Fourth Skandha

The Fourth Skandha begins with a family dispute that turns, through pride and insult, into a great tragedy. Prajapati Daksha, mind-born son of Brahma and father of Sati, had long harbored deep resentment toward his son-in-law, Lord Shiva. Shiva's matted locks, his covering of cremation-ground ash, the serpent around his neck, and his complete indifference to royal decorum seemed to Daksha entirely unworthy of his refined and prosperous daughter's dignity.

Once, at a vast sacrificial assembly, when Daksha himself arrived, the entire gathering — except Brahma — rose respectfully. But Shiva, absorbed in deep meditation at that moment, was unable to rise and honor Daksha's entrance. Daksha's long-simmering resentment erupted into anger at this moment. Before the whole assembly, he insulted Shiva as a dweller of cremation grounds, impure, lowborn, and uncivilized, declared him entirely unworthy of receiving a share of the sacrifice, and openly said that he deeply regretted the mistake of having given his daughter in marriage to him.

Nandishvara, Shiva's foremost devotee, could not bear this insult and cursed Daksha and the assembled brahmins to remain forever engrossed in ritualism, deprived of true self-knowledge. In response, the sage Bhrigu counter-cursed that Shiva's followers would become anti-Vedic, atheistic, and behave like outcastes — thus a family quarrel quickly began turning into bitterness between two great traditions.

Wounded by this insult yet unable to remain silent because of her natural love for her father, Sati could not stay away. When she heard that Daksha was arranging a vast Brihaspati-sava sacrifice, to which all the gods and sages had been invited but Shiva had been deliberately left out, she resolved to attend uninvited, hoping her presence might perhaps soothe this family bitterness.

Shiva, who knew through his yogic vision that this journey would not end well, tried most gently to dissuade Sati — but her love for her father could not be restrained, and she set out for her father's sacrifice, not knowing toward what terrible turn this decision would soon lead.

When Sati arrived at Daksha's sacrificial ground, alone and unwelcomed, her greatest fear proved true. No one except her mother and sisters gave her a proper welcome. Daksha did not even look at her, as though she were not present at all — a neglect more painful than any direct insult.

When Sati mustered the courage to ask her father the reason for his hostility toward Shiva, Daksha grew angry once again before the entire assembly. He condemned Shiva in the harshest words as a beggar, lord of ghosts dwelling in cremation grounds, lowborn, and entirely unfit for civilized society, also saying that he had accepted this marriage only under compulsion from Brahma's insistence.

Sati could not bear this insult on her own account, but she could not bear it for her beloved husband. She told her father in clear words that anyone who condemns their own son-in-law, who is himself the lord of all the worlds, makes both their tongue and their ears sinful, and that bearing a body born of such a father is itself a matter of shame.

Consumed by this unbearable anger and shame, Sati sat facing east, and through her yogic power, gradually raising the life-airs, she generated an inner fire within her own body, and in that very yogic fire completely consumed her body — choosing that it was better to abandon a body born of a father who could speak such condemnable words about her husband.

This event sent a wave of grief and fury through the three worlds. When the news reached Shiva, an uproar arose among his attendants, and from Shiva's own matted locks the fearsome Virabhadra and Kali emerged, who set out toward Daksha's sacrifice in vengeance — but this story is narrated in detail in the coming chapters, since Shukadeva pauses here for a moment to lead Vidura toward the dialogue that had taken place between Sati and Shiva before her departure for the sacrifice.

In this chapter, the story turns back somewhat to explain what extensive dialogue had taken place between Shiva and Sati before Sati's departure for the sacrifice. When Sati, seeing the gods and sages traveling through the sky toward Daksha's sacrifice, felt an intense wish to go there as well, she asked Shiva for permission.

Shiva explained to her with great affection and gravity that Daksha, because of his earlier insulting behavior, harbored deep hostility toward him and his attendants, and that going there uninvited would not be proper. He also presented a profound principle — that going uninvited to the home of relatives, however close they may be, is forbidden for a self-respecting soul if there is any likelihood of insult there.

Sati, holding deep affection for her father and the hope that her presence might perhaps wash away the old bitterness, could not turn back from her journey even while fully understanding this warning. She assured Shiva that she was going only in the hope of reconciliation and of meeting her mother and sisters, not of conflict, and that a woman going uninvited to her father's house is not considered any offense.

Shiva, though he well knew the outcome and had already foreseen the coming calamity through his yogic vision, nevertheless honored Sati's free will and allowed her to go. He sent his chief attendants with her as protectors, knowing even so that their presence at Daksha's sacrifice would itself appear as a kind of challenge.

This dialogue is a grave and poignant example of how even profound love sometimes cannot save a loved one from impending suffering, even when full knowledge and warning have already been given — because free will, even in the presence of love, is always honored.

This chapter sheds further light on Sati's self-immolation, describing in greater depth her inner turmoil — on one side, duty and affection toward her father; on the other, the unbearable pain of her husband's insult. Shukadeva explained to Parikshit that Sati's act was not the result of a momentary impulse, but a deliberate, yogic resolve.

Sati first bathed, purified herself, and took her seat facing east. Following the method of Ashtanga-yoga, she raised her life-airs in sequence from the root center to the heart, and from the heart to the throat, and finally, fixing them in the crown of the head, gathered her complete yogic power and kindled the fire of trance within herself, which in an instant reduced her body entirely to ashes, without the aid of any external fire.

