O great yogi, your very presence dispels even the gravest sins of people, just as Lord Viṣṇu destroys the demons. May Kṛṣṇa, beloved of the sons of Pāṇḍu, look kindly upon me, for out of affection for His own kin, He has embraced the family of His paternal aunt. For how else could we mortals—especially we who stand at the threshold of death—be graced by your company? You, whose mind is fixed in the unmanifest, who are perfected and dwell in the solitude of the forest, are rarely seen by those still bound to the world. Therefore, I ask you, supreme teacher of yogis, what is the highest perfection? What should a person do, in every way, when death approaches? What should be heard, recited, done, remembered, or worshipped, O master? Or is there anything else, perhaps contrary to these, that should be known? Surely, O brāhmaṇa, the presence of the Lord is not perceived in the homes of householders—not even during their daily tasks, like milking the cows. Thus, when the king addressed him with such gentle words, the wise and learned son of Bādarāyaṇa replied. He spoke of the qualities of Śrī—independence and the like—and explained that happiness is found at the end of both pleasure and pain, while pain itself is born from the desire for pleasure. The wise recognize the difference between bondage and liberation. The fool, he said, identifies with the body and its attachments, while his own path is that of the Veda. To be distracted in mind is to stray from the right path; heaven arises from the increase of sattva-guṇa. Hell, he continued, is darkness and pride, while friend, teacher, and self are, in truth, one. The home is but the body; true wealth is found in noble qualities, and the truly wealthy are so called. He is poor who is not content, and pitiable is the one who has not mastered his senses. One whose mind is unattached to the qualities is a lord; the opposite is true for those who are attached. O Uddhava, all your questions have been properly answered. Why elaborate further on the marks of virtue and fault? To see faults in virtues is itself a fault; virtue is that which is free from both. Meanwhile, Śuka described the happenings in Vraja. The cowherds recounted to the women the wondrous deeds of Kṛṣṇa and Rāma—how they had extinguished the forest fire and slain the demon Pralamba. Hearing these marvels, the elder cowherds and women were astonished and began to consider Kṛṣṇa and Rāma, who had come to Vraja, as foremost among the gods. Then, the rainy season began, arising with all living beings. The horizon shone with flashes of light, and the sky and earth resounded with thunder. The sky, dense with dark clouds streaked by lightning and roaring thunder, shone dimly, veiled—just as Brahman is veiled by qualities. When the time arrived, the clouds began to release, 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 the beginning of night, 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 from their courses, began to flow again—just as the wealth and bodily strength of a man who is independent return to him. The earth became green with grass and red with indragopa insects, shaded by mushrooms—like fortune returning to men. The fields, rich with crops, brought joy to the farmers, but regret to the proud who do not realize that all depends on fate. All creatures on land and water, refreshed by the new rains, took on a lovely appearance—just as those who serve Hari become radiant. 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. The paths became uncertain, overgrown with grass and unmarked—like the Vedas, neglected by brāhmaṇas and obscured by quarrel. The bonds among people were as fleeting as lightning among clouds, and the constancy of women did not remain toward men, even those endowed with virtues. The rainbow in the sky appeared without qualities, yet seemed to possess them; just as, when qualities are manifest, a person without qualities appears to have them. The moon, veiled by clouds radiant with its own light, did not shine forth; just as a person, blinded by ego, does not shine by his own true brilliance. The peacocks, delighted by the arrival of clouds, rejoiced; but in their homes, scorched and disheartened, they waited for the coming of the Lord, just as His devotees do. The trees, having drunk water with their roots, regained their forms; previously, they had been withered and exhausted by austerity, just as one is by the pursuit of desires. The cranes settled in the tranquil waters of the lakes and reservoirs, just as people with vain hopes dwell in households filled with restless duties. The embankments were broken by the torrents of water sent by the lord of rain, just as the paths of the Vedas are broken in the age of Kali by the false words of heretics. The clouds, driven by the winds, released water as nectar for all beings; just as lords of wealth, urged by the twice-born, give blessings at the proper times. Thus, Hari, accompanied by his companions and surrounded by cows and cowherds, entered the forest, rich with ripe dates and jambu trees, to enjoy its pleasures. The cows, moving slowly under the heavy weight of their udders, came quickly when called by the Lord, their udders moist with affection. The forest dwellers, joyful, saw the rows of trees dripping with honey, and the caves near the mountains resounded with the sound of falling water. Sometimes, when rain fell in the hollows of trees or in caves, the Lord would enter and delight there, eating roots, tubers, and fruits, savoring the simple joys of the forest with His friends.