Have you, as a protector, ever turned away a Brahmin, a child, a cow, an elder, someone ill, a woman, or any living being who came to you for refuge? Have you acted in ways unbefitting your dharma, such as approaching women whom you should not, or failing to honor those who are companions to you? Or have you been overcome by temptations—whether they be noble or base paths—and strayed from what is right? Have you ever partaken of food meant to be shared with elders and children, keeping it for yourself? Or committed any act that is disgraceful, or beyond your strength to perform? O dearest, do you feel empty and deprived at heart because of your own kin, or do you feel otherwise? If your heart is at peace, then there is no sorrow. Once, Krishna’s friends greeted him with joy, saying, “Welcome! You have come so swiftly! Not one of us has eaten a single morsel. Come, please, eat well with us.” Then Hṛṣīkeśa, the Lord of the senses, smiling, sat and ate together with the children. He showed them the python’s skin, a trophy of their adventure, and then turned back from the forest to the village. Adorned with peacock feathers, fresh flowers, and the bright colors of minerals, Krishna was radiant. The air was filled with the festival sounds of flute and horn. The calves were praised, songs of holy fame rose up, and the gopīs watched him with eyes full of celebration as he entered the cowherd settlement. The children sang joyfully in the village: “Today, by the son of Yaśodā and Nanda, the great serpent was slain, and we are protected from its harm!” Hearing all this, King Parīkṣit asked, “O venerable sage, how did such deep love for Krishna arise at his very birth—even among those who had never felt such love for their own children? Please explain this wonder.” Śuka replied, “O King, for every living being, the self is most dear; all others—children, wealth, and so on—are dear only because of that self. Just as one’s attachment to the self is strongest, so is not the case for sons, wealth, homes, or anything that is merely possessed. Even those who mistake the body for the self do not cherish the body as much as the self within. For when the body ages, the hope for life—the self—remains strong. Thus, for all embodied beings, the self is dearest; for its sake alone, 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 the moving reality; the Lord’s form is all that is—there is nothing else in this world. The essence of all things is established in being; and for Lord Krishna, how could anything not of that nature be considered real? Those who take shelter in the boat of Murari’s tender feet, whose fame is pure and great, find the vast ocean of worldly existence shrinks to the size of a calf’s hoofprint. They reach that supreme destination, untouched by misfortune at any step. All this, O King, is what you asked to hear—of what Hari did in his childhood, and what is renowned from his boyhood. The conduct of Murari with his friends—destroying evil, playing in the meadows, his manifest and unmanifest forms, and his fulfillment of the earth’s desires—hearing and praising these pastimes, one attains all purposes. Thus, with such childhood games—hiding, building bridges, leaping like monkeys, and the like—the boys passed their youth in Vraja. Now, Sūta continued: Krishna’s dear friend, Arjuna, was left bereft by his royal brother, King Yudhishthira, whose mind was troubled by many doubts and tormented by separation from Krishna. Yudhishthira’s face and heart, once radiant like a lotus, withered with grief. He meditated only on the Lord and was unable to speak. With great effort, Yudhishthira restrained his sorrow, wiping his eyes with his hand, overwhelmed by longing for Krishna’s absence. Remembering their friendship, their intimacy and affection—how Krishna had served as his charioteer and more—Arjuna, his voice choked with tears, addressed the king, his elder brother. Arjuna said, “O great king, I have been deceived by Hari, who appeared as my kinsman. By him, my power—which astonished even the gods—has been taken away. Separated from him, even for a moment, the world appears joyless; deprived of his praise, I am as if dead, so it is said. By taking refuge in him, I entered the house of Drupada at the svayamvara, where proud kings were assembled. By his power, I defeated them, won the contest, and gained Krishna as my wife. In his presence, I gave the Khāṇḍava forest to Agni, and, having conquered Indra and his hosts, I gained the wondrous assembly hall built by Maya. Kings brought tribute from all directions to your sacrifice. By your power, O king, Bhīma, your noble younger brother, whose strength equaled ten thousand elephants, defeated the lords of the earth for the great sacrifice; and those kings, subdued, brought tribute to you. At your great sacrifice, your wife, adorned for the royal consecration, was insulted in the assembly by gamblers. Her tears fell at your feet, her hair loosened when her protectors were defeated—those women suffered greatly. He protected us in the forest when we were afflicted by Durvāsā’s severe hardships, when our enemies attacked, and when we, subsisting only on vegetables, had exhausted all means. By his grace, the three worlds became satisfied, even as we were surrounded by dangers in the water. By your power, O Lord, even Śiva, armed with the trident and accompanied by his consort, was astonished in battle and gave up his own weapon to me. By this very body of mine, I attained a seat of great honor in the palace of Indra. There, while I was enjoying myself, my two strong arms, marked by the bow Gāṇḍīva, meant for destroying enemies, were admired by the gods with Indra at their head, who sought refuge with me. But now, O Lord, by your departure, I have been deprived of that power, like a common man. By his favor, O kinsman, I alone crossed the boundless ocean of the Kuru army with a single chariot, displaying the valor of great heroes. I recovered much wealth and jewels from the enemy, and took the radiant jeweled crowns from their heads. He, as the foremost among charioteers, moved ahead of me in battle, adorning the circle of the best chariots on spotless nights, facing Bhīṣma, Karṇa, Guru, Śalya, and others. By his glance, he subdued the strength and minds of the leaders of my enemies. By his grace, the mighty weapons of Bhīṣma, Karṇa, Drona, Śalya, Saindhava, and other great warriors, though unfailing and powerful, did not touch me, just as the weapons of the demons could not touch Nṛhari, the servant of Hari. In the battle at Prabhāsa, surrounded by those of evil intent, the Lord, whose lotus feet are worshipped by the virtuous for liberation, protected me. Though my horses were exhausted and I stood on the earth, the enemy charioteers, their minds bewildered by his influence, could not attack me. The playful, noble words, adorned with a charming smile—‘O Pārtha! O Arjuna! Friend! Joy of the Kurus!’—spoken by the Lord, O King, touch my heart and, when remembered, make my heart of stone melt. In sharing the same bed, seat, walking, talking, and eating together, I was sometimes deceived by him, thinking him my equal, as a friend with a friend, or even as a father with his son. Yet, out of his great affection, he tolerated all my offenses born of ignorance.” Thus, the tale of Krishna’s wondrous deeds and the deep love he inspired in all hearts was recounted, revealing his unmatched grace and the sorrow of those bereft of his presence.