In the royal palace, King Yudhishthira noticed his brother’s troubled heart and altered appearance. Surrounded by friends, he remembered the words of Narada and gently questioned him, hoping to understand his distress. “Are our relatives in the city of Anarta living happily?” he asked, naming the Madhus, Bhojas, Dasharhas, Ahukas, Satvatas, Andhakas, and Vrishnis. “Is Shura, our maternal grandfather, well, and his wife also? Is our uncle Anakadundubhi and his younger brothers safe?” He continued, “Are the seven sisters, their husbands, our other maternal uncles with their sons, and their daughters-in-law, led by Devaki herself, all well? Is King Ahuka alive, and his wicked son and younger brother? Is Hridika, with his son, Akrura, Jayanta, Gada, and Sarana well? Are Shatrujit and the others safe? Is Rama, Lord of the Satvatas, living happily?” Yudhishthira’s concern extended further: “Is Pradyumna, the great chariot-warrior of the Vrishnis, well? Is Aniruddha, deep in his passions, growing and blessed? Are Sushena, Charudesha, Samba—the son of Jambavati—and other foremost Karsnis, with their sons like Rishabha, well? And likewise, are the followers of Shauri—Shrutadeva, Uddhava, Sunanda, Nanda, Shirishanya, and the other chief Satvatas—well?” He asked, “Are all those who rely on the arms of Rama and Krishna safe? Do those bound by friendship remember our welfare? Is Govinda, the Lord, devoted to Brahmanas and affectionate to his devotees, living happily in the city of Sudharma, surrounded by friends?” “For the welfare, safety, and prosperity of the worlds, does the primeval, infinite friend, the man, remain in the ocean of the Yadu dynasty? When the Yadus are honored in their own city, protected by many strong arms, they play in supreme bliss like great heroes. Satyā and the other sixteen thousand women, serving at the feet—which is their chief duty—having conquered the celestial goddesses in beauty, receive blessings suited for Indra’s beloveds.” He spoke of the Yadus: “The foremost Yadus, who live by the rise of their many strong arms and are fearless at all times, forcibly enter the Sudharmā assembly hall, fit for the best of gods, with their feet, having brought it there.” Turning to his brother with concern, Yudhishthira asked, “My dear, do you remain free from illness? You appear as if your radiance has faded. Have you failed to obtain something, been disrespected, or stayed away for a long time? Have you not been struck by inauspicious things, such as sounds or other disturbances? Have you failed to give or fulfill what was promised to supplicants out of desire?” He pressed further, “Have you, as a giver of refuge, not rejected a Brahmin, child, cow, elder, sick person, woman, or any being who approached you for shelter? Have you not approached a woman who should not be approached, or one who is to be approached, or one who has been made your companion? Or have you been defeated by superior or inferior paths?” “Have you eaten food that should be shared with elders and children? Have you committed any act that is disgraceful or beyond your capacity? O dearest, do you always feel empty and deprived in your heart by your own kin? Or do you think otherwise? If not, then there is no sorrow.” Meanwhile, in another recollection, friends greeted Krishna warmly, saying, “Welcome to you, who have come so swiftly! Not one has eaten a morsel; come, please eat well.” Smiling, Hṛṣīkeśa ate together with the children, showing them the python’s skin, and turned back from the forest to the village. Adorned with peacock feathers, flowers, and fresh minerals, rich in the festival of flute and horn, praising the calves, singing holy fame, and with the gopīs’ eyes celebrating him, he entered the cowherd settlement. The children sang in the village, “Today, by the son of Yaśodā and Nanda, the great serpent was slain and we are protected from it.” The king then asked, “O Brahmin, how did such great love arise for Krishna at his birth, even among those who had never felt it before, even in their own offspring? Please explain.” Śuka replied, “For all beings, O king, the self alone is most dear; others, such as children and wealth, are dear only because of that self. Just as attachment for one’s own self is strongest among embodied beings, it is not so for sons, wealth, homes, and other things that depend on possessiveness. Even among those who identify the body as the self, O best of kings, the body is not as dear as those who follow it. If the body is regarded as possessing ‘mine-ness,’ then it is not as dear as the self; for even when the body ages, the hope for life remains strong. Therefore, the dearest is one’s own self for all embodied beings; for its sake alone, this entire world, both moving and unmoving, exists.” “Know Krishna to be this very self, the self of all selves; for the welfare of the world, he too appears here as embodied, by his own illusion. In truth, for those who know, Krishna alone is the abiding and moving reality here; the entire form of the Lord—there is nothing else at all in this world. The essential meaning of all things is established in being; and for him too, Lord Krishna—how could anything not of that nature be considered real?” “Those who have taken shelter of the boat of the tender feet of Murari, whose fame is pure and great, for them the ocean of worldly existence becomes as small as a calf’s hoofprint; that supreme destination, which is never touched by misfortune at any step. All this has been told to you, as you asked me here, about what Hari did in his childhood and what is renowned from his boyhood. This conduct of Murari with his friends—destroying evil, playing in the meadows, his manifest and unmanifest forms, and his fulfillment of the earth’s desires—hearing and praising this, a person attains all purposes.” “Thus, with such childhood pastimes—hiding, building bridges, leaping like monkeys, and the like—they passed their boyhood in Vraja.” Sūta then spoke: “Thus, Krishna’s friend, Krishna, was left without choice by his royal brother, whose mind was troubled by many doubts, and who was tormented by separation from Krishna. His face and heart’s lotus withered with grief, his radiance gone; meditating only on that Lord, he was unable to speak.