O King, you are the cause and knower of all that transpires, the omniscient Lord of the universe. Whether you choose to show mercy or to punish, please act as you see fit for our sake. Hearing these words, Śuka continued, the Lord, who had assumed a human form, addressed the serpent: “You must not remain here, O serpent. Go at once to the ocean. Leave this river for the enjoyment of cows, men, and for your own kin—your children and wives. And know this: any mortal who remembers my command to you and recites it at both dawn and dusk will never have cause to fear you. Whoever bathes at this place where I played, offers water to the gods and others, fasts, and worships me with remembrance, will be freed from all sins. “You left the island of Ramanaka and took refuge in this lake. You were not devoured by Suparna, for he feared my foot-mark upon you.” Thus, Krishna—whose deeds inspire wonder—spoke. The serpent’s wives, filled with joy and reverence, worshipped him. They honored him with divine garments, garlands, precious jewels and ornaments, fragrant ointments, and a great garland of lotuses. Having worshipped the Lord of the universe, who bears Garuda on his banner, they circumambulated him and offered their respectful salutations. Then, with his wives, friends, and sons, the serpent departed for the island in the ocean. By the grace of the Lord, who played in human form, the Yamuna was freed from poison. Meanwhile, one worshipped with incense, perfumes, and other offerings, using the twelve-syllable mantra. Now, Sūta continued, the king beheld a pitiful scene: a cow and a bull were being beaten mercilessly, as if they were helpless, by a low-born man wielding a club—a disgrace to royalty. The bull, white as a lotus stalk, trembled as though urinating in fear, shaking, standing on a single leg, weakened by the blows of the Śūdra. The cow, who once gave warm milk, was now distressed, struck cruelly by the Śūdra’s feet, separated from her calf, her face streaked with tears, emaciated, and longing for grass. Mounted on his chariot, adorned with golden fittings, the king, whose voice was deep as thunder and whose bow was raised, questioned them sternly: “Who are you who, under my protection in this world, unjustly harms the weak? Though you take the form of a king, your actions are those of an actor, not of the twice-born. You who attack the innocent in secret deserve to be slain, now that Krishna has departed far away with the bearer of the Gāṇḍīva bow. “Or are you, white as a lotus stalk and walking with diminished feet, a deity in the form of a bull, the cause of our distress? Never, while the earth was embraced by the mighty Kaurava kings, did sorrow afflict living beings, except through you. “O daughter of Surabhi, do not grieve. Let your fear of the low-born vanish. Do not weep, mother; may auspiciousness be yours. I am the punisher of the wicked. In whose kingdom all subjects, both good and wicked, suffer, that intoxicated ruler loses his fame, lifespan, fortune, and his way. “The highest duty of kings is to protect the afflicted and punish their tormentors. Therefore, I shall kill this most wicked enemy of all beings. Tell me, O daughter of Surabhi, who has cut off your three legs, you four-footed one? May such as you never exist in the realm of kings who follow Krishna. Tell me, O bull, who is the cause of the disfigurement of the innocent, the one who would defame the sons of Pritha? One who inflicts harm on the innocent and spreads fear everywhere—only when the wicked are subdued is the welfare of the virtuous assured. He who, though innocent among beings, commits offenses without restraint, I shall seize his arm directly, even if he is mortal and adorned with a bracelet. “For the king, the highest duty is to uphold his own dharma, to govern others according to the scriptures, and not to stray from the path, even in adversity.” Then Dharma, in the form of the bull, replied: “Your words, O son of Pandu, are befitting of those who grant safety to the afflicted, for whom Lord Krishna was messenger and leader because of their virtues. But we do not possess the seeds of suffering, O best among men; we are bewildered by the divisions in speech and do not recognize that person. Some, clad in speculative opinions, say the self is the cause; others say it is fate, some say it is action, others claim nature is the master. For some, the conclusion is that it is inconceivable and indescribable. O royal sage, consider this according to your own discernment.” Sūta continued: As Dharma spoke thus, the emperor addressed him, his mind focused and his heart filled with distress: “You speak of dharma, O knower of dharma, and you are dharma, taking the form of a bull. Wherever adharma is committed, the informer shares in its place. Or perhaps, indeed, the course of divine illusion is inaccessible to the mind and speech of beings—this is certain. “Austerity, purity, compassion, and truth are the four legs established in the age of virtue; three have been broken by pride, attachment, and intoxication. Now, Dharma, your remaining leg is truth, which you must uphold; but Kali, established by falsehood, seeks to seize it. And this earth, bearing a great burden, was entrusted by the Lord, adorned everywhere by the glorious footprints of the divine. “That virtuous lady, abandoned and unfortunate, weeps with tearful eyes; she laments, ‘Unworthy kings, disguised as rulers, and shudras will enjoy me.’” Thus, having comforted Dharma and the earth, the great charioteer took up his sharp sword, intent on punishing the cause of adharma. As he approached with the intent to kill, the offender, abandoning all royal pretense, bowed his head at the king’s feet, overwhelmed by fear. The heroic king, compassionate to the distressed, did not slay the one who had fallen at his feet, for he was worthy of refuge. Smiling slightly, the king spoke to him with gentle words.