The profound spiritual message of this event is that when no compromise remains possible between honor and love, a pure-hearted soul can even give up its attachment to the body, if that body becomes an instrument of insult against her dharma and her love. All the assembled gods and sages, witnessing this scene, were stunned, and deep condemnation of Daksha also arose in their hearts.

This sacrifice of Sati later became the foundation for her rebirth — as Parvati, daughter of the mountain-king Himalaya — where, after long austerity, she once again became Shiva's consort, this time without any family opposition, since Himalaya joyfully offered his daughter to Shiva.

Shukadeva also told Parikshit that this story is not merely a historical event, but a profound teaching for every listener — of how destructive a force family pride and ego can be, and how, in the absence of humility and mutual respect, even the most sacred relationships can break irreparably.

When news of Sati's self-immolation reached Shiva, his boundless grief turned into fury. All the worlds trembled. Tearing out a lock from his matted hair, he flung it furiously to the ground, from which the fearsome Virabhadra emerged — vast as death itself, thousand-armed, and the very embodiment of anger and vengeance. Along with him, Mahakali also appeared, with her army of attendants.

Shiva's countless attendants, ghosts, spirits, yakshas, and Virabhadra's vast army attacked Daksha's sacrificial ground. This destructive force tore the sacrificial pavilion to pieces, broke the sacrificial altar, destroyed the sacrificial vessels, and drove many of the gods and sages present away in fear.

Bhrigu himself, who had presided over the sacrifice, failed to protect his own beard and had it torn out; the god Pusha's teeth were broken because he had watched this destruction while laughing; the god Bhaga's eyes were gouged out because he had watched with an evil glance; and the presiding deity of the sacrifice itself, frightened, fled into the sky in the form of a deer, pursued there by Virabhadra.

Finally, Virabhadra, reaching the height of his fury, beheaded Daksha and offered his head into the very fire of the sacrifice, thus completing his vengeance for his daughter's insult. The entire sacrificial ground turned into a scene of chaos, terror, and destruction, and the remaining gods present fled for their lives to seek refuge with Brahma.

Shukadeva explained to Parikshit that this destruction was not merely vengeance, but also a means of demonstrating that when any sacrifice, however correctly performed according to Vedic ritual, stands upon a foundation of ego and disrespect, it collapses because of its own foundation. The essence of true dharma lies not in the outward rituals of sacrifice, but in the humility and respect present within it.

After the destruction of the sacrifice and Daksha's death, deep anxiety spread among the gods, since Prajapati Daksha was indispensable for the coming work of creation — the increase of progeny — and gods such as Bhaga and Pusha had also been maimed, throwing the entire system of sacrificial rites into disarray.

Led by Brahma, all the gods arrived at Mount Kailash, where Shiva still sat in deep meditation, absorbed in grief and anger. Brahma, standing before Shiva with great humility, offered praise, acknowledging that Shiva is the most forgiving and compassionate of all the gods, and that Daksha's offense should be forgiven, since the welfare of creation depended on it.

Shiva, whose nature calms as quickly as anger arises in him — especially when that anger is soothed by devotion or humble prayer — was entirely melted by the gods' entreaty. He not only forgave Daksha and granted permission for him to be revived, but also ordered the destruction wrought by Virabhadra to be calmed, and promised to restore Bhaga's and Pusha's sight and teeth as well.

Shiva himself agreed to attend the sacrifice and grant it completion, thus ending the earlier bitterness and paving the way for a new beginning. The gods were extremely pleased by this generosity and began glorifying Shiva.

This episode is a profound teaching for devotees — that true devotion and humble prayer, however severe the crisis, can calm even the fiercest anger. The gods' collective prayer proved that reconstruction and forgiveness are possible even after destruction, if there is true humility in the heart.

Upon being revived, Daksha's heart was completely transformed. According to tradition, since his original head had been destroyed in the devastation, the gods attached the head of a goat to his body, which became a permanent mark, ever reminding him of the price of pride.

Living now with a goat's head, Daksha, forgetting his former pride, became filled with humility and repentance. Standing before Shiva, with a choked voice, he begged forgiveness for his error and offered him a heartfelt hymn of praise, acknowledging that pride had blinded him so completely that he had failed to recognize Lord Shiva himself, the primordial guru of all creation.

Following this, Daksha completed his sacrifice this time with full reverence and proper ritual procedure, which had earlier become incomplete and destructive because of his ego. Shukadeva described how Lord Vishnu himself was present at this re-arranged sacrifice, and both Shiva and Vishnu received their proper shares in the sacrifice.

This episode makes clear that there is no genuine rivalry between Shiva and Vishnu, but that both are different manifestations of the same Supreme Truth, who should be worshipped with equal devotion and respect — a teaching repeated again and again in various forms throughout the Bhagavata Purana.

Thus, this episode that began with pride ends with humility and harmony — a teaching presented in complete contrast to the coming story of Dhruva, where a five-year-old, guileless boy, through a combination of humility and steadfastness, attains what Daksha's pride could never attain.

King Uttanapada, son of Svayambhuva Manu, had two queens — Suniti and Suruchi. Suniti's son was Dhruva, but the king's affection was mostly centered on the beautiful and beloved Suruchi and her son Uttama, while Suniti and Dhruva faced neglect.

One day, King Uttanapada was seated with his son Uttama on his lap. Five-year-old Dhruva also came forward wishing to sit on his father's lap, but Suruchi harshly stopped him, saying that this seat was only for her own son, and that if Dhruva wanted the king's lap and the throne in the future, he should have been born from Suruchi's own womb — something now impossible, so he would have to earn such fortune by performing austerity to the Lord.

