Absorbed in contemplation, the king journeyed to the great city of Kṛṣṇa, his mind fully immersed. There, in the pure Brahman that is Viṣṇu, he attained final dissolution. Yet, during his life, he enjoyed the world’s pleasures and performed his duties without any attachment, remaining free from bondage. In this way, O sage, he reached the supreme perfection that dispels all dissatisfaction and suffering. What more, then, could I tell you for the remedy of the threefold pains of existence? Yet, even after hearing this, my mind remains unsettled and does not easily find stability. Please, O bestower of honor, tell me how a man might endure such restlessness. In response, filled with joy as he recalled the deeds of that blessed king, the sage spoke. Just by hearing of him, your bewildered mind will find peace. The land of Bhārata is named after this noble soul, Ṛṣabha. He ruled righteously, delighting his subjects as a loving father would his children. Though engaged in many duties, his mind was absorbed in meditation on the essence of all the gods. Eventually, this wise king renounced his kingdom and journeyed to the hermitage of the sage Pulastya. There, he became an ascetic, devoting himself to the worship of Viṣṇu. Each morning, after bathing in pure water, O Nārada, he would perform his rituals. Then, arriving at the hermitage, he worshipped Vāsudeva, Lord of the Universe, offering fruits, flowers, tulasi leaves, and clear water in devotion. One morning, after his ritual bath and with his mind intent, he went to the riverbank, thirsty for water. There, as a deer was about to finish drinking, a sudden lion’s roar startled her. She leapt in fright to the bank, but was swept away by the strong current, engulfed by waves. In her distress and pain, she miscarried, and her body was carried away. Seeing the lost and suffering deer, the royal ascetic was moved with compassion. Day by day, he cared for the orphaned fawn, wandering the outskirts of the hermitage to gather grass for it in the thickets. Each morning, he would go far to find food, returning to the hermitage in the evening. The deer would sometimes wander near, sometimes far, and the king, having abandoned his kingdom, sons, and all relatives, devoted himself to caring for the gentle creature. He would wonder anxiously, “Has a wolf devoured him? Has he been struck down by tigers? Or has a lion killed him?” Yet whenever the deer returned, the king’s face would light up with joy and affection as he remained by its side. As time passed, the king’s life drew to its close. At the moment of his death, his gaze rested on the deer, and thus he left his body. Because he remembered his former life, he became agitated by the world, O best of the twice-born. Sustaining himself on dry grass and leaves, he lived thus until, casting off that body, he was born again as a twice-born who remembered his previous existence. Gifted with knowledge, he understood the true meaning of all the scriptures. Through wisdom gained by his own self, O great sage, he knew both the beginning and the end of things. Even after his initiation, he did not recite the teachings given by his teacher. And though addressed repeatedly, he spoke only a few dull words, remaining silent and withdrawn.