Blinded by fate, a foolish man gathers many wives, thinking he will find happiness, but in truth, he only brings upon himself sleepless nights and sorrow. Such is the delusion that overtakes him, making him act for his own suffering rather than for joy. At this moment, Sūta continued the tale: When Vyāsa and his son Śuka exchanged such words, Vyāsa was seized by a deep and troubling anxiety. He was unsure of what path to take, his heart weighed down by uncertainty. Tears, born of sorrow, streamed from his eyes; his body trembled, and his mind grew weary with distress. Śuka, seeing his father so overcome by grief and dejection, gazed at him with wide, wondering eyes. He spoke, marveling at the power of Māyā: “Ah! How fierce is the power of Māyā, who bewilders even the wise—Vyāsa, the very author of Vedānta, all-knowing and the knower of the Vedas! I do not understand what Māyā truly is, nor how she is so exceedingly difficult to overcome, that she can bewilder even the learned Vyāsa, son of Satyavatī. He who speaks the Purāṇas, who composed the Bhārata, who arranged the Vedas—even he has fallen into delusion. “I seek refuge in that Goddess, Māyā, who bewilders the entire world, even Brahmā, Viṣṇu, Śiva, and others—what to say of ordinary beings? Is there anyone in all the three worlds who is not deluded by her? By her power, even the greatest gods have been bewildered. How great is the strength, how immense the power created by the Goddess! Even the all-knowing Lord has been subdued by Māyā alone. The Purāṇikas say Vyāsa was born from the line of Viṣṇu, yet even he, like a merchant whose boat has broken, is now sunk in the ocean of delusion. Today, helpless like any ordinary man, he sheds tears; indeed, the power of Māyā is hard to abandon, even for the learned. “Who is this? Who am I? What is this confusion? In this body made of five elements, the notions of ‘father’ and ‘son’ arise. Truly, Māyā is powerful, the deluder even of magicians; overpowered by her, even Kṛṣṇa, the twice-born, has wept.” Sūta continued: Śuka, bowing in his mind to the Goddess—the cause of all causes, the mother of all gods including Brahmā and their sovereign—spoke to his father Vyāsa, who was born from the fire-sticks, now miserable and submerged in an ocean of grief. His words were full of reason and auspiciousness. “O highly fortunate son of Parāśara,” Śuka said gently, “you are yourself the giver of understanding to all. Why do you grieve, master, like an ordinary man ignorant of the truth? Today I am your son, but who knows who I was in a previous birth? Who am I, and who are you, O blessed one? Such thoughts only bring confusion, O great soul. “Be steadfast, awaken, and do not let your mind fall into despair. Recognize this as a net of delusion and abandon sorrow, O wise one. Hunger is appeased by food, not by seeing one’s son; thirst is quenched by drinking water, not by beholding one’s own child. The nose delights in fragrance, the ear in hearing; a woman’s pleasure is with a woman—so, being your son, what can I truly do for you? Even Ajīgarta once gave his own son to King Hariścandra, for the sake of cattle and sacrifice, selling him for a price. Wealth is the means to happiness, and happiness is gathered from riches; if you seek wealth out of greed, what can I, your son, do for you? “Instruct me with your wisdom, for you know the ways of destiny, O wise one, so that I may be completely freed from the fear of birth, O sage. Human birth is difficult to obtain in this world of action, O sinless one; and even among humans, to be born a Brāhmaṇa in a noble family is indeed rare. Yet the thought that I am bound does not leave my mind; it grows and becomes firm within the net of worldly desires.” Sūta narrated: Thus addressed by his son of boundless intellect, Vyāsa replied to Śuka, who was serene and intent on the fourth stage of life. Vyāsa said, “O blessed son, recite the Bhāgavata that I have composed—auspicious and concise, a Purāṇa esteemed by the wise as equal to the Veda. It contains twelve books and is endowed with the five characteristics; among all Purāṇas, it is the ornament. By merely hearing this Bhāgavata, knowledge of the real and unreal, and true understanding, arise; therefore, recite it, O wise one. “To Viṣṇu, who lies on the banyan leaf in the form of a child, by whom was I created in this state of childhood, though I am the conscious self? For what purpose, by whom, and with what means do I know all this? Thus pondering, I turned my thoughts to Mukunda, the great soul.” The Goddess then spoke in half a verse, conveying the essence of all: “Indeed, all this is only Myself; there is nothing else eternal.” This statement was previously realized by Viṣṇu in his mind. He wondered, “By whom was this true speech uttered?” and reflected deeply: “How can I know the one who will speak—the speaker—whether woman, man, or neither?” With such thoughts arising, the Bhāgavata was held in his heart. Again and again, with his mind fixed on that, he uttered the words; lying on the banyan leaf, he was filled with anxious thoughts. Then, the serene Goddess appeared before him, four-armed, holding conch, discus, mace, and lotus, auspicious and bearing divine weapons. She was adorned with celestial garments and divine ornaments, surrounded by companions resembling herself, radiant with her own powers. Manifesting before Viṣṇu of immeasurable brilliance, she smiled gently—Mahālakṣmī, auspicious-faced. Sūta concluded: Seeing her standing thus, the lotus-eyed one, his heart captivated, was astonished in that vast water—unsupported, wondrous to behold.