Kratu, the sage, spoke first, declaring, “He who is the very person of sacrifice, the sacrifice itself, the supreme Lord of yoga—when Janārdana is pleased, what is there in all creation that cannot be attained?” Then Vasiṣṭha added, “Whatever place within the three worlds you desire in your heart, you shall surely reach it by worshipping Viṣṇu. What more could you seek, dearest child?” Dhruva, eager and devoted, replied with humility, “You have described to me the god who is to be worshipped, and I am devoted to him. Please tell me—what should I recite to fully please him? And how should I properly worship that great soul? Let the great sages teach me, so that he may show me his gracious, smiling face.” The sages, pleased with his sincerity, said, “O prince, you are worthy to hear from us the true way to worship Viṣṇu, as performed by those devoted to him. First, a man must withdraw his mind from all external objects and make it steady, fixed in that very abode of the universe. With one-pointed mind, absorbed in him, and with self-control, let him recite what we declare, O delight of princes: ‘To him who is the form of Hiraṇyagarbha, the Person, Pradhāna, and the unmanifest: Om, homage to Vāsudeva, whose nature is pure knowledge.’ This mantra was once recited by the blessed Manu Svāyambhuva, your ancestor; Janārdana was pleased with him and granted him the accomplishment he desired—a boon difficult to attain even in the three worlds. In the same way, you too should please Govinda by always reciting this.” Śrī Parāśara continued the tale, saying, “Hearing all this in full, O Maitreya, the prince, Dhruva, left the forest and bowed respectfully to the assembled sages. Feeling that his duty had been explained and fulfilled, the twice-born boy set out for the sacred place called Madhu, on the banks of the Yamunā. That place was known as Madhuvana, for it was once ruled by the demon Madhu. Later, after Lavaṇa, the mighty demon son of Madhu, was slain by Śatrughna, the city of Mathurā was established there. In that holy place, which removes all sins and where Hari, the Lord of gods, is ever present, Dhruva began his austerities. Following the instructions of the sages led by Marīci, he regarded Viṣṇu, the Lord, as present within his own self. With undistracted mind, he meditated upon the blessed Hari, and as he did so, the Lord became present in all beings and in every form. As Viṣṇu became firmly established in Dhruva’s mind, the earth herself, bearer of all creatures, could no longer bear the weight of his tapas. When Dhruva stood on his left foot, the earth bent with half her weight; when he stood on his right, the other half bent. Pressing the earth with his big toe, the entire world—with all its mountains—began to tremble. Rivers, streams, and oceans were greatly agitated, and even the gods were deeply troubled by this disturbance. Alarmed, the gods known as Yāmās, together with Indra, gathered in counsel, seeking a way to break Dhruva’s meditation. The Kūṣmāṇḍas, spirits of mischief, took on various forms and, along with mighty Indra, set out to disrupt his tapas. At that moment, Dhruva’s mother, Sunīti, appeared before him, her words filled with compassion but conjured by illusion. She pleaded, “My son, turn back from this harsh destruction of your body; you were obtained by me with much effort and many prayers. Do not leave me helpless, alone, and destitute because of a co-wife’s words. You are my only refuge. How can you, only five years old, undertake such severe austerity? Let your mind turn away from these harsh and fruitless efforts. There is a time for play, and then for study; only after enjoying all pleasures should you undertake austerity. You are still a boy—why do you delight in destroying yourself with such acts? My affection is your highest virtue; follow the right order of duties for your age. Do not, out of delusion, abandon this path and act unrighteously. If you give up this austerity, I will not give up my life before your eyes.” She wept as she spoke, her words incoherent, her eyes full of tears. But Dhruva, his mind fixed unwaveringly on Viṣṇu, did not even look at her, though he saw her. She tried again, warning, “My child, my child—terrible and fearsome demons, armed with weapons, are approaching in the forest. Go away from here!” Having said this, she vanished, and immediately the demons appeared, brandishing fierce weapons, their faces wreathed in blazing flames. Right before the young prince, the night-wandering demons whirled their flaming weapons and released them with dreadful roars. Hundreds of jackals howled, their mouths filled with fire, all to terrify the boy who was always absorbed in yoga. “Strike him! Strike him down! Cut him! Eat him!” cried the demons, their voices echoing through the forest. With faces like lions, camels, and crocodiles, they made terrifying noises to frighten him. Yet, none of this entered the awareness of Dhruva, whose mind was absorbed in Govinda. The howls, the demons, the jackals, and their weapons—all were powerless before the one whose heart saw Viṣṇu alone as his refuge. With one-pointed mind, the prince saw nothing else at all.