With deep reverence, Kuntī approached Kṛṣṇa, her heart overflowing with gratitude and awe. Again and again, she bowed before Him, offering salutations to Kṛṣṇa, to Vāsudeva, to the beloved son of Devakī, to the cherished boy of Nanda and the cowherds, to Govinda Himself. Her devotion poured forth in waves, as she honored Him in every aspect—salutations to the lotus-naveled, to the one adorned with a garland of lotuses, to the lotus-eyed, to Him whose feet are as beautiful as lotuses. Kuntī recalled how Hṛṣīkeśa, the Lord of the senses, had freed Devakī from the long years of sorrow and imprisonment under the cruel Kaṃsa. In the same way, she reflected, He had again and again delivered her and her sons from countless dangers: from deadly poison, from the consuming fire, from the terrifying gaze of the man-eater, from the assembly of the wicked, from the hardships of the forest, from battle after battle against mighty warriors, and even from the terrible weapon of Drauṇa. Through all these perils, Hari had been their protector. With a heart both humble and bold, Kuntī prayed, “May such calamities always come upon us, O Teacher of the world, for in those moments we see You again and again. And to see You, O Lord, is to be free from the endless cycle of birth and death.” She pondered the nature of those who approach the Lord: “Those who are intoxicated by birth, wealth, learning, or beauty cannot truly call out to You. You are accessible only to those who possess nothing, to those who are humble and free from pride.” Once more, she offered her salutations to Him—He who is the treasure of the destitute, whose actions are untouched by the modes of nature, who delights in the Self, who is ever-peaceful, the Lord of liberation. Kuntī’s vision deepened: “I see You as Time itself, the supreme ruler, without beginning or end, who pervades all beings equally, from whom all discord among creatures arises. O Lord, Your intentions are inscrutable; Your actions in this world confound human understanding. You have neither favorites nor enemies, yet people imagine You to be partial.” She marveled at the mystery of His incarnations: “The birth and deeds of the soul of the universe, the unborn and inactive Lord, among beasts, humans, and even aquatic creatures, are the greatest of wonders. How astonishing it is that when the gopī took a rope to bind You for Your mischief, Your eyes, troubled with fear, brimmed with tears and ointment, and You bowed Your face in dread—You, whom even fear itself fears! This bewilders me.” Kuntī reflected on the many reasons people gave for His appearance: “Some say the unborn Lord was born for the glory of the virtuous Yadu line, just as sandalwood grows on 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 believe You were born at Brahmā’s request, when the earth, burdened and sinking, needed relief. Still others say You have come to perform deeds that are worthy to be heard and remembered by those who suffer in this world from ignorance, desire, and the consequences of action.” She concluded, “Those who constantly hear, sing, praise, remember, and rejoice in Your deeds, soon behold Your lotus feet, which end the flow of worldly existence. O Lord, will You now leave us, Your devoted friends and dependents, for whom there is no refuge but Your lotus feet, even though we are bound to kingship and its entanglements? Who are we—the Pāṇḍavas and the Yadus—but mere names and forms? Without Your presence, O Lord of the senses, we are as nothing. O Gadādhara, the earth will lose its radiance, no longer adorned by Your feet marked with their auspicious signs. The lands are prosperous, the herbs and plants flourish, forests, mountains, rivers, and oceans thrive—all because of Your gracious glances.” With a heart yearning for liberation, Kuntī prayed, “O Lord of the universe, Soul of all, Form of all, please sever this strong bond of affection I feel for the Pāṇḍavas and the Vṛṣṇis. May my mind, with no other object, always flow in love toward You, O Lord of Madhu, just as the Ganges flows unbroken to the sea. O Śrī Kṛṣṇa, friend of Kṛṣṇa, chief of the Vṛṣṇis, destroyer of the unrighteous, fire among royal lines, liberator, Govinda, reliever of the distress of cows, brāhmaṇas, and gods, master of yoga, teacher of all—I bow to You.” Hearing these heartfelt words, Sūta continued, the all-auspicious Lord Vaikuṇṭha smiled gently at Pṛthā, as if to bewilder her with His divine māyā. After affectionately bidding her farewell, Kṛṣṇa entered Hastināpura. Yet, as He prepared to depart for His own city with the women of His family, King Yudhiṣṭhira, overwhelmed by love and sorrow, stopped Him. Despite the teachings of Vyāsa and other sages, and even the wise counsel of Kṛṣṇa, performer of wondrous deeds, Yudhiṣṭhira could not find peace. The stories and lessons he heard did not reach his heart, for he was consumed by grief. Thinking of the slaughter of his friends, he spoke to the brāhmaṇas, his mind clouded by attachment and delusion, like any ordinary man. “Alas,” he lamented, “see my ignorance, so deeply rooted in my sinful heart! For the sake of another’s body, I have caused the death of countless armies. Even if I were freed from hell ten thousand times ten thousand years, I would not be absolved of the sin of harming children, brāhmaṇas, friends, kin, fathers, brothers, and teachers. Though the killing of enemies in righteous war is not a sin for a king who protects his people, these words bring me no relief.” He continued, “The enmity that has arisen against the women whose relatives have been slain—this, too, I cannot remove. Just as mud cannot cleanse muddy water, nor liquor remove the stain of liquor, so too, a single act of killing cannot be purified by sacrifices.” Turning to his brother, Yudhiṣṭhira said, “Now, O prince, listen to the supreme secret mantra. Recited for seven nights, it enables one to see the beings who move in the sky. ‘Om, obeisance to the Blessed Lord Vāsudeva.’ With this mantra, the wise should perform worship, offering various substances at the proper place and time.” He described the proper worship: “One should offer pure water, flowers, wild roots, fruits, tender sprouts, fresh garments, and especially the beloved tulasī leaves. Having obtained a material image for worship—whether of earth, water, or other elements—the sage, self-controlled, peaceful, restrained in speech, and moderate in food, should worship it.” Yudhiṣṭhira explained further, “The Lord, praised in sublime verses, will manifest by His own inconceivable power and by His freely chosen deeds; one should meditate on Him as present in the heart. All forms of service previously performed should now be offered to the Lord’s form established by mantra, with the heart absorbed in that mantra. Thus, when the Lord is served with body, mind, and speech, and with devotion arising from the heart, He is truly worshipped. To those who are free from deceit and worship Him properly, the Lord increases their devotion and grants the highest good they desire, something not attained by ordinary duties.” Thus, in the midst of sorrow and devotion, the hearts of the Pāṇḍavas and their kin turned toward Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Lord, seeking His grace, guidance, and liberation.