Having resolved to return to Dvārakā, Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Lord, mounted his chariot. But as he was about to depart, Uttarā, the daughter-in-law of the Pāṇḍavas, came running toward him, her heart seized by terror. She called out in desperation, “Protect me, protect me, O greatest yogin, God of gods, Lord of the universe! Death surrounds me on all sides and I see no other refuge but you.” With tears and trembling voice, Uttarā pleaded, “O Lord, a blazing iron arrow is speeding toward me! Let it consume me if it must, but, O master, do not let my unborn child perish.” Hearing these anguished words, the Lord—who is ever affectionate to his devotees—immediately understood that the weapon unleashed by Droṇa’s son was meant to end the Pāṇḍava lineage. At that very moment, the five Pāṇḍavas saw the fiery arrows descending upon them and seized their own weapons to defend themselves and their family. But seeing this calamity befall those whose minds were fixed solely on him, Kṛṣṇa, the Lord, shielded his devotees with his Sudarśana discus, his own divine weapon. Hari, the master of all yoga, who dwells within all beings as their innermost self, used his own power to envelop and protect the embryo in Uttarā, the descendant of the Kurus. The Brahmaśiras weapon, which cannot be countered and never fails its mark, was subdued when it met the Vaiṣṇava power of the Lord. This, O sage, is not to be considered astonishing, for in Acyuta, the wonder-filled, the unborn one, the entire universe is created, sustained, and destroyed by his divine illusion. Thus freed from the terrible weapon, Kuntī, together with her sons and with Kṛṣṇa still present, addressed the Lord, who was preparing to depart. With deep reverence, Kuntī bowed and spoke: “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 illusion, unknowable and imperishable, you are unseen by those whose vision is clouded, just as an actor is hidden by his costume. For the sake of devotion, you manifest yourself among the pure-hearted renunciants and sages—how can we women ever truly perceive you?” She continued, “Again and again I offer my salutations to Kṛṣṇa, to Vāsudeva, the son of Devakī, the darling of Nanda and the cowherds, to Govinda. O lotus-naveled one, lotus-garlanded, lotus-eyed, and you whose feet are like lotuses, I bow to you.” Kuntī then recalled, “Just as Hṛṣīkeśa freed Devakī, who long suffered in the prison of wicked Kaṃsa, so too, O Lord, you have delivered me and my sons from countless dangers: from deadly poison, from great fire, from the man-eater’s gaze, from the assembly of the wicked, from hardships in the forest, from many battles with mighty warriors, and now, from the weapon of Drauṇa. O Hari, you have always protected us.” She prayed, “May such calamities always befall us, O Teacher of the world, so that we may see you again and again, for seeing you means we will not see repeated birth. Those who are proud of birth, wealth, learning, and beauty cannot truly call upon you; you are accessible only to those who possess nothing. Salutations to you, the wealth of the destitute, whose actions are beyond the modes, who delights in the self, who is peaceful, and who is the Lord of liberation.” With humility, Kuntī said, “I consider you to be Time itself, the ruler, beginningless and endless, all-pervading, moving equally among all, from whom arises all discord. No one knows your intention, O Lord; your actions in this world are a mystery to men. You have no one you favor or hate, yet people imagine partiality where there is none. The birth and deeds of the soul of the universe, the unborn, non-acting self, among beasts, humans, and aquatics, are the highest mystery.” She marveled, “When the gopī took a rope to bind you for your mischief, and your eyes, filled with tears and ointment, were troubled by fear, and you bowed your face in dread—this bewilders me, for even the fearful fear you!” Kuntī reflected on the Lord’s mysterious appearance: “Some say the unborn was born for the glory of the virtuous in the Yadu line, just as sandalwood grows in the Malaya mountains. Others say you appeared at the request of Vasudeva and Devakī, to protect the world and destroy those who hate the gods. Some say you were born at Brahmā’s request, when the earth was burdened and sinking, to relieve her load. Still others say you came to perform deeds that are worthy of being heard and remembered by those suffering in this world from ignorance, desire, and action.” She concluded, “Those who constantly hear, sing, praise, remember, and rejoice in your deeds soon behold your lotus feet, which end the cycle of birth and death. O Lord, will you now abandon us, your friends and dependents, for whom there is no other refuge but your lotus feet, though we are bound to kingship and its faults? Who are we, the Pāṇḍavas and the Yadus, but mere names and forms? When you, Lord of the senses, are not seen, we are as nothing.” “O Gadādhara, this earth will no longer shine as it does, adorned by your feet marked with their unique signs. The lands are prosperous, plants and herbs are well-ripened, forests, mountains, rivers, and oceans flourish—all because of your glances. Therefore, O Lord of the universe, please sever this strong bond of affection I have for the Pāṇḍavas and the Vṛṣṇis. May my mind, with no other object, always flow in love toward you, as the Ganges flows unbroken to the sea. O Śrī Kṛṣṇa, friend of Kṛṣṇa, chief of the Vṛṣṇis, destroyer of the unrighteous, fire among kings, whose power brings liberation, Govinda who relieves the distress of cows, brāhmaṇas, and gods, master of yoga, teacher of all, I bow to you.” Sūta continued: Thus praised with sweet words by Pṛthā, the all-auspicious Lord Vaikuṇṭha smiled gently, as if to bewilder her with his divine illusion. After affectionately bidding her farewell, he entered Hastināpura. But as he was about to depart for his own city with the women, King Yudhiṣṭhira stopped him, unable to let him go out of love. Despite being instructed by Vyāsa and other sages, and by Kṛṣṇa himself, performer of wondrous deeds, and though taught with many stories, the king could not understand, being overwhelmed by grief. Thinking of the slaughter of his friends, the son of Dharma, Yudhiṣṭhira, spoke, overcome by attachment and delusion, with a mind troubled as any ordinary man.