O King, among all embodied beings, the strongest attachment is always for one’s own self. Though people cherish sons, wealth, homes, and possessions, none of these are as dear as the self to which all possessiveness refers. Even for those who identify the body as their true self, the body itself is not as precious as those who serve or follow it. And if one regards the body as “mine,” still, it is never as dear as the true self—for even as the body ages and weakens, the hope for life endures unyielding. Therefore, it is the self that is dearest to all living beings; for its sake, the entire world, both moving and unmoving, exists and strives. But know this, O King: Krishna is that very self—the Self of all selves. Out of compassion for the world, He too appears to take on a body, by His own divine illusion. In truth, for those who have realized wisdom, Krishna alone is the abiding and moving reality in this world; the totality of the Lord’s form pervades all—there is nothing else here. The essential meaning of all things is established in being itself, and for Him—Lord Krishna—how could anything not of that nature be considered real? Those who have taken refuge at the tender feet of Murari, whose fame is pure and boundless, find that the ocean of worldly existence shrinks to the size of a calf’s hoofprint. For them, the supreme destination—untouched by any misfortune—is attained. All this, O King, I have recounted to you as you desired: the deeds of Hari in His wondrous childhood, and those renowned from His boyhood. The playful conduct of Murari with His friends—destroying evil, frolicking in the meadows, revealing and concealing His forms, and fulfilling the earth’s desires—simply by hearing and glorifying these, a person attains all that is sought. Thus, with such delightful pastimes—hiding, building bridges, leaping like monkeys, and more—the boys of Vraja passed their childhood in joy. Now, Sūta continued, Krishna’s dear friend, Arjuna, was left without choice by his royal elder brother, whose mind was troubled by many doubts and tormented by separation from Krishna. Arjuna’s face and heart’s lotus had withered with grief; his radiance was gone. Absorbed only in thoughts of that Lord, he was unable to speak. With great effort, Arjuna restrained his sorrow, wiping his eyes with his hand, overwhelmed by longing for the Lord’s presence. Recalling their deep friendship, intimacy, and affection—Krishna’s service as his charioteer and so much more—Arjuna addressed his elder brother, King Yudhishthira, his voice choked with tears. Arjuna spoke: “O great king, I have been deceived by Hari, who appeared as my kinsman. By Him, my power—which once astonished even the gods—has been taken away. Separated from Him, even for a moment, the world is joyless; deprived of His praise, I am as if dead, as is said. By taking refuge in Him, I entered the house of Drupada at the svayamvara, where proud kings had assembled. By His power, I defeated them, won the contest, and gained Krishna’s hand. In His presence, I offered the Khāṇḍava forest to Agni; and, having conquered Indra and his hosts by force, I obtained the wondrous assembly hall built by Maya. Kings from all directions brought tribute to your sacrifice. By your power, O king, Bhīma, our noble younger brother, whose strength equaled ten thousand elephants, subdued the lords of the earth for the great sacrifice, and those kings, conquered for the sacrifice, brought tribute to you. At your great sacrifice, your wife, adorned for the royal consecration, was humiliated 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, living only on vegetables, had exhausted all means—He, by whose grace the three worlds were satisfied, even as we faced dangers in the water. By Your power, O Lord, even Śiva, armed with trident and accompanied by his consort, was astonished in battle and gave up his own weapon to me; and by this very body, I attained a seat of 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 am bereft of that power, like an ordinary 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 wealth and jewels from the enemy, and took the radiant jeweled crowns from their heads. He who, as the foremost charioteer, 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 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 and 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 recognizing one another, 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.” Sūta concluded: Thus, as Arjuna contemplated the lotus feet of Krishna with deep affection, his mind became peaceful and pure. His heart, purified of all residual impurities by devotion and by constant meditation on the feet of Vāsudeva, became established in the highest consciousness.