With gentle concern and affection, the speaker inquired after the well-being of his extended family and kin. He asked, “Are the seven sisters, their husbands, the other maternal uncles with their sons, and their daughters-in-law, all under the care of Devaki, faring well? Is King Ahuka still alive, along with his wayward son and his younger brother? Are Hridika and his son, Akrura, Jayanta, Gada, and Sarana all in good health? And what of Shatrujit and the others—are they safe? Is Rama, the Lord of the Satvatas, enjoying happiness?” His thoughts turned to the younger generation: “Is Pradyumna, the great chariot-warrior among the Vrishnis, well? Is Aniruddha, deep in his passions, growing and blessed? And are Sushena, Charudesha, Samba—the son of Jambavati—and the other foremost Karsnis, together with their sons like Rishabha, all healthy? Do the followers of Shauri—Shrutadeva, Uddhava, Sunanda, Nanda, Shirishanya, and the other chief Satvatas—prosper?” He reflected on the strength of their bonds: “Are all those who rely on the mighty arms of Rama and Krishna safe? Do our friends, bound by affection, remember our welfare? Is Govinda—the Lord, ever devoted to the Brahmanas and affectionate to his devotees—living happily in the city of Sudharma, surrounded by friends?” He pondered on Krishna’s presence: “For the welfare, safety, and prosperity of the worlds, does the primeval, infinite friend, the Supreme Person, remain amidst the ocean of the Yadu dynasty? When the Yadus are honored in their own city, protected by their many strong arms, do they not play in supreme bliss, like great heroes?” He remembered the Lord’s beloveds: “By serving at the Lord’s feet, which is their highest duty, Satyā and the other sixteen thousand women, whose beauty surpasses even the celestial goddesses, receive blessings fit for the beloveds of Indra, the wielder of the thunderbolt. The foremost Yadus, sustained by the rise of their many strong arms and fearless at all times, enter the Sudharmā assembly hall—worthy of the gods—by force, having brought it there.” Then, with gentle affection, he turned to his dear one: “My dear, are you free from illness? You seem to have lost your radiance. Have you been denied something, disrespected, or kept away from home for too long? Have you been troubled by inauspicious omens or disturbances, or failed to fulfill a promise to a supplicant?” He asked further, “Have you, as a giver of refuge, ever rejected a Brahmin, a child, a cow, an elder, a sick person, a woman, or any being who sought your shelter? Have you acted wrongly with a woman, or been defeated by superior or lesser paths? Have you eaten food meant to be shared with elders and children, or done anything disgraceful or beyond your strength? Do you feel empty and deprived in your heart by your own kin? If not, then there is no reason for sorrow.” In another scene, friends greeted Krishna joyfully, saying, “Welcome, you have come so swiftly! Not one of us has eaten a morsel; come, please eat with us.” Hṛṣīkeśa, smiling, sat and ate with the children, showing them the python’s skin as proof of his victory, and then returned with them from the forest to the village. Adorned with peacock feathers, flowers, and fresh minerals, Krishna returned, bringing a festival of music with his flute and horn, praising the calves, singing holy fame, and entering the cowherd settlement as the gopīs’ loving eyes celebrated him. The children sang through the village, “Today, by the son of Yaśodā and Nanda, the great serpent was slain and we are protected!” Hearing all this, the king asked, “O Brahmin, how did such great love for Krishna arise at his birth, even among those who had never felt it before—not even for their own offspring? 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 that self. Among embodied beings, attachment to the self is strongest; not so for sons, wealth, or homes, which are dear only as ‘mine.’ Even for those who identify with the body, the body is not as dear as the self, for when the body ages, the hope for life remains strong. Thus, the self is the dearest to all. For its sake, the whole world, moving and unmoving, exists. “Know Krishna to be this very self—the self of all selves. For the world’s welfare, he appears here, embodied by his own divine illusion. In truth, for those who know, Krishna alone is the abiding and moving reality; the entire form of the Lord—nothing else exists. The true essence of all things is established in being, and for Lord Krishna too—how could anything not of that nature be real? “Those who take shelter of the tender feet of Murari, whose fame is pure and great, find that the ocean of worldly existence becomes as small as a calf’s hoofprint; that supreme destination is never touched by misfortune. All this I have told you, as you asked—what Hari did in his childhood, and what is renowned from his boyhood. His conduct with his friends—destroying evil, playing in the meadows, his manifest and unmanifest forms, and fulfilling the earth’s desires—hearing and praising this, a person attains all purposes. “Thus, with such childhood pastimes—hiding, building bridges, leaping like monkeys, and the like—they passed their boyhood in Vraja.” Sūta continued the tale: “Thus, Krishna’s friend, Arjuna, was left helpless by his royal brother, whose mind was troubled by many doubts and tormented by separation from Krishna. His face and heart’s lotus withered with grief, his radiance gone; thinking only of the Lord, he was unable to speak. With great effort, he restrained his sorrow, wiping his eyes with his hand, overwhelmed by longing for the absent Lord. Recalling their friendship, intimacy, and affection—his service as charioteer and so on—he addressed the king, his elder brother, with a voice choked with tears: ‘O great king, I have been deceived by Hari, who appeared as my kinsman; by whom my power, which astonished even the gods, has now been taken away.