Slowly, he rose to his feet, gently wiping the tears from his eyes. His neck bowed in humility, he fixed his gaze upon Mukunda, the Supreme Lord. With palms joined reverently, trembling and struggling to contain his emotion, he spoke in a voice choked with feeling, tears streaming down his face. Meanwhile, Sūta continued: After Arjuna had departed for Dvārakā, eager to see his beloved relatives and to hear of the deeds of the illustrious Kṛṣṇa, many months slipped by without his return. O best of the Kurus, during this time, dreadful and ominous signs began to manifest, casting a shadow over the land. King Yudhiṣṭhira observed the fierce workings of Time itself: the natural order seemed to unravel, and people’s conduct grew increasingly corrupt—driven by anger, greed, and falsehood. Honesty became rare, relationships soured with deceit, and quarrels erupted among fathers, mothers, friends, brothers, and even between husband and wife. As these dire omens multiplied and unrighteousness rose among the people, the king, deeply troubled by the surge of greed and loss of virtue, addressed his younger brother. “Arjuna was sent to Dvārakā,” Yudhiṣṭhira said, “longing to see our relatives and to learn of the great deeds of Kṛṣṇa. Yet now, seven months have passed, and Bhīmasena, your younger brother, has not returned. I do not know the reason for this delay.” He wondered aloud, “Has the time foretold by the divine sage arrived, when the Lord will withdraw His earthly presence? For it was by His grace that we gained everything—wealth, a kingdom, wives, life itself, family, subjects, victory over enemies, and even the worlds. But now, look at these terrible portents—celestial, terrestrial, and bodily—appearing all around us, filling our hearts with fear and confusion.” “My thighs, eyes, and arms tremble again and again,” he continued, “and my heart is restless. Surely, something inauspicious is drawing near. The she-jackal, her mouth aflame, howls at the rising sun; and this dog, O dear one, cries out at me in fear. Animals circle me on both sides, and I see my horses weeping.” He went on, “A pigeon, messenger of death, and an owl, unsettle my mind. The night-owl screeches, foretelling sleeplessness and emptiness. The quarters are filled with smoke, the horizons and mountains tremble, and, O dear one, thunder and lightning crash together in the sky. The wind blows harshly, scattering dust and darkness, and the clouds rain blood everywhere in a most dreadful way.” “See how the sun’s brilliance is dimmed, and the planets clash in the heavens. The sky seems ablaze, crowded with strange beings. Rivers and streams are agitated, as are the lakes and even people’s minds. Fire refuses to blaze, even when offered ghee. What does this time portend?” He described further, “Calves do not drink from their mothers, nor do cows yield milk; the cows cry with tearful faces, and the bulls are joyless. The deities themselves seem to weep, sweat, and tremble. Towns, villages, gardens, lakes, and hermitages have all lost their splendor and joy. What misfortune are these signs revealing to us?” “I think, by these great omens, that the earth has been deprived of the Lord’s sacred feet and the presence of those blessed by His fortune, and so has lost its prosperity.” As Yudhiṣṭhira reflected in this way, his mind disturbed by the many portents, the mighty hero with the monkey-banner, Arjuna, finally returned from the city of the Yadus. Yet Arjuna’s demeanor was not as it once was. He fell at Yudhiṣṭhira’s feet, his face downcast, droplets falling from his lotus-like eyes. Seeing his brother so changed—his heart troubled, his appearance altered—the king, surrounded by friends and recalling the words of the sage Nārada, questioned him gently. “O Arjuna,” Yudhiṣṭhira asked, “are all our relatives in Anarta city—the Madhus, Bhojas, Dasharhas, Ahukas, Satvatas, Andhakas, and Vrishnis—living happily? Is our maternal grandfather Shura and his wife well? Is our uncle Anakadundubhi and his younger brothers safe?” He continued with concern, “Are the seven sisters, their husbands, our other maternal uncles and their sons, and their daughters-in-law, led by Devaki herself, all well? Is King Ahuka alive, and his son and younger brother? Are Hridika, his son, Akrura, Jayanta, Gada, and Sarana well? Are Shatrujit and others safe? Is Balarāma, Lord of the Satvatas, living happily?” He asked further, “Is Pradyumna, the great chariot-warrior of the Vrishnis, well? Is Aniruddha, deep in his passions, growing and blessed? Are Sushena, Charudesha, Samba—the son of Jambavati—and the foremost of the Karsnis, with their sons like Rishabha, all well? And likewise, are the followers of Shauri—Shrutadeva, Uddhava, Sunanda, Nanda, Shirishanya, and the other chief Satvatas—safe?” “Are all those who depend on the arms of Balarāma and Kṛṣṇa well? Do our friends remember us and wish us well? Is Govinda, the Lord, devoted to the Brahmanas and affectionate to His devotees, living happily in the city of Sudharma, surrounded by friends?” “For the welfare, safety, and prosperity of the worlds, does the primeval, infinite friend, the Supreme Person, remain in the ocean of the Yadu dynasty? When the Yadus are honored in their own city, protected by many strong arms, they rejoice in supreme bliss like great heroes. By serving at His feet—their greatest fortune—Satyā and the other sixteen thousand women, surpassing even the celestial goddesses in beauty, receive blessings worthy of Indra’s beloveds.” He continued, “The foremost of the Yadus, fearless and mighty, forcibly enter the Sudharmā assembly hall—fit for the best of gods—having brought it to their city. My dear brother, are you free from illness? For you seem to have lost your radiance. Have you failed to obtain something, been disrespected, or simply been away too long?” Thus, with a heart full of concern and love, Yudhiṣṭhira anxiously questioned Arjuna, seeking to understand the cause of his sorrow and the meaning of the ominous signs that had unsettled his kingdom.