As the assembly of sages gathered around King Parīkṣit, their hearts united in reverence and compassion, they resolved, “We shall remain here today, until he abandons his body. Then, this foremost devotee of the Lord will surely attain the supreme world, free from passion and sorrow.” Their words, filled with wisdom and assurance, reached Parīkṣit, who sat among them with his teacher, Madhucyuda. Eager to hear the deeds of Viṣṇu, Parīkṣit greeted the sages respectfully and addressed them without fault. He acknowledged the gathering: “All have come here from every direction, just as the Vedas manifest throughout the three worlds. Whether here or elsewhere, there is no purpose but the supreme welfare and the nature of the self.” With humility and trust, Parīkṣit asked, “O brāhmaṇas, what should be done? I rely on your guidance. For those who are dying, what is the pure duty? Let those who are engaged deliberate upon it.” At that very moment, the venerable son of Vyāsa, Śuka, arrived by chance. Wandering the earth without expectation, his appearance was unrecognizable—content in his own gain, surrounded by children, wearing the garb of a mocker. Though only sixteen years old, his tender limbs and graceful form radiated auspicious beauty. His large, elongated eyes, beautiful brows, radiant face, and neck shaped like a conch inspired awe. His collarbones were hidden, his chest broad and high, his navel deep and whorled, and his belly softly rounded, marked with lines. Unclothed, his hair spread over his face, and his long arms hung down, resembling the best among gods. His complexion was dark, his youthful beauty ever fresh, and his limbs bore auspicious signs. With a charming smile, he captivated the minds of women. Even the sages, though knowing his true nature, rose from their seats to honor him, for his greatness was concealed. Parīkṣit, known as Viṣṇurāta, bowed his head in worship to this honored guest. As the ignorant 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. The king, a devoted follower of the Lord, approached the sage, who sat peacefully, his wisdom undiminished. Bowing his head with folded hands, Parīkṣit offered respectful words and inquired gently: “O brāhmaṇa, today we, mere kṣatriyas, have become worthy of service, for by your mercy you have come as a guest and made our land holy. By remembering you, the houses of men are instantly purified—what then can be said of seeing you, touching you, washing your feet, or offering you a seat and so on? By your presence, O great yogi, even the gravest sins of people are immediately destroyed, just as the demons are by Viṣṇu. May the Lord, Kṛṣṇa—dear to the sons of Pāṇḍu—be pleased with me, for he has accepted the relatives of his paternal aunt out of affection for his own lineage. Otherwise, how could we mortals, especially those about to die, have your audience, you whose mind is fixed in the unmanifest and who are perfected and dwelling in the forest?” He continued, “Therefore, I ask you, supreme teacher of yogis, about the highest perfection: what should a person do in every way when death is near? What should be heard, recited, done, remembered, or worshipped by people, O master? Or, tell me if there is anything else contrary to this. Certainly, O brāhmaṇa, the presence of the Lord is not perceived in the homes of householders, not even at the time of milking the cows.” Sūta then spoke, recounting how the wise and learned son of Bādarāyaṇa, Śuka, replied to the king’s gentle questions. He spoke of the qualities of Śrī—independence and the like—and explained that happiness is the end of pleasure and pain, while pain comes from desire for pleasure. The wise one knows bondage and liberation. The fool identifies with the body and such; my path is called the Veda. Distraction of mind is a wrong path; heaven is the rise of sattva-guṇa. Hell is darkness and pride; friend, teacher, and self are one. Home is the body; humanity is wealth in qualities, and the truly wealthy is so called. He is poor who is not content; pitiable is he who has not mastered his senses. One whose mind is unattached to the qualities is a lord; attachment to the qualities is the opposite. “O Uddhava, all your questions have been properly answered. Why elaborate further on the characteristics of virtue and fault? To see faults in virtues is itself a fault, but virtue is that which is free from both.” Śuka then continued: In Vraja, the cowherds recounted to the women the wondrous deeds of Kṛṣṇa and Balarāma—how they extinguished the forest fire and slew Pralamba. Hearing this, the elder cowherds and the women, astonished, considered Kṛṣṇa and Rāma, who had come to Vraja, to be foremost among the gods. Then the rainy season began, arising with all living beings. Its horizon was lit up, the sky and earth resounded with thunder. The sky, dense with dark clouds streaked by lightning and roaring thunder, shone dimly, veiled—like Brahman with qualities. When the time arrived, the clouds released, by their own power, the water they had drawn from the earth over eight months. Great clouds, accompanied by lightning and shaken by fierce winds, poured down life-giving rain, like compassion itself. The earth, parched and scorched by the sun, was drenched by the rain, just as a body emaciated by austerity is restored upon attaining its desired fruit. At night’s beginning, only fireflies shone in the darkness, not the planets—just as, in the Kali age, the Vedas do not shine among heretics because of sin. Hearing the thunder of the clouds, the frogs, who had been silent, began to croak—just as brāhmaṇas, after their vows, recite again. The small rivers, which had dried up and wandered off their courses, began to flow again—just as the wealth and bodily strength of a man who is independent. The earth became green with grass and red with indragopa insects, shaded by mushrooms—like fortune for men. The fields, rich with crops, brought joy to the farmers, but regret to the proud who do not know that all depends on fate. All creatures on land and water, refreshed by the new rains, took on a lovely appearance—just as by serving Hari. The river, joined by many streams, swelled and surged with waves driven by the wind—like the mind of an immature yogi, agitated by passion and qualities. The mountains, struck by torrents of rain, did not tremble—just as those whose minds are fixed on the Supreme are unmoved by calamities.