In the sacred assembly, a question arose: Where, in this world, can one find true nectar? Where are the stories that grant immortality, where is mere glass, and where is the great jewel of wisdom? The sage Brahmarāta, reflecting upon this, laughed at the gods themselves, recognizing that what they sought was beyond even their reach. He discerned those who lacked devotion and withheld from them the nectar of sacred stories; indeed, the tales of Śrīmad Bhāgavata are so rare and precious that even the gods struggle to obtain them. When the king attained liberation, the very creator, Brahmā, was astonished. In Satyaloka, the Unborn weighed the means of liberation on a scale, marveling at its profound significance. Other scriptures and works that have appeared in the world are minor in comparison; this one, the Bhāgavata, stands out for its immense gravity. All the sages, witnessing its greatness, were filled with the highest wonder. They regarded the Bhāgavata as the very embodiment of the Lord Himself, for in the Kali age, simply by reading or hearing it, one immediately attains the fruit of Vaikuṇṭha. This scripture can be heard and understood within seven days, and in every way bestows liberation. Long ago, the compassionate Sanaka and his brothers imparted its wisdom to Nārada. Although Nārada heard it from the divine sage due to his connection with Brahman, the method of hearing it in seven days was explained by the Kumāras. Curious, Śaunaka asked: How could Nārada, who is free from worldly ties and ever-moving, feel affection or form a connection with those present at the ritual? Sūta replied: I shall recount to you the narrative, imbued with devotion, which Śuka spoke to me in secret, accepting me as his disciple. Once, in Viśālā, four pure sages gathered for the sake of holy association, and there they encountered Nārada. The Kumāras addressed him: O Brāhmaṇa, why is your face downcast, and why do you appear troubled in mind? Where are you hastening, 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. Nārada replied: I have traveled the earth, thinking it to be the highest, visiting sacred places such as Puṣkara, Prayāga, Kāśī, and the Godāvarī. I wandered among holy sites like Harikṣetra, Kurukṣetra, Śrīraṅga, Setubandha, and others, moving here and there. Yet nowhere did I find happiness that brings satisfaction to the mind. At present, the earth is afflicted by Kali, the friend of unrighteousness. Truth, austerity, purity, compassion, and charity have vanished. The unfortunate beings live only to fill their bellies and speak deceitfully. People are dull, of poor understanding, unfortunate, and afflicted. The good are few, absorbed in hypocrisy, and even the renunciants maintain households. 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 and holy rivers are obstructed by foreigners; many temples of the gods have been destroyed by the wicked. There is no yogī, nor any accomplished one, nor a 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 the age of Kali, I wandered the earth. Eventually, I came to the bank of the Yamunā, where the Lord's pastimes had once taken place. There, I witnessed a wonder: a young woman sat, 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, her own form being fanned by hundreds of women, who repeatedly tried to awaken her. Seeing this from a distance, I approached out of curiosity. When she saw me, the young woman rose, agitated, and spoke: O holy one, please stay a moment and dispel my anxiety; your very sight utterly destroys the sins of the world. Your words bring relief from suffering, and when great fortune arises, 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, called Jñāna and Vairāgya, now aged and worn by the influence of time. These women, headed 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? Nārada replied gently: By knowledge, O sinless one, I perceive all this within the Self; you should not be despondent, for Hari will bring you auspiciousness.