O King, by your strength and virtue, your mighty brother Bhīma—whose power rivaled that of ten thousand elephants—subdued the proud rulers of the earth, compelling them to bring tribute for your great sacrifice. Yet, at that very sacrifice, your noble wife, adorned for the royal consecration, suffered grievous insult at the hands of gamblers in the assembly. Defeated and shamed, her protectors could not help her; tears fell at your feet, her hair disheveled, and the women of your house endured great suffering. Through all your hardships—when you wandered the forest, beset by the trials imposed by Durvāsā, attacked by enemies, and reduced to living on mere vegetables, with every resource exhausted—He, the Lord, protected you. By His grace, the three worlds were satisfied even as dangers closed in, like the waters threatening to engulf you. By your favor, O Lord, even Śiva, the mighty trident-bearer accompanied by his divine consort, was astonished in battle and surrendered his own weapon to me. With this very body, I attained a place of great honor in Indra’s celestial palace. There, as I delighted among the gods, my two strong arms—marked by the Gāṇḍīva bow, meant for the destruction of enemies—were admired by Indra and the other gods, who sought my protection. But now, O Lord, with Your departure, that power has left me; I am like any ordinary man. By Your grace, O Kinsman, I alone crossed the unfathomable ocean of the Kuru army with but a single chariot, displaying the valor of the greatest heroes. I reclaimed vast treasures and radiant jeweled crowns from the enemy’s heads. As the foremost of charioteers, He went before me in battle, adorning the circle of the best chariots on spotless nights, facing Bhīṣma, Karṇa, our guru Droṇa, Śalya, and others. By His mere glance, He subdued the strength and minds of the leaders of my foes. By His favor, the formidable weapons of Bhīṣma, Karṇa, Droṇa, Śalya, Saindhava, and other great warriors—though unstoppable and powerful—never touched me, just as the weapons of the demons could not touch Nṛhari, the servant of Hari. Even at Prabhāsa, when 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 alone on the earth, the enemy charioteers, bewildered by His influence, could not approach me. How I remember His playful, noble words, adorned with a charming smile—“O Pārtha! O Arjuna! Friend! Joy of the Kurus!”—which touch my heart and, when recalled, melt even my heart of stone. 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 a father with his 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 His great deeds, I feel like a woman defeated by thieves, left helpless on the path of life. That bow, those arrows, that chariot and horses, and I as the charioteer—before whom even kings bowed—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 had ceased to be true friends to their own city, were deluded by the curse of the Brāhmaṇas and began to strike one another with their fists. Intoxicated by Vāruṇī liquor, their minds disturbed, they fought among themselves, unable to recognize one another, until only four or five remained. This, O King, is the mysterious way of the Lord’s actions: by His arrangement, living beings destroy and also support one another. 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—so fitting for time, place, and circumstance—soothe the heart’s distress and captivate the mind of one who remembers them. Thus, as Arjuna contemplated the lotus feet of Kṛṣṇa with deep affection, his mind became peaceful and pure. Cleansed of all residual impurities by devotion and constant meditation on Vāsudeva’s feet, Arjuna attained the highest consciousness. Recalling the knowledge sung by the Blessed Lord on the battlefield, he overcame the darkness of time, fate, and delusion. Freed from sorrow, established in the state of Brahman, with all doubts of duality cut away, he merged into a nature beyond the modes, no longer bound by bodily identification or birth. Yudhiṣṭhira, his mind composed, having heard of the Lord’s departure and the end of the Yadu dynasty, resolved to follow the path to the higher realms. Pṛthā too, upon hearing from Arjuna of the destruction of the Yadus and the Lord’s departure, fixed her mind in exclusive devotion to the transcendent Lord, withdrawing from the cycle of birth and death. He who had removed the burden of the earth, the unborn Lord, abandoned His body just as one uses a thorn to remove another and discards both. Like an actor who assumes and then relinquishes various forms, He who had lifted the earth’s burden left that body behind. When Mukunda, the Blessed Lord, departed this earth with His auspicious form, at that very moment, Kali—the source of unrighteousness—began to act upon those whose minds were unawakened. Yudhiṣṭhira, wise and discerning, saw the advance of Kali—in the city, the kingdom, his household, and himself—manifesting as greed, falsehood, and violence, and thus prepared to depart. Seeing his own grandson, equal in virtues and discipline, he installed him as lord of the earth at Hastināpura, on the banks of the Ganges. In Mathurā, he installed Vajra as chief of the Śūrasenas, and then, having performed the proper rites, the Lord drank the sacrificial fire. There, relinquishing all attachments—relatives, followers, and possessions—he became free from possessiveness and ego, severing all bonds. He offered his speech into his mind, his mind into his breath, and the other senses into darkness; he offered his outgoing breath into death, thus entering the state of dissolution. The five elements he offered into each other, then into unity, and everything into the Self, and the Self into the imperishable Brahman. Clad in bark, fasting, with matted hair and head uncovered, he appeared as if dull, mad, or possessed, revealing his true form. Indifferent, he departed, not hearing like one deaf, and entered the northern path, as the great souls had done before, meditating on the Supreme Brahman in his heart, from which he would not return. All his brothers, having resolved firmly, followed him, for the people of the earth had been afflicted by Kali, the friend of unrighteousness. Having fulfilled all duties virtuously and knowing the ultimate goal of the self, they fixed their minds on the lotus feet of the Lord of Vaikuṇṭha. With unwavering devotion and purified intellect, they fixed their minds solely on that supreme abode of Nārāyaṇa. Thus, they attained that exceedingly rare state, which cannot be reached by those attached to sense objects and impurity, but is gained only by the pure soul.