When the Lord who had lifted the heavy burden from the earth—the unborn, eternal One—had fulfilled His purpose, He left behind His earthly form. Just as a thorn is used to remove another thorn and both are then discarded, so too did He relinquish that body. Like an actor who dons various costumes—sometimes as a fish, sometimes as another form—and then sets them aside at the end of the play, the Lord who had relieved the world of its weight abandoned His mortal appearance. The moment Mukunda, the Blessed Lord, departed from this world, taking with Him His auspicious form, a change swept across the earth. At that very instant, Kali—the age of discord and unrighteousness—began to exert its influence, seizing the hearts of those whose minds were not awakened to higher truth. King Yudhiṣṭhira, wise and perceptive, recognized the subtle but unmistakable advance of Kali. He saw it manifesting as greed, deceit, and violence—first in his city, then throughout his kingdom, within his own household, and finally, even within himself. Understanding the signs, he prepared himself to renounce the world. He looked upon his own grandson, Parīkṣit, whose virtues and self-discipline matched his own, and installed him as the sovereign of the earth, placing him on the throne at Hastināpura by the banks of the Ganges. In Mathurā, he appointed Vajra as ruler over the Śūrasenas. Having performed all the necessary rites, Yudhiṣṭhira then symbolically drank the sacrificial fire, marking his renunciation. There, the king gave up all attachments—his relatives, followers, and possessions. Free from the bonds of possessiveness and ego, he severed every worldly tie. He offered his speech into his mind, his mind into his breath, his senses into darkness, and his outgoing breath into death, thus entering the state of dissolution. The five elements composing his body he offered into each other, and then merged them into unity; finally, he offered everything into the Self, and the Self into the imperishable Brahman. Clad in simple bark garments, fasting, his matted hair bound and head uncovered, Yudhiṣṭhira appeared to others as if dull, mad, or possessed, concealing his true spiritual brilliance. Indifferent to the world, he walked away in silence, like one who is deaf, following the northern path taken by great souls before him. In his heart, he meditated upon the Supreme Brahman, from which there is no return. Seeing their elder brother’s resolve, all his brothers—Bhīma, Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva—likewise determined to follow him. The world, after all, had been touched and afflicted by Kali, the friend of unrighteousness. Having fulfilled every duty with virtue and knowing the ultimate purpose of the self, they fixed their minds upon the lotus feet of the Lord of Vaikuṇṭha. With unwavering devotion and purified intellect, their hearts were set solely on that supreme abode of Nārāyaṇa. Thus, they attained that exceedingly rare state—a destination unreachable by those attached to sense pleasures and impurity, but gained only by souls who are pure. Vidura, too, having renounced his body at Prabhāsa, fixed his mind on Kṛṣṇa and, united in consciousness with his forefathers, went to his own eternal abode. Draupadī, perceiving the detachment of her husbands, fixed her mind exclusively on Lord Vāsudeva, the Blessed One, and attained that same state. Whoever faithfully hears this sacred account of the departure of Pāṇḍu’s beloved sons, which is most purifying and brings auspiciousness, will surely attain devotion to Hari and spiritual perfection. Sūta continued: After these events, Parīkṣit, the great devotee, ruled the earth according to the guidance of the foremost brāhmaṇas, just as wise guardians guide a noble child at birth. He married Irāvatī, the daughter of Uttara, and from her he begot four sons, the eldest being Janamejaya. Parīkṣit performed three Aśvamedha sacrifices on the banks of the Gaṅgā, giving away abundant gifts, with Śāradvata as his priest—so splendid were these rites that even the gods became visible there. Once, during his conquest of the directions, the heroic king encountered a strange sight: he seized Kali, who, though disguised as a king, was in truth a śūdra, and was cruelly striking a cow and a bull with his foot. At this point, Śaunaka, the sage, interrupted: “For what reason did the king capture Kali during his conquests? Who was this śūdra, bearing royal insignia, who struck the cow with his foot? O blessed one, please tell us, for if it relates to the stories of Kṛṣṇa, we are eager to hear. Indeed, for those devoted to tasting the nectar of the Lord’s lotus feet, what use are other fruitless talks, which only waste the precious span of life? “O gentle one, for mortal men of short life who yearn for immortality, the Lord, as Death, has been invited here by the sage Śāmīka. While Death remains here, no one dies; for this reason, the Lord was summoned by the great sages. Oh, let the nectar of Hari’s pastimes be relished in the world of men! In this age, people are slow, dull-witted, and short-lived; their nights are wasted in sleep, and their days in futile pursuits.” Sūta resumed: When Parīkṣit, residing in the land of the Kurus, heard the unwelcome news that Kali had entered his kingdom, the valiant archer took up his bow. He mounted his well-adorned chariot, yoked with dark horses and bearing the lion banner. Surrounded by his army of chariots, horses, elephants, and infantry, he set out to conquer the directions. He subdued Bhadrāśva, Ketumāla, Bhārata, the northern Kurus, Kimpuruṣa, and other regions, collecting tribute from them. He conquered cities and forests, rivers of pure water, men who seemed like gods, and women of enchanting beauty. Dhanañjaya—Arjuna—beheld wondrous sights never seen before: splendid dwellings and women resembling celestial nymphs. Everywhere he went, he heard the glories of his noble ancestors being sung—praises that revealed the greatness of Kṛṣṇa. He also heard how he himself had been saved from the fiery weapon of Ashvatthāman, the affection between the Vṛṣṇis and the sons of Pāṇḍu, and of their unwavering devotion to Keśava. Greatly pleased with these people, his eyes wide with joy, the noble-hearted Parīkṣit showered them with wealth, garments, and necklaces. The king, ever devoted to the lotus feet of Viṣṇu, honored the Pāṇḍavas with deep affection—serving them as charioteer, companion, attendant, friend, envoy, sharing their valor, following them, praising and bowing to them. By this, he brought the entire world to bow before Viṣṇu. While thus engaged, faithfully following the noble conduct of his forebears, a marvelous event took place nearby—listen now as I recount it. Dharma, personified, moving with only one foot, saw the Earth, her shadow greatly diminished, weeping like a cow separated from her calf. Dharma approached her and asked, “O gentle one, is all well with you? Why do you appear so pale and withered? I sense some deep sorrow within you—are you grieving for a distant relative, O mother? Are you mourning a missing limb, or fearing destruction by the wicked? Are you distressed for the gods, whose share of sacrifice has been stolen, or for the people, since Indra no longer sends rain?