King Parīkṣit, resplendent upon his chariot adorned with golden trappings, his voice deep and thunderous like the clouds, and his bow raised in readiness, approached the scene and questioned those before him. His gaze fell upon a pitiable sight: the innocent were being harmed, and he demanded, “Who are you, that in this world—under my protection—you dare to unjustly torment the weak? Though you appear as a king, your actions are those of an actor, not of the twice-born. You, who strike the innocent in secret, deserve to be slain, now that Kṛṣṇa has departed and the mighty bearer of the Gāṇḍīva bow is gone.” Parīkṣit’s eyes narrowed as he considered further: “Or are you, white as a lotus stalk, moving with diminished feet, a deity in the form of a bull, bringing us distress? Never, while the earth was embraced by the strong arms of the Kaurava kings, did sorrow afflict living beings—except through you.” Turning with compassion to the Earth, who stood there as a grieving cow, Parīkṣit spoke gently, “O daughter of Surabhi, do not lament. Let your fear of the wicked vanish. Do not weep, mother—may auspiciousness be yours. I am the punisher of the wicked.” He declared, “In whose kingdom all people—good or wicked—suffer, that intoxicated ruler loses his fame, lifespan, fortune, and path. It is the highest duty of kings to protect the afflicted and punish their tormentors; therefore, I shall destroy this most wicked enemy of all living beings.” He turned again to the bull, “Who has cut off your three legs, O daughter of Surabhi, you who should stand on four? May such evil never arise in the lands of kings who follow Kṛṣṇa. Tell me, O bull—may auspiciousness be yours—who is the cause of your disfigurement, the one who stains the fame of the sons of Pṛthā? One who harms the innocent and spreads fear everywhere—only by subduing the wicked can the virtuous thrive. He who, though innocent, commits offenses without restraint—I will seize his arm, even if he is a mortal wearing royal bracelets. For a king, the highest duty is to uphold dharma, to rule according to the scriptures, and not to deviate even in adversity.” To this, Dharma, manifest in the form of the bull, replied, “Your words, O son of Pāṇḍu, are worthy of those who protect the afflicted, for whom Lord Kṛṣṇa himself became messenger and leader, moved by their virtues. But we do not possess the seeds of suffering, O best among men. We are bewildered by the many divisions of speech and cannot recognize the true cause. Some say the self is the cause; others say it is fate, some say action, and others, nature. Some conclude that the cause is inconceivable and indescribable—O royal sage, consider this with your own discernment.” Sūta then narrated: As Dharma spoke thus, the emperor Parīkṣit, his mind focused and heart distressed, addressed him further, “You speak of dharma, O knower of dharma, and you are dharma, taking the form of a bull. Wherever adharma is committed, the one who conceals it shares the blame. Or perhaps, indeed, the ways of divine illusion are beyond the comprehension of mortals—this much is certain. In the age of virtue, austerity, purity, compassion, and truth were your four legs, but three have been broken by pride, attachment, and intoxication. Now, Dharma, your only remaining leg is truth, which you must uphold; but Kali, established by falsehood, seeks to seize even that.” Parīkṣit then turned to the Earth. “This earth, burdened greatly, was entrusted by the Lord and is adorned by the glorious footprints of the divine. Now, this virtuous lady, abandoned and unfortunate, weeps with tearful eyes, lamenting: ‘Unworthy kings, disguised as rulers, and shudras will possess me.’” Having thus comforted Dharma and the earth, the great charioteer Parīkṣit took up his sharp sword, intent on punishing the source of adharma. As he approached, the culprit—abandoning all royal bearing—bowed low at Parīkṣit’s feet, overwhelmed by fear. The compassionate king, seeing one fallen at his feet and seeking refuge, did not slay him. Smiling slightly, he spoke, “For one whose hands are joined in respect, there is no fear from the glorious descendants of Guḍākeśa. But you must not remain in my kingdom, O companion of adharma. Wherever you dwell, a host of evils arise: greed, falsehood, theft, impiety, sin, deceit, quarrel, and hypocrisy. You must not remain here; go instead where dharma and truth are upheld, especially in those lands where the wise perform sacrifices to the Lord of sacrifice.” He continued, “Where Hari, the blessed Lord, is worshipped—taking the form of sacrifice—he brings auspiciousness to his devotees. Like the air, he pervades all, moving and unmoving.” Sūta said: Thus, when Parīkṣit instructed him, Kali trembled with fear. He spoke, seeing the king’s sword raised, “Wherever I may dwell, O sovereign, by your command, I see you present there with your bow and arrows. Therefore, O upholder of righteousness, designate for me a place where I may reside, strictly following your order.” Thus requested, Parīkṣit assigned Kali to reside in places of gambling, drinking, association with women, and slaughter—where the fourfold irreligion prevails. When Kali begged once more, the king granted him gold as a fifth place; from this, falsehood, intoxication, desire, passion, and enmity arose. These five places, sources of unrighteousness, were thus given to Kali by the son of Uttara, and Kali dwelled there, obeying the king’s command. Therefore, Sūta concluded, one who seeks well-being—especially a king, a leader, or a teacher—should never resort to these places, but remain devoted to dharma. Parīkṣit then restored to the bull its three lost legs—penance, purity, and compassion—comforted it, and caused the earth to flourish once more. He now occupies the royal throne, as entrusted by his grandfather, when the old king retired to the forest.