Kuntī, with deep reverence and insight, addressed Lord Kṛṣṇa, her heart filled with awe and wonder. She said, “I see you as Time itself—eternal, all-pervading, without beginning or end, moving equally among all beings. It is from you that discord arises among creatures. O Lord, your intentions remain hidden; your actions in this world often confound us, seeming to mock the understanding of men. You show neither favor nor hatred, yet people imagine partiality where there is none. The birth and deeds of you—the soul of the universe, the unborn, the non-acting self—among beasts, humans, and aquatic creatures, are the greatest mystery and mockery. I am bewildered when I recall how the gopī tried to bind you with a rope for your mischief, and you, whose fear is feared by the fearful, showed fear yourself, your eyes brimming with tears and ointment, your face bowed in dread. Some claim the unborn was born for the fame of the virtuous, in the Yadu line, his beloved, 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 believe you were born at Brahmā’s request, when the earth, burdened and sinking like a boat in the ocean, needed relief. Others say you have come to perform deeds that are worthy of being heard and remembered by those suffering in this world from ignorance, desire, and action. Those who constantly hear, sing, praise, remember, and rejoice in your deeds soon behold your lotus feet, which bring an end to the flow of worldly existence. O Lord, will you now abandon us, your devoted friends and dependents, for whose sake there is no other refuge but your lotus feet, though we are bound to kingship and its sins? Who are we, the Pāṇḍavas, along with the Yadus, but mere names and forms? When you, the Lord of the senses, are not seen, we are nothing. O Gadādhara, this earth will not shine as it does now, adorned by your feet, marked with their unique signs. These lands are prosperous, their herbs and plants well-ripened; forests, mountains, rivers, and oceans flourish, all because of your glances. Therefore, O Lord of the universe, soul of the universe, form of the universe, please cut this strong bond of affection in me for the Pāṇḍavas and the Vṛṣṇis. O Lord of Madhu, may my mind, without any other object, always bear love for you directly, 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, whose power brings liberation, Govinda, who relieves the distress of cows, brāhmaṇas, and gods, master of yoga, teacher of all, O Lord, I bow to you.” Hearing these sweet words of praise from Pṛthā, the all-auspicious Lord Vaikuṇṭha smiled gently, as if bewildering her with his māyā. After affectionately bidding her farewell, he entered Hastināpura. As he was about to depart for his own city with the women, the king stopped him out of love. Despite being instructed by Vyāsa and other sages, and by Kṛṣṇa himself, performer of wondrous deeds, and though taught with histories, the king could not understand, overwhelmed by grief. The son of Dharma, thinking of the slaughter of his friends, spoke, O brāhmaṇas, overcome by attachment and delusion, with a mind like ordinary men. He lamented, “Alas, see my ignorance, deeply rooted in my wicked heart! For the sake of another’s body, I have caused the death of many armies. Even if I were freed from hell for ten thousand times ten thousand years, I would not be released from the sin of harming children, brāhmaṇas, friends, kin, fathers, brothers, and teachers. The killing of enemies in a righteous war is not a sin for a king who protects his people; yet, these words of command do not bring me understanding. The enmity that has arisen here against women whose relatives have been slain, through the actions of householders, I am not able to remove. Just as mud cannot cleanse muddy water, nor liquor remove the stain of liquor, so too a single act of killing living beings cannot be purified by sacrifices. And now, O prince, listen to the supreme secret mantra, which, when recited for seven nights, enables a person to see the beings who move in the sky. ‘Om, obeisance to the Blessed Lord Vāsudeva.’ With this mantra of the Lord, the wise should perform worship with material offerings, using various substances, knowing the proper place and time. He should worship the Lord with pure water, flowers, wild roots, fruits, tender sprouts, and fresh garments, and especially with 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. 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 the forms of service to the Lord that were previously performed should now be offered to the Lord’s form established by mantra, with the heart absorbed in the 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 men who are free from deceit and worship Him properly, the Lord increases their devotion and grants the highest good they desire, which is not attained by ordinary duties. One who is detached from sense pleasures should worship Him with constant and sincere devotion through the yoga of devotion, for complete liberation. Having been thus instructed, the prince circumambulated and bowed, then went to the sacred Madhuvana, sanctified by the Lord’s footprints. When he had gone to the forest of penance, the sage entered the inner chambers, was properly honored by the king, and, seated comfortably, spoke to him. Nārada asked, “O King, why do you sit long in thought, your face dried with sorrow? Is it that desire or duty, joined with wealth, is not being fulfilled?” The king replied, “O brāhmaṇa, my son, a mere child of five, has been exiled with his mother by a cruel-hearted woman; he is a great sage. Though he is helpless in the forest, may the wolves not harm that child—tired, lying down, hungry, his lotus-face withered. Alas, consider my wretchedness, conquered by a woman! I did not welcome that innocent one, who wished to climb into my lap out of love—how base I am!