The king, hearing this harsh statement from his beloved queen, remained silent even before his own queen, unable to speak even a word in defense or comfort of his own son — seeing this, Dhruva, filled with anger and humiliation, ran to his mother Suniti, drenched in tears.

Suniti, though herself sunk in deep grief, turned her son not toward anger or vengeance, but toward a profound spiritual truth. She explained that Suruchi's harsh words were in fact not untrue — no worldly father's lap can ever be permanent, since it depends on fortune and past-life deeds. But there is also a Father whose lap no one can ever take away — the Lord Narayana himself, if sought with a sincere heart.

Deeply inspired by these words, five-year-old Dhruva, instead of sinking into anger or grief, left the palace alone and set out for the forest, resolving firmly that he would attain a seat superior to any throne on earth — a resolve that became history's finest example of a child's devotion and unbreakable determination.

On his way to the forest, Dhruva met the divine sage Narada, who was astonished to see such firm resolve on the face and such determination in the eyes of this young child. Narada first gently explained that he was still very young, and should return home and perform austerity when older and more mature, but Dhruva's firm resolve did not waver.

Dhruva replied that Suruchi's harsh words had pierced his heart so deeply that no comfort could now soothe it, only a direct vision of the Lord could erase that pain. Moved by this unbreakable conviction, Narada advised him to go to Madhuvana and taught him the twelve-syllable mantra — Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya — along with the method of meditation.

The austerity Dhruva performed in the forest is described with astonishing intensity — the first month he ate only fruits and roots, the second month only dry leaves, the third month only water, and from the fourth month, subsisting only on air, standing on one leg, holding his breath, he became absorbed in such deep trance that his suspended breathing began obstructing the very breathing process of the entire universe, causing the frightened gods to pray to Vishnu for intervention.

Finally, Lord Vishnu appeared before him in his complete four-armed divine form, bearing the conch, discus, mace, and lotus, mounted upon Garuda. And at that moment, the boy who had come to the forest seeking a seat greater than any throne, overwhelmed with love, forgot even the words of the prayer he had memorized, and simply began stammering in ecstasy, tears streaming from his eyes.

The Lord, deeply pleased by this guileless devotion, touched his conch to the boy's cheek, which instantly produced a wondrous flow in his speech, and he began singing a beautiful hymn. The Lord granted him not only an eternal kingdom but also a place in the heavens — Dhruvaloka, the immovable Pole Star — around which all the stars, constellations, and even the Seven Sages continually revolve, granting this boon that this position would remain stable for longer than even his father's and grandfather's reigns.

Years later, when Dhruva returned to his father's kingdom and took up its rule, his younger brother Uttama, while hunting once in the forests of the Himalayas, died without cause at the hands of a yaksha. Hearing this news, Dhruva became extremely angry and grief-stricken, and vowed to avenge his brother's death.

Filled with fury, Dhruva led a vast army in attack upon Alakapuri, the city of the yakshas. He slew many yakshas with his divine weapons, laid siege to the city, and the battle grew so fierce that the wives and families of the yakshas cried out in fear. But when the number of yakshas kept increasing through illusory power — it seemed as though for every yaksha slain, two new ones appeared in his place — Dhruva realized that this war, driven only by anger, was heading toward unnecessary and endless destruction.

At the height of this conflict, Dhruva's own grandfather, Svayambhuva Manu himself, arrived on the battlefield and, stopping his grandson, explained that this fire of vengeance, however justified it might seem, would ultimately give birth only to further hostility, sin, and destruction, and that the collective slaughter of an innocent race could never be righteous under any circumstance.

Manu reminded Dhruva that the duty of a devotee and righteous king is not to sink into anger and vengeance, but to set an example of forgiveness, restraint, and wisdom, and also that Uttama's death was itself the fruit of his own past deeds, for which the yaksha race could not be entirely blamed.

Dhruva, hearing this profound statement from his grandfather, succeeded in calming the anger within himself and immediately declared a ceasefire. Kubera, the lord of wealth and master of the yakshas, deeply impressed by Dhruva's generosity, restraint, and eventual forgiveness, appeared before him himself, blessed him, and granted him the boon of unbroken devotion — this event being a beautiful example of the truth that true valor lies in conquering anger, not in destroying an enemy.

In this chapter, Svayambhuva Manu, in private after the ceasefire, explained at length to his grandson Dhruva what a ruler's true duty is. He explained that the feeling of vengeance, however righteous it may seem, ultimately drowns the soul in the very darkness from which it seeks liberation, because anger destroys discernment.

Manu explained with a profound example that just as fire cannot be extinguished with ghee, violence cannot be calmed by violence — only forgiveness and forbearance can end the cycle of enmity. He also reminded Dhruva that the extraordinary boon he had received from Lord Vishnu was not for any victory in battle, but because of his guileless, sincere devotion in childhood.

Therefore, Manu said, Dhruva should live the rest of his life in accordance with that same devotion and righteousness, rather than diminishing the dignity of that divine boon by walking the path of anger and vengeance. A king to whom the Lord himself has granted so great a position should conduct himself far above ordinary human beings.

Dhruva took this profound teaching of his grandfather deeply to heart, expressed repentance for his mistake, and, establishing lasting peace with the yakshas, returned peacefully to his kingdom.

