Left alone in his desolate home, bereft of wife and children, the pitiable bird grieved, his heart heavy with sorrow. What joy could remain in such a life, stripped of all that once brought comfort? Surrounded by his own offspring, seized in the grip of death, the helpless bird writhed, unable to escape his fate. Though he saw the deadly arrows, ignorance clouded his mind, and he fell—his suffering unnoticed by the world. The cruel hunter, satisfied with his catch, gathered the pigeon, his mate, and their young—householders all—and took them back to his home. Thus, one who clings to household life, his mind restless, delighting in the endless play of opposites and bound by attachment to family, sinks down, ensnared by his own connections. Even after attaining this rare human birth, where the door to liberation stands open, if one remains attached to home and family like a bird, he is like a man who, having climbed high, falls once more to the ground. Meanwhile, Sūta continued his narration. Desiring to offer water for their departed kin, the women of the royal family, led by Kṛṣṇā, made their way to the sacred Gaṅgā. There, they offered water and wept with deep lamentation, then bathed in the holy river, sanctified by the touch of the lotus feet of Hari and the presence of Brahmā, the unborn creator. At that very place, Madhava beheld the king of the Kurus, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, seated with his younger brother and surrounded by Gāndhārī, who was stricken with grief for her sons, as well as Pṛthā and Kṛṣṇā. Kṛṣṇa, along with the assembled sages, consoled those overwhelmed by sorrow, reminding them of the inevitable course of time that none can resist. Having restored Ajātaśatru, Yudhiṣṭhira, to his rightful kingdom—once lost to the deceit of gamblers—and having vanquished the unrighteous kings whose lives had been tainted by the touch of Kaca, the Lord fulfilled his purpose. He had Yudhiṣṭhira perform three splendid horse sacrifices, spreading his pure fame in all directions, like Indra himself. When the time came to depart, Kṛṣṇa took leave of the Pāṇḍavas. Accompanied by Sātyaki and Uddhava, and honored by Vyāsa and the other sages, he, in turn, honored them. Preparing to journey to Dvārakā, he mounted his chariot. But at that moment, Uttarā, overwhelmed by terror, ran toward him. She cried out, “Protect me! Protect me, O great yogin, God of gods, Lord of the universe! Death approaches from every side—I have no refuge but you.” She pleaded, “O Lord, a blazing iron arrow speeds toward me! Let it burn me, if it must, but do not let my unborn child be destroyed.” Hearing her desperate words, the Lord, ever affectionate to his devotees, understood that the weapon of Droṇa’s son was meant to end the Pāṇḍava line. The five brothers, seeing the fiery arrows approaching, seized their weapons to defend themselves. But Kṛṣṇa, seeing disaster threaten those whose minds were fixed only on him, shielded his people with his Sudarśana discus, his own divine weapon. The master of yoga, who dwells within all beings as their innermost self, by his own power protected the embryo in Uttarā, descendant of the Kurus. Even the Brahmaśiras weapon, which cannot be countered and never fails, was subdued by the Lord’s Vaiṣṇava power. But what wonder is this? In Acyuta, the source of all marvels, the unborn creates, maintains, and destroys the world by his divine illusion. Freed from the power of Brahmā’s weapon, together with her sons and with Kṛṣṇa, the virtuous Pṛthā, Kuntī, spoke to the Lord as he prepared to depart. With deep reverence, Kuntī prayed, “I bow to you, the original Person, the Lord who is beyond material nature, invisible to all beings, yet present within and without. Veiled by illusion, unknowable and imperishable, you are hidden from those whose vision is clouded, just as an actor is concealed by his costume. You reveal yourself to the pure-hearted sages, the supreme renunciants, to establish devotion—how then could we women possibly perceive you? Yet, again and again, I bow to you: to Kṛṣṇa, to Vāsudeva, to the son of Devakī, to the boy of Nanda and the cowherds, to Govinda. “Salutations to you, lotus-naveled, lotus-garlanded, lotus-eyed, whose feet are like lotuses. Just as you freed Devakī, who suffered so long in the prison of wicked Kaṃsa, so too have you 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 hardship in the forest, from battle after battle with mighty warriors, and from the weapon of Drauṇa—you, O Hari, have always protected us. “May calamities always befall us, O Guru of the world, that we may see you again and again—for seeing you means we shall not see repeated birth. Those proud of birth, wealth, learning, and beauty cannot truly approach you; you are accessible only to those who possess nothing. Salutations to you, the wealth of the destitute, whose actions are free from the modes of nature, who delights in the self, who is peaceful, and who is the Lord of liberation. “I see you as Time itself, the beginningless and endless ruler, who moves equally among all beings, from whom their mutual discord arises. No one knows your intention, O Lord. Your actions in this world seem to mock men, for you have neither favorites nor foes, though people imagine you do. The birth and deeds of the soul of the universe, the unborn, inactive self, among beasts, humans, and aquatic creatures—these are the greatest of mysteries. “When the gopī tried to bind you for your mischief, and your eyes, troubled by fear, brimmed with tears and ointment, you bowed your face in dread—this bewilders me, for even the fearful fear you. Some say the unborn was born for the glory of the virtuous Yadu line, just as sandalwood graces the Malaya mountains. Others say that, at the request of Vasudeva and Devakī, you appeared to protect the world and destroy those who hate the gods. Some say you came at Brahmā’s request, when the earth, burdened and sinking, needed relief. Others say you have come to perform deeds worthy of hearing and remembrance by those suffering in this world from ignorance, desire, and action.” Thus, with gratitude and devotion, Kuntī praised the Lord, recognizing him as the supreme protector and the wondrous mystery at the heart of all creation.