Śuka spoke to the king, revealing the heart of all beings: “O King, for every creature, the self is dearest of all. Children, wealth, and all other things are cherished only because they are connected to that self. Among embodied beings, attachment to one’s own self is the strongest—never as strong for sons, wealth, homes, or any possessions. Even those who identify the body as the self do not hold the body as dear as the things they believe serve it. If the body is thought of as ‘mine,’ it is still not as beloved as the self, for even as the body ages, the hope for continued existence remains firm. Thus, it is always one’s own self that is most dear to all embodied beings; for the sake of the self, this entire world—moving and unmoving—exists. Know, O King, that Krishna is this very self, the innermost self of all selves. Out of compassion for the world, He too appears here in an embodied form, by His own divine power. In truth, for those who know, Krishna alone is the abiding and moving reality in this world; the Lord’s form pervades all, and nothing else truly exists apart from Him. The essential nature of all things is established in being, and for Krishna also—how could anything not of that nature be considered real? Those who have taken shelter at the tender feet of Murari, whose fame is pure and boundless, find that the vast ocean of worldly existence shrinks to the size of a calf’s hoofprint; for them, the supreme destination, untouched by misfortune, is easily attainable. All this, O King, is what you have asked to hear—about the deeds of Hari in His childhood, and the glories of His boyhood. The playful acts of Murari with His friends—destroying evil, playing in the meadows, revealing and concealing His forms, fulfilling the earth’s desires—hearing and praising these pastimes, one attains all that is worthwhile. In this way, Krishna and His companions spent their boyhood in Vraja, delighting in games of hiding, building bridges, leaping like monkeys, and other playful acts. Then Sūta continued: Thus, Krishna’s dear friend, Arjuna, was left helpless by his royal brother, whose mind was clouded by doubts and who was tormented by separation from Krishna. Arjuna’s face and heart, once radiant, now withered with grief; his brilliance faded, his thoughts absorbed in the Lord, he was unable to speak. With great effort, Arjuna restrained his sorrow, wiping tears from his eyes, overwhelmed by longing for Krishna’s presence. Remembering their friendship, their intimacy and affection, and Krishna’s service as his charioteer and companion, Arjuna, his voice choked with emotion, spoke to Yudhishthira, his elder brother. He said, “O great King, I have been deceived by Hari, who appeared as my kinsman. The power He gave me—a power that astonished even the gods—has now been withdrawn. Separated from Him, even for a moment, the world seems joyless; deprived of His praise, I am as if dead. By taking refuge in Him, I entered the house of Drupada at the svayamvara, where proud kings had assembled; by His strength, I defeated them, won the contest, and gained Krishna. In His presence, I gave the Khāṇḍava forest to Agni, and, having conquered even Indra, I obtained the wondrous assembly hall built by Maya. Kings from all directions brought tribute to your sacrifice. By your power, O King, Bhīma, your mighty younger brother, whose strength equals ten thousand elephants, subdued the lords of the earth for the great sacrifice, and those kings brought offerings 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—such suffering befell those noble women. He who protected us in the forest, when we were afflicted by the severe hardships caused by Durvāsā, when our enemies attacked, and when, subsisting only on roots and vegetables, we had exhausted all means—by His grace, the three worlds were satisfied, even as we were surrounded by dangers, as if in the midst of the ocean. By His power, O Lord, even Śiva, armed with his trident and accompanied by his consort, was astonished in battle and yielded his weapon to me; by this very body, I was honored in the palace of Indra. There, while I enjoyed 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, and am 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, 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 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 harm Nṛhari, the servant of Hari. In the battle at Prabhāsa, surrounded by foes 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 approach me. The playful, noble words of Krishna, adorned with a charming smile—‘O Pārtha! O Arjuna! Friend! Joy of the Kurus!’—when I remember them, O King, my heart melts, though it is made of stone. 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, as if offerings cast into ashes by the power 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 recognizing each other, they fought among themselves, leaving only four or five survivors. O King, this is generally the way of the Lord’s inscrutable actions: living beings destroy each other, and also foster each other, by His arrangement. Just as in water, the larger aquatic creatures devour the smaller, so among men, the strong overcome the weak, and the powerful prevail over the less powerful. In this way, the Lord removed the burden of the earth by causing the mighty Yadus to destroy each other, just as the powerful destroy the less powerful. The words spoken by Govinda, always appropriate to time, place, and circumstance, soothe the heart’s distress and captivate the mind of one who remembers them.” As Sūta concluded, he described how Arjuna, his mind absorbed in loving contemplation of Krishna’s lotus feet, became peaceful and pure, filled with the gentle radiance of remembrance and devotion.