The female pigeon, seeing her own children caught and struggling in the hunter’s net, rushed toward them in great distress, her cries echoing the desperate calls of her young. Overwhelmed by maternal affection and a heart full of sorrow, she was bewildered by illusion. In her agony at seeing her little ones bound, she lost all awareness and herself became ensnared in the very net that trapped her children. The male pigeon, witnessing his beloved offspring—dearer to him than his own life—caught in the net, and his cherished wife, equal to himself, also trapped, was overcome with grief. He lamented, “Alas, see my misery! Of little merit and foolish mind, my pursuit of the three aims of life as a householder has come to ruin. Unsatisfied and unfulfilled, all is lost.” He mourned for his devoted and gentle wife, his goddess, who had now left him alone in their empty home, taking their virtuous sons with her to heaven. Bereft of both wife and children, his house now desolate, the sorrowful bird wondered why he should wish to live, so afflicted by pain and loss. Surrounded by his own offspring, seized by the grip of death and writhing helplessly, the pitiable bird, though he saw the hunter’s arrows, fell down in ignorance, unable to escape his fate. The cruel hunter, satisfied with his catch, gathered up the pigeon, his mate, and their young—all householders—and took them back to his home. Thus, a householder whose mind is not at peace, who delights in the dualities of life like a bird, and who maintains his family with deep attachment, becomes bound by these connections and sinks down. One who, having attained the rare human birth where the door to liberation stands open, remains attached to household life like a bird, is known as one who, having climbed up, has fallen down. At this time, Sūta continued: Then, desiring to offer water to their departed relatives, the women, led by Kṛṣṇā, went to the sacred Gaṅgā. After making their offerings and lamenting intensely once more, they bathed in the holy river, sanctified by the lotus feet of Hari and by Brahmā, the unborn. There, Madhava saw King Dhṛtarāṣṭra of the Kurus seated with his younger brother, accompanied by Gāndhārī, stricken with grief for her sons, Pṛthā, and Kṛṣṇā. Kṛṣṇa, along with the sages, consoled those who had lost their loved ones and were overwhelmed with sorrow, gently revealing the inevitable course of time among all beings—a force that cannot be countered. Having restored Ajātaśatru—Yudhiṣṭhira—to his own kingdom, which had been lost through gambling, and having slain the unrighteous kings whose lives were stained by the touch of Kaca, Kṛṣṇa accomplished his purpose. He arranged for Yudhiṣṭhira to perform three great horse sacrifices with excellent arrangements, spreading the king’s pure fame in all directions, just as Indra’s glory shines in the heavens. After taking leave of the sons of Pāṇḍu, and accompanied by Sātyaki and Uddhava, Kṛṣṇa, honored by Vyāsa and other sages, honored them in return. O brāhmaṇa, having resolved to depart, he mounted his chariot to return to Dvārakā. At that moment, Uttarā came running toward him, overwhelmed by fear. “Protect me, protect me, O great yogin, God of gods, Lord of the universe!” she cried. “I see no other refuge but you, as death threatens me 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 words, the Lord, ever affectionate to his devotees, understood that the weapon of Droṇa’s son was intended to destroy the Pāṇḍava line. The five Pāṇḍavas, seeing the blazing arrows approaching, took up their own weapons to defend themselves. But as calamity befell those whose hearts were fixed on him alone, the Lord protected his own people with his Sudarśana discus, his divine weapon. 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. Though the Brahmaśiras weapon is unfailing and cannot be counteracted, O best of the Bhṛgus, it was subdued when it encountered your 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. Thus freed from the power of Brahma, along with her sons and with Kṛṣṇa present, the virtuous Pṛthā (Kuntī) spoke these words to 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 both within and without. Covered by the veil of illusion, unknowable and imperishable, you are hidden from those whose vision is deluded, just as an actor is concealed by his costume. “For the sake of devotion among the supreme renunciants, sages of pure heart, you reveal yourself. How then 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 you, lotus-naveled one, lotus-garlanded, lotus-eyed, and to you whose feet are like lotuses. Just as Hṛṣīkeśa freed Devakī, who long suffered grief imprisoned by 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 sight of the man-eater, from the assembly of the wicked, from hardships in the forest, from battles with many mighty warriors, and from the weapon of Drauṇa, O Hari, you have protected us. “May those calamities always befall us, O Guru of the world, so that we may see you again and again, for seeing you means we shall not see repeated birth. One who grows proud from birth, wealth, learning, and beauty cannot truly approach you, for you are accessible only to those who possess nothing. “Salutations to you, the wealth of those who have nothing, whose activity is free from the modes, who delights in the self, who is peaceful, and who is the Lord of liberation. I consider you to be Time itself, the ruler, beginningless and endless, all-pervading, moving equally among all beings, from whom all mutual discord arises. “No one knows, O Lord, your intention; your actions in this world are a mystery to men. You have no one whom you favor or hate, yet people imagine partiality in you. The birth and deeds of the soul of the universe, the unborn, non-acting self, among beasts, humans, and aquatic creatures—these are the greatest of mysteries.” Thus, Kuntī spoke, her heart full of devotion and gratitude for the Lord who delivers his devotees from all calamities.