At that time, Aryama, one of the great guardians of the world, took up the duty of punishing the wicked, for Yama, the usual lord of justice, was living out a curse that confined him to the status of a Shudra for a hundred years. Meanwhile, Yudhishthira, having regained his kingdom after so many trials and seeing his own grandson seated as the heir, rejoiced with his brothers—those stalwart protectors of the earth—in a time of peace and prosperity. Yet, as often happens, for those absorbed in their households and daily comforts, heedless of the passage of time, the days slipped by unnoticed—time itself, so difficult to overcome, quietly wore on. Vidura, ever wise and perceptive, saw the signs of impending change. He approached the aged Dhritarashtra and urged him, “O King, it is time to depart quickly. See how danger has come upon us.” He reminded Dhritarashtra that there was no remedy to be found anywhere or at any time against this force—it was Supreme Time itself, the Lord, who had come for all. Vidura spoke with compassion but also with urgency: “Even those most dear to us, whose lives are intertwined with our own, are overtaken by this Time, and people are separated in an instant. What then of wealth or other possessions? Fathers, brothers, friends, sons—all have been slain. Your youth has passed, your body is worn by age, and you now dwell in another’s house. How powerful is the hope for life in living beings! By it, you, who once ruled as king, now accept food left aside by Bhima, as one might care for a dependent. “Fire has been set, gifts have been given, poison has been administered, wives have been dishonored, land and wealth have been stolen—what more remains for those who gave their lives for such things? Even your own body, pitiable as it is, will depart against your will, worn out by old age, just as threadbare clothes are cast aside. “One who, having lost all purpose for this body, becomes detached and freed from bonds, leaves it behind without concern for its destination; such a person is truly wise. And he who, whether through his own insight or through the influence of others, becomes disillusioned and self-possessed, placing Hari in his heart, leaves home—such a man is supreme. “Therefore, let your journey be toward the north, on a path unknown to others. For from this point, time generally draws men away, acting through the qualities of nature.” Hearing these words, King Dhritarashtra, awakened by his wise younger brother Vidura, cut the strong bonds of affection for his own people and departed along the path shown to him. The virtuous Gandhari, daughter of Subala and devoted wife, followed her husband as he left, setting aside her own authority, just as noble souls relinquish attachments at the end of life. Yudhishthira, known as Ajatashatru, having made peace with all, performed great fire sacrifices, honored the brahmins with gifts of sesame, cows, land, and gold, and then returned to his house to pay respects to his elders. But he did not find his parents or Gandhari, the daughter of Subala. There he found Sanjaya seated, and, anxious, he asked, “O Gavalgana, where is our aged father, now deprived of sight? And where is mother, grieving for her slain sons? Where has my uncle, our friend, gone? Perhaps, thinking me lacking in wisdom and now bereft of kin, he has, with his wife, sought the Ganga, hoping for relief from sorrow.” Distressed, Yudhishthira wondered, “After our father Pandu passed away, our uncles protected all our friends and children from calamity. Where have those protectors gone now, leaving us behind?” Suta, the narrator, explained that Sanjaya, overwhelmed by compassion and the pain of separation, was so afflicted that he could not see the Lord within himself and was unable to reply. Wiping away his tears and steadying himself, Sanjaya finally answered Yudhishthira, remembering the feet of the Lord. He said, “O delight of your lineage, I do not know the decision of your parents or of Gandhari, O mighty-armed one; I have been deceived by these great souls.” At that moment, the venerable sage Narada arrived, accompanied by Tumburu. Yudhishthira and his brothers rose to greet and honor him, worshipping the sage with great respect. Yudhishthira said, “O revered one, I do not know where my parents have gone, nor where my mother, grieving for her slain sons and devoted to austerity, has departed.” Then, like a skilled helmsman guiding a ship across the sea, the illustrious Narada, best among sages, spoke to them. “Just as cows are bound to a stake by ropes, so too are beings bound by names and relationships, carrying out their offerings for the Lord. The coming together and separation of people, like the gathering and scattering of children’s playthings, depend entirely on the will of the Lord. “What you consider as permanent or impermanent in this world is truly neither; such distinctions are not to be grieved except through attachment born of delusion. Therefore, dear one, give up this weakness of heart, born of ignorance. Do not think, ‘How could those helpless and pitiable ones survive without me?’ This body, composed of the five elements, is subject to time, action, and the modes of nature. How can one protect others, just as someone seized by a serpent cannot save another? “In this world, the handless are food for the handed, the footless for the four-footed; among all, the weak are the sustenance of the strong. Life lives upon life. “O King, that Supreme Lord, the one Self of all selves, perceives Himself by Himself and dwells both within and without. See Him, who appears through the power of His own illusion. This very Lord, the creator and sustainer of all beings, has now descended in the form of Time to bring about the destruction of the enemies of the gods. The divine task has been accomplished; now He awaits what remains to be done. Until then, you all should observe, as long as the Lord remains here. “As for Dhritarashtra, together with his brother and Gandhari, he has gone south of the Himalayas to the hermitage of the sages, accompanied by his wife. There, the celestial river Ganga, for the pleasure of the seven sages, divides herself into seven streams; thus she is called the river of seven streams. “There, after bathing at the proper times and offering oblations into the fire as prescribed, Dhritarashtra lives on water alone, with a tranquil mind, free from all desires. Having mastered posture and breath, withdrawn his six senses, and destroyed the impurities of passion and ignorance through meditation on Hari, he has become pure in the mode of goodness. Merging the mind into knowledge, dissolving the knower into the Self, and placing the Self in Brahman, just as space within a pot merges into the sky, he abides. “With the residue of illusion and its qualities destroyed, with senses and mind restrained, having given up all food, he remains unmoving like a pillar. Let there be no obstacle for him, who has renounced all actions.” Thus spoke Narada, illuminating the path of detachment and the destiny of those who have renounced the world.