Led by Krishna, Nanda and the others were brought to the Lake of Brahman. Immersed in its sacred waters, they were then lifted out by Krishna himself. As they emerged, their vision opened to the world of Brahman—a realm where Akrura had once journeyed. Witnessing this place, Nanda and his companions were filled with supreme bliss. Amazed, they beheld Krishna being praised there with hymns, his glory celebrated in that transcendental domain. In this sacred atmosphere, Krishna spoke profound teachings. He explained that knowledge, discrimination, scripture, austerity, direct perception, tradition, and inference—all these, from their beginning to their end, are pervaded by the same reality. Just as gold exists before and after its shaping, and is present throughout all golden objects, so too, amidst various names and forms, Krishna alone is the true essence. He continued, saying that knowledge is threefold—rooted in the three guṇas as cause, effect, and agent. Yet, beyond their union and separation lies the fourth state, the sole truth. That which is not present before, after, or in the middle is merely a designation; only what is established by the Supreme truly exists. Krishna revealed that what appears but does not exist is a transformation born of rajas. Brahman, being self-luminous, manifests as the wondrous diversity of senses, objects, mind, and their modifications. Through clear reasoning that discerns Brahman, and skill in refuting opposing views, one should sever self-doubt, become tranquil, and be content in one’s own bliss, indifferent to worldly desires. He clarified that the self is not the body made of earth, nor the senses, nor gods, demons, wind, water, or fire. The mind is food, intellect is sattva, ego is space, and earth is the balance of elements. The senses, composed of guṇas, cannot affect the one whose abode is clearly distinguished. Even if they are agitated, there is no fault—just as clouds do not affect the sun once they have departed. Just as space is unaffected by the qualities of wind, fire, water, or earth as they come and go, so too the imperishable is untouched by sattva, rajas, and tamas—the causes of transmigration in the mind. Still, association with the guṇas, creations of māyā, should be avoided until, through firm devotion to Krishna, the impurity of rajas is cleansed from the mind. False yogis, hindered by obstacles from gods or humans, may practice yoga again by force of habit, but not according to the proper method of karma. Actions are performed, and beings act, impelled by cause or fate; yet the wise, situated in nature, having renounced thirst, experience their own happiness. Whether standing, sitting, walking, lying down, releasing, or eating food—whatever state the self assumes, the mind established in the self does not perceive it as anything else. If one perceives an unreal object of the senses and, through various reasoning, sees something contrary, the wise do not consider it real—just as a dream vanishes upon waking. Patterns of guṇas and actions, acquired previously 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 dispels darkness for human eyes but does not create it, so Krishna’s keen discernment destroys the darkness of ignorance in the intellect. This self-luminous, unborn, immeasurable one is the great experience—the experience of all. The one without a second, when speech ceases, by whom speech and life are directed. The delusion of self is merely the notion of difference in the pure; apart from the self, there is no support for one’s own self. That which is apprehended by name and form, fivefold and uncontradicted, is mere praise—even if meaningless. Such duality belongs to those who consider themselves wise. For a yogi whose yoga is not yet mature, disturbances in the body may hinder him. For such cases, prescribed rules are given. By yogic concentration, some destroy afflictions through postures accompanied by 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 yoga masters. Certain wise ones establish the body as stable and well-formed in youth, then pursue various methods for perfection. Yet, Krishna cautioned, such skill is not to be esteemed, for that effort is fruitless—the body is perishable, like the fruit of a tree. If, through constant yoga, the body becomes fit for longevity, the intelligent should not place faith in it, but abandon yoga and devote themselves to Krishna. A yogi who pursues yoga, taking refuge in Krishna, remains undisturbed by obstacles, free from desire, and experiences his own happiness. Krishna then illustrated with a story. When a beloved woman, unaware that her dearest has departed, sits firmly in her seat, she behaves as before. But when she does not feel warmth in her husband’s feet while worshipping him, she sits with an anxious heart, like a doe separated from her herd. She grieves for herself, helpless and friendless, weeping with tears; pressing her breasts in the forest, she cried out in a clear voice, “Rise, rise, O royal sage! You must protect this land encircled by the ocean, which fears robbers and kṣatriya outcasts.” Thus lamenting, the young woman followed her husband in the forest. Falling at his feet, she shed tears without restraint. She built a wooden funeral pyre, placed her husband’s body upon it, and, preparing to follow him in death, fixed her mind while lamenting. At that moment, an earlier friend—a self-realized brāhmaṇa—gently consoled her with soothing words as she wept. He asked, “Who are you? Whose are you? Who is this lying here, for whom you grieve? Do you know me as a friend, with whom you once wandered? Do you remember yourself, O friend, as my unknown companion? Leaving me, you sought another place, absorbed in earthly pleasures. “O noble one, you and I were swans, friends dwelling in the lake of the mind; for thousands of years, there was no separation between us. But you abandoned me, O companion, and went to earth with a worldly mind; wandering, you saw a place fashioned by a certain woman.” Thus concludes the twenty-eighth chapter of the first half of the tenth book in the great Purana, Srimad Bhagavata, the scripture cherished by the supreme, swan-like sages.