Yudhishthira, heavy-hearted and uncertain, turned to the venerable sage before him. “O revered one,” he said, “I do not know where my parents have gone. Nor do I know where my mother, Gandhari, grieving for her slain sons and devoted to austerity, has departed.” Then, like a helmsman guiding lost travelers across a vast and perilous sea, the illustrious sage Narada, foremost among the wise, addressed Yudhishthira. In a gentle yet profound voice, Narada spoke of the bonds that tie living beings to this world. “Just as cows are bound to a stake by their own ropes, so too are all creatures bound by names and words, carrying out their duties as offerings to the Lord. The unions and separations among people, like the gathering and scattering of playthings, depend solely on the will of the Divine Player.” He continued, “What you perceive as permanent or impermanent in this world is, in truth, neither; such perceptions are not worthy of grief, except for those whose hearts are clouded by attachment and delusion. Therefore, dear Yudhishthira, give up this weakness of heart, born of ignorance. Do not think, ‘How will those helpless and pitiable ones survive without me?’ For this body, made of the five elements, is subject to time, action, and the modes of nature. How can one who is himself seized by the serpent of mortality protect another? “In this world, the handless are food for the handed, the footless for the four-footed; the weak sustain the strong—life lives upon life. O King, the Supreme Lord, the one Self of all selves, dwells both within and without, perceiving Himself through His own power of illusion. See Him, for He is present everywhere. “This very Lord, creator and sustainer of beings, has now descended in the form of Time to bring about the destruction of the enemies of the gods. The divine task has been fulfilled; now He awaits what remains to be done. Until that time, you should observe and remain, as long as He stays in this world. “As for Dhritarashtra, he has gone south of the Himalayas to the hermitage of the sages, accompanied by his wife Gandhari and his brother. There flows the celestial Ganga, who divided herself into seven streams for the pleasure of the seven sages, and is thus called the river of seven streams. There, after bathing at the proper times and offering oblations into the fire according to sacred rules, he lives on water alone, with a tranquil mind, free from all desires. “He has conquered posture and breath, withdrawn his senses, and, through meditation on Hari, destroyed the impurities of passion and ignorance, becoming pure in the mode of goodness. Merging his mind into knowledge, dissolving the knower into the Self, and placing the Self in Brahman—just as space within a pot merges into the sky—he abides in that state. With the residue of illusion and its qualities destroyed, senses and mind restrained, having given up all food, he remains unmoving like a pillar. Let 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 her brother-in-law, 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 thus spoken, Narada, accompanied by Tumburu, ascended to the heavens. Yudhishthira, holding Narada’s words deep within his heart, relinquished his grief. At that time, Yudhishthira also 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 sacred land where the unconquered Lord resided, natural enemies such as men and beasts lived together as friends, along with swift deer and other creatures. There, the Supreme, non-dual, infinite Lord—whose knowledge is unfathomable—enacted the pastimes of a cowherd boy. He was seen searching for calves and friends, holding a morsel of food in His hand, just as before, and was beheld by Brahma, the creator. Upon seeing the Lord, Brahma quickly descended from his celestial vehicle, bowed to the earth as if casting down a golden staff, and touched Krishna’s two feet with the crowns of his four heads. With tears of joy, he performed a sacred abhisheka. Rising again and again, Brahma fell at Krishna’s feet, and after a long time, sat remembering the Lord’s greatness that he had previously witnessed. Then, rising slowly and wiping his eyes, with his neck bowed and palms joined in reverence, Brahma gazed upon Mukunda and, trembling, spoke in a choked, tearful voice. Meanwhile, Sūta continued the narration: When Arjuna had departed for Dvārakā, longing to see his relatives and to learn of the deeds of the illustrious Krishna, several months passed, yet Arjuna did not return. 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, driven by anger, greed, and falsehood. Dealings became mostly crooked, friendships tainted with deceit, and quarrels arose among fathers, mothers, friends, brothers, and married couples. When such dire omens appeared as Time advanced among people, the king, seeing the rise of greed and unrighteousness, spoke anxiously to his younger brother. He said, “Arjuna was sent to Dvārakā, longing to see his relatives and to learn of the deeds of the illustrious Krishna. Now seven months have passed, and your younger brother Bhīmasena has not returned; for what reason, I do not know at all. Has the time foretold by the divine sage now arrived, when the Lord intends to relinquish His earthly play? For by His grace we obtained wealth, kingdom, wives, life, family, subjects, victory over enemies, and even the worlds. “See these portents, O tiger among men—celestial, terrestrial, and bodily—terrible and ominous, appearing nearby, filling us with fear and confusion. My thighs, eyes, and arms are trembling again and again, and my heart is unsteady; surely, something inauspicious is approaching. The she-jackal, with fiery mouth, howls at the rising sun; and this dog is crying at me like one who is afraid. Animals are circling me on the left and the right, and, O best of men, I see my horses weeping.” Thus, the hearts of the Pandavas were filled with foreboding, as the signs of the age’s end grew ever more apparent.