When the great exchange of nectar took place among the gods, it was the king who was destined to drink the divine elixir. Yet, for us, the true nectar is to be found in the stories of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam—a sweetness far surpassing any ambrosia of the heavens. What, indeed, is the worth of worldly nectar, of tales spun in this world, of bejeweled goblets and precious gems, when compared to the immortal stories of the Bhāgavatam? Brahmarāta, reflecting on such matters, laughed at the gods themselves, recognizing the supreme value of these sacred narratives. Perceiving that those who lack devotion are unworthy, Brahmarāta did not bestow upon them the nectar of these stories. Even the gods, for all their power, find the tales of Śrīmad Bhāgavata hard to obtain. When the king attained liberation through these stories, even Brahmā, the creator, was astonished. In his celestial abode of Satyaloka, the unborn Lord weighed the means of liberation on his divine scales. All other scriptures that have arisen are minor in comparison; this one, the Bhāgavatam, possesses a profound gravity. Therefore, all the assembled sages were filled with the highest wonder. They revered the Bhāgavata as the very form of the Lord Himself, for in this age of Kali, simply by reading or hearing it, one immediately attains the fruit of Vaikuṇṭha, the spiritual realm. This scripture, heard within seven days, bestows liberation in every way. Long ago, the compassionate Sanaka and his brothers spoke it to Nārada. Though Nārada learned it from the divine sage by virtue of his connection with Brahman, the method of hearing it in seven days was explained by the Kumāras. At this point, Śaunaka, the wise sage, asked: “How could Nārada, who is ever free from worldly ties and always wandering, feel affection or form a bond with those present at a ritual?” Sūta replied: “I will recount to you the sacred narrative, imbued with devotion, which Śuka spoke to me in secret, accepting me as his disciple. Once, in the city of Viśālā, four pure sages, the Kumāras, gathered for holy association. There, they encountered Nārada. The Kumāras approached him and said, ‘O Brāhmaṇa, why does your face appear so downcast? Why is your mind troubled? Where are you hurrying to, and from where have you come? You seem empty-hearted, as if you have lost your wealth, like an ordinary man. This does not befit one who is free from attachment—tell us the reason for your sorrow.’ Nārada replied, ‘I have traveled the earth, believing it to be the highest of realms. I have visited the holy sites of Puṣkara, Prayāga, Kāśī, and the Godāvarī, wandering among sacred places such as Harikṣetra, Kurukṣetra, Śrīraṅga, Setubandha, and others. Yet nowhere did I find happiness that brings satisfaction to the mind, for the earth is now afflicted by Kali, the friend of unrighteousness. Truth, austerity, purity, compassion, and charity have vanished. People now live only to fill their bellies and speak deceitfully. They are dull, of poor understanding, unfortunate and afflicted. The good are few, and even the renunciants maintain households, absorbed in hypocrisy. Young women rule the household, brothers-in-law give counsel, daughters are sold out of greed, and discord arises between husband and wife. The āśramas are obstructed by foreigners, as are the holy rivers; many temples of the gods have been destroyed by the wicked. There is no yogī, no accomplished one, no wise man, nor a person of good conduct. In the wildfire of Kali, all spiritual practices have been reduced to ashes. Villages are plagued by bandits, the twice-born are struck by the trident of Śiva, and women, their hair disheveled, become lustful in this age of Kali. Thus, seeing the faults of this age, I wandered the earth. Eventually, I came to the bank of the Yamunā, where the Lord’s pastimes had once taken place. There I saw a wonder—listen to it, O great sages: there sat a young woman, her mind weary and distressed. Beside her lay two old men, collapsed, breathing faintly and unconscious. She served them, tried to rouse them, and wept before them. She looked in all ten directions for her protector, while her own form was fanned by hundreds of women, who repeatedly tried to awaken her. Seeing this from a distance, I approached out of curiosity. Upon seeing me, the young woman rose, agitated, and addressed me. She said, “O holy one, please stay a moment and dispel my anxiety. Your very sight utterly destroys the sins of the world. By your words, relief from suffering will come; and when great fortune arises, then your presence is obtained.” I asked her, “Who are you? Who are these two, and who are these lotus-eyed women? Tell me in detail, O goddess, the cause of your distress.” The girl replied, “I am known as Bhakti. These two are my sons, Jñāna and Vairāgya, now aged and worn by the influence of time. These women, led by Gaṅgā, have come here, remembering me, to serve me. Yet, though even the gods have served me, I have gained no true welfare. Now, listen attentively, O sage rich in austerity, to my story; though it is well known, hearing it will bring you happiness. I was born in Drāviḍa, grew up in Karṇāṭaka, and in some places in Mahārāṣṭra and Gurjara I became aged. There, due to the terrible influence of Kali, I was attacked by heretics and became weak; for a long time, I remained feeble along with my sons. Having reached Vṛndāvana again, I became youthful and beautiful, a young woman in her prime, now possessing the best form. But here my two sons lie exhausted from fatigue; leaving this place, I am about to go to another land. They have become old, and I am pained by this sorrow; though I am young, why are my sons so aged? How has this reversal come about, though the three of us have always been together? It is natural for the mother to age and the sons to be young. Therefore, I grieve for myself, my mind filled with wonder; tell me, O treasure of yoga, O wise one, what could be the cause here?