All that truly exists finds its foundation in being itself. This is especially true for Lord Krishna—how could anything not of that essential nature be considered real? Those who take shelter in the gentle feet of Murari, whose fame is pure and resplendent, find that the vast ocean of worldly existence shrinks to the size of a mere calf’s hoofprint. For them, the highest destination—untouched by misfortune at any step—is within easy reach. Everything you have asked about the deeds of Hari in his childhood and the famous acts of his youth has now been recounted. The playful conduct of Murari with his companions—his destruction of evil, his games in the meadows, his wondrous forms, and his fulfillment of the earth’s deepest desires—simply by hearing and praising these pastimes, a person attains all that is desired. Thus, with childhood games—hiding, building bridges, leaping about like monkeys, and other such amusements—Krishna and his friends spent their boyhood in the land of Vraja. Now, Sūta continued, Krishna’s dear friend—Arjuna—was left without choice by his elder brother, King Yudhiṣṭhira, whose mind was troubled by doubts and who was tormented by the pain of separation from Krishna. Grief withered the lotus of Yudhiṣṭhira’s face and heart; his radiance faded, and he could only meditate on the Lord, unable even to speak. Arjuna, too, struggled to restrain his sorrow, wiping tears from his eyes with his hand, overwhelmed by longing for the absent Lord. As memories of their deep friendship, closeness, and affection flooded him—how Krishna had served as his charioteer and companion—Arjuna turned to his elder brother, his voice choked with emotion. “O great king,” Arjuna said, “I have been deceived by Hari, who appeared among us as our kinsman. The power he gave me—so great it astonished even the gods—has now vanished. Separated from him, even for a moment, the world seems empty of joy; deprived of singing his praise, I feel lifeless. “By seeking his refuge, I entered the svayamvara at Drupada’s palace, where proud kings had assembled. By his strength, I defeated them all, won the contest, and gained Draupadī. In his presence, I gave the Khāṇḍava forest to Agni, conquered Indra and his hosts, and obtained the wondrous assembly hall built by Maya. Kings from every direction brought tribute to your sacrifice. “By your power, O king, mighty Bhīma—whose strength equals ten thousand elephants—subdued the lords of the earth for the great sacrifice, and those kings brought tribute to you. Yet, 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—how those women suffered! “He who protected us in the forest, when we were afflicted by the harsh austerities imposed 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—He is now gone. “By your power, O Lord, even Śiva, armed with his trident and accompanied by his consort, was astonished in battle and surrendered his weapon to me; and with this very body, I attained a seat of great honor in Indra’s palace. There, as I reveled in glory, my strong arms—marked by the Gāṇḍīva bow, meant to destroy enemies—were admired by the gods, who sought refuge with me. But now, O Lord, with your departure, I am as powerless as any ordinary man. “By his favor, O kinsman, I alone crossed the endless ocean of the Kuru army with a single chariot, displaying the valor of heroes. I recovered treasures from the enemy, took their radiant jeweled crowns. He, the best of charioteers, moved before me in battle, gracing the circle of the finest chariots on spotless nights, facing Bhīṣma, Karṇa, Guru, Śalya, and others. With a mere glance, he subdued the strength and minds of the enemy leaders. “By his grace, the mighty weapons of Bhīṣma, Karṇa, Droṇa, Śalya, Saindhava, and others—though unfailing—never touched me, just as the weapons of 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 for liberation—protected me. Though my horses were exhausted and I stood alone, the enemy charioteers, bewildered by his power, could not harm me. “The playful, noble words he spoke, adorned with a charming smile—‘O Pārtha! O Arjuna! Friend! Joy of the Kurus!’—touch my heart and, when remembered, melt even my heart of stone. Sharing the same bed, seat, walking, talking, and eating together, I sometimes mistook him for my equal, as a friend with a friend, or a father with a son. Yet, out of his great affection, he forgave all my offenses born of ignorance. “Now, O King, bereft of that Supreme Person, my dear friend and beloved companion, my heart is empty. Though I am protected by the memory of his great deeds, I feel like a woman abandoned by thieves, left defenseless. That bow, those arrows, that chariot and those horses, and I as the charioteer—before whom even kings would bow—are now 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 Vāruṇī liquor, their minds clouded by intoxication, they fought among themselves, not even recognizing each other, until only four or five survived. This, O King, is the mysterious way of the Lord’s actions: by his arrangement, living beings destroy and also support each other. “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 lightened the burden of the earth by causing the mighty Yadus to destroy each other, just as the powerful destroy the weak. “The words spoken by Govinda—so perfectly attuned to time, place, and circumstance—soothe the heart’s distress and captivate the mind of anyone who remembers them.” Sūta then described how, as Arjuna contemplated Krishna’s lotus feet with deep affection, his mind became peaceful and pure. Cleansed of all lingering impurities by devotion and constant meditation on Vāsudeva’s feet, Arjuna attained the highest consciousness. He recalled the wisdom sung by the Blessed Lord on the battlefield and thus overcame the darkness of time, fate, and delusion. Freed from sorrow in the state of Brahman, with all doubts of duality cut away, he merged into a nature beyond all modes, and, without bodily identification, transcended birth. Yudhiṣṭhira, his mind composed, upon hearing of the Lord’s departure and the end of the Yadu dynasty, resolved to follow the higher path. Pṛthā, too, hearing from Arjuna of the destruction of the Yadus and Krishna’s departure, fixed her mind in exclusive devotion to the transcendent Lord and withdrew from the cycle of birth and death. The Lord who had removed the burden of the earth, though unborn, abandoned that body as one removes a thorn with another and discards both. Just as an actor assumes and then relinquishes various roles—like that of a fish and others—so he who had relieved the earth’s burden relinquished that body and moved on.