As the Kumāras, wise and youthful sages, observed Nārada, they noticed the great sage’s face was downcast and his mind troubled. With concern, they addressed him, “O Brāhmaṇa, why do you appear so distressed? Where are you rushing to, and from where have you come?” They remarked further, “You seem empty-hearted, as if bereft of your wealth, like any ordinary man. This does not befit one free from attachment. Please, tell us the reason for your sorrow.” Nārada responded, his voice heavy with the burden of what he had witnessed. “I have traveled across the earth, believing it to be the highest realm. I have visited sacred places: Puṣkara, Prayāga, Kāśī, and the Godāvarī. I wandered among holy sites such as Harikṣetra, Kurukṣetra, Śrīraṅga, Setubandha, and many others, moving from place to place.” He continued, “Yet nowhere did I find happiness that satisfies the mind. The earth is now 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, and even they are absorbed in hypocrisy; 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.” Nārada’s voice grew more troubled as he described the times. “The āśramas are obstructed by foreigners, as are the holy rivers; the 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—with hair disheveled—become lustful in this age of Kali.” “Thus, seeing the faults of this age, I wandered the earth. I came to the bank of the Yamunā, where the Lord’s pastimes had taken place. 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 and barely breathing; 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. By your many words, relief from suffering will come; when great fortune arises, then your presence is obtained.’” Nārada gently asked, “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. Those 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.” She continued, “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 with calm assurance, “By knowledge, O sinless one, I perceive all this within the Self; you should not be despondent, for Hari will bring you auspiciousness.” Sūta, the narrator, then said: “Understanding instantly, the great sage spoke.” Nārada explained, “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, Bhakti, 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.” Nārada, full of compassion, responded, “Since you have asked, child, listen with affection; I will tell you everything, O fortunate one, and your confusion will depart.” Thus, the sages listened as Nārada prepared to reveal the deeper truths behind Bhakti’s sorrow, the decline of her sons Jñāna and Vairāgya, and the mysteries of the age of Kali.