Sūta, the wise narrator, addressed the gathered sages, responding to their deep curiosity about the sacred teachings. He explained that although the divine sage had heard the profound wisdom through his connection with Brahman, it was the illustrious Kumāras who revealed the method of hearing these teachings within seven days. At this, Śaunaka, the foremost among the sages, raised a thoughtful question: How could Nārada, ever free from worldly ties and constantly wandering, feel any particular affection or form a connection with those present at a ritual gathering? Sūta replied with reverence: “Let me recount for you the sacred narrative, filled with devotion, which Śuka imparted to me in confidence, having accepted me as his disciple.” He began his tale: Once, in the city of Viśālā, four pure-hearted sages assembled for the sake of holy association. It was there that they came upon the celestial sage Nārada. The Kumāras, perceiving Nārada’s unusual demeanor, addressed him with concern: “O Brāhmaṇa, why does your face appear downcast, and why does your mind seem troubled? Where are you hurrying to, and from where have you come?” They continued: “Now you seem empty-hearted, as if bereft of your wealth, like an ordinary person. This does not befit one who is free from attachments. Tell us, what is the cause of your sorrow?” Nārada, deeply moved, responded: “I have traveled the earth, considering it the highest of realms. I have visited holy places such as Puṣkara, Prayāga, Kāśī, and the Godāvarī. I wandered through sacred lands—Harikṣetra, Kurukṣetra, Śrīraṅga, Setubandha, and many others—moving from place to place. Yet nowhere did I find the happiness that brings satisfaction to the mind. The earth is now afflicted by Kali, the friend of unrighteousness.” He spoke with sorrow of what he had witnessed: “Truth, austerity, purity, compassion, and charity have vanished. Unfortunate beings live only to fill their bellies and speak with deceit. People are dull, lacking understanding, suffering misfortune. The good are few, often absorbed in hypocrisy, and even those who have renounced the world maintain households. Young women rule the home; brothers-in-law give counsel; daughters are sold for greed; discord arises between husband and wife. The āśramas are obstructed by foreigners, as are the holy rivers, and many temples have been destroyed by the wicked.” Nārada’s voice grew heavy: “There is no yogī, no accomplished one, no wise man, nor any 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, with hair disheveled, become lustful in this age of Kali. Thus, seeing the faults of this age, I wandered across the earth until I came to the bank of the Yamunā, where the Lord’s divine pastimes had taken place.” He described a vision that astonished him: “There I saw a wonder—listen, O great sages. A young woman sat, her mind weary and distressed. Beside her lay two old men, collapsed, barely breathing 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 tried repeatedly to awaken her.” Curious, Nārada approached. The young woman, agitated, rose to address him: “O holy one, please stay a moment and dispel my anxiety. Your very sight destroys the sins of the world. By your words, relief from suffering will come; your presence is a sign of great fortune.” Nārada gently inquired, “Who are you? Who are these two, and who are these lotus-eyed women? Tell me, O goddess, the cause of your distress.” The young woman replied: “I am known as Bhakti. These two are my sons, Jñāna and Vairāgya, now aged and worn by the passage 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.” She continued, “Listen, 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, under the terrible influence of Kali, I was attacked by heretics and became weak; for a long time, I remained feeble along with my sons. But having reached Vṛndāvana again, I regained my youth and beauty, blooming in my prime. Yet here, my two sons lie exhausted. Leaving this place, I consider going 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, when 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?” Nārada replied with compassion: “By knowledge, O sinless one, I perceive all this within the Self. You should not be despondent, for Hari will bring you auspiciousness.” At that moment, Sūta explained, the great sage Nārada, instantly understanding the situation, spoke again: “Listen attentively, child. This yoga and the fierce age of Kali have caused the disappearance of good conduct, the path of yoga, and austerities. People have become like Aghāsura, engaging in deceit and wickedness. The virtuous are distressed while the unrighteous rejoice. But the wise person who maintains courage is truly steadfast and learned. Seeing these untouchables, the earth has become a burden-bearer; year by year, no auspiciousness is seen. Now, no one even sees you together with your sons, as you are neglected by those blinded by attachment and reduced to a state of decrepitude. Yet, by union with Vṛndāvana, you regained your youth and freshness. Blessed is Vṛndāvana, where devotion itself dances.” Thus, Sūta faithfully recounted the sacred tale, sharing the deep sorrows and enduring hope of Bhakti as witnessed by Nārada and the Kumāras, all within the ever-turning wheel of time and the challenges of the age of Kali.