As the five Pāṇḍava brothers beheld a shower of blazing arrows hurtling toward them, they immediately armed themselves, ready to defend against the impending danger. Yet, seeing his devoted ones in peril, the Supreme Lord, the best protector, intervened. With his own Sudarśana discus, Kṛṣṇa shielded his beloved devotees from harm, manifesting his divine power to safeguard those whose hearts were fixed solely upon him. Hari, the master of yoga who dwells within all beings as their very self, then extended his protection further. By his own mystic potency, he enveloped the embryo within Uttarā, the descendant of the Kuru dynasty, shielding the unborn child from destruction. Even though the Brahmaśiras weapon, which had been unleashed, is renowned as unfailing and impossible to counteract, it was subdued effortlessly when it encountered the Lord’s Vaiṣṇava power. This, O wise sage, should not be regarded as astonishing, for Acyuta—the infallible one—abounds in wonders. In him, the unborn Lord, all creation, preservation, and destruction of the universe take place through his divine illusion. Freed from the terror of the Brahmāstra, Pṛthā (Kuntī), together with her sons and in the presence of Kṛṣṇa, whom she held dear, addressed the Lord as he prepared to depart. With deep reverence, Kuntī offered her salutations: “I bow to you, the original Person, the Lord who transcends material nature, invisible to all yet present both within and without. Though you are unknowable, covered by your own illusion, and imperishable, those whose vision is clouded by delusion cannot see you—just as an actor remains hidden behind his costume. For the sake of inspiring devotion in the hearts of the greatest renunciants and pure-hearted sages, you manifest yourself. How, then, can women like me possibly perceive you? Still, I offer repeated salutations: to Kṛṣṇa, to Vāsudeva, to the son of Devakī, to the darling of Nanda and the cowherds, to Govinda. Again and again, I bow to you. Salutations to you whose navel is like a lotus, whose garland is of lotuses, whose eyes are lotus-shaped, and whose feet are as beautiful as lotuses. Just as you once liberated Devakī, who had suffered so long in the prison of the evil Kaṁsa, so too, O Lord, you have again and again delivered me and my sons from countless dangers: from deadly poison, from a raging fire, from the monstrous man-eater, from the assembly of the wicked, from the hardships of the forest, from fierce battles with mighty warriors, and now from the weapon of Drauṇa. O Hari, you have always protected us. May such calamities continue to befall us, O Teacher of the world, so that we may see you again and again—for seeing you ensures that we shall not see repeated birth in this world. Those who are intoxicated by birth, wealth, learning, or beauty cannot truly approach you, for you are accessible only to those who possess nothing and are free from pride. Salutations to you, the treasure of the destitute, whose actions are untouched by the modes of nature, who delights in the self, who is ever peaceful, and who is the Lord of liberation. I see you as Time itself, the supreme ruler, without beginning or end, present everywhere and moving equally among all beings, from whom arises all mutual discord. No one can know your true intention, O Lord. Your actions in this world often confound men, for you show no true partiality or hatred—yet people imagine such things in their minds. The birth and deeds of you, the soul of the universe, the unborn, inactive self, when you appear among animals, humans, and aquatic beings, are the highest of mysteries. When the gopī tried to bind you for your mischief, and your eyes, filled with fear, brimmed with tears and ointment, you bowed your face in dread. This bewilders me, for even those who are most fearful fear you! Some say the unborn Lord appeared in the Yadu dynasty for the glory of the virtuous, just as sandalwood arises in the Malaya mountains. Others say you came at the request of Vasudeva and Devakī, to protect the world and destroy those who hate the gods. Some think you were born at Brahmā’s request, when the earth, weighed down by her burden, was sinking like a boat in the ocean, and you came to relieve her. Still others believe you have come to perform deeds worthy of being heard and remembered by those suffering from ignorance, desire, and action. Those who constantly hear, sing, praise, remember, and rejoice in your deeds soon attain your lotus feet, which free them from the endless cycle of worldly existence. O Lord, will you now abandon us, your devoted friends and dependents, for whom there is no refuge but your lotus feet, even though we are bound by the entanglements of kingship and its attendant sins? Who are we, the Pāṇḍavas, or even the mighty Yadus, but mere names and forms? Without you, Lord of the senses, we are nothing. O Gadādhara, the earth shall lose her radiance once your feet, marked with their auspicious signs, no longer grace her surface. All prosperity in these lands—the ripening of herbs and plants, the flourishing of forests, mountains, rivers, and oceans—exists only because of your glances. Therefore, O Lord of the universe, please sever the strong bonds of affection that bind me to the Pāṇḍavas and the Vṛṣṇis. May my mind, without any other object, always flow toward you in love, just as the Ganges flows unbroken to the sea. O Śrī Kṛṣṇa, friend of Kṛṣṇa, chief of the Vṛṣṇis, destroyer of the wicked, fire among royal lines, 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 then said: Thus praised by Pṛthā with sweet and heartfelt words, the all-auspicious Lord Vaikuṇṭha smiled gently, as if to bewilder her with his divine illusion. After bidding her a loving farewell, he entered Hastināpura. But as he prepared to depart for his own city, accompanied by the women, King Yudhiṣṭhira stopped him, unable to let him go out of deep affection. Though instructed by Vyāsa and other sages, and even by Kṛṣṇa himself, performer of wondrous deeds, and though taught through sacred histories, the king could not find peace, his heart weighed down by grief. Thinking of the destruction of his friends, Yudhiṣṭhira, son of Dharma, spoke to the assembled brāhmaṇas, his mind clouded by attachment and the confusion of ordinary men. “Alas,” he lamented, “see the depth of my ignorance, so deeply rooted in my sinful heart! For the sake of another’s kingdom, I have caused the death of countless armies. Even if I were freed from hell for millions of years, I could never be absolved of the sin of harming children, brāhmaṇas, friends, kin, fathers, brothers, and teachers. Though the killing of enemies in a righteous war is not sinful for a king who protects his people, these words of command do not bring me solace. The enmity that now exists, especially among women whose relatives have been slain through the actions of householders, is a wound I cannot heal.” Thus, the hearts of the Pāṇḍavas and their kin were filled with both gratitude for the Lord’s protection and sorrow for the suffering that had befallen their world.