Dhritarashtra, accompanied by his devoted wife Gandhari and his brother Vidura, journeyed south of the Himalayas to the sacred hermitage where the venerable sages resided. There, by the banks of the celestial Ganga—who, for the delight of the seven great sages, had divided herself into seven streams—they took up a life of simplicity and discipline. In this holy place, Dhritarashtra bathed at the prescribed times and performed fire offerings according to sacred injunctions, sustaining himself only on water. His mind became serene, free from all desires. Through mastery of posture and breath, withdrawal of his senses, and deep meditation on Lord Hari, Dhritarashtra cleansed himself of passion and ignorance, becoming established in the pure mode of goodness. He merged his mind into knowledge, dissolved the sense of individuality into the Self, and ultimately situated the Self in Brahman, just as space within a pot merges with the sky when the pot is broken. With all remnants of illusion and its qualities destroyed, his senses and mind restrained, and having renounced even food, Dhritarashtra sat unmoving like a pillar, intent on final renunciation of all actions. Narada, the divine sage, then spoke: “O King, know that in five days from now, Dhritarashtra will abandon his mortal body, which will be reduced to ashes. As her husband’s body is consumed by fire, the faithful Gandhari, accompanied by her brother-in-law Vidura, will stand outside, gazing upon her husband as he enters the flames.” Hearing these astonishing words, Vidura—his heart filled with both joy and sorrow—prepared to depart for the holy places. Having thus spoken, Narada, accompanied by Tumburu, ascended to the heavens. Yudhishthira, deeply absorbing Narada’s words, relinquished his grief. Meanwhile, Yudhishthira reflected on the wondrous events in Vraja, where, in Vasudeva—the Soul of all—unprecedented love blossomed among the people and their children. In that land, even natural enemies, men and beasts, lived together in friendship, for the unconquered Lord, Krishna, resided there, surrounded by swift deer and other creatures. There, the Supreme, non-dual, infinite Lord, whose knowledge is unfathomable, enacted His childhood pastimes as a cowherd boy—searching for calves and friends, a morsel of food in His hand. It was then that Brahma, the creator, beheld Him. Descending swiftly from his own vehicle, Brahma bowed to the earth as if casting down a golden staff, and with the crowns of his four heads, he touched Krishna’s feet, tears of joy streaming as he performed an abhisheka. Rising again and again, Brahma repeatedly fell at Krishna’s feet, recalling the Lord’s greatness he had once witnessed. Finally, rising slowly, wiping his eyes, and bowing his neck, Brahma gazed upon Mukunda. With joined palms, humility, and trembling voice choked with tears, he spoke in reverence. As these events unfolded, Sūta narrated: When Arjuna had departed for Dvārakā, longing to see his relatives and to learn of the deeds of the illustrious Krishna, several months passed without his return. O best of the Kurus, Yudhishthira began to see dreadful omens—signs that filled him with fear and confusion. He 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 crooked, friendships tainted with deceit, and quarrels erupted among fathers, mothers, friends, brothers, and married couples. Witnessing these dire omens and the rise of greed and unrighteousness, Yudhishthira spoke to his younger brother: “Arjuna was sent to Dvārakā, longing to see his relatives and to learn of Krishna’s deeds. Now, seven months have passed, and your younger brother Bhīmasena has not returned; I do not know the reason. Has the time foretold by the divine sage now arrived, when the Lord intends to relinquish His earthly play? By His grace, we obtained wealth, kingdom, wives, life, family, subjects, victory, and even the worlds. But see these portents, O tiger among men—celestial, terrestrial, and bodily—terrible and ominous, appearing nearby. “My thighs, eyes, and arms tremble again and again, my heart is unsteady; surely, something inauspicious is approaching. The she-jackal, with fiery mouth, howls at the rising sun, and this dog cries at me like one who is afraid. Animals circle me on both sides, my horses are weeping. The pigeon, a messenger of death, and the owl unsettle my mind, while the screeching of the night-owl portends sleeplessness and emptiness. The quarters are filled with smoke, the horizons tremble with the mountains, and thunderclaps resound with lightning. The wind blows harshly, scattering dust and darkness; the clouds rain blood dreadfully. “The sun’s brilliance is dimmed, planets collide in the sky, and the heavens seem ablaze with strange beings. Rivers and streams are agitated, lakes and minds as well; the fire does not blaze even with ghee. Calves do not drink from their mothers, nor do cows yield milk; they cry with tearful faces, and the bulls are not joyful. The deities seem to weep, sweat, and tremble; our towns, villages, gardens, lakes, and hermitages have lost their splendor and joy. What misfortune are they showing us? By these great omens, surely the earth has been deprived of the Lord’s feet, and of those unique persons endowed with His fortune, and has lost its prosperity.” As Yudhishthira pondered these signs, his mind disturbed, the one bearing the monkey-banner—Arjuna—returned from the city of the Yadus. Arjuna approached, but unlike before, he fell at Yudhishthira’s feet, his face lowered, tears dropping from his eyes. Seeing his brother so changed and troubled, Yudhishthira, in the midst of friends and recalling Narada’s words, questioned him with concern.