Adorned with the glorious imprints of the Lord’s feet—marked with the lotus, thunderbolt, goad, banner, and other auspicious symbols—the Earth once shone in splendor. Yet, despite such divine favor, she lamented that she had not truly found His grace; in the end, the Lord had cast her aside, and the worlds, too, had turned away from her with disdain. It was He, by His own boundless power, who had lifted the crushing burden of the earth, vanquishing the countless armies of demonic kings. Though the Earth’s own strength had waned, He restored her, establishing her once more and bringing delight to the Yadu dynasty by manifesting among them in enchanting forms. Who, indeed, could bear separation from that Supreme Person—whose loving glances, radiant smiles, and sweet words could steal away the composure even of the honey-bees? The very dust of His feet, adorned with auspicious marks, thrilled the Earth to her core. As Earth and Dharma thus spoke, at that very moment, King Parīkṣit, the wise and noble monarch, arrived at the eastern bank of the Sarasvatī river. In reverence, there resounded prayers: “Obeisance to You, O Lord, Supreme Person, great soul, abode of all beings, origin of all, transcendent and supreme Self. Salutations to You, treasure-house of knowledge and wisdom, Absolute of infinite power, beyond all qualities, unchanging and untouched by this world. Salutations to Time itself, to the source and witness of its divisions, the universe and its overseer, the creator and cause of all. To the Self within elements, senses, life-breath, mind, intellect, and heart—known inwardly yet concealed by the play of the three qualities—salutations. Salutations to the infinite, the subtle, the immutable, the all-knowing, the upholder of all teachings, power behind speech and silence alike. To the root of all true knowledge, the sage, the source of scripture, the path of action and renunciation, the very Veda—again and again, salutations. Salutations to Kṛṣṇa, to Rāma, to the son of Vasudeva, to Pradyumna, Aniruddha, and the Lord of the Sātvatas. Salutations to the lamp of qualities, to Him who veils Himself with them, who is perceived through their functions, who sees them, and who is the very inner consciousness. To Hṛṣīkeśa, who sports in the unmanifest and perfects the manifest, the sage, the silent ascetic—salutations. Salutations to You, knower of the higher and lower, overseer of all, both manifest and unmanifest, the seer of all and its cause. Though unattached, You preside over the birth, existence, and dissolution of the world, upholding the power of time, awakening the natures of beings, and, by Your unfailing glance, engaging in wondrous play. Of all the forms in the three worlds—peaceful, restless, or deluded—those that are peaceful are dearest to You, O scion of Indra, for now, out of love for dharma, You strive to protect the virtuous.” With gentle counsel, it was said: “A single offense by a subject should be endured by the ruler; forgive, with a tranquil mind, one who has acted in ignorance. Grant us Your mercy, O Lord, for the serpent is on the verge of death; let the husband, who is the very life of us women—wretched and deserving of compassion—be restored. Command us, Your maidservants, and we will carry out Your will, for one who serves You with faith is freed from all fear.” Śuka continued: Thus praised by the serpent’s wives, the Lord released the unconscious serpent, whose head had been crushed beneath His feet. Regaining his senses and breath, Kaliya the serpent slowly gazed upon Hari. Still weak, struggling to breathe, he folded his hands and spoke: “We are wicked by birth, shrouded in darkness and long-standing anger. O Lord, this nature is hard to abandon, for it is the false grasping found in all beings. By You, O Creator, this universe has been fashioned, with all its qualities, powers, energies, forms, seeds, and inclinations arising from You. Among them, we serpents are born with fierce anger; how can we abandon Your māyā, which so strongly binds us, when we ourselves are deluded by it? You are the cause of all, omniscient Lord of the universe; whether You grant mercy or punishment, do as You see fit.” Śuka said: Hearing these words, the Lord, assuming a human form, replied, “You must not remain here, O serpent. Go at once to the ocean. Leave this river for the enjoyment of cows, men, and your own kin, children, and wives. Whoever among mortals remembers this instruction I have given you and recites it at dawn and dusk will not suffer fear from you. Whoever bathes here, where I played, offers water to the gods and others, fasts, and worships Me, remembering Me, will be freed from all sins. Having left the island of Ramanaka and taken refuge in this lake, you were not devoured by Suparna out of fear, for you bear My foot-mark.” The sage continued: Thus addressed by Krishna, whose deeds are wondrous, Kaliya was joyfully and respectfully worshipped by his wives. They honored Krishna with divine garments, garlands, precious jewels, and ornaments, fragrant unguents, and a great garland of lotuses. Having worshipped the Lord of the universe and pleased Krishna, who bears the banner of Garuda, they circumambulated Him and offered their salutations. Then, with his wives, friends, and sons, Kaliya departed for the island in the ocean. At that moment, the Yamuna became free of poison, by the grace of the Lord who played in human form. He was worshipped with incense, perfumes, and other offerings, using the sacred twelve-syllable mantra. Sūta continued the tale: There, King Parīkṣit saw a cow and a bull being beaten as if they were helpless, and he saw a low-born man, a disgrace to royalty, holding a club. The bull, white as a lotus stalk, trembled in fear as if urinating, shaking and weakened by the blows of the Śūdra, standing on just one leg. The cow, who once gave warm milk, was now distressed, struck cruelly by the Śūdra’s feet, separated from her calf, her face tearful and emaciated, longing for grass. Mounted on his chariot, adorned with golden fittings, King Parīkṣit, with a deep, thunderous voice and his bow raised, questioned them: “Who are you, who in this world, under my protection, unjustly harms the weak? Though you appear as a king, your actions are like those of an actor, not a twice-born. You, who attack the innocent in secret, deserve to be killed, now that Krishna has departed far away with the bearer of the Gāṇḍīva bow.” Thus, the story unfolds, revealing the Lord’s compassion, the plea for forgiveness, and the king’s resolve to uphold dharma in a world shadowed by the Lord’s departure.