Once, in the sacred city of Viśālā, four pure-hearted sages—the Kumāras—gathered together, seeking holy company. As they sat in contemplation, they beheld Nārada approaching. Noticing his face clouded with worry and his mind troubled, the Kumāras addressed him: “O Brāhmaṇa, why do you look so downcast? What burdens your mind? Where are you rushing to, and from where have you come?” They observed that Nārada seemed empty-hearted, as if deprived of his wealth, like an ordinary man. This was uncharacteristic of one free from attachment, and so they pressed him to share the cause of his distress. Nārada replied, “I have wandered across the earth, believing it to be the highest realm, visiting holy places such as Puṣkara, Prayāga, Kāśī, and the banks of the Godāvarī. I traveled among sacred sites like Harikṣetra, Kurukṣetra, Śrīraṅga, Setubandha, and many others, moving from place to place. Yet, nowhere did I find happiness that truly satisfies the mind. At present, the earth is afflicted by Kali, the friend of unrighteousness. Truth, austerity, purity, compassion, and charity have vanished. Unfortunate beings now live only to fill their bellies and speak deceitfully. People are dull, of poor understanding, and afflicted. The virtuous are few, and even they are absorbed in hypocrisy; renunciants now maintain households. Young women rule the homes, brothers-in-law offer counsel, daughters are sold out of greed, and discord arises between husband and wife. The āśramas are obstructed by foreigners, as are the holy rivers. 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. Thus, seeing the faults of Kali, I wandered the earth and eventually came to the bank of the Yamunā, where the Lord’s divine pastimes had taken place. There, I witnessed a wonder—listen, O great sages: 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 afar, curiosity drew me closer. As I approached, 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. By your many words, relief from suffering will come; when great fortune arises, your presence is obtained.’ I asked her gently, ‘Who are you? Who are these two, and who are these lotus-eyed women? Tell me, O goddess, the cause of your distress.’ The girl replied, ‘I am known as Bhakti. These two are my sons, Jñāna and Vairāgya, now aged and worn by the influence 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. 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 comforted her, saying, ‘By knowledge, O sinless one, I perceive all this within the Self; you should not be despondent, for Hari will bring you auspiciousness.’ Sūta then explained that, instantly understanding Nārada’s words, the great sage spoke further. Nārada said, ‘Listen attentively, child; this yoga and the fierce Kali age have caused the disappearance of good conduct, the path of yoga, and austerities. People have become like Aghāsura, engaging in deceit and wicked deeds. Here, the virtuous are distressed while the unrighteous rejoice; but the wise person who maintains courage is truly steadfast and learned. Seeing these untouchables, this earth has become a burden-bearer; year by year, gradually, no auspiciousness is seen. Now, no one even sees you together with your sons, neglected by those blinded by attachment, and reduced to a state of decrepitude. By union with Vṛndāvana, you again became young and fresh; blessed is Vṛndāvana, where devotion also dances. Here, due to the absence of those who would receive them, even old age does not leave these two; with a little self-contentment, they consider themselves at rest.’ Devotion then asked, ‘How was impure Kali established by King Parīkṣit? With the onset of Kali, where did the essence of all virtue go? Even by the compassionate Hari, how is unrighteousness witnessed? Remove this doubt of mine with your words; I will be happy.’ Thus, the sages listened as Nārada and Bhakti revealed the sorrows and mysteries of the age of Kali, and the fate of devotion, knowledge, and renunciation in these troubled times.