In those troubled times, true Vaiṣṇavism was nowhere to be found—not even among the revered leaders of the various traditions. The very essence of reality, the heart of dharma, seemed to have vanished everywhere. Yet, such was the nature of the age; who could be blamed for this decline? Even so, the Lotus-eyed Lord, ever compassionate, endured patiently, remaining close by, silently witnessing all. As these words were spoken, those gathered were filled with wonder. Then Bhakti herself spoke again, her voice gentle yet powerful, “Let this too be heard, O Śaunaka.” Turning to the sage, she said, “O sage among the gods, you are truly blessed. By my good fortune, you have come here. To behold the virtuous in this world is to gain all perfections.” She continued, her praise ringing with devotion: “Victory, victory to Him whose very body is the foundation of illusion, who with but a single word brings forth all speech! By His grace, Dhruva attained the eternal state. I bow to the son of Brahmā, the vessel of all that is auspicious.” At this point, the second chapter began, shining with the glory of Śrīmad Bhāgavatam. Nārada, moved by Bhakti’s distress, sought to relieve her sorrow. “Child,” he said gently, “why do you grieve in vain, so troubled by anxiety? Remember the lotus feet of Śrī Kṛṣṇa, and your sorrow will vanish.” He reminded her, “It was He who rescued Draupadī from her calamity among the Kauravas and protected the cowherd women. But where is that Kṛṣṇa now?” Yet Nārada assured her, “Bhakti, you are dearer to Him than life itself. Whenever you call, the Lord comes, even to the humblest of homes.” He explained, “In the first three ages, it is truth, knowledge, and detachment that lead to liberation. But in this age of Kali, only Bhakti—only devotion—can grant union with Brahman. Knowing this, the Conscious One created you, Bhakti, as a beautiful form of supreme bliss, beloved of Kṛṣṇa.” Nārada recalled, “With folded hands, you once asked, ‘What shall I do?’ And Kṛṣṇa instructed you: ‘Nourish my devotees.’ You accepted this command, and Hari was pleased with you. He gave you Mukti as your maidservant, and these two—Jñāna and Vairāgya—as your companions.” “In Vaikuṇṭha,” he said, “you nourish by your own true form. But on earth, to sustain the devotees, you manifest a shadow-form. With Mukti, Jñāna, and Vairāgya, you came to earth and remained in great joy from the age of Kṛta through to the end of Dvāpara.” “But in Kali,” Nārada continued, “Mukti was destroyed, afflicted by heresy, and by your command, she quickly returned to Vaikuṇṭha. Liberation comes and goes here as you recall, and these two, whom you made your sons, remain protected by your side.” “Yet,” he said, “neglected in this age of Kali, your two sons have grown weak and old. But do not worry—I will find a way. O beautiful one, there is no age like Kali. In this age, I will establish you in every home, among all people.” He declared, “Setting aside other duties and focusing on great festivals, at that time, I will not serve Hari directly, nor will I spread you throughout the world. But those who are accompanied by you in this Kali age—even if they are sinful—will go without fear to Krishna’s temple. For those whose hearts are always filled with devotion in the form of love, impure beings cannot harm them—not even in dreams. No ghosts, spirits, demons, or even asuras can overpower those whose minds are endowed with devotion, not even by touch.” Nārada emphasized, “Neither austerities, nor the Vedas, nor knowledge or actions, can bring one to Hari—only devotion can do so. The gopīs are the proof of this truth. After thousands of human births, love for devotion arises; but in Kali, devotion itself brings Krishna before you.” He warned, “Those who are hostile to devotion sink in all three worlds; even Durvāsā once suffered misery for insulting a devotee. Enough of vows, pilgrimages, yogas, sacrifices, and debates on knowledge—devotion alone grants liberation.” Hearing Nārada reveal the true nature of her being, Bhakti, radiant with auspiciousness, spoke to him: “O Nārada, how blessed you are! Your love for me is unwavering. I will never leave you; I will always remain in your heart. O compassionate sage, by you my affliction was destroyed in an instant. But my two sons lack consciousness—therefore, awaken them, awaken them.” Moved by her plea, Nārada was filled with compassion. He began to rouse the two, gently rubbing them with his fingertips. Placing his mouth near their ears, he called out loudly, “O Jñāna, awaken quickly! O Vairāgya, awaken!” He recited the Vedas, Vedānta, and the Gītā repeatedly, striving to awaken them. With great effort, they slowly began to rise, but their eyes remained closed. They yawned, weak as herons, their bodies gray and withered like dry wood. Seeing them so emaciated by hunger and again lapsing into sleep, Nārada became thoughtful, pondering what more he could do. “Ah,” he wondered, “how does such sleep come, and how does such old age arise?” Contemplating thus, Bhārgava began to recall Govinda. At that very moment, a voice resounded from the sky: “O sage, do not be distressed. Your effort will bear fruit—there is no doubt. For this purpose, O sage among the gods, perform virtuous deeds. The noble ones, adorned with virtue, will proclaim your action. When that virtuous act is performed, sleep and old age in those two will depart at once, and devotion will spread everywhere.” All present heard the clear voice from the sky, and Nārada was amazed. “This was not known to me,” he admitted. He then wondered aloud, “Even with this celestial speech, the matter remains a secret. What is that means, what action must be done, by which their purpose may be fulfilled?