Once, with folded hands, you humbly asked, “What should I do?” In response, Kṛṣṇa Himself instructed you, “Nourish My devotees.” Accepting this divine command with reverence, you fulfilled it, and Hari was deeply pleased. In His grace, He gave you Liberation as a maidservant, and bestowed upon you Jñāna (Knowledge) and Vairāgya (Renunciation) as companions. In Vaikuṇṭha, you nourish devotees by your very own form. But when you descend to earth to care for the devotees, you manifest only a shadow of that celestial form. With Liberation, Knowledge, and Renunciation, you came to earth and joyfully remained here from the beginning of the Kṛta age through the end of Dvāpara. However, in the Kali age, Liberation was destroyed, afflicted by the rise of heresy and false doctrines. By your command, she quickly returned to Vaikuṇṭha. Thus, Liberation comes and goes in this world as you recall her, while Knowledge and Renunciation, whom you have made your sons, are ever protected by your side. But in this age of Kali, because of neglect, your two sons—Knowledge and Renunciation—have grown weak and old. Yet, do not be disheartened; 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. At that time, setting aside other duties and giving priority to great festivals, I will neither serve Hari nor spread you throughout the world. Yet, those who are accompanied by you in Kali—even if sinful—may go without fear to Kṛṣṇa’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. Neither ghosts, nor spirits, nor demons, nor even asuras can overpower those whose minds are endowed with devotion, not even by touch. Hari is not attained by austerities, nor by the Vedas, nor by knowledge or actions—only by devotion; the gopīs themselves are the proof of this truth. After thousands of human births, love for devotion arises; but in Kali, devotion—devotion alone—brings Kṛṣṇa to stand before you. Those who are hostile to devotion sink in all three worlds; even the great sage Durvāsā once suffered misery for insulting a devotee. Enough of vows, enough of pilgrimages, enough of yogas, enough of sacrifices, enough of discussions on knowledge—devotion alone grants liberation. Hearing these profound truths about herself, as revealed by Nārada, she—endowed with all 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, you have destroyed my affliction in an instant. But my two sons lack consciousness—therefore, awaken them, awaken them.” Hearing these words, Nārada was filled with compassion and began to awaken 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, the Vedānta, and the Gītā again and again, striving with great effort to rouse them. Somehow, they managed to rise, but they could not open their eyes; they yawned, weak as herons, their bodies gray and withered like dry wood. Seeing these two, emaciated by hunger and slipping back into sleep, the sage became thoughtful, pondering what he should do. “How does such sleep come? How does such old age arise?” Contemplating thus, Bhārgava began to recall Govinda. At that very moment, a voice from the sky spoke: “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 declare your action. When that virtuous act is performed, sleep and old age will depart from those two at once, and devotion will spread everywhere.” All present heard this clear voice from the sky, and Nārada was amazed, admitting, “This was not known to me.” He wondered, “Even with this celestial speech, the matter remains secret. What is that means, what action must be done, by which their purpose may be fulfilled? Where will the virtuous ones be found? How will they give the means? What must I do here, as spoken by the voice from the sky?” Leaving Knowledge and Renunciation there, Nārada set out, traveling from one holy place to another, seeking counsel from the great sages along his way. The account was heard by all, but after much deliberation, none could answer him. Some said it was impossible, others said it was too difficult to understand; some remained silent, and a few even fled. A great commotion arose in the three worlds, causing wonder everywhere; the Vedas, Vedānta, and Gītā were proclaimed aloud, trying to awaken the triad of devotion, knowledge, and detachment. But when these did not arise, people whispered from ear to ear, “There is no other means.” Even Nārada, the great yogi, could not understand; how then could others among men explain it? Thus, when questioned by groups of sages, it was declared to be inaccessible. Troubled by concern, Nārada journeyed to the Badarī forest, resolved to undertake austerity there for the sake of awakening Knowledge and Renunciation. At that time, before him appeared the great sages—the Sanaka Kumāras—shining like millions of suns. The foremost among them spoke, and Nārada, overjoyed, said, “Now, by great fortune, I have met you. O Kumāras, please speak quickly, showing compassion to me.