serve at His feet and receive blessings fit for the beloveds of Indra himself? The foremost Yadus, fearless and mighty, have even brought the Sudharmā assembly hall, worthy of the gods, into their city and enter it with pride.” Turning his attention to Arjuna’s own condition, Yudhishthira asked gently, “My dear brother, are you yourself well? It seems your radiance has faded. Have you failed to achieve something, or been slighted, or stayed away too long? Have you suffered from inauspicious omens or disturbances? Have you been unable to give what you promised to those who sought your help? Have you, as a giver of refuge, ever turned away a Brahmin, child, cow, elder, sick person, woman, or any being who came to you for shelter? Have you approached someone you should not, or turned away from one you should accept? Have you been defeated by anyone, or strayed from the right path? Have you eaten food meant for elders and children, or done anything disgraceful or beyond your strength? Or, dearest, do you feel empty or deprived by your own kin? If not, then what sorrow remains?” Yudhishthira’s questions reflected the deep love and concern he bore for his brother and their kin. In another time, the friends of Krishna had welcomed him with joy, saying, “Welcome, Krishna! You have come so swiftly! None of us has eaten yet—please, come and eat with us.” Krishna, the Lord of the senses, smiled and sat with the children, sharing their food and delighting them by showing the skin of the serpent he had slain, before returning with them from the forest to the village. Adorned with peacock feathers, wildflowers, and fresh minerals, Krishna entered the cowherd settlement, his presence celebrated by the music of flutes and horns, the praise of the calves, the singing of holy fame, and the adoring glances of the gopīs. That day, the children sang in the village, “Today, by the son of Yasoda and Nanda, the great serpent was slain, and we are saved from its threat!” Yudhishthira, turning to the sage, asked, “O Brahmin, how did such deep love for Krishna arise at his birth, even among those who had never felt such affection before, even for their own children? Please explain this wonder.” Śuka replied, “O King, for all beings, the self alone is most dear; others—children, wealth—are loved only because they are connected to the self. Just as attachment to one’s own self is strongest among embodied beings, so it is not with sons, wealth, or homes, which are loved only because of possessiveness. Even among those who identify the body as the self, the body is not as dear as those who follow it. If the body is regarded as ‘mine,’ even then it is not as dear as the self, for when the body grows old, the desire to live remains. Therefore, O King, for all embodied beings, the self is dearest; for its sake alone does this entire world, moving and unmoving, exist. Know Krishna to be this very self—the self of all selves. For the welfare of the world, he too appears here, embodied by his own divine power. In truth, for those who know, Krishna alone is the abiding and moving reality in this world; all forms are but his manifestation—there is nothing else. The essential meaning of all things is established in being itself, and for Lord Krishna, how could anything outside of that nature be considered real? Those who take shelter of the tender feet of Murari, whose fame is pure and great, find that the ocean of worldly existence shrinks to the size of a calf’s hoofprint, and they attain that supreme destination untouched by misfortune. Thus, O King, I have told you all you asked about—what Hari did in his childhood, and the deeds for which he is renowned from his boyhood.