Arjuna, his voice heavy with memory, spoke of his deep companionship with Lord Krishna. He recalled how, in sharing the same bed, seat, walks, conversations, and meals, he sometimes forgot Krishna’s true greatness, mistaking Him for a mere friend or even a son. Out of ignorance, Arjuna had sometimes acted with undue familiarity, yet Krishna, out of boundless affection, always forgave these minor offenses. Now, Arjuna confessed, his heart felt empty—deprived of that Supreme Person, his dearest friend and constant companion. Even though the memory of Krishna’s mighty deeds remained to protect him, Arjuna felt as helpless as a woman abandoned by thieves on a lonely path. The bow, the arrows, the chariot, and the horses—once so powerful that kings bowed before them—had all become useless, as if offerings cast into ashes by the force of illusion. Arjuna continued, explaining to King Yudhishthira how, by divine will, the Yadus, blinded by the curse of the Brāhmaṇas, turned against each other. Deluded and intoxicated by Vāruṇī liquor, they lost all recognition and, in their frenzy, fought until only a handful survived. Such, Arjuna reflected, is the inscrutable way of the Lord: by His arrangement, living beings both nurture and destroy one another. Just as in water, the great fish devour the small, so too among men, the powerful prevail over the weak. In this way, Krishna lifted the burden of the earth, letting the mighty Yadus destroy one another. Yet, Arjuna’s heart found solace in remembering Govinda’s words—spoken at the right time and place, soothing all distress and captivating the mind. Immersed in contemplation of Krishna’s lotus feet, Arjuna’s mind grew peaceful and pure. Through unwavering devotion and constant remembrance of Vāsudeva, all lingering impurities were washed away, and Arjuna attained the highest consciousness. He recalled the sacred knowledge Krishna had sung on the battlefield, dispelling the darkness of time, fate, and delusion. Freed from sorrow, with all doubts of duality cut away, Arjuna merged into that state beyond birth, transcending bodily identification. Meanwhile, King Yudhishthira, composed in mind after hearing of the Lord’s departure and the end of the Yadu dynasty, resolved to follow the path to higher realms. Kuntī, too, upon hearing from Arjuna of these events, fixed her mind in exclusive devotion to the transcendent Lord and withdrew from the cycle of birth and death. The unborn Lord, who had removed the earth’s burden, discarded His earthly body as one discards a thorn used to remove another thorn. Just as an actor assumes and abandons various roles—like that of a fish—so too did He relinquish that form. When Mukunda, the Blessed Lord, departed from this world, taking with Him His auspicious form, at that very moment Kali, the harbinger of unrighteousness, began to influence those whose minds were unawakened. Yudhishthira, wise and discerning, observed the advance of Kali manifesting as greed, falsehood, and violence—in the city, the kingdom, his household, and himself—and recognized it was time to depart. He installed his virtuous grandson as king at Hastināpura on the banks of the Ganges, and in Mathurā, he made Vajra chief of the Śūrasenas. Having performed the proper rites, Yudhishthira prepared himself for the final journey. Letting go of all attachments—family, followers, possessions—he abandoned all possessiveness and ego, severing every bond. He offered his speech into his mind, his mind into his breath, his senses into darkness, and his outgoing breath into death, thus entering dissolution. The five elements composing his body he offered into each other, then into unity, and finally into the Self, surrendering the Self into the imperishable Brahman. Clad in bark, fasting, with matted hair and head uncovered, Yudhishthira appeared as if dull, mad, or possessed, revealing his true form. Indifferent to the world, he departed silently, as if deaf, heading north along the path of the great souls before him, meditating on the Supreme Brahman in his heart—a journey from which there is no return. Seeing the rise of Kali’s influence, all his brothers resolved to follow him. Having fulfilled their duties and understanding 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 focused solely on the supreme abode of Nārāyaṇa. Thus, they attained that exceedingly rare state, unreachable for those attached to sense objects and impurity, but attainable by the pure of soul. Vidura too, at Prabhāsa, surrendered his body, absorbed his mind in Krishna, and, united in consciousness with his forefathers, went to his own abode. Draupadī, perceiving the detachment of her husbands, fixed her mind exclusively on Lord Vāsudeva and attained that blessed state. Whoever faithfully hears this sacred account of the Pandavas’ departure, which brings purity and auspiciousness, will attain devotion to Hari and perfection. Sūta continued: Then Parīkṣit, the great devotee, ruled the earth according to the guidance of the foremost brāhmaṇas, just as expert guardians nurture a noble child. He married Irāvatī, the daughter of Uttara, and from her begot four sons, the eldest being Janamejaya. On the banks of the Ganges, Parīkṣit performed three great Aśvamedha sacrifices, giving abundant gifts, with Śāradvata as his priest—so splendid that even the gods became visible. Once, during his conquest of the directions, the heroic Parīkṣit encountered Kali, disguised as a king but actually a śūdra, striking a cow and a bull with his foot. At this, Śaunaka inquired: For what reason did the king capture Kali? Who was this śūdra, bearing royal insignia, who struck the cow? Please tell us, if it bears upon the stories of Krishna—for what use are other fruitless tales to those who delight in the nectar of the Lord’s lotus feet? For mortal men who long for immortality, the Lord, as Death, has been summoned here by the sage Śāmīka.