In the sacred age of Kali, even those burdened by sin need not fear if they are accompanied by devotion; simply approaching Krishna’s temple is enough to grant them safety. For those whose hearts are ever filled with loving devotion, the impure and malevolent beings of the world pose no threat—not even in dreams. Ghosts, spirits, demons, and even the mighty asuras cannot overcome those whose minds are adorned with devotion; not even their touch can harm such souls. It is not by severe austerities, nor by the study of the Vedas, nor by knowledge or ritual action that one attains Hari—only through devotion is he realized. The gopīs of Vrindavan stand as living proof of this truth. After countless human births, love for devotion finally arises in the heart, but in this Kali age, it is devotion—devotion alone—that brings Krishna directly before his devotee. Those who are hostile to devotion find themselves sinking in misery throughout the three worlds. Even the great sage Durvāsā once suffered for insulting a devotee of the Lord. Enough, then, of vows, pilgrimages, yogas, sacrifices, and endless philosophical debates—devotion alone bestows true liberation. At this point, Sūta continued the tale: After hearing from Nārada the true nature of herself as determined by him, devotion—Bhakti herself, radiant with auspiciousness—spoke to the sage. She addressed Nārada with warmth, saying, “O Nārada, how blessed you are! Your love for me is unwavering. I shall never leave you; I will always remain in your heart. O compassionate sage, by your grace, my suffering vanished in an instant. But my two sons, Jñāna (knowledge) and Vairāgya (detachment), remain unconscious—please, awaken them!” Hearing Bhakti’s plea, Nārada was moved by compassion. He began to awaken the two, gently rubbing them with his fingertips. Placing his mouth close to their ears, he called out loudly, “O Jñāna, awaken quickly! O Vairāgya, awaken!” With repeated recitations from the Vedas, Vedānta, and the Gītā, he strove to rouse them. Through persistent effort, the two finally stirred. Yet, even as they struggled to rise, they could barely open their eyes. Weak as herons, their bodies gray and withered like dry wood, they yawned and soon slipped back into sleep, emaciated by hunger. Seeing them so frail and again overcome by slumber, Nārada became thoughtful, pondering what more he could do. “How has such sleep and old age come upon them?” he wondered, reflecting deeply and remembering Govinda. At that moment, a divine voice resounded from the sky, assuring him, “O sage, do not be distressed. Your efforts will bear fruit—there is no doubt. For this purpose, perform virtuous deeds. The noble and virtuous will proclaim your actions. When that noble act is accomplished, sleep and old age will depart at once from these two, and devotion will spread everywhere.” All present heard this clear celestial voice, and Nārada himself was amazed, admitting, “This was not known to me.” He asked, “Even with this heavenly message, the matter remains secret. What is the means, what action must be done to fulfill their purpose? Where will I find the virtuous ones, and how will they reveal the means? What must I do as instructed by the voice from the sky?” Sūta continued: Having settled the two where they were, Nārada set out, journeying from one holy place to another, seeking the wisdom of the great sages along his path. He recounted his experience to all he met, but after much deliberation, no one could offer a solution. Some declared it impossible, others said it was too difficult to understand; some fell silent, and a few even fled in confusion. A great commotion spread throughout the three worlds, stirring wonder and discussion. The teachings of the Vedas, Vedānta, and the Gītā were proclaimed everywhere, yet the triad of devotion, knowledge, and detachment did not arise together. People whispered among themselves, “There is no other way.” Not even Nārada, the master yogi, could fathom the answer—how then could others among men hope to know? Thus, when the groups of sages were questioned, it was agreed and declared that the way was inaccessible. Troubled and concerned, Nārada made his way to the sacred Badarī forest, resolved to undertake austerity for the sake of his quest. There, before him, appeared the great sages—the Sanaka Kumāras—radiant like millions of suns. The foremost among them spoke, and Nārada, filled with hope, addressed them: “By great fortune, I have met you, O Kumāras. Please, out of compassion, speak quickly and show your grace to me. You are all yogis, wise and learned, masters of the fivefold restraint, ancestors even of the earliest beings. You ever dwell in Vaikuntha, devoted to singing Hari’s praises, intoxicated by the nectar of his pastimes, living solely for his stories. For those whose mouths constantly utter the name of Hari as their only refuge, old age decreed by time does not trouble them. By merely a frown from you, even the two gatekeepers of Hari once fell at your feet, and by your compassion, they returned to his city. By the fortune of yoga, I have gained your sight; please, full of compassion, show your grace to me, who am destitute.” He continued, “That which was spoken by the bodiless voice—what is the means for it? Please explain in detail how it is to be practiced. How does happiness arise for those endowed with devotion, knowledge, and detachment? How can this be established among all, with love and effort?” The Kumāras replied, “Do not be anxious, O divine sage; let your heart be joyful. The means, easily accomplished, already exists here. O Nārada, you are truly blessed—the crest-jewel among the detached, always foremost among the servants of Sri Krishna, the sun among yogis.” Thus, the story unfolds: the path to awakening knowledge and detachment lies hidden, yet the answer is close at hand, accessible through the grace of the wise and the power of devotion itself.