The cosmic form of Viṣṇu is a wondrous mystery, and within its vastness, the very year is spoken of as its phallus, while Mitra is established at the base, near the anus. At the tail of this celestial being reside Agni and Mahendra, followed by Kaśyapa and then Dhruva; the four stars of the Śiśumāra constellation, it is said, never set and are ever steadfast in the heavens. Thus, the arrangement of the earth, its luminous bodies, continents, oceans, and mountains has been described. The forms of the regions, the rivers, and all the beings who dwell within them have also been declared. Now, let there be a brief recapitulation. O noble one, from the cosmic form of Viṣṇu arose the earth itself, shaped like a lotus, together with its mountains, oceans, and all else. All that shines in the sky—the luminaries—are Viṣṇu; the worlds themselves are Viṣṇu; the forests, mountains, directions, rivers, and oceans—all are but manifestations of Him. Whatever exists or does not exist, O best of Brahmins, is nothing but Viṣṇu. The Blessed Lord is of the nature of pure knowledge; He is not of material form, nor is He a substance in the ordinary sense. Therefore, all distinctions—such as mountains and oceans—are but manifestations of knowledge. When actions are exhausted and knowledge becomes pure, free from defects, and true to its own nature, then, like the effortless fruits of a wish-fulfilling tree, distinctions among objects no longer arise. Is there any substance anywhere, O twice-born, that is without beginning, middle, or end, and remains always the same? If something is transformed and does not remain as it was, how can its true nature be established? For example, earth becomes a pot, the pot becomes shards, the shards become dust, and from dust, atoms arise. People, limited by their own understanding shaped by their actions, perceive these distinctions—yet what is the true substance in all this? Therefore, O twice-born, there is never, at any time or place, any real substance apart from consciousness. Consciousness alone, appearing manifold due to the diversity of actions and thoughts, is regarded as many. Knowledge that is pure, spotless, free from desire, anger, greed, and all attachments—this alone is eternal, one, and supreme. That is Vāsudeva, the highest Lord, and there is nothing apart from Him. Thus, the true nature of existence has been explained: knowledge is real, all else is unreal. As for worldly dealings, their basis has also been described, for they are supported by the world. Sacrifice, the sacrificial animal, fire, oblation, priests, soma, the gods, heaven, and desire—these and other fruits seen on the path of ritual action, along with enjoyments of earth and beyond, are all results of such actions. Whatever I have told you of this world, all proceeds everywhere under the power of action. Knowing this, one should perform that steadfast, unchanging act by which one attains Vāsudeva. At this point, Śrī Maitreya spoke: “O Lord, you have properly explained, just as I asked, the arrangement of the earth, oceans, rivers, and the positions of the planets. You have also shown how this threefold world is established upon Viṣṇu as its foundation, and you have explained the ultimate truth, especially regarding the primary principle. Now, whatever the Blessed Lord spoke about King Bharata, I wish to hear his story. Please recount it to me. “That King Bharata once dwelled at Śālagrāma, always absorbed in yoga, with his mind constantly fixed on Vāsudeva. By the power of that holy place, he always meditated on Hari. Yet, O twice-born, tell me how it happened that he did not attain liberation and was born again. And what did he do in his next birth as a brāhmaṇa, that great-souled Bharata? O best of sages, please tell me all of this.” Paraśara replied: In Śālagrāma, that blessed king, whose mind was devoted to the Lord, dwelled for a long time, O Maitreya. Excelling in virtues such as nonviolence and others, he attained the highest state of self-control over his mind. He uttered only the names: Yajñeśa, Acyuta, Govinda, Mādhava, Ananta, Keśava, Kṛṣṇa, Viṣṇu, and Hṛṣīkeśa—nothing else did the king say. He spoke nothing else, not even in dreams; apart from these divine names, he thought of nothing else. He performed the offering of fuel, flowers, and sacred grass for divine rites, but, detached and absorbed in yoga, he did no other actions. Once, for the purpose of consecration, he went to a great river. There he bathed and performed the customary rituals that follow bathing. At that time, a thirsty, pregnant doe came alone from the forest to the holy riverbank to drink. As she was about to drink, a mighty roar of a lion resounded, terrifying all living creatures. Frightened, the doe suddenly leapt toward the riverbank; but due to her excessive leap, her unborn young fell into the river. The king seized the fawn, which had fallen from the womb and was being swept away by the swift current. Due to the trauma of miscarriage and the strenuous leap, O Maitreya, the doe fell and died. Seeing the doe had perished, the royal ascetic took the fawn and returned to his own hermitage. Day by day, the king cared for and nourished the fawn, and thus it grew. He would wander around the hermitage, gathering grass in the thickets; whenever the fawn went far, it would return again, out of fear of wild beasts. In the morning it would go far, and in the evening return to the hermitage, just as a horse does, becoming attached to Bharata’s hermitage. The king’s mind became wholly absorbed in the fawn, whether it wandered near or far; he did not turn his attention elsewhere. Having renounced kingdom, sons, and all relatives, he developed a deep and intense affection for that young deer. He would wonder anxiously, “Has it been eaten by wolves? Has it been struck down by a tiger or a lion? It has been gone a long time and has not returned.” Seeing the earth marked by the scratches of its hooves, he would find joy and ask himself, “Where is my fawn?