From this episode, Shukadeva gave Parikshit the profound teaching that spiritual attainment and vision of the Lord do not automatically free anyone from anger, grief, or human weaknesses — continuous vigilance, self-examination, and the guidance of elders remain necessary throughout life, however great a devotee one may be.

Having established peace with the yakshas, Dhruva returned to his capital, where the people welcomed him with joy and grand celebration. He took up his father Uttanapada's throne and ruled most justly and righteously, under which the people remained happy and prosperous, rain fell on time, and the land yielded abundant harvests — the direct fruit of a righteous ruler's qualities.

Dhruva married two queens — Bhrami, daughter of Shambhu, and Ila, daughter of the wind god — and from them were born sons named Kalpa and Vatsara, and a son named Utkala, who went on to establish various royal dynasties. Dhruva ruled the earth righteously for thirty-six thousand years, performed sacrifices, cared for his subjects, and remained ever absorbed in devotion to the Lord.

After ruling for a long time, when Dhruva sensed that his worldly duty was complete, he entrusted his kingdom to his son Utkala and set out himself toward Badarikashrama in the Himalayas, where he once again became absorbed in deep meditation upon the Lord, controlling his life-airs and becoming entirely free from worldly thoughts.

Finally, when the time for relinquishing his body drew near, messengers of Lord Vishnu came for him in a divine celestial vehicle. Dhruva, taking his mother Suniti along with him, without even giving up his body, boarded that very divine vehicle and departed toward Dhruvaloka — the same immovable place that had been promised to him in childhood.

Shukadeva said that even today, when anyone looks at that immovable Pole Star in the night sky, they see that same boy who once rejected an unstable, fleeting seat and, through his guileless devotion and unbreakable determination, attained an eternal seat — and whoever hears or narrates this story with reverence also attains steadfastness in devotion to the Lord.

After the story of Dhruva, Shukadeva narrated to Parikshit the vast dynasty of Dhruva's elder brother, Priyavrata. Priyavrata, himself a great devotee and universal emperor, divided the earth into seven islands — Jambu, Plaksha, Shalmali, Kusha, Krauncha, Shaka, and Pushkara — among his sons, and himself became renowned as a detached, wise ruler.

Further along in this lineage, from one of Priyavrata's sons, Agnidhra, came Nabhi, from Nabhi came Rishabhadeva, and eventually, in the line of King Anga, King Vena and his son Prithu were born, whose story becomes the main subject of the coming chapters of this skandha.

At this point, a natural pause occurs in the flow of the narrative, where Vidura, who was conversing with the sage Maitreya in the previous skandha, expresses his curiosity about these genealogies. Vidura asked Maitreya how a Prajapati whose son Vena was so unrighteous and cruel could later become the father of a king as great and righteous a devotee as Prithu — what kind of contradiction was this?

Maitreya explained that every lineage, however worldly it may appear, is ultimately the story of souls who, in their respective ages, either protected dharma or spread adharma, and that both kinds of souls can be born in the same family, since birth is determined not by lineage but by individual deeds.

In this very context, to satisfy Vidura's curiosity, the story of King Vena begins — a story that shows how a ruler's personal unrighteousness can endanger the entire kingdom and nature, and how his son Prithu's birth, by the Lord's own grace, took place to remedy this crisis.

King Anga's son Vena was born under an inauspicious background. His mother, Sunitha, was the daughter of Yama, the god of death, and astrologers had already predicted at his birth that Vena would exhibit more the qualities of his maternal grandfather. From childhood, Vena showed tendencies toward cruelty, violence, and tormenting other children, which caused King Anga himself great anxiety.

Upon becoming king, Vena's ego became boundless. He abandoned all religious rites and rituals, banned sacrifices, charity, and Vedic recitation, and proclaimed that the people should now worship not the gods or sages, but only the king, since the king alone was the sum total of all the gods. He declared that in his kingdom, no dharma other than his own command would be recognized.

The sages repeatedly came to his court to try to reason with Vena, reminding him of the boundaries of dharma and a king's true duties, but each time Vena mocked them and had them insulted and thrown out of the assembly. When his arrogance and unrighteousness grew beyond bearing, the enraged sages collectively uttered the Hum mantra and killed him with the power of the curse.

But, worried that a kingdom without a king would lead to chaos, theft, and disorder, the sages considered it improper to completely destroy the lineage. They churned the thigh of Vena's dead body, from which emerged an extremely ugly, dark-complexioned, dwarfish figure called Nishada — this was the very embodiment of all of Vena's sins, extracted from him through churning, who later became the ancestor of the forest tribes.

Following this, the sages churned the right arm of Vena's body, and this time a radiant, divine figure, luminous as fire, emerged, who from birth held a bow, arrows, and armor in his hands — this was King Prithu, who was born specifically so that he might remedy the chaos born of his father's unrighteousness and establish the beginning of a new, righteous age.

Prithu's birth was no ordinary event; tradition regards him as a partial incarnation of Lord Vishnu, who appeared specifically to correct the disorder born of his father Vena's misrule. At the time of his birth, all of nature displayed auspicious signs — flowers rained from the sky, divine music played, rivers filled with clear water, and all the gods came to behold him.

Along with Prithu, his sister Archi was also born, who was herself a portion of the goddess Lakshmi, and who later became Prithu's wife. The Sutas, Magadhas, and Vandis, hereditary bards whose ancestral task was to sing the praises of kings, arrived on that sacred occasion and began their hymns of praise.

