After receiving the sage’s instructions, the young prince respectfully circumambulated him, bowed low, and departed for the sacred Madhuvana, a holy forest sanctified by the footprints of the Lord Himself. There, in that forest of penance, the sage entered the inner chambers, where the king honored him properly and, once seated comfortably, began to speak. Nārada observed the king, noticing his long, sorrowful silence and the dryness of his face. With gentle concern, he asked, “O King, why do you sit so long in thought, your face parched with grief? Is it that some desire or duty, entwined with wealth, remains unfulfilled?” The king replied, his voice heavy with anguish: “O brāhmaṇa, my son—though only five years old and a great sage—has been exiled to the forest with his mother, driven away by a cruel-hearted woman. Helpless in the wilderness, may the wolves not harm him, that child who lies tired and hungry, his lotus-like face withered. Alas, see how wretched I am! Conquered by a woman’s will, I failed to welcome my innocent son when he came to me out of love, wishing to climb into my lap. How base I am!” Nārada comforted him: “O protector of the people, do not grieve for your son. The gods themselves guard him. Unaware of his greatness, you lament, but his fame will soon spread throughout the world. He has performed a deed difficult even for the guardians of the worlds, and will soon bring you immense renown.” Maitreya continued: Hearing Nārada’s divine words, the lord of the earth, setting aside all royal opulence, thought only of his son. There, after being consecrated and purified, he spent the night in observance, serving the Supreme Person with a focused mind, just as he had been instructed. With deep discipline, every three nights he subsisted only on wood-apple and jujube fruits, spending a month worshipping Hari according to his capacity. In the second month, on every sixth day, the boy prepared food from fallen leaves and grass, and continued his worship. In the third month, on every ninth day, he took only water, absorbed in meditation on the Glorious Lord. In the fourth month, on every twelfth day, he lived on air alone, conquering his breath and sustaining his meditation. When the fifth month arrived, the prince, having mastered his breath, stood on one leg, unmoving like a pillar, meditating on the Absolute. Withdrawing his mind from all else and fixing it in his heart—the seat of the elements and senses—he meditated on the Lord’s form, seeing nothing else. As he sustained the Supreme, the Lord of primordial matter and the great elements, the support of all, the three worlds began to tremble. Standing on one foot, the earth bent beneath his big toe, much as an elephant’s platform tilts under its weight. In his unwavering concentration, closing the door of his senses and meditating on the Self of the universe, the worlds and their guardians grew oppressed and breathless, seeking refuge in Hari. The gods prayed: “O Lord, we know not such restraint of life-breath in any being, moving or unmoving, whose abode is You. Please grant us release from this distress; we have come to You, the ultimate refuge.” The Blessed Lord replied: “Do not fear. I will cause the boy to desist from this arduous austerity. Return to your realms. It was his union with Me that restrained your breath, O sons of Uttānapāda.” Sūta then spoke: Thus, out of concern for his subjects and a desire to know all righteousness, the king went to the place where Devavrata lay. At that time, all his brothers followed in chariots, their horses adorned in gold, accompanied by sages like Vyāsa, Dhaumya, and others. The Blessed Lord Himself, together with Dhanañjaya, rode in a chariot; among them, the king shone like Kubera among the Yakṣas. Upon seeing Bhīṣma fallen on the ground, like a god cast down from heaven, the Pāṇḍavas, their followers, and Krishna, the wielder of the discus, bowed to him. There, all the great sages—divine and royal—assembled to see the chief of the Bharatas: Parvata, Narada, Dhaumya, the venerable Badarayana, Brihadasva, Bharadvaja and his disciples, and the son of Renuka. Vasishtha, Indrapramada, Trita, Gritsamada, Asita, Kakshivan, Gautama, Atri, Kaushika, Sudarshana, and other pure-hearted sages like Brahmarata arrived with their disciples—Kashyapa, Angiras, and the rest. Bhīṣma, perceiving those most fortunate ones assembled, honored them, knowing righteousness and the proper distinctions of place and time. He also worshipped Krishna, seated as Lord of the universe, present in the heart, having assumed a form through His own maya. He addressed the sons of Pandu, who sat with humility and affection, their eyes blinded by tears of deep attachment. “Alas, how grievous and unjust it is that you, O sons of Dharma—afflicted, devoted to the Brahmanas, to righteousness, and to Acyuta—should suffer or live in distress. With the great warrior Pandu gone, Kunti, left as a widow with young children, has endured many hardships for your sake, again and again, like one with a child. I consider all that is unpleasant for you to be caused by time; the world, with its rulers, is under its sway, just as clouds are driven by the wind. Where the son of Dharma is king, Bhima wields the mace, Arjuna holds the Gandiva bow, and Krishna is your friend—how can there be adversity? O King, no one ever knows His intention; even those endowed with inquiry are bewildered by it, as are the wise. Therefore, O best of the Bharatas, understand this to be the arrangement of destiny; as it is ordained, O protectorless one, you, as the lord, must protect the people. This indeed is Bhagavan Himself, the original Narayana, who, concealing Himself among the Vrishnis, moves about, bewildering the world by His maya. His most secret power is known only by Bhagavan Shiva, the divine sage Narada, and Bhagavan Kapila, O King.