O King, he whom you regarded as your beloved maternal cousin, your dear friend and well-wisher, whom you entrusted as your minister, sent as your messenger, and seated as your charioteer out of deep affection—He is none other than Krishna, the soul of all beings. Though He appears to act in special ways toward some, He sees all equally, untouched by duality or ego. For such a Supreme Person, there is never any fault in the distinctions He creates in the minds of people. Yet, O King, see the boundless compassion He shows to those who surrender to Him with exclusive devotion: as I now prepare to leave this world, Krishna Himself stands before me. The yogi who, with loving devotion, fixes his mind on Krishna and utters His name at the time of death is freed from all desires and the bondage of karma. May that Lord of all gods, Bhagavan Himself, remain before me until I relinquish this body. With His smiling face, reddish eyes, radiant lotus-like countenance, and four arms, He stands as the very path of my meditation. As Bhīṣma spoke thus, Sūta narrated, Yudhiṣṭhira listened with rapt attention, and in the presence of the assembled sages, he questioned Bhīṣma, who lay upon his bed of arrows. He inquired about the duties prescribed for people according to their nature, social order, and stage of life, and about the characteristics of both detachment and attachment as taught in the scriptures. Yudhiṣṭhira asked, in both summary and detail, about the duties of charity, kingship, liberation, women, and devotion to God, as well as their divisions and yogic aspects. The wise Bhīṣma, knowing the truth, described to him the four aims of life—dharma, wealth, desire, and liberation—along with their means, drawing upon various stories and histories. As he was expounding on dharma, the auspicious time arrived—the very moment yogis long for, when the sun begins its northern course. Then, Bhīṣma withdrew his speech, which had flowed like a thousand streams, and fixed his mind, free from all attachments, upon the Primeval Person—Krishna—who stood before him in yellow garments, with four arms and unblinking eyes. With pure concentration, all inauspiciousness destroyed, and the fatigue of battle gone just by beholding Him, with all the activities of his senses ceased, Bhīṣma praised Janārdana, the creator, as he was about to depart from this world. He said: “My mind, now free from all thirst, is established in the Lord, the foremost of the Sātvatas, the all-pervading one, who, having attained His own bliss, sometimes enters into the world of nature, from which the flow of birth arises. May my pure love be fixed upon Him, the delight of the three worlds, dark as a tamāla tree, adorned with garments shining like the sun’s rays, whose form is encircled by curling locks, and whose lotus face is the friend of Arjuna. In battle, with His face adorned by sweat from exertion, His hair dusted by the smoke of horses, His armor gleaming as His skin was pierced by my sharp arrows—may Krishna, my true self, be present for me. Hearing the words of His friend amidst the battle, He placed the chariot between the two armies; as He stood protecting even the lives of the enemy soldiers, may my love be fixed on Pārtha’s friend, who took away their strength. When Arjuna, seeing the opposing army and feeling guilt about killing his own kin, turned away from battle, Krishna dispelled his confusion with knowledge of the Self—may I have supreme devotion to His lotus feet. To honor my vow, He abandoned His own and leapt from the chariot, His upper garment falling, whip in hand, rushing forward like Hari advancing to slay an elephant. Pierced by sharp arrows, my bow shattered, my body drenched in blood, the aggressor rushed upon me to kill me—may that Lord Mukunda be my refuge. May my devotion at the time of death be fixed upon that Lord, whose beauty is to be seen as He stands on Arjuna’s chariot, holding the reins and whip, whom those slain here, upon seeing, attained their true form. The cowherd women, their movements graceful, their laughter charming, their sidelong glances full of love and feigned anger, imitated His playful acts in madness and blindness, for they were absorbed in His very nature. In the royal assembly at Yudhiṣṭhira’s Rājasūya sacrifice, surrounded by sages and kings, He alone was worthy of worship and became visible to my eyes—He who reveals His true self to me. Now I have realized that unborn One, present in the hearts of all embodied beings, who is conceived differently by each according to their mind, just as the one sun appears manifold in many reflections; my delusion of difference has been dispelled.” Sūta continued: Thus, fixing his mind, speech, and sight on Lord Krishna, and absorbing his self in the Supreme Self, Bhīṣma drew in his breath and became still. Recognizing that Bhīṣma was merging into the indivisible Brahman, all present became silent, like birds at the end of the day. At that moment, celestial drums resounded, played by gods and humans; the virtuous praised Bhīṣma, and showers of flowers fell from the sky upon the king. After Bhīṣma’s passing, Yudhiṣṭhira, son of Bhārgava, performed the proper rites for the departed; yet for a while, he remained deeply sorrowful. The delighted sages praised Krishna with secret names, and then, their hearts devoted to Krishna, they returned to their own hermitages. Then Yudhiṣṭhira, accompanied by Krishna, went to Gajāhvaya and comforted his father and the ascetic Gāndhārī. With his father’s approval and Krishna’s consent, the mighty king ruled the kingdom righteously, as inherited from his father and grandfather. From her breasts flowed milk, and from her eyes, auspicious tears, as the mother of heroes repeatedly anointed her son. The people said to the queen: “By great fortune, your son, the remover of distress, has been restored after long absence, and will protect the circle of the earth. Surely, O queen, you have worshipped the Lord, the remover of the distressed, for those who meditate on Him with steady mind conquer even death, which is so hard to overcome.” Thus, as the people cherished him and his brothers, the joyful king mounted the elephant and, praised by all, entered the city. There, at every entrance, were splendid makara-archways, clusters of banana trunks, and heaps of betel nuts, all beautifully arranged. Each gateway was adorned with pitchers of water with lamps, garlands of young mango leaves, and strings of pearls hanging down. The city was decorated on all sides with ramparts, gateways, and houses adorned with golden ornaments, and with the shining spires of mansions. The courtyards, streets, and crossroads were clean and sprinkled with sandal paste, and offerings of parched rice, unbroken grains, flowers, fruits, and rice were everywhere. As the steadfast king passed along the road, the city women at various places brought auspicious items—rice, unbroken grains, curd, water, sacred grass, flowers, and fruits. Out of affection, the virtuous women offered their blessings as he entered his father’s palace, listening to their sweet, childish songs.