From her breasts, milk flowed, and from her eyes, auspicious tears streamed forth, as the mother of heroes tenderly and repeatedly anointed her son, Dhruva, with loving affection. The people, witnessing this reunion, joyfully addressed the queen: “By good fortune, your son—the remover of distress—has returned after a long absence, and will now protect the circle of the earth.” They continued, “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, so difficult to overcome.” Thus, as the people cherished Dhruva and his brothers, the joyful young king mounted the royal elephant. Amidst praise from all sides, he entered the city in triumph. At every entrance, splendid makara-archways stood tall, clusters of banana trunks and heaps of betel nuts were beautifully arranged, welcoming the procession. Each gateway was adorned with pitchers of water topped with lamps, garlands of fresh mango leaves, and strings of pearls hanging down, shimmering in the sunlight. The city itself was radiant, decorated on all sides with ramparts, gateways, and houses adorned with golden ornaments, and the shining spires of mansions. Courtyards, streets, and crossroads were immaculately clean, sprinkled with sandal paste, and offerings of parched rice, unbroken grains, flowers, fruits, and rice were placed everywhere, filling the air with fragrance and auspiciousness. As the steadfast king passed along the road, women of the city came forward at various places, offering auspicious items—rice, unbroken grains, curd, water, sacred grass, flowers, and fruits—to honor him. Out of affection, these virtuous women bestowed their blessings upon Dhruva as he entered his father’s palace, accompanied by the sweet, childish songs sung in his honor. In that splendid palace, adorned with clusters of great jewels, Dhruva was cherished exceedingly by his father and dwelled there like a god in heaven. The beds were white as milk foam, with golden ornaments; the seats were most precious, and all the furnishings were made of gold. Jeweled lamps shone upon crystal walls and great emeralds, adorned with gems from women’s ornaments. There were delightful gardens filled with wondrous celestial trees, where pairs of birds cooed and intoxicated bees sang their songs. 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, upon seeing and hearing of his son’s extraordinary glory, was filled with the highest wonder. Observing Dhruva grown, beloved by the people, and approved by the ministers, the king made him the lord of the earth. Recognizing his own old age, the lord of men, detached from worldly affairs, set out for the forest, contemplating the path of his soul. Meanwhile, in another sacred lineage, Śaunaka asked: “O best of the righteous, after Yudhiṣṭhira slew the enemies who coveted his kingdom and wealth, and his meals were secured 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 rightful kingdom, Hari was pleased at heart. Having heard the wise words of Bhīṣma and Acyuta, and with his doubts dispelled by true knowledge, Yudhiṣṭhira ruled the earth, supported by his unconquered brothers, like Indra, the king 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. Rivers, oceans, mountains, forests, and all plants produced their fruits as desired. No ailments, diseases, or troubles—whether from fate, other beings, or oneself—ever afflicted the creatures during the reign of the king whose enemy was never born. Hari, having stayed for a few months in Hastināpura to bring joy to his friends and to please his beloved sister, prepared to depart. After taking leave and being permitted, He embraced and bowed to them, ascended His chariot, honored and embraced by some. Present at His departure were Subhadrā, Draupadī, Kuntī, the daughter of Virāṭa, Gāndhārī, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Yuyutsu, Kripa, and the twins Nakula and Sahadeva. Vṛkodara, Dhaumya, and the women such as the daughter of the King of Matsya, bewildered and distraught, could not bear the separation from the wielder of Śārṅga. Freed from bad company by association with the virtuous, a wise person is unable to abandon it, once having heard the delightful fame of Him who is praised. How could the sons of Pṛthā, whose minds were fixed on Him, endure the separation—after seeing, touching, conversing, lying down, sitting, and eating with Him? All of them, their hearts rushing after Him, followed Him with unblinking eyes, bound by affection, wandering here and there. The women of the family restrained their streaming tears out of longing for Devakī’s son, thinking, “Let no inauspiciousness occur as He leaves the house.” Mṛdaṅgas, conches, bherīs, vīṇās, paṇavas, gomukhas, dhundhuris, ānakas, bells, and dundubhis resounded, filling the air with joyous music. The noble women of the Kurus, eager to see Kṛṣṇa, climbed to the tops of the palaces and showered Him with flowers, their eyes smiling with love and modesty. Guḍākeśa, the beloved of the dearest friend, took up a white parasol adorned with a string of pearls and a jeweled handle. Uddhava and Sātyaki, with wondrous fans, fanned Madhupati as He shone on the road, being showered with flowers. Here and there, true blessings were heard, uttered by the twice-born—some appropriate, some not—addressed to Him who is beyond qualities, whose essence is qualities. Among the women of the Kaurava king’s city, mutual conversations arose, captivating to all who heard, as their minds were absorbed in the Glorious One. They spoke: “Indeed, this very person is the ancient Being, who alone existed, undifferentiated in Himself, before the qualities, as the soul of the universe and its Lord, with His own power dormant in the night of dissolution. He, again, impelled by His own power, followed His own living energy—nature—desiring to create; wishing to assign names and forms to the formless Self, He, the maker of scripture, set it in motion.” Thus, the sacred stories of kings and the Supreme Lord unfolded, full of wonder, devotion, and auspiciousness.