When Hrishikesha, the Lord of the senses, arrived, the guardian of the world—Varuna—greeted him with great honor. Varuna worshipped Krishna splendidly, his heart overflowing with joy at the rare festival of beholding the Lord himself. With deep reverence, Varuna spoke: “Today, O Lord, my body finds peace and my life’s purpose is fulfilled. Those who are devoted to your feet, O Blessed One, have truly reached the end of all striving.” He bowed and offered praise: “Obeisance to you, Supreme Self, Brahman—where neither illusion nor the imagined creation of worlds is ever heard of.” Then, with humility, Varuna confessed, “By my own ignorance and foolishness, I have unknowingly done what should not have been done—your father was brought here. Please forgive this transgression. O Krishna, who sees all, O Govinda, lover of your father, show your favor to me and let your father be returned.” Thus propitiated, Krishna, the Lord of lords, took his father Nanda and returned, filling his relatives with joy and relief. Nanda, having witnessed the extraordinary power of Varuna and the reverence he showed Krishna, spoke to his kinsmen, astonished by all he had seen. The cowherds, their minds eager and curious, wondered among themselves, “Will this Lord show us our own subtle destination?” Krishna, knowing the hearts of his people and moved by compassion, considered how he might fulfill their desire. He reflected: “People in this world, bewildered by ignorance, desire, and action, wander along higher and lower paths, never truly knowing their own destination.” With this in mind, the Blessed Lord Hari, full of great compassion, revealed to the cowherds his own supreme realm, which lies beyond all darkness. This realm is truth, knowledge, infinite—Brahman, the eternal radiance that sages behold when all qualities have ceased and their minds are perfectly absorbed. Krishna led the cowherds to the lake of Brahman; there, he immersed them and then lifted them out, so that they could see that world of Brahman, the very place Akrura had once beheld. Nanda and the others, seeing this wondrous place, were filled with supreme bliss. Amazed, they saw Krishna being praised there by hymns, surrounded by glory. In that realm, it is understood that knowledge, discrimination, scripture, austerity, direct perception, tradition, and inference—all these, from their beginning to their end, are pervaded by the same reality; time and causality, too, are nothing but that. Just as gold pervades all golden objects, so too, amidst all names and forms, Krishna alone is present. This knowledge, Krishna explained, is threefold—consisting of the three guṇas: cause, effect, and agent. But when both their conjunction and separation are transcended, that which remains—the fourth state—is the truth. Anything that is not present before, after, or in the middle is merely a designation; only what is established by the Supreme truly exists. The wondrous variety of creation—the senses, their objects, the mind, and its modifications—appears as a transformation born of rajas, but Brahman itself, being self-luminous, shines forth as all this. Therefore, by clear reasoning that discerns Brahman, and by skillfully refuting opposing views, one should cut off self-doubt, become tranquil, satisfied in one’s own bliss, and indifferent to all objects of desire. The true self is not the body, nor the senses, nor gods, demons, wind, water, or fire. The mind is only food, the intellect is sattva, ego is space, earth is the balance of elements. How could the senses, composed of guṇas, affect the one whose true abode is clearly distinguished? And what fault is there if they are agitated? Just as clouds, even when present, do not affect the sun when they have passed, so too the imperishable self is untouched by the guṇas, the causes of transmigration in the mind. Yet, Krishna advised, association with the guṇas—creations of māyā—should be avoided, until, by firm devotion to him, the impurity of rajas is removed from the mind. Those who attempt yoga but are hindered by obstacles, whether from gods or humans, may again practice yoga by force of previous habit, though not in the way of karma. Action is performed and the living being acts, impelled by some cause or fate; but the wise, even while living in nature, having renounced all thirst, experience their own happiness. Whether standing, sitting, walking, lying down, releasing, or eating—whatever state the self assumes, the mind established in the self sees it as nothing else. If one perceives an unreal object of the senses and by reasoning sees something contrary, the wise do not consider it real—just as, upon waking, a dream disappears. The patterns of guṇas and actions, acquired in the past and not distinguished from the self due to ignorance, cease by mere observation; the self is neither grasped nor abandoned. Just as the rising sun destroys darkness for human eyes but does not create it, so too Krishna’s keen discernment destroys the darkness of ignorance in a person’s intellect. This self-luminous, unborn, immeasurable one is the great experience—the experience of all—the one without a second, by whom speech and life are directed, even when speech itself has ceased. The very notion of difference in the pure is delusion; apart from the self, there is no other support. All that is apprehended by name and form, fivefold and uncontradicted—even if meaningless—is mere praise; such duality belongs to those who consider themselves wise. For a yogi whose yoga is not yet mature, disturbances may arise in the body; for this, the prescribed rules are given. By the power of yogic concentration, some destroy afflictions through postures and breath retention; others dispel disturbances with austerity, mantras, and medicinal herbs. Some eliminate inauspicious influences by meditating on Krishna, chanting his name, or following the path of the yoga masters. Certain wise ones, having established the body as stable and healthy in youth, then engage in various methods to attain perfection. But Krishna declared that such skill is not to be esteemed, for the effort is ultimately fruitless—since the body is perishable, like the fruit of a tree. Even if, by constant yoga, the body becomes fit for longevity, the intelligent should not rely on it. Instead, they should abandon yoga and devote themselves wholly to Krishna. Thus concludes the twenty-eighth chapter of the first half of the tenth book in the great Purana, Srimad Bhagavata, the scripture of the supreme swan-like sages.