As Bhīṣma lay on his bed of arrows, his mind turned with deep devotion to Lord Kṛṣṇa, recalling the divine moments of the great battle. He remembered Kṛṣṇa’s radiant face, shining with beads of sweat from the strain of war, His hair dusted with the smoke rising from the horses, and His armor gleaming even as my sharp arrows pierced His skin. In that vision, Bhīṣma prayed that Kṛṣṇa, who is his very Self, might always be present with him. He recalled another moment: in the midst of the battlefield, as Arjuna’s friend, Kṛṣṇa listened to Arjuna’s words and gently placed their chariot between the two armies. There, Kṛṣṇa stood, protecting the very lives of those who were their adversaries, even as He, by His presence, sapped their strength. Bhīṣma longed for his love to remain fixed on this friend of Pārtha, who is both protector and destroyer. Bhīṣma remembered how, when Arjuna saw his own kin arrayed against him and faltered, unwilling to fight, Kṛṣṇa dispelled his confusion with the supreme knowledge of the Self. Bhīṣma’s heart yearned for unwavering devotion to those lotus feet, the source of all wisdom. He thought of the moment when Kṛṣṇa, setting aside His own vow to keep His word to Bhīṣma, leapt from the chariot. His upper garment slipped from His shoulders, and, whip in hand, He charged forward like Hari rushing to vanquish an elephant, determined to protect His devotee. Bhīṣma remembered, too, the agony of battle—his body pierced by arrows, his bow shattered, blood streaming down, as the aggressor bore down to end his life. Even then, Bhīṣma sought refuge in Lord Mukunda, the liberator. As death approached, Bhīṣma prayed that his devotion might remain fixed on the Lord, whose beauty shone forth as He stood on Arjuna’s chariot, holding the reins and whip. Bhīṣma remembered how those who fell in battle, upon seeing Him, attained their true spiritual form. His thoughts drifted to the cowherd women of Vraja, whose graceful movements and playful laughter, sidelong glances full of love and feigned anger, all imitated Kṛṣṇa’s own delightful acts. Absorbed in Him, they lived in a state of divine madness and love. Bhīṣma recalled the royal assembly during Yudhiṣṭhira’s Rājasūya sacrifice, where, surrounded by sages and kings, only Kṛṣṇa was truly worthy of worship. There, Kṛṣṇa revealed His true self to Bhīṣma’s eyes. At last, Bhīṣma realized the supreme, unborn One, dwelling in the hearts of all beings, who is perceived differently by each according to their understanding—just as the one sun appears manifold in many reflections. Bhīṣma’s illusion of difference was dispelled. With his mind, speech, and sight fixed upon Lord Kṛṣṇa, Bhīṣma absorbed his self into the Supreme Self. Drawing in his breath, he became utterly still. All those present recognized that Bhīṣma was merging into the indivisible Brahman, and a profound silence fell, like the hush of birds at dusk. In that sacred moment, drums resounded, played by gods and humans alike. The virtuous praised Bhīṣma, and flowers showered down from the heavens upon the king. After Bhīṣma’s passing, Yudhiṣṭhira, the son of Bhārgava, performed the proper rites for the departed, yet his heart remained heavy with sorrow for some time. The assembled sages, their hearts delighted, praised Kṛṣṇa with secret names, and then, filled with devotion, returned to their hermitages. Yudhiṣṭhira, accompanied by Kṛṣṇa, went to Gajāhvaya and offered comfort to his father and the ascetic Gāndhārī. With his father’s blessing and Kṛṣṇa’s approval, the mighty king ruled the kingdom in righteousness, as inherited from his forefathers. His mother, the mother of heroes, overflowed with joy—her breasts flowed with milk and her eyes with auspicious tears as she repeatedly anointed her beloved son. The people rejoiced, saying to the queen, “By good fortune, your son, the remover of distress, has returned after long absence and will now protect the realm.” They praised her, saying, “Surely, O queen, you have worshipped the Lord, the remover of distress, for those who meditate upon Him with steady mind can conquer even death, so hard to overcome.” Cherished by the people and his brothers, the joyful king mounted a great elephant and, praised by all, entered the city. At every entrance, splendid makara-archways, clusters of banana trunks, and heaps of betel nuts were beautifully arranged. Each gateway was adorned with pitchers of water, lamps, garlands of young mango leaves, and strings of pearls. The city shone with ramparts, gateways, and golden-adorned houses, and the spires of mansions sparkled in the sunlight. Courtyards, streets, and crossroads were swept clean and sprinkled with sandal paste. Offerings of parched rice, unbroken grains, flowers, fruits, and rice were everywhere. As the steadfast king passed along the road, the city women brought auspicious items—rice, unbroken grains, curd, water, sacred grass, flowers, and fruits. Out of affection, these virtuous women offered their blessings as he entered his father’s palace, their sweet, childish songs filling the air. In that splendid palace, adorned with clusters of great jewels, the king was cherished by his father and dwelled there like a god in heaven. The beds were as white as milk foam, adorned with gold; the seats were most precious, and all the furnishings were made of gold. Crystal walls and great emeralds gleamed with jeweled lamps, decorated with gems from women’s ornaments. Delightful gardens with wondrous celestial trees were filled with the cooing of birds and the humming of intoxicated bees. Ponds with steps of lapis lazuli brimmed with lotuses, water lilies, and kumuda flowers, frequented by swans, cranes, and chakravaka ducks. King Uttānapāda, the royal sage, seeing and hearing of his son’s extraordinary glory, was filled with the highest wonder. Observing his son’s growth, beloved by the people and approved by the ministers, the king installed Dhruva as lord of the earth. Recognizing his own old age, the king, detached from worldly affairs, set out for the forest, contemplating the path of his soul. At this point, Śaunaka inquired, “O best of the righteous, after Yudhiṣṭhira defeated his enemies and secured his kingdom and daily needs with his brothers, what did he do next? How did he proceed?” Sūta replied, “Hari, the creator of the world, restored the Kuru dynasty, which had been destroyed by the fire of its own descendants. Having established Yudhiṣṭhira in his own kingdom, the Lord was pleased at heart. Having heard the words of Bhīṣma and Acyuta, and with his doubts dispelled by true knowledge, Yudhiṣṭhira ruled the earth, supported by his unconquerable brothers, just as Indra rules with the support of the gods. During his reign, the clouds rained as desired, the earth yielded all that was wished for, and the cows joyfully drenched the villages with abundant milk. The rivers, oceans, mountains, forests, and all herbs produced their fruits as desired for the king. No ailments, diseases, or troubles—whether from fate, other beings, or oneself—afflicted the people during the reign of this king, whose enemy was never born.