Indra, having committed a great offense, humbly approached Diti, his mother, and spoke with deep remorse, “O Mother, please forgive my grievous mistake. I have acted out of ignorance and baseness, like a child. By your good fortune, your unborn child—the embryo—has been restored to life.” Permitted by Diti, and her heart now pure and satisfied, Indra bowed to her with reverence, accompanied by the Maruts. Then, his purpose fulfilled, he returned to his heavenly abode. Śuka concluded, “Thus, I have narrated everything you asked about—the auspicious birth of the Maruts. Is there anything more you wish to hear?” Meanwhile, Sūta continued the tale. King Parīkṣit, having committed a thoughtless act toward a great sage, was deeply troubled. He reflected on his mistake, though it was not done with malice, and lamented, “Alas, I have acted basely, unworthy of my lineage, toward a sinless and secretly powerful brāhmaṇa.” He thought, “Surely, because I did not show proper respect to the godly, a great calamity, difficult to overcome, will soon befall me. Let it come as it must—let it serve as atonement for my sin, so that I may never again act in such a way.” With a heavy heart, Parīkṣit resolved, “May the fire of the brāhmaṇa’s anger, kindled against me, consume my kingdom, my power, and my wealth. Let this misfortune fall upon me, so that I may never again harbor evil thoughts toward brāhmaṇas, gods, or cows.” As he reflected, news reached him that the sage’s son had pronounced a curse of death—Takṣaka, the serpent, would be the instrument. Parīkṣit accepted this, seeing it as an opportunity to become detached from the world to which he was so firmly bound. Thus, renouncing both this world and the next, having already weighed their fleeting worth, Parīkṣit resolved to devote himself wholly to the feet of Kṛṣṇa. He went to the bank of the sacred river, determined to fast until death. That river, sanctified by the dust of Kṛṣṇa’s feet, was even more purifying than the Ganges. It cleanses all worlds and their rulers. Who, when facing death, would not seek refuge there? Resolved, Parīkṣit, son of the Pāṇḍavas, undertook his vow. He sat by the Viṣṇu-pada, fixing his mind solely on Mukunda’s lotus feet. With the resolve and detachment of a sage, he abandoned all worldly attachments. As news spread, great and noble sages arrived at that sacred place, bringing their disciples. They came, some under the pretext of pilgrimage, but truly it was their presence that sanctified the holy sites. Among them were illustrious sages: Atri, Vasiṣṭha, Cyavana, Śaradvān, Ariṣṭanemi, Bhṛgu, and Aṅgirā; Parāśara, the son of Gādhi (Viśvāmitra), Rāma, Utathya, Indrapramada, Edhmavāha, Medhātithi, Devala, Ārṣṭiṣeṇa, Bhāradvāja, Gautama, Pippalāda, Maitreya, Aurva, Kavaṣa, Kumbhayoni, Dvaipāyana (Vyāsa), and the venerable Nārada. There were also other distinguished deva-sages, brahma-sages, and royal sages, including Aruṇa and his followers. King Parīkṣit greeted these eminent descendants of sages with deep reverence, bowing before them. Once they were comfortably seated, he approached with joined palms, his mind clear and intent on his purpose. He addressed them: “O illustrious ones, among rulers we are truly the most fortunate, for the greatest have shown us their grace. The dynasty of kings, due to neglecting the feet of brāhmaṇas, has fallen far—alas, such is the fruit of blameworthy deeds.” He continued, “The Supreme Lord, seeing my mind repeatedly attached to household affairs, has brought me to detachment, through the words of the twice-born. For where there is attachment, fear swiftly follows.” “O brāhmaṇas, please remain with me, who has approached you in humility. May the goddess Gaṅgā remain, as I fix my mind on the Lord. Whether by the curse of a brāhmaṇa or by the serpent Takṣaka, let what must happen, happen. Meanwhile, let us sing the glories of Viṣṇu.” “May devotion and attachment to the infinite Lord, and to His devotees, always be mine. Wherever I am born among the noble, may I always have friendship with them, and may I ever bow to the brāhmaṇas.” Having resolved thus, the king sat facing north, on the eastern bank, upon a seat of kuśa grass. He was steadfast, having entrusted the care of his wife and son to the daughter of the ocean (the river Gaṅgā). As the king fasted, the gods in heaven praised him. They showered the earth with flowers and sounded drums in joy. The assembled sages, approving and praising his actions, said, “His conduct is for the welfare of the people and is adorned by the Lord’s virtues, praised by the highest.” They remarked, “It is not surprising, O foremost of royal sages, that those devoted to Kṛṣṇa, who once sat upon the throne, would renounce it all at once, desiring only the Lord’s presence.” “All of us shall remain here until the king leaves his body; then this foremost devotee will attain the supreme world, free from passion and sorrow.” Hearing these words, Parīkṣit, along with his teacher Madhucyuda, addressed the sages, greeting them with eagerness to hear the deeds of Viṣṇu. He said, “All have gathered here from every direction, just as the Vedas pervade the three worlds. Here or elsewhere, there is no purpose except the highest welfare and the true nature of the self.” “Therefore, O brāhmaṇas, I ask you: what is the pure duty for one who is dying? Please deliberate and instruct me, so that I may act rightly at this time.” At that moment, the son of Vyāsa—the venerable Śuka—arrived there by chance, wandering the earth without expectation. His appearance was unassuming, his signs unrecognizable, for he was content in himself, surrounded by children and dressed as one who mocks the world. He was in his sixteenth year, with tender limbs—feet, hands, thighs, arms, shoulders, and cheeks—graceful and beautiful. His large, elongated eyes, well-formed ears, lovely brows, radiant face, and conch-like neck added to his charm. His collarbones were hidden, his chest broad and high, his navel deep and whorled, his belly marked with lines and softly rounded. Unclothed, with hair flowing over his face, his long arms hung down, resembling the best among gods. His dark complexion and ever-fresh youthfulness, marked with auspicious signs, and his charming smile captivated all, even the minds of women. Though the sages knew his true nature, they rose from their seats to honor him, for his greatness was concealed. Viṣṇurāta (Parīkṣit) worshipped Śuka with bowed head as the honored guest. When the women and children withdrew, Śuka was seated with honor upon the great seat. There, surrounded by assemblies of Brahmarṣis, Rājarṣis, and Devarṣis, the illustrious sage shone brilliantly, just as the moon shines surrounded by planets, stars, and constellations. King Parīkṣit, a devotee of the Lord, approached the peacefully seated sage, his wisdom undiminished. Bowing with folded hands, he offered respectful words and inquired gently. He said, “O brāhmaṇa, today we kṣatriyas have become truly blessed, for by your mercy, you have come as a guest and made our land holy. By remembering you, the homes of men are instantly purified—what then can be said of seeing you, touching you, washing your feet, or offering you a seat?” “By your presence, O great yogi, even the gravest sins are destroyed, just as Viṣṇu destroys the demons. May Kṛṣṇa, dear to the sons of Pāṇḍu, be pleased with me, for He has accepted us, His relatives, out of affection for His own lineage.” “Otherwise, how could we mortals, especially one about to die, have your audience—you whose mind is fixed in the unmanifest, perfected and dwelling in the forest?” “Therefore, O supreme teacher of yogis, I ask you about the highest perfection: what should a person do in every way when death is near?