Listen, dear one, to the wondrous tale as revealed in the sacred verses. There exists a knowledge, pure and beyond all qualities, so subtle that even the mighty Hari, Hara, and the other gods cannot easily attain it. This wisdom, most cherished by the virtuous, is realized through deep meditation and arises within the cave of the heart for those who faithfully listen to the pure Purāṇa. Such is its power that, having obtained the rare human birth—complete in all faculties, a veritable boat for crossing the vast ocean of worldly existence—if one finds a reciter and yet neglects to listen, alas, that person is deceived by fate and loses the happiness bestowed by the Purāṇa. Indeed, there are those who, though blessed with human ears, are drawn to the gossip and slander of others, but do not listen to the nectar-like Purāṇa, which grants all the aims of life. How can such dull-witted souls not be lost in this world? The sages, eager for deeper understanding, then addressed Sūta: “Gentle one, tell us—in which wife of Vyāsa was his son Śuka born? How was this excellent Purāṇa recited, and by whom?” Their curiosity grew, for they had heard that Śuka was not born from a womb, and also that he was born of a celestial. They pressed Sūta, “There is great doubt in this—please dispel it, O wise one. It is said that Śuka was a yogi even in the womb; how did he come to recite this extensive Purāṇa?” Sūta responded with reverence: “Once, on the banks of the sacred Sarasvatī, Vyāsa, son of Satyavatī, witnessed a remarkable scene in his hermitage. He saw two young birds, and was filled with wonder. In their nest lay a newly hatched chick—freed from its shell, charming to behold, with a copper-colored beak and auspicious limbs, though still without feathers. The two parent birds, diligent and devoted, tirelessly brought food and placed it into the chick’s open beak. With joy, they rubbed their bodies against its tiny limbs, and lovingly kissed its beautiful face. Vyāsa was deeply moved by this display of affection. He pondered, ‘If even among animals such love for their offspring is seen, what wonder is there that humans, desiring the fruits of service, should do the same?’ He mused further, ‘Will these birds arrange a marriage for their chick, and rejoice at the sight of its bride’s face? When old age comes, will the son serve his parents for merit, as is proper for birds? Or, having acquired wealth, will he satisfy his parents? Will he perform their funeral rites, as prescribed? Will he go to Gayā and offer ancestral offerings, carrying out the ritual of offering water for the departed?’ Vyāsa reflected that in this world, the highest happiness is said to be the embrace and nurturing of a son. For one without a son, there is neither destiny nor heaven; apart from a son, there is no means to attain the next world. Manu and other sages have declared in the scriptures of dharma that one with a son attains heaven, but one without a son does not. This is seen directly and is not merely inferred: one with a son is freed from sin—this is the eternal teaching. Even when ill and at the time of death, lying on the ground, a man without a son is troubled and filled with anxious thoughts. He wonders, ‘I have great wealth in my house, many vessels, a beautiful mansion—who will inherit them?’ At the time of death, his mind wanders in sorrow; his fate is miserable, for his mind is utterly confused. Having considered these many thoughts, Vyāsa sighed deeply and often, becoming despondent. After deep reflection and firm resolve, he set out to perform austerities near Mount Meru. He pondered, ‘Which deity should I worship, who is skilled in granting boons and bestows desired objects? Should it be Viṣṇu, Rudra, Brahmā, the Sun, Gaṇeśa, Kārtikeya, Agni, or Varuṇa?’ As he was thinking thus, the eminent sage Nārada, holding his vīṇā and composed in mind, arrived by chance. Vyāsa was greatly delighted to see him. He offered water for washing and a seat, and inquired after Nārada’s well-being. Nārada, hearing Vyāsa’s concern, asked, ‘Why are you troubled, Dvaipāyana? Tell me.’ Vyāsa replied, ‘A man without a son has no future, nor happiness in his mind; for that reason I am distressed and keep thinking about it again and again. Today I wish to propitiate by austerity some deity who grants the desired boon; thus, troubled by this thought, I have come to you for refuge. You are all-knowing, great sage, so tell me quickly, O ocean of compassion: to which god should I turn for refuge, who will grant me a son?’ Sūta continued: Thus questioned by Vyāsa, Nārada, knower of the Vedas, spoke with great affection about Kṛṣṇa. Nārada said, ‘O fortunate son of Parāśara, what you ask me here was once asked by my own father to Madhusūdana. Seeing Hari absorbed in meditation, my father was amazed and questioned the lord of the gods, Śrīnātha, the master of the world.’ ‘He beheld Hari shining with the Kaustubha gem, holding conch, discus, and mace, clad in yellow garments, four-armed, and marked with the Śrīvatsa on his chest. He saw Vāsudeva, the lord of the universe, the cause of all worlds, the god of gods, the teacher of the world, engaged in great austerity.’ Then Brahmā asked, ‘O god of gods, lord of the universe, master of past, present, and future, why are you performing austerity, Janārdana? On whom are you meditating? This amazement of mine is very great: you are the lord of all the worlds, yet you are engaged in meditation—what could be more astonishing than this?’ Thus, the story unfolds, revealing the depth of Vyāsa’s yearning, the wisdom of Nārada, and the wondrous mystery of divine meditation.