At the great royal sacrifice, your noble wife, beautifully adorned for the consecration, was cruelly insulted in the assembly by the gamblers. Her tears fell at your feet, her hair loosened in shame when her protectors—your very selves—were defeated; in that moment, the women of your family suffered unbearable distress. Yet, it was He—the Lord—who protected us in the forest when we were tormented by the severe hardships inflicted by Durvāsā, when our enemies attacked from all sides, and when, subsisting only on roots and vegetables, we had exhausted every means of survival. By His grace alone, the three worlds were satisfied, even as we faced dangers, as if surrounded by perils in the water. Through His power, O Lord, even Śiva himself, armed with the trident and accompanied by his consort, was astonished in battle and surrendered his own weapon to me. With this very body, I attained great honor in the palace of Indra. There, as I enjoyed the splendor of Indra’s court, my two strong arms—marked by the bow Gāṇḍīva and meant for the destruction of enemies—were admired by the gods, with Indra at their head, who sought refuge with me. But now, O Lord, with Your departure, I have been deprived of that power and stand like any common man. By Your favor, O kinsman, I alone crossed the boundless ocean of the Kuru army with but a single chariot, displaying the valor of the greatest heroes. I recovered immense wealth and radiant jeweled crowns from the heads of the enemy. He who, as the foremost among charioteers, moved ahead of me in battle, gracing the circle of the best chariots on spotless nights, facing the likes of Bhīṣma, Karṇa, our Guru, Śalya, and others—by His mere glance, He subdued the strength and hearts of the leaders of my foes. By His grace, the mighty weapons of Bhīṣma, Karṇa, Droṇa, Śalya, Saindhava, and other great warriors—though unfailing and powerful—could not even touch 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 by the virtuous for liberation—again protected me. Though my horses were exhausted and I stood alone on the earth, the enemy charioteers, their minds bewildered by His influence, could not attack me. How I remember the playful, noble words, adorned with a charming smile—“O Pārtha! O Arjuna! Friend! Joy of the Kurus!”—spoken by the Lord. O King, when I recall them, my heart of stone melts with longing. We shared the same bed, seat, walked, talked, and ate together. Sometimes I was deceived by Him, thinking Him my equal—like a friend with a friend, or 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. Though I have the protection of His great deeds, on this path of life I am like a woman defeated by thieves, left helpless and alone. 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 magic of illusion. O King, by Your will, the Yadus, who were not true friends even 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, they no longer recognized each other and fought among themselves, leaving only four or five survivors. O King, this is the inscrutable way of the Lord’s actions: living beings destroy one another, and also nurture one another, all 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. Thus, as Arjuna contemplated the lotus feet of Kṛṣṇa with deep affection, his mind became peaceful and pure. By devotion and constant meditation on the feet of Vāsudeva, Arjuna’s mind was cleansed of all residual impurities and established in the highest consciousness. He recalled the knowledge sung by the Blessed Lord on the battlefield and thus overcame the darkness of time, fate, and delusion. Freed from sorrow by attaining the state of Brahman, with all doubts of duality cut away, he became merged in nature beyond the modes, and, being without bodily identification, was beyond birth. Yudhiṣṭhira, with 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 and withdrew from the cycle of birth and death. He who had removed the burden of the earth, the unborn Lord, abandoned that body just as one removes a thorn with another and discards both together. Just as an actor assumes and then abandons forms like that of a fish and others, so He who had removed the earth’s burden relinquished that body. When Mukunda, the Blessed Lord, left this earth along with His auspicious form, at that very moment, Kali—the cause of unrighteousness—began to act upon those whose minds were not awakened. Yudhiṣṭhira, wise and discerning, saw the advance of Kali—in the city, the kingdom, his household, and even within himself—manifesting as greed, falsehood, and violence, and thus prepared to depart. The sovereign, seeing his own grandson, equal in virtues and discipline, installed him as lord of the earth at Hastināpura, on the banks of the Ganges. In Mathurā, he installed Vajra as the chief of the Śūrasenas, and then, performing the proper rites, the Lord drank the sacrificial fire. There, having relinquished 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, and thus entered the state of dissolution. Having offered the five elements into each other, and then into unity, the sage offered everything into the Self, and the Self into the imperishable Brahman. Clad in bark, fasting, with matted hair bound 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 touched and 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. 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. Vidura too, renouncing his body at Prabhāsa, absorbed his mind in Kṛṣṇa and, united in consciousness with his forefathers, went to his own abode.