As Krishna returned from the forest, his friends greeted him warmly, saying, “Welcome! You’ve come so swiftly—not a single one of us has eaten anything yet. Please, come and eat well.” Smiling, Krishna—Hṛṣīkeśa—sat down among the children and shared their meal, showing them the python’s skin as proof of his feat. After their meal, Krishna turned back with them from the forest toward the village. Adorned with peacock feathers, fragrant flowers, and fresh minerals, Krishna entered the cowherd settlement. The air was rich with the festival of flute and horn, as he praised the calves and sang of holy fame. The gopīs’ eyes celebrated him as he walked, and the village echoed with the children’s joyful song: “Today, by the son of Yaśodā and Nanda, the great serpent was slain and we are protected from it!” Upon hearing this, King Parīkṣit asked, “O Brahmin, how did such great love arise for Krishna at his birth—even among those who had never felt it before, not even for their own offspring? Please explain.” Śuka replied, “O King, for all beings, the self is most dear; others, such as children and wealth, are dear only because of that 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 depend upon 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 possessing ‘mine-ness,’ it is still not as dear as the self; for even when the body ages, the hope for life remains strong. Therefore, the dearest is one’s own self for all embodied beings; for its sake alone, this entire world, both moving and unmoving, exists. “Know Krishna to be this very self—the self of all selves. For the welfare of the world, he too appears here as embodied, by his own illusion. In truth, for those who know, Krishna alone is the abiding and moving reality in this world; the entire form of the Lord—there is nothing else at all. The essential meaning of all things is established in being; and for Lord Krishna, how could anything not of that nature be considered real? “Those who have taken shelter of the boat of Murari’s tender feet, whose fame is pure and great, for them the ocean of worldly existence becomes as small as a calf’s hoofprint; that supreme destination, which is never touched by misfortune at any step. All this has been told to you, as you asked, about what Hari did in his childhood and what is renowned from his boyhood. This 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 this, a person attains all purposes. “Thus, with such childhood pastimes—hiding, building bridges, leaping like monkeys, and the like—Krishna and his friends passed their boyhood in Vraja.” Sūta then continued, “In this way, Krishna’s dear friend Arjuna was left without choice 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; meditating only on that Lord, he was unable to speak. With great effort restraining his sorrow, wiping his eyes with his hand, Arjuna was overwhelmed by longing from the Lord’s absence. “Recalling their friendship, intimacy, and affection—his service as charioteer and so on—Arjuna addressed King Yudhiṣṭhira, his elder brother, with a voice choked with tears. He said, ‘I have been deceived, O great king, by Hari, who appeared as my kinsman; by whom my power, which astonished even the gods, has been taken away. By separation 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. In his presence, I gave the Khāṇḍava forest to Agni, and, having conquered Indra and his hosts by force, I obtained the wondrous assembly hall built by Maya; and the 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 for the sacrifice, 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 who protected us in the forest, when we were afflicted by the severe hardships caused by Durvāsā, when our enemies attacked, and when we, subsisting only on vegetables, had exhausted all means—He, by whose 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; and 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 and 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 whose 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 who, as the foremost among charioteers, moved ahead of me in battle, adorning the circle of the best chariots on the 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 whose 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. ‘Now, O King, bereft of that Supreme Person, my dear friend and beloved companion, my heart is empty; on this path of life, though I have the protection of His great deeds, I am like a woman defeated by thieves, left helpless. That bow, those arrows, that chariot, those horses, and I as the charioteer—before whom even kings would bow—have all, in a moment, become powerless and useless, like offerings cast into ashes by the magic of illusion. ‘O King, by your will, the Yadus, who were not true friends to their own city, became deluded by the curse of the Brāhmaṇas and began to strike each other with their fists. Having drunk the liquor Vāruṇī, their minds agitated by intoxication, not knowing each other, they fought among themselves, leaving only four or five survivors.