Awakened by the wise counsel of his younger brother Vidura, King Dhritarashtra found the strength to sever the powerful bonds of affection that had long held him to his kinsmen and his kingdom. Guided by Vidura along the path of renunciation, he departed from Hastinapura, leaving behind the entanglements of worldly life. His devoted wife, Gandhari—the noble daughter of Subala—faithfully followed her husband. She, too, set aside her staff of authority, relinquishing the last outward sign of attachment, as the virtuous do when the time comes to let go of all earthly ties. Meanwhile, Yudhishthira, known as Ajatashatru, having established peace throughout the land, performed sacred fire sacrifices. He honored the brahmins with gifts of sesame seeds, cows, land, and gold. After fulfilling these duties, he returned to his home to pay respects to his elders, but to his dismay, neither his parents nor Gandhari, the daughter of Subala, were to be found. There, he saw Sanjaya, seated in silence. Anxiously, Yudhishthira addressed him, “O Gavalgana, where is our aged father, now bereft of sight? And where is my mother, whose heart aches for her slain sons? Where has my uncle, our well-wisher, gone? Perhaps, thinking me lacking in wisdom and now left without kin, he has sought the Ganga with his wife, hoping to find relief from sorrow.” Overcome by worry, Yudhishthira’s heart was troubled. “After our father Pandu’s passing, our uncles protected all our friends and children from calamity. Where have those protectors gone now, leaving us behind?” he lamented. Suta, the narrator, tells us that Sanjaya, overcome with compassion and the pain of separation, was unable to reply. His heart was heavy, and he could not perceive the Lord within himself, so deep was his grief. Wiping away his tears and steadying himself, Sanjaya remembered the feet of the Lord and finally spoke to Ajatashatru. Yet, even Sanjaya confessed, “O delight of your lineage, I do not know the decision of your parents or of Gandhari, O mighty-armed one; I have been deceived by these great souls.” At that moment, the venerable sage Narada arrived, accompanied by the divine musician Tumburu. Yudhishthira and his brothers rose to greet and honor the sage, worshipping him with reverence. Yudhishthira then asked, “O revered one, I do not know where my parents have gone, nor where my mother, grieving for her slain sons and devoted to austerity, has departed.” In response, Narada, like a helmsman guiding a boat across the ocean, spoke words of wisdom. He said, “Just as cows are bound to a stake by their own ropes, so too are living beings bound by names and words, performing their duties as offerings to the Lord. The coming together and separation of people are like the assembly and dispersal of playthings, which depend on the will of the player; so too do these unions and partings occur by the will of the Lord. What you consider permanent or impermanent in this world is, in truth, neither so; there is no cause for grief, except due to attachment born of delusion. Therefore, O dear one, abandon this weakness of heart, which arises from ignorance. How could those helpless and pitiable ones survive without me? This body, made of the five elements, is subject to time, action, and the modes of nature. How can one who is himself in peril save another, just as someone seized by a serpent cannot rescue another? “The handless are food for the handed, the footless for the four-footed; among all, the weak are the sustenance of the strong—life lives upon life. O King, the Supreme Lord, the one Self of all selves, dwells both within and without, perceiving Himself by Himself. See Him, who appears through the power of His own illusion. This very Lord, the creator and sustainer of beings, has now descended in the form of Time, to bring about the destruction of the enemies of the gods. His divine task is accomplished; now He remains, awaiting what is yet to be done. Until then, you should simply observe, as long as the Lord remains here. “As for Dhritarashtra, along with his brother and Gandhari his wife, they have journeyed south of the Himalayas to the hermitage of the sages. There flows the celestial Ganga, who divided herself into seven streams for the pleasure of the seven sages, and is thus known as the river of seven streams. There, after bathing at the proper times and offering oblations into the fire as prescribed, Dhritarashtra lives on water alone, with a tranquil mind, free from all desires. He has mastered posture and breath, withdrawn his six senses, and through meditation on Hari, has destroyed the impurities of passion and ignorance, becoming pure in the mode of goodness. Merging the mind into knowledge, dissolving the knower of the field into the Self, and placing the Self in Brahman—just as space within a pot merges into the sky—he abides in unity. “With the last traces of illusion and its qualities destroyed, senses and mind restrained, and having given up all food, he remains unmoving like a pillar. May there be no obstacle for him, who has renounced all actions. O King, from today, on the fifth day hence, he will abandon his body, which will be reduced to ashes. As her husband’s body burns in the fire, the faithful Gandhari, together with Vidura, will stand outside, gazing upon her husband as he enters the flames. Hearing this astonishing news, O descendant of the Kurus, Vidura, filled with both joy and sorrow, will depart from there to visit holy places.” Having spoken thus, Narada and Tumburu ascended to heaven. Yudhishthira, holding Narada’s words in his heart, let go of his grief. In the midst of these happenings, Yudhishthira marveled, “What is this, that seems so wonderful? In Vasudeva, the Soul of all, unprecedented love is increasing among the people of Vraja and their children.” In that land where the unconquered Lord resided, even natural enemies—men and beasts—lived together like friends, and swift deer mingled peacefully with all. There, the Supreme, non-dual, infinite Lord, whose knowledge is unfathomable, enacted His childhood pastimes as a cowherd boy, searching for calves and friends, holding a morsel of food in His hand, just as before. The creator Brahma beheld Him in this wondrous form. Descending swiftly from his own vehicle, Brahma bowed down to the earth as if casting down a golden staff, and touched the Lord’s two feet with the crowns of his four heads, performing an abhisheka with tears of joy. Rising again and again, Brahma repeatedly fell at Krishna’s feet, and then sat, reflecting on the greatness he had witnessed. Slowly rising and wiping his eyes, with his neck bowed, Brahma gazed upon Mukunda. With folded palms, full of humility and composure, trembling and speaking in a choked, tearful voice, he offered his praises. Meanwhile, as these events unfolded, Suta continued the tale: When Arjuna departed for Dvaraka, longing to see his relatives and to learn of the deeds of the illustrious Krishna, several months passed, yet Arjuna did not return. Then, O best of the Kurus, ominous signs of dreadful appearance began to be seen. Yudhishthira observed the fierce course of Time, the reversal of natural order, and the worsening conduct of people—now driven by anger, greed, and falsehood. The world itself seemed to be changing, as if heralding a great transition.