The gods and sages together gave Prithu various divine weapons, armor, and blessings — Indra gave a crown, Varuna gave an umbrella, Yamaraja gave a scepter, Kubera gave gold coins, and Brahma himself gave the boon of fearlessness — knowing that he would soon have to undertake an extremely difficult task, that of restoring to the earth its lost prosperity, which, frightened by his father's unrighteous rule, had gone away, hiding her wealth.

News of Prithu's birth sent a wave of joy through the entire kingdom, since after years of chaos and fear, the people gained hope of a ruler who would be not only powerful but also righteous.

Suta Goswami explained to Shaunaka that this story of Prithu is a direct example of how both unrighteousness and righteousness can be born in the same lineage, and how the Lord himself, when necessary, descends in human form on such occasions to protect the earth and dharma, however unusual the manner of his appearance may be.

At the time of Prithu's coronation, all the gods, sages, Gandharvas, Siddhas, and Charanas gathered there. This vast ceremony was so magnificent that no king's coronation before it had seen the presence of so many gods.

The Sutas and Magadhas, bards whose hereditary task was to sing the praises of kings, came before Prithu attempting to praise him, but surprisingly they remained silent — because Prithu had not yet performed any deed worthy of praise, and offering false praise was against their principles.

Seeing this silence, the Lord himself, through his divine inspiration, empowered the speech of these bards, and they sang a wondrous, prophetic hymn foretelling the qualities of Prithu's coming reign — confirming that Prithu would establish justice, prosperity, and dharma in his kingdom, milk the earth, and always place his subjects' welfare above his own.

Hearing this prophecy, Prithu replied with great humility that he would make every effort to become worthy of these praises, and that a king's true glory lies in service to his people and their welfare, not in the arrogance of power.

As his very first act after coronation, he announced that he would resolve the grave problem of the earth, because of which the people suffered from starvation and want, since the earth was withholding its entire fertility and grain-wealth — an announcement that forms the basis of the next chapter's story.

After his coronation, Prithu found that the earth, which out of fear of his father Vena's misrule had gone away hiding all her fertility, seeds, and wealth, was still, even after Vena's death, unwilling to reveal her stores of grain, causing severe famine, malnutrition, and starvation among the people, who were crying out in distress.

Enraged, Prithu took up his divine bow and pursued the earth, who, in her own defense, took the form of a cow and fled swiftly. Prithu, mounted on his chariot, pursued this divine cow-form of the earth through all three worlds — heaven, the netherworld, and the mortal realm — until, exhausted and panting, the earth finally stopped.

Frightened and helpless, the earth, with folded hands, finally begged Prithu's forgiveness, explaining that she had hidden her wealth because earlier unrighteous rulers like Vena had continuously misused her, taking from her constantly without properly caring for or nourishing her, causing her to feel insecure and exploited.

Prithu understood and listened sympathetically to this deep distress of the earth, but at the same time made clear to her that hiding her wealth in this way was a grave injustice to all the innocent people, since it was causing suffering even to those who had committed no offense.

He gave the earth firm assurance that he himself, as a righteous ruler, would fully protect and properly care for her, if she was willing to reveal her wealth again — thus this dialogue presents itself as a profound symbol of mutual responsibility and trust between ruler and subject (here, nature).

Satisfied by Prithu's assurance and his righteousness, the earth agreed to reveal her wealth again, but she placed one condition — that she be leveled, since because of mountains and uneven terrain her wealth could not reach all creatures equally. Prithu, with his divine bow, pushed back the tips of the mountains to the edge of the level ground, making possible the establishment of vast plains, villages, and towns.

Following this comes one of the most poetic and beautiful scenes in the Bhagavata Purana — all creatures, each choosing their own suitable vessel and their own suitable calf as milker, milked the divine cow-form of the earth. The sages, making Brihaspati the calf, milked Vedic knowledge; the gods, making Indra the calf, milked nectar and soma juice; the ancestors, making Yamaraja the calf, milked the offerings of shraddha and svadha.

The demons, making Prahlada the calf, milked liquor into an iron vessel; the serpents, making Takshaka the calf, milked poison; birds and animals, through their own respective calves, obtained grass and fodder; and humans themselves, making King Prithu the calf, milked grain, agricultural produce, and all material prosperity into a golden vessel — every creature receiving appropriate nourishment according to its need.

As a result of this wondrous, universal milking, the earth once again became prosperous, granaries filled, trees became laden with fruit, and under Prithu's righteous rule the people lived in happiness and prosperity. It was because of this event that the earth received the name "Prithvi" — associated with Prithu — and was also called "Vasundhara" — the bearer of all wealth.

Shukadeva explained to Parikshit that this is not merely an ancient historical event, but a universal and eternal truth — that nature gives her wealth generously only to those who properly care for, respect, and protect her, and that rulers who fulfill this responsibility alone truly deserve to be called fathers of their people.

During his righteous reign, Prithu made the great resolve to perform one hundred Ashvamedha sacrifices, to offer his gratitude and glory at the Lord's feet, believing this would bring even greater prosperity and divine blessing to his people and his entire kingdom.

As his sacrifices proceeded one after another toward completion, Indra, king of heaven, fearing that upon the completion of Prithu's hundred sacrifices his growing power and merit might challenge Indra's own position, out of envy secretly stole the sacred horse of the ninety-ninth sacrifice.

Prithu's eldest son, Vijitashva, who was guarding the sacrificial horse, pursued Indra swiftly. But Indra, through his illusory power, disguised himself as a bark-clad, matted-haired ascetic, causing Vijitashva, caught in a moral dilemma — since attacking someone who appeared to be a sage was considered a grave sin — to hesitate, and Indra vanished with the horse.

