Arjuna, known as Dhanañjaya, journeyed across the lands, conquering the realms of Bhadrāśva, Ketumāla, Bhārata, the northern Kurus, and the regions of Kimpuruṣa and others, gathering tribute from each. His might extended not only to cities and forests but also to rivers of pure water, to men who seemed divine, and to women of enchanting beauty. Along his path, Arjuna witnessed marvels never before seen—magnificent dwellings and women whose radiance rivaled that of celestial nymphs. Wherever he went, Arjuna heard praises sung of his noble ancestors, songs that celebrated their greatness and, above all, glorified Krishna. He listened to tales recounting how he himself had been saved from the fiery weapon of Ashvatthāman, stories of the deep affection between the Vṛṣṇis and the sons of Pāṇḍu, and of their unwavering devotion to Keśava. Filled with joy and gratitude, Arjuna generously bestowed wealth, garments, and necklaces upon those he met, his noble heart delighted by their warmth. The king, ever devoted to the lotus feet of Viṣṇu, served the Pāṇḍavas with affection—acting as their charioteer, companion, attendant, friend, and envoy. He shared their valor, followed them, praised them, bowed before them, and, through these acts, brought the world to bow before Viṣṇu. While Arjuna thus upheld the conduct of his forebears, day after day, a marvelous event unfolded nearby. Listen now to this tale. Dharma, moving on just one foot, came upon the Earth. Her shadow was diminished; she wept 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 sorrow within you—are you grieving for a distant relative, O mother?” He continued, “Are you mourning a missing limb, fearing destruction by the wicked, or lamenting for the gods whose shares of sacrifice have been stolen? Is your grief for the people, now deprived of rain by Indra? Do you sorrow for women and children left unprotected, suffering at the hands of cruel men? Or for the sacred speech of the goddess, corrupted among the brahmins, or for noble families degraded by unrighteous kings?” “Is it for the kṣatriya clans afflicted by Kali, or the kingdoms they have ruined? Or for those who wander, seeking food, drink, shelter, and baths, their livelihoods disrupted? Or, O mother, do you remember the deeds of Hari, who incarnated to relieve your burdens, but has now departed, delaying your deliverance?” “Tell me, O Earth, what is the root of your distress? Has your good fortune, worshipped by the gods, been taken away by Time, the strongest of all?” Earth replied, “O Dharma, you know all that you ask, for you uphold the four legs that bring happiness to the world: truth, purity, compassion, forgiveness, renunciation, contentment, straightforwardness, tranquility, self-control, austerity, equanimity, forbearance, withdrawal, and learning. Knowledge, detachment, lordliness, heroism, brilliance, strength, memory, independence, skill, beauty, courage, and gentleness. Boldness, humility, good conduct, endurance, vigor, strength, prosperity, depth, steadiness, faith, fame, honor, and absence of pride—all these and other great qualities ever reside in you. Those who seek greatness pursue them, for they never diminish in you.” “Therefore, I grieve for the world, bereft of Śrīnivāsa, the worthy vessel of all virtues, and afflicted by the sinful gaze of Kali. I lament for myself, for you, the best among rulers, for the gods, ancestors, sages, all the virtuous, and for all social orders and stages of life.” “Even Brahmā and the others, longing for a mere glance, performed severe austerities, surrendering to the Lord; yet the goddess Śrī herself, abandoning her own abode in the lotus forest, lovingly worships the dust of His feet, adorned with auspicious marks. I was adorned by the glorious footprints of the Lord—marked with the lotus, thunderbolt, goad, banner, and other symbols. Yet, having attained such splendor, I did not find favor with Him; in the end, He cast me aside, and the worlds, too, rejected me with disdain.” “He, by His own power, removed the unbearable burden of the earth—the hundred armies of demonic kings—restored you, though your position was unstable and diminished, to your own strength, and delighted the Yadu dynasty by bearing their charming forms. Who could endure separation from the Supreme Person, whose loving glances, radiant smiles, and sweet words steal away the steadfastness even of honey-bees—when the very dust of His feet, marked with auspicious signs, brings a thrill to my being?” As Earth and Dharma conversed in this way, at that very moment, King Parīkṣit, the royal sage, arrived at the eastern bank of the Sarasvatī river. There, prayers and salutations were offered to the Supreme Lord: “Obeisance to You, O Lord, the Supreme Person, the great soul, the abode of all beings, the source of all, the transcendent, the Supreme Self. Salutations to You, treasure-house of knowledge and wisdom, the Absolute, of infinite power, beyond qualities, unchanging, and not of this world. Salutations to Time, the source of time, the witness of its divisions, the universe itself, the overseer of all, the creator and cause of the universe. To the Self of elements, senses, life-breath, mind, intellect, and inner disposition, who is experienced inwardly, yet concealed by identification with the three qualities—salutations.” “Salutations to the infinite, the subtle, the immutable, the all-knowing, who accommodates all doctrines, and is the power behind both the spoken and the unspoken. Salutations to the one who is the root of all valid knowledge, the sage, the source of the scriptures, the path of action and renunciation, the Veda itself—again and again, salutations. Salutations to Kṛṣṇa, to Rāma, to the son of Vasudeva, to Pradyumna, to Aniruddha, and to the Lord of the Sātvatas.” “Salutations to the lamp of the qualities, to the one who veils Himself with the qualities, who is perceived through their functions, the seer of the qualities, and the inner consciousness. To Him who sports in the unmanifest, who perfects all that is manifest, Hṛṣīkeśa, salutations to You, the sage, the silent ascetic. Salutations to You, who knows the course of the higher and lower, who is the overseer of all, who is both the unmanifest and the manifest, the seer of all this and its cause.” “You, O Lord, though unattached to the qualities, preside over the birth, existence, and dissolution of this world, upholding the power of time, awakening the various natures in beings, and, by Your unfailing glance, engage in Your wondrous play. These very bodies of yours in the three worlds—some peaceful, some restless, some born of delusion—are dear to you, O Indra’s lineage; the peaceful ones are especially beloved, for now, out of desire to uphold dharma, you strive to protect and preserve the virtuous. A single offense committed by one’s own subject should be endured by the ruler; you ought to forgive, with a tranquil mind, one who acted in ignorance toward you.” Thus, the narrative unfolds, revealing the sorrow of Earth, the wisdom of Dharma, the arrival of King Parīkṣit, and the profound prayers offered to the Supreme Lord, all woven together in the tapestry of Sanātana Dharma.