The people flourished in happiness, for the loving pigeon couple cared tenderly for their children, delighting in the sweet sounds of their cooing and babbling. Whenever the little ones approached, their gentle touch, soft voices, and charming gestures filled their parents—who knew no sorrow—with joy. Bound by deep affection, yet deluded by Viṣṇu’s māyā, the devoted pair nurtured both their children and their community, their minds troubled with concern. One day, these two householders ventured into the forest for the sake of their young, wandering for a long time in search of food. By chance, a hunter roaming the woods saw them and, seizing his opportunity, spread his net and captured the young pigeons as they moved near their nest. Unaware of the danger, the male and female pigeons, intent on nourishing their offspring, returned home with food. The mother pigeon, seeing her children ensnared, rushed toward them, crying out in anguish as her little ones called for her. Overwhelmed by grief and affection, bewildered by illusion, she too became entangled in the net, losing all awareness as she saw her children bound. The father pigeon, witnessing his beloved children—dearer to him than life itself—trapped, and his wife, his equal, also ensnared, was plunged into deep sorrow. Lamenting his fate, he cried, “Alas, see my misery! Of little merit and foolish mind, my householder’s pursuit of righteousness, wealth, and pleasure is ruined, left unfulfilled and unsatisfied. My devoted and gentle wife, my goddess, has departed this empty house, ascending to heaven with our virtuous sons. Bereft of wife and children, why should I wish to live, tormented by a life of sorrow?” Thus, surrounded by his own offspring and seized by the grip of death, the pitiable bird, though seeing the hunter’s arrows, writhed helplessly and fell, overcome by ignorance. The cruel hunter, satisfied with his catch, gathered the entire family—the pigeon, his mate, and their young—and took them all back to his home. In this way, a householder whose mind is not at peace and who delights in dualities, maintaining his family with attachment like a bird, becomes bound and sinks down. One who, having gained the rare human birth where the door to liberation stands open, remains attached to household life in this way, is like one who climbs up only to fall down. * Sūta continued: Then, desiring to offer water for their departed relatives, the women of the Pāṇḍava family, led by Kṛṣṇā, went to the Gaṅgā. After offering water and lamenting intensely, they bathed in that sacred river, sanctified by the lotus feet of Hari and by Brahmā, the unborn. There, Madhava—Kṛṣṇa—saw King Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the head of the Kurus, seated with his younger brother, Gāndhārī, who grieved for her sons, Pṛthā (Kuntī), and Kṛṣṇā. Kṛṣṇa, along with the assembled sages, consoled those who had lost their relatives and were overwhelmed with sorrow, reminding them of the inevitable course of time that cannot be countered by any being. Having restored Ajātaśatru—Yudhiṣṭhira—to his rightful kingdom, which had been lost to gamblers, and having slain the unrighteous kings tainted by the touch of Kaca, Kṛṣṇa fulfilled his purpose. He then had Yudhiṣṭhira perform three grand horse sacrifices, arranged with excellence, spreading the king’s pure fame in all directions, like Indra himself. After taking leave of the sons of Pāṇḍu, accompanied by Sātyaki and Uddhava, and honored by Vyāsa and other sages, Kṛṣṇa honored them in return. O brāhmaṇa, as Kṛṣṇa resolved to depart and mounted his chariot for Dvārakā, he was suddenly approached by Uttarā, who came running toward him, overwhelmed by fear. She cried, “Protect me, protect me, O great yogin, God of gods, Lord of the universe! I see no other refuge but you, where death threatens on all sides. O Lord, a blazing iron arrow is rushing toward me! Let it burn me if it must, but, O master, do not let my unborn child be destroyed.” Hearing her plea, the Lord—ever affectionate to his devotees—understood that the weapon unleashed by Droṇa’s son was intended to destroy the Pāṇḍava line. At that moment, the five Pāṇḍavas, seeing the fiery arrows approaching, took up their own weapons to defend themselves. But seeing the calamity that had befallen his devotees, whose minds were fixed upon him alone, the Lord protected his people with his Sudarśana discus. Hari, the master of yoga who dwells within all beings as their very self, by his own power shielded the embryo in Uttarā, the descendant of the Kurus. Although the Brahmaśiras weapon is unfailing and cannot be counteracted, it was subdued by the Lord’s Vaiṣṇava power. This is not to be considered astonishing, for in Acyuta, who is full of all wonders, the unborn one creates, maintains, and destroys this world by his divine illusion. Freed from the power of Brahma’s weapon, Uttarā, her sons, and Kṛṣṇa himself stood unharmed. The virtuous Pṛthā (Kuntī) then addressed Kṛṣṇa, who was about to depart: “I bow to you, the original Person, the Lord who is beyond material nature, invisible to all beings, yet present within and without. Covered by the veil of illusion, unknowable and imperishable, you are not seen by those whose vision is deluded, just as an actor is hidden by his costume. For the sake of establishing devotion among the supreme renunciants and sages of pure heart, how can we women possibly perceive you? “Salutations to Kṛṣṇa, to Vāsudeva, to the son of Devakī, to the boy of Nanda and the cowherds, to Govinda—again and again, I bow. Salutations to the lotus-naveled one, to the lotus-garlanded, to the lotus-eyed, and to you whose feet are like lotuses. “Just as Hṛṣīkeśa freed Devakī, who suffered long in the prison of the wicked Kaṃsa, so too, O Lord, you have repeatedly delivered me and my sons from many dangers: from deadly poison, from the great fire, from the man-eater’s gaze, from the assembly of the wicked, from hardships in the forest, from battle after battle with mighty warriors, and now from the weapon of Drauṇa. O Hari, you have always protected us.