This event repeated again and again — Indra, disguising himself differently each time, would steal the horse, and each time, because of the sanctity of the disguise, Prithu's soldiers would fall into confusion. This episode later became a symbol of how hypocrisy and false disguise are a common but reprehensible tactic even of demons and even of gods, by which even the righteous are sometimes deceived.

This event became a profound trial for Prithu — should he avenge Indra's unjust act, even if it meant fighting the king of the gods himself, and was the insistence on completing the hundredth sacrifice so necessary that war should be waged between heaven and earth for it? This question is resolved in the next chapter through Lord Vishnu's direct intervention and Prithu's divine meeting with the four Kumaras.

Distressed by Indra's repeated theft of the horse and his son Vijitashva's moral dilemma, Prithu finally resolved to fight Indra himself and, taking up his bow, prepared to set out for heaven. His sage-priests, also out of anger, began a ritual to produce a second Indra.

But just as this conflict was about to take an extremely grave form and threaten the cosmic order, Lord Vishnu himself intervened directly. He himself mediated between the two sides — Prithu and Indra — establishing peace, explaining that this unnecessary conflict was in no one's interest, and that since Prithu had already fully proven his righteousness and greatness through ninety-nine sacrifices, there was now no need for insistence on the hundredth. The Lord himself bound Indra and Prithu together in mutual friendship.

On this very auspicious occasion, the four Kumaras — Sanaka, Sanandana, Sanatana, and Sanatkumara — mind-born sons of Brahma, eternally five years of age, great sages endowed with profound knowledge and renunciation, arrived through the sky at Prithu's court. The entire assembly became radiant with their splendor.

Prithu, recognizing their arrival at once, immediately rose from his throne, offered full prostration, and welcomed them with the greatest reverence, offering them the highest seat, washing their feet, and humbly, with folded hands, praying to them to grant him spiritual knowledge.

The Kumaras, extremely pleased by Prithu's extraordinary humility, sincere curiosity, and ego-free nature despite his material grandeur, began teaching him the deepest secrets of the soul, devotion, and liberation — a teaching that becomes the firm foundation of the teachings Prithu himself gives to his subjects in the coming chapters.

Enriched by the profound knowledge received from the four Kumaras, Prithu gathered all the subjects of his kingdom in a vast assembly and gave them an extremely profound teaching. He explained that a king's true duty is not merely to provide material prosperity, security, and grain, but also to lead his people forward on the path of dharma and devotion.

He reminded his subjects that worldly happiness, prosperity, wealth, and power, however vast, are ultimately fleeting and do not accompany one at the time of death, whereas true and lasting welfare lies only in devotion to the Lord, which frees the soul from the cycle of birth and death.

Giving the example of his own life, Prithu said that he too had regarded the good governance of his kingdom, the milking of the earth, and the arrangement of sacrifices as forms of devotion to the Lord — since renunciation of action is not necessary, but performing action with an attitude of offering it to the Lord is itself true renunciation.

He also taught his subjects that service to the guru and to saints, spending time in the company of the holy, and continuous hearing and chanting of the Lord's stories are accessible and essential practices for every householder as well, however busy they may be.

This teaching produced a new spiritual awakening in Prithu's kingdom, where the people moved forward not only toward material prosperity but also toward spiritual advancement. This chapter is a direct example of how an ideal ruler can use his power and influence not merely for political stability, but also for the complete spiritual welfare of his people.

In this chapter, Sanatkumara, the eldest of the four Kumaras, once again gives Prithu spiritual teaching with great extent and depth. He described in detail the supremacy of Bhaktiyoga, the eternal relationship between the soul and the Supreme Soul, and the various paths of liberation from the web of illusion of the material world.

Sanatkumara particularly emphasized that a king's greatest trial is to remain humble and firmly established in devotion to the Lord even while surrounded by immense power, wealth, and the praises of his subjects — because power and honor are themselves the greatest temptations that can lead a seeker astray.

He also taught Prithu that true renunciation lies not in physically giving up objects, but in performing one's duties without attachment, giving up desire for the fruit of action — a teaching that Prithu deeply absorbed throughout his entire reign, and because of which he was able to live a life like a true saint even while amid royal power.

Sanatkumara also described the Pancharatra doctrine and the three-fold powers of the Lord that create, maintain, and destroy, explaining how a seeker, by understanding these powers, can steady their mind in contemplation of the Lord.

This profound teaching completely purified Prithu's heart and filled it with devotion. Overwhelmed, he expressed deep gratitude to Sanatkumara, and resolved firmly that he would live the rest of his life fully in accordance with this teaching — a resolve that becomes the firm foundation of the final chapter of his life, his renunciation and relinquishing of his body.

After ruling righteously for a long time, when Prithu sensed that his worldly duty was complete and his children had become capable of managing the kingdom, he firmly resolved to hand over the entire kingdom to his sons and set out himself toward the Vanaprastha stage of life.

Along with his supremely devoted wife Archi, who was herself a portion of the goddess Lakshmi, he went into the forest of Pulaha's hermitage and became absorbed in severe austerity. He took simple food of fruits and roots, then gradually increased his fasting, and, withdrawing his mind entirely from sense-objects, fixed it single-pointedly in meditation upon the Lord.

