Arjuna, renowned as Dhanañjaya, journeyed far and wide, subduing cities and forests, crossing rivers of pure waters, and encountering men whose strength and nobility resembled the gods, as well as women of remarkable beauty. Along his path, he beheld marvels never seen before—splendid dwellings and women who shone like celestial nymphs. In these places and beyond, Arjuna heard the praises of his illustrious ancestors, songs that celebrated their greatness and, above all, the glory of Krishna. He listened to tales of his own miraculous deliverance from the fiery weapon unleashed by Ashvatthāman, 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, noble-hearted and wide-eyed with delight, generously bestowed wealth, garments, and necklaces upon those who honored him. Meanwhile, the king—devoted to the lotus feet of Viṣṇu—served the Pāṇḍavas with heartfelt affection. He acted as their charioteer, companion, attendant, friend, and envoy; he shared their valor, followed their lead, praised them, and bowed to them. Through such service, he inspired the world to bow before Viṣṇu. As Arjuna continued in the footsteps of his noble forebears, day by day, a wondrous event unfolded nearby. Listen as this tale is revealed: Dharma, the embodiment of righteousness, was moving with only one foot, and he saw the Earth, her shadow diminished, weeping like a cow bereft of her calf. Dharma approached her and inquired gently, “O gracious one, is all well with you? Why do you appear so pale and withered? I sense a sorrow within you—are you grieving for a distant relative, O mother?” He probed further, “Are you mourning a lost limb, fearing destruction by the wicked, or grieving for the gods whose sacrificial shares have been stolen? Is your distress for the people, since Indra no longer sends rain? Or do you lament for women and children left unprotected, suffering at the hands of the cruel? Perhaps you grieve for the sacred speech of the goddess, now corrupted among the brahmins, or for noble families degraded by unrighteous kings?” “Is it for the kṣatriya clans afflicted by Kali, or for the kingdoms they have ruined? Or for the people wandering in search of food, drink, shelter, and baths, their livelihoods disrupted? O mother, do you recall the deeds of Hari, who incarnated to relieve your heavy burden, 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 the strong?” The 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 virtues reside in you. Those who seek greatness pursue them, for they never diminish in you.” “Therefore, I grieve now for the world, bereft of the presence 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 the social orders and stages of life. Even Brahmā and the others, longing for a mere sidelong glance, performed severe austerities and surrendered to the Lord; yet that very goddess Śrī, 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; at 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—established you, though your position was unstable and diminished, in 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 thus conversed, King Parīkṣit, the royal sage, arrived at the eastern bank of the Sarasvatī river. At that sacred moment, prayers and salutations arose: 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, the 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 the divisions of time, 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 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. Grant us your mercy, O Lord, for the serpent is abandoning his life; let the husband, who is the very life of us women—wretched and deserving of compassion—be restored to us. Thus, the story flows: Arjuna’s journeys, the Earth’s lament, Dharma’s inquiry, and the arrival of King Parīkṣit, all woven together with reverent prayers to the Supreme, whose absence is keenly felt by the world and whose presence is eternally worshipped.