Thus concludes the twenty-first chapter of the first part of the Tenth Canto of the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the revered scripture for those who seek the highest truth. Reflecting on the nature of worldly life, it is said that a person who is absorbed in sense objects becomes ignorant of his true self and of anything higher. Such a one lives only for the sake of the body, like a bellows that merely breathes, and thus wastes his precious human life. The results of actions performed solely for material enjoyment are not the ultimate good for people; rather, they are spoken of in the scriptures to attract the masses, just as medicine is sometimes sweetened to encourage its use. From birth, mortals are deeply attached in mind to desires, to the continuation of their own life, and to their families—yet these very attachments are the root causes of their suffering. Those who do not understand their true welfare wander lost along the path of sorrow. How could a wise person, knowing this, encourage them to return to those same pursuits, which are bound in darkness? Therefore, some, lacking true understanding and misled in their thinking, do not speak of the enticing results of fruitive actions, for the wise who know the Veda do not praise such things. Those who are lustful, pitiable, and greedy, whose minds are fixed on the superficial beauty of the "flowers" rather than the true "fruit," are like moths drawn to a flame—they do not know their own true home. O dear one, such people do not know Me, the Supreme, who dwell in the heart and from whom this world arises. Just as those unsatisfied by hymns and rituals are like people whose vision is blocked by fog, so too are they unable to perceive Me. Without understanding My indirect intention, if those devoted to sense objects develop a taste for violence, then even the performance of sacrifice is not prescribed for them. Indeed, the cruel, desiring only their own pleasure, perform sacrifices to the gods, ancestors, and spirits, using animals obtained by violence. Like merchants who abandon real wealth for dreams, they imagine blessings in that insubstantial heavenly realm, which is pleasing to hear about but as fleeting as a dream. Those established in the qualities of passion, goodness, or ignorance, and who cherish these qualities, worship Indra and other principal gods, but not Me as I truly am. After worshipping the gods with sacrifices, they think, "We shall enjoy in heaven." But when their heavenly enjoyment ends, they wish to be wealthy and of high birth again on earth. Thus, for those whose minds are distracted by flowery words, who are proud and excessively greedy, even My teachings do not appear attractive. The Vedas, with their threefold division, discuss topics concerning Brahman, the self, and the gods. The sages speak in indirect ways, and I too am fond of such indirect speech. The sound-Brahman is exceedingly difficult to grasp, composed of life-breath, senses, and mind. It is vast, unfathomable, deep, and as hard to penetrate as the ocean. This sound-Brahman is expanded by Me, the Infinite, by the all-powerful Brahman. Among beings, it is perceived in the form of sound, like the thread running through the stalk of a lotus. Just as a spider emits its web from its heart through its mouth, so too does the life-breath, endowed with sound, arise from space, assuming the form of touch through the mind. The Lord is made of meters and immortality, possessing a thousand paths. From Om, adorned with consonants, vowels, sibilants, and resonant sounds, He is established within. He alone creates and withdraws, by His own power, the great and endless speech, which is spread out in various languages, with meters increasing by four syllables each. These meters—Gāyatrī, Uṣṇik, Anuṣṭup, Bṛhatī, Paṅkti, Triṣṭubh, Jagatī, Aticchandas, Atyaṣṭi, Atijagat, and Virāṭ—are the forms of that speech. What does it establish, what does it declare, what does it imply or distinguish? In this world, no one but I knows its heart. It establishes Me, denotes Me, distinguishes and negates Me. Thus, the entire meaning of the Vedas, relying on sound, differentiates Me, and, having recited only illusion, finally negates it and becomes gracious. In the same way, it is surrounded by all manner of creatures—deer, boars, wild dogs, oxen, buffalo, elephants, cow-tails, monkeys, mongooses, and snakes. Entering that foremost holy place, the chief of kings, along with his sons, saw the sage seated there, with the sacrificial fire burning brightly. The king beheld the sage, radiant in his form, long engaged in severe austerity, yet not emaciated, for he was sustained by the Lord's affectionate glances and the nectar-like words he had heard. The sage was tall, with eyes like lotus petals, matted hair, and clad in bark garments. He appeared unclean, as was fitting for an ascetic, and wore no ornaments. As the king approached the hermitage and bowed before the sage, the sage welcomed him with proper hospitality and respectful greetings. Having offered the appropriate offerings and seated the self-restrained king, the sage, remembering the Lord's command, spoke to him with gentle words, pleasing him. He said, "Certainly, O lord, your wandering is for the protection of the virtuous and the destruction of the wicked, for you are the sustaining power of Hari. You, who assume the forms and stations of the sun, moon, fire, Indra, wind, Yama, Dharma, and Varuṇa—homage to you, the pure one. When you do not mount your victorious chariot, adorned with jewels and brandishing your fierce bow, you terrify the wicked merely by the sight of your chariot. Crushing the earth's circle with the feet of your army, shaking its sphere, and assembling the great host, you roam like the radiant sun. At such a time, O King, all the boundaries established by the divisions of varṇa and āśrama, created by the Lord, would surely be broken by bandits. Unrighteousness would arise, fostered by greedy and unrestrained men. If you were to lie down and rest, this world, seized by outlaws, would surely perish. Nevertheless, O hero, I ask you—what is the purpose of your coming here? Let us, with honest hearts, act accordingly." Now, Śuka continued his narration: In the first month of winter, the young girls of Nanda's Vraja began the vow of worshipping Kātyāyanī, sustaining themselves on the simplest of foods. At dawn, as the sun rose, they bathed in the waters of the Kālindī (Yamunā), and on the riverbank, they fashioned an image of the goddess from sand and worshipped her, O King. With fragrant garlands, perfumes, offerings, incense, lamps, and various gifts—both great and small, such as sprouts, fruits, and grains—they performed their worship. Chanting this mantra: "O Kātyāyanī, great power, great yoginī, supreme ruler, O goddess, make the son of Nanda my husband; I bow to you," the girls offered their prayers with devotion.