Prithu devoted the rest of his life entirely to meditation on the Lord, gradually giving up all attachment to the physical body. Shukadeva described how Prithu, through his long and disciplined practice, by the highest methods of pranayama, finally fixed his life-airs in the crown of the head and was able to relinquish his body just as a serpent easily sheds its old skin — without any pain, fear, or attachment, with complete peace and joy.

His wife Archi, who was deeply moved by her husband's devotion, renunciation, and austerity, and who had herself performed the same austerity alongside him, also, after her husband's relinquishing of his body, following in his very footsteps, gave up her own body with complete contentment and devotion, and both attained the abode of Vaikuntha.

Thus, the story of Prithu, which began with the remedying of his father Vena's unrighteousness and chaos, ends with complete renunciation, devotion, and liberation — a complete, coherent cycle of an ideal king's, ideal devotee's, and ideal human being's life, which even today presents an exemplary model for every ruler and householder.

Having completed the story of Prithu, the sage Maitreya began narrating to Vidura the story of the ten princes called the Prachetas, who were later born in Priyavrata's lineage as sons of King Prachinabarhi. These ten brothers, at their father's command, resolved to perform a long and difficult austerity for the increase of their progeny.

Traveling toward the ocean shore on the path of austerity, they found a vast, clear reservoir, its waters filled with blooming lotuses, from which a wondrous, heart-touching divine music could be heard, as though some Gandharva were playing a veena. Curious, they began seeking the source of this sweet music.

Searching, they found that Lord Shiva himself, surrounded by his attendants, was seated there in meditation, and this divine music was being sung by Gandharvas in his praise. The princes were struck with awe at this wondrous, radiant sight, and bowed before Shiva with great reverence.

Shiva, extremely pleased to see these young princes' natural devotion, humility, and profound curiosity, affectionately called them near and resolved to give them a profound spiritual teaching, saying that this meeting of theirs was no coincidence, but the fruit of merit from past lives.

This teaching is described in detail in the next chapter, and is considered one of the most profound, poetic, and philosophical portions of the Bhagavata Purana, traditionally known as the "Rudra Gita."

Lord Shiva taught the Prachetas princes an extremely profound, beautiful, and sweet hymn, known as the "Rudra Gita," in which he described in detail the boundless glory of Lord Vishnu, his universal form, and his all-pervasiveness.

Shiva explained with great humility that although he himself is called Mahadeva, the destroyer of the three worlds, his own deepest, unbreakable devotion is ultimately surrendered at the lotus feet of Lord Vishnu, and he himself is considered the greatest among Vaishnavas — "Vaishnavanam yatha Shambhuh."

Shiva also taught the princes that there is no fundamental discrimination in true devotion — whether one is a devotee of Shiva or of Vishnu, if their devotion is guileless, sincere, and free of ego, it ultimately reaches that same Supreme Truth, since there is no fundamental difference between Shiva and Vishnu, they are two manifestations of the same one reality.

This teaching is strong proof that the Bhagavata Purana shows no fundamental opposition between the Shaiva and Vaishnava traditions, but presents both as complementary and mutually respected forms of the same truth, entirely beyond sectarian narrowness.

Deeply inspired by this teaching, the Prachetas princes continued their austerity with even greater firmness, and after a long time finally attained a direct vision of Lord Vishnu, who, pleased, blessed them and made an auspicious prophecy about their coming progeny and their royal duties — thus their long austerity was completed, and they began preparing to return to their father's kingdom.

Having completed their austerity, on their way back from the ocean shore, the Prachetas princes met the divine sage Narada. Along the way, Narada told them an extremely profound, poetic allegorical story — the story of King Puranjana, which is an extremely beautiful and poignant symbolic depiction of the human soul's entanglement and forgetfulness in the material world.

Narada explained that in ancient times there was King Puranjana, who had an inseparable, ever-wakeful friend named Avijnata ("the unknown") — this friend actually symbolizes the Supreme Soul, who always remains with the soul but usually remains unseen and unrecognized. Puranjana wandered across the entire earth in search of a dwelling place suited to all his desires, but could find satisfaction nowhere.

Finally, south of the Himalayas, in a place called Bharatavarsha, he found an extremely beautiful, nine-gated city, adorned with gold, silver, and jewels, surrounded on all sides by gardens and lakes — this city actually symbolizes the human body, whose nine gates represent the nine natural openings of the body (two eyes, two ears, two nostrils, the mouth, and two lower openings).

Wandering in that garden, Puranjana met an extremely beautiful woman, full of youth, protected by ten attendants and a five-hooded serpent — this woman actually symbolizes the intellect, the ten attendants the ten senses, and the five-hooded serpent the life-force (prana), which continuously, even in sleep, protects the body.

Puranjana, enchanted by the woman's beauty, began asking her questions out of desire, and she too, though knowing nothing of her own past or origin, agreed to marry him — thus, exactly as a soul becomes so absorbed in the body and sensory pleasures that it entirely forgets its true, spiritual nature, Puranjana settled in that city (the body) with the intellect (the queen), gradually forgetting his true friend (the Supreme Soul).

Continuing the story of Puranjana, Narada described how King Puranjana became completely lost in the total influence of his queen (the intellect), forgetting the true duties of his kingdom, remaining absorbed only in sensory pleasures, indulgence, and worldly entertainment — whatever the queen wished, Puranjana did, as though he had no independent existence of his own.

His inseparable friend, Avijnata, remained continuously with him, but Puranjana never paid attention to him — this friend actually symbolizes the Supreme Soul, who always remains present with the soul, but never forcibly interferes with its free will and desire for enjoyment, remaining only a witness.

