In times of hardship, a brāhmaṇa, if beset by distress, may sustain himself through trade or by selling goods, or, if pressed further, even by the sword. Yet, he must never resort to a livelihood that is servile or degrading, like that of a dog. Similarly, when faced with adversity, a kṣatriya may take up the occupation of a vaiśya or hunt for his sustenance, or, if needed, follow the ways of a brāhmaṇa. But he, too, should never stoop to a dog-like existence. A vaiśya, if circumstances demand, may perform the work of a śūdra, and a śūdra may take up menial crafts. But once freed from hardship, none should seek out a blameworthy or ignoble occupation. Every day, one should worship the gods, sages, ancestors, and all living beings—who are but My forms—through study of the Vedas, offerings to ancestors and deities, charitable gifts, and sharing of food, according to one’s means. With wealth that comes by chance or is earned honestly and without causing harm, one should support dependents and perform sacrifices, always by just and righteous means. Yet, even as a householder, one must not become attached to family, nor act carelessly. The wise perceive all that is perishable as already lost, even before it is gone from sight. The gatherings of sons, wives, and close relatives are like travelers meeting briefly on the road; just as a dream departs with sleep’s end, so too do these loved ones depart from the body at death. Reflecting thus, one who is liberated lives in the household as a guest, unattached, free from possessiveness and ego. With devotion, performing prescribed household duties solely for My sake, a person may remain at home, retire to the forest, or—if blessed with offspring—renounce all and wander as a mendicant. But one whose mind clings to home, tormented by desires for children, wealth, and pleasures, deluded by thoughts of “mine” and “I,” is pitiable and bound. Such a person laments: “Alas, my aged parents, my wife, my young sons and daughters—helpless and miserable without me—how will they endure, afflicted by suffering?” Thus, with heart seized by attachment and mind clouded, unsatisfied and ever brooding, when he dies, he enters into deep darkness. Now, Sūta continued the sacred tale: Parīkṣit, though struck by the weapon of Aśvatthāmā, was not slain in his mother’s womb, for he was protected by the wondrous grace of Lord Kṛṣṇa. Later, when threatened by Takṣaka, the serpent born from a brāhmaṇa’s wrath, Parīkṣit was not bewildered by the pain of death, for his mind was surrendered to the Lord. Having abandoned all attachments and understanding the state of the unconquered, this disciple of Vyāsa gave up his body in the holy waters of the Gaṅgā. For those who find delight in the nectar of the Lord’s glorious stories, there is no confusion even at the moment of death, for they remember His lotus feet. As long as Parīkṣit, the son of Abhimanyu and a great devotee, ruled the earth, Kali, though present everywhere, could not prevail. On the very day and at the very moment when the Lord departed from this world, there and then Kali, the source of unrighteousness, entered. Yet, the emperor Parīkṣit did not hate Kali. Like a bee that takes the essence from flowers, he drew auspicious results even from Kali’s presence—results that come swiftly to the wise, but not to others. What can Kali, bold among the weak but fearful before the strong, do to the wise and fearless? Among the careless, he moves like a wolf among men. Sūta then said, “I have described to you this sacred story of Parīkṣit, filled with the tales of Vāsudeva, as you desired. All stories of the Lord—His virtues and deeds—should be cherished by those who seek true life.” The sages responded with reverence: “O gentle Sūta, may you live long with pure and everlasting fame, for you have shared with mortals the nectar of Kṛṣṇa’s deeds. In this uncertain world, where minds are clouded, you make us drink the honey-wine from Govinda’s lotus feet. We would not exchange even a moment’s association with the Lord’s devotees for heaven or liberation—what then of lesser blessings? Who could ever tire of hearing the nectar of stories about the Supreme Refuge of the greatest souls? Even the masters of yoga, born from Brahmā, have not reached the end of His qualities, for He is beyond all qualities. Therefore, O learned one, foremost among the devoted, kindly narrate to us the noble and pure deeds of Hari, for we are eager to listen.” They continued, “That Parīkṣit, the great devotee, whose unwavering mind was fixed on liberation, attained the feet of the Lord whose banner bears the eagle, through the wisdom spoken by Vyāsa’s son. Please tell us that supremely auspicious, wondrous, and yoga-centered story, whose meaning is open, filled with the endless deeds of the Lord, which delighted Parīkṣit and the devotees.” Sūta replied humbly: “Today, though born in a lower lineage, we have become blessed by following the elders. Association with the words of the great swiftly removes the impurity of birth and mental distress. How much more so for one who praises the Supreme, the ultimate refuge of the greatest souls! The infinite Lord is called limitless because of His boundless qualities. What has already been told is enough to show the Lord’s unequalled greatness—He whose very foot-dust is sought by those who have renounced all, though He Himself desires no such worship. The water offered for worship by Brahmā, born from the nails of His feet, purifies the world—who, desiring the Lord’s feet, would not be purified by Mukunda? There, the devoted and wise suddenly abandon attachment to body and kin, and reach the highest state of the swan-like sages, where nonviolence, tranquility, and one’s own duty reign. You have questioned me, O noble ones, so I shall explain as far as I have realized. Just as birds fly in the sky according to their strength, so the wise attain the path of Viṣṇu in accordance with their understanding.” He then began the next episode: Once, while wandering in the forest for hunting, Parīkṣit, with his bow raised, pursued a deer. He became exhausted, greatly hungry and thirsty. Searching for water, he entered a hermitage and saw a sage seated in deep tranquility, his eyes closed. With his senses, breath, mind, and intellect restrained, the sage had attained a state beyond the three worlds, merged in the changeless Brahman. Covered with matted hair and a deerskin, his throat parched for water, the king begged from the sage in that condition. But, unable to receive even the simplest offerings—no grass, earth, water, or kind words—and feeling as though he had been disregarded, Parīkṣit became angry.