As Hari journeyed from place to place, the people everywhere received Him with due honor and reverence. When evening approached, He turned His face toward the west, seeking the lush pastures of the land of cows, beloved by Him and dear to His heart. At that time, two celestial beings, filled with gratitude and humility, addressed the Supreme Lord: “O Lord, please allow us, Your servants and attendants, to depart. By the grace of the sage, we have been blessed with the rare sight of You, the Lord Himself.” They prayed further: “May our words be devoted to recounting Your glories, may our ears ever delight in hearing Your stories, may our hands be engaged in Your service, and our minds rest at Your lotus feet. Let our heads bow in constant remembrance to You, the shelter of the universe, and may our eyes always seek the sight of the holy ones who embody Your presence.” Śuka then said: As the two praised Him in this way, the Lord of Gokula, who was still bound to the mortar by the rope, smiled graciously and spoke to the assembled celestial beings. The Blessed Lord said, “I already knew, as revealed by the compassionate sage, that you were deprived of your former status by the words of those blinded by wealth, and thus you have now received My grace. For those who are virtuous, even-minded, and wholly devoted to Me, no bondage arises from seeing Me—just as the sun does not bind the eyes of men.” The Lord continued, “Now go to your own abode, O Nalakūbara. The supreme devotion you both desired for Me has arisen in your hearts.” Thus instructed, the two celestial beings circumambulated the Lord, bowing again and again. They respectfully took leave of the mortar to which the Lord was bound and departed toward the north. Śuka continued: In this way, the Supreme Lord is revealed only through devotion; without such devotion, even the wise cannot behold Him. His actions, His birth, and all such events are not governed by the ordinary laws that bind others; these are ascribed to Him by Māyā, only to dispel the misunderstanding of agency. This narration, Śuka explained, belongs to the kalpa of Brahmā, which is described as having distinctions, within which the general process of creation—both primary and secondary—takes place. “Now,” he said, “I will explain the measure of time, the form that marks a kalpa, and, as before, describe the Padma Kalpa—listen attentively.” At this point, Śaunaka spoke: “O Sūta, you have told us that Vidura, the foremost devotee, left behind his most difficult-to-abandon relatives and wandered through holy places on earth. The conversation between Vidura, son of Vyāsa, and the sage Kauśārava was rooted in spiritual inquiry. When questioned, that great soul spoke the truth to Vidura. Please tell us, gentle one, what Vidura did, and for what reason he renounced his family and later returned.” Sūta replied: “What the great sage answered when King Parīkṣit asked him, I will now relate to you—listen, as it follows the king’s questions.” The king had asked, “In which action of the Lord, the maker of the universe and my own self, was His fame increased by Kṛṣṇa? Please describe this.” Śrī Nārada then narrated: “When the gods, strengthened by Kṛṣṇa, defeated the demons in battle, the vanquished demons sought refuge with Maya, the supreme master of illusion. Maya, the powerful one, constructed three formidable cities—one of gold, one of silver, and one of iron—joined by subtle means and protected by defenses unimaginable. With these cities, the armies of the demons, along with their lords, remembering their ancient enmity, began to destroy the three worlds, O king. In fear, the rulers of the worlds, along with their lords, approached the Lord, bowed down, and pleaded, ‘Protect us, O God! We are being destroyed by the inhabitants of Tripura.’ The Lord, favoring them, assured, ‘Do not fear,’ and, stringing an arrow to His bow, released a weapon upon the cities. Arrows blazing like fire arose from the solar orb; like rays of light, they were unseen as they approached the cities. Struck by these, all the inhabitants of the cities perished and fell. But Maya, the great yogī, gathered them and cast them into a well of nectar. Touched by the nectar of immortality, they rose up, strong as thunderbolts and brimming with energy, splitting the clouds like flashes of lightning. Seeing his resolve broken and Vṛṣadhvaja disheartened, the Lord Viṣṇu devised another means at that place. At that time, Brahmā became the calf, Viṣṇu himself became the cow, and, entering Tripura at the right moment, they drank the nectar from the well. Though the demons saw this, they did not stop it, being deluded. Realizing this, the great yogī Maya spoke to the guardians of the nectar, smiling and free from sorrow. He remembered those afflicted by grief and the workings of destiny, for among gods, demons, humans, or any others—none here is truly independent. What is ordained for oneself or another cannot be averted by either; fate prevails. Then, with his own powers, he performed the principal act of Shiva. Through righteousness, knowledge, detachment, prosperity, austerity, learning, and action, he manifested the chariot, charioteer, banner, horses, bow, armor, arrows, and all other accoutrements. Fully armed, mounting the chariot, he took up the bow and arrow; fitting the arrow to the bow, in a single moment, the Lord of Victory prepared Himself. With that arrow, O King, Hara burned the three impregnable cities. In the heavens, drums resounded, and the skies were crowded with hundreds of celestial vehicles. The gods, sages, ancestors, and perfected beings, filled with joy, showered flowers and proclaimed victory, while the hosts of Apsaras danced in delight. Thus, having burned the three cities, the Lord—the destroyer of cities—praised by Brahmā and others, returned to His own abode. In this way, the deeds of Hari, who by His own power playfully imitates the ways of mortals, are sung by the sages. What more can I say? These stories purify the world.” Sūta continued: Approaching the lands of Ānarta and His own prosperous regions, the Lord blew His resounding conch, as if dispelling the sorrow of the people. That conch, white-bellied and high-pitched, touched by the reddish lower lip of the mighty Lord, when blown in His lotus-like hand, sounded like the call of a swan in a pond of lotuses. Hearing that resounding, fear-dispelling blast, all the people, eager to see their Lord, came forth. Gathered there, their strength renewed, they honored Him as one would a lamp in darkness; ever content and fulfilled in themselves, simply by His very presence.