As time passed, Puranjana's kingdom was attacked by a Gandharva king named Chandavega, along with his three hundred and sixty wives (symbolizing the days of the year) — this symbolically represents time itself, kala, which continuously, day after day, ultimately weakens and destroys every material achievement, youth, and pleasure. In the battle, Puranjana was gradually defeated, and his beautiful city (the body) began to decay.

A fearsome serpent-maiden (Jara, symbolizing old age) also appeared with this army of time, who began gradually gripping Puranjana's body. As death approached, Puranjana began to have a dim awareness of the mistakes of his entire life, but by then it was already too late.

In his final, dying moments too, he remained anxious and worried only about his queen (the mind) and worldly relationships, not about his true spiritual condition or his forgotten true friend — deeply showing how a lifetime of deep attachment keeps the soul confused and bound even in the final moment of death, and determines its next course.

After his death, since Puranjana's final thought was filled with deep attachment and affection for his queen, according to the principle of the Bhagavad Gita that "whatever state of being one remembers when leaving the body at the end, that state alone one attains," he was born in his next life as a princess of the Vidarbha country, in a woman's body.

In this new birth too, marrying a king, he once again became entangled in the same cycle of worldly happiness and sorrow, attachment to children, and household attachment, just as he had been entangled in his previous birth — showing that merely changing body and gender makes no difference to the soul's fundamental illusion or bondage.

Narada, narrating this story of rebirth in detail, made clear that until the soul recognizes its true, spiritual nature and turns toward the Supreme Soul dwelling within it, it continues taking birth again and again in various bodies, genders, and circumstances, each time becoming newly entangled in the same web of illusion, attachment, and delusion.

In this female birth too, the husband's death and the deep grief of widowhood eventually inspired her to reflect deeply on the impermanence of life, and it was then that she once again, by coincidence, met a brahmin, who was actually that same forgotten old friend, Avijnata, who had now reappeared to remind her of her true identity.

Through this story, Narada gave the Prachetas princes the profound teaching that this endless cycle of happiness and sorrow, victory and defeat, male and female, birth and death in the material world never breaks until the soul recognizes its true, spiritual identity and takes refuge in the Supreme Soul.

In this chapter, the sage Narada revealed the deeper meaning of the entire story of Puranjana, clarifying each symbol in sequence. He explained that the nine-gated city is the human body; the beautiful queen is the intellect or mind; the ten attendants are the ten senses; the five-hooded serpent is the life-force (prana); the unspoken, ever-present friend Avijnata is the Supreme Soul or inner self; Chandavega and his three hundred and sixty wives are time and the days of the year; and the city's gradual destruction is the body's old age and death.

Narada explained with particular depth that the soul (Puranjana), which is actually pure, eternal consciousness, out of ignorance completely identifies itself with the body and mind, forgetting that it is actually entirely separate from all this, a pure witness alone, who, though unaffected by the body's happiness and sorrow, out of ignorance experiences itself as bound to them. This very fundamental illusion is the sole cause of all worldly bondage, sorrow, and rebirth.

Narada also made clear that, like Puranjana, every living being is the king of their own body-city, and as long as they remain subjugated by their senses and mind, entangled in external enjoyments, they can neither see nor recognize that true friend — the Supreme Soul — dwelling within them, however near and ever-present that friend may be.

Through this profound allegory, Narada also taught the Prachetas that renouncing worldly life is not the solution, but rather that never forgetting that witness-consciousness within oneself, even while living worldly life, is the true path of knowledge and liberation.

Narada clearly explained to the Prachetas that the sole certain remedy for liberation from this illusion is to reverently recognize that unspoken, ever-present friend within — that is, the Supreme Soul — and take complete refuge in him. Until the soul, recognizing its true nature, understands its eternal, permanent relationship with the Supreme Soul, it will remain trapped, like Puranjana, birth after birth, in an endless cycle of illusion and sorrow.

After hearing this profound allegorical story of Puranjana and its detailed explanation, the hearts of the Prachetas princes were deeply moved and stirred. They humbly prayed to Narada for further spiritual guidance, even knowing that they would soon have to take up their father's vast kingdom.

Narada gave them extensive teaching on the supreme importance of Bhaktiyoga, explaining how, through continuous remembrance of the Lord, chanting of his name, and the company of saints, the soul can remain protected from forgetfulness and errors like Puranjana's, even while living amid royal grandeur and worldly responsibilities.

Narada also clearly taught them that it is not necessary to renounce worldly duties — such as ruling a kingdom, marriage, or family responsibility. If the heart remains firmly established in devotion to the Lord, the soul can remain entirely free from material bondage even while fulfilling all these duties — this teaching was especially relevant for the Prachetas, since they would soon have to take up their father's kingdom.

The princes also asked Narada why, if devotion is the supreme and simplest path, people still remain entangled in difficult sacrifices, austerities, and rituals. Narada answered that this is a common weakness of human nature, in which attraction to complex but superficial paths persists, abandoning the simple but profound path, until true discernment awakens.

Spiritually enriched by this profound teaching, the Prachetas princes returned toward their father Prachinabarhi's kingdom, resolving firmly that in their coming reign they would harmoniously and inseparably observe both devotion and dharma, exactly as the previously described Maharaja Prithu had done throughout his entire life.

In this final chapter of the Fourth Skandha, Shukadeva narrated to Parikshit a detailed account of the future lineage of the Prachetas princes. Upon returning to the kingