He whose life was threatened by Takṣaka—the dreadful serpent summoned by the wrath of a brāhmaṇa—was not bewildered by the pain of impending death, for his mind was wholly offered to the Lord. This was Parīkṣit Mahārāja, who, having abandoned all worldly attachments and truly understood the state of the unconquered soul, prepared to give up his body in the sacred waters of the Gaṅgā, guided by the teachings of the son of Vyāsa. For those who delight in the nectar of the Lord’s glorious stories, there is no confusion even at the moment of death, for their hearts are absorbed in remembrance of His lotus feet. As long as Parīkṣit, the great devotee and son of Abhimanyu, ruled the earth, the influence of Kali—the age of darkness and discord—could not prevail, though Kali was present everywhere. On the very day, at the very moment, when the Lord departed from this world, Kali, the source of unrighteousness, entered in His wake. Yet Parīkṣit did not hate Kali; like a bee gathering only the essence from flowers, he found auspiciousness even in adversity. For such a wise soul, good results come quickly—unlike for others. Kali, bold only among the weak and fearful of the strong, can do nothing to the wise and fearless. Among the careless, Kali moves like a wolf among men, but cannot touch those who are vigilant. I have thus described to you, as you requested, the sacred story of Parīkṣit, which is filled with the divine tales of Vāsudeva. All stories of the Lord—He who performs wondrous deeds—should be cherished by those who seek the true purpose of life. Hearing this, the sages addressed Sūta with reverence: “O gentle Sūta, may you live long with everlasting pure fame, for you proclaim to mortals the nectar of Kṛṣṇa’s deeds. In this uncertain world, where minds are clouded, you make us drink the honey-wine of Govinda’s lotus feet. We would not trade even a moment of association with the Lord’s devotees for heaven or liberation—what then of lesser blessings? Who could ever be satisfied by hearing the nectar of stories about the Supreme Refuge of the greatest souls? Even the foremost yogis, those born from Brahma, have not reached the end of His limitless qualities.” Therefore, they implored Sūta, “You who are foremost among those devoted to the Supreme, please narrate to us the noble and pure deeds of Hari, for we are eager to listen.” Sūta continued: Parīkṣit, the great devotee, whose unwavering intelligence was fixed on liberation, attained the feet of the Lord—He whose banner bears the eagle—through the knowledge imparted by Vyāsa’s son. Therefore, I shall narrate to you that supremely auspicious, wondrous, and yoga-centered story, whose meaning is open and clear, filled with the endless deeds of the Lord, which delighted Parīkṣit and the devotees. Ah, today we, though born in a lower lineage, have become blessed by following the elders. Association with the words of the greatest souls swiftly removes the impurity of a bad family and mental distress. How much more so for one who praises the Supreme, the ultimate refuge of the greatest souls? The infinite Lord, whose power is boundless, is called limitless because of His supreme qualities. Indeed, what has already been told is enough to show the Lord’s unequalled and unsurpassed qualities—He whose foot-dust is sought even by those who have abandoned all else, though He Himself desires no worship. The water offered for worship by Brahma, produced from the nails of His feet, purifies the world—who, desiring the Lord’s feet, would not be purified by Mukunda? There, those who are devoted and wise suddenly abandon all attachment to the body and its connections, and proceed to the highest state—where the swan-like sages dwell, and nonviolence, tranquility, and one’s own duty prevail. You, noble ones, have questioned me, so I shall answer as far as I have realized. Just as birds fly in the sky according to their own ability, so too the wise attain the path of Viṣṇu according to their understanding. Now, once, while wandering in the forest for hunting, with his bow raised, Parīkṣit pursued a deer and became exhausted, overcome by hunger and thirst. Searching for water, he entered a hermitage and saw a sage seated in tranquility, eyes closed in meditation. The sage, with senses, breath, mind, and intellect restrained, had attained a state beyond the three realms, merged in Brahman, unchanging. Covered with matted hair and a deerskin, Parīkṣit, his throat parched, begged the sage for water. But the king found no customary offerings—no grass, earth, nor water, nor even kind words. Feeling disregarded, he became angry, for never before had he been so afflicted by hunger and thirst. Towards the brāhmaṇa, envy and anger arose in his heart. Then, in anger, Parīkṣit placed a lifeless snake on the sage’s shoulder and, leaving the hermitage, returned to his city. He wondered, “Is this one, with all his senses withdrawn and eyes closed, truly absorbed in meditation, or is it merely a pretense? What might be the case with such warriors?” The sage’s son, endowed with extraordinary brilliance, was playing among the children. Upon hearing that his father had been wronged by the king, he spoke out in that very place: “Alas, what injustice by the rulers, like those who greedily devour the offerings! The offense committed against the master by the servants is like that of gatekeepers—or even dogs—against their lord. Though a kṣatriya by birth, he has been appointed by the brāhmaṇas as the guardian of the house; how then should such a doorkeeper be entitled to partake of the household’s provisions? Now that Kṛṣṇa, the Lord and guide for those who stray, has departed, I will punish those who have broken the bridge of righteousness. Behold my power!” Thus speaking, his eyes red with anger, the young sage purified himself at the Kauśikī river and released a thunderbolt of words: “Thus, having crossed the boundary, Takṣaka, urged by me, will bite this destroyer of the dynasty on the seventh day.” The boy then hurried to the hermitage. Seeing his father with a serpent’s body around his neck, he was overcome with sorrow and cried out loudly. The brāhmaṇa of the Āṅgirasa lineage, hearing his son’s lament, slowly opened his eyes. Seeing the dead serpent on his shoulder, he cast it off and gently asked, “Child, why are you crying? Who has wronged you?” The boy explained everything. Hearing that the king had been cursed undeservedly, the brāhmaṇa did not rejoice at his son’s action. Instead, he lamented, “Alas, what a great calamity you have caused today! Though the king’s offense was small, your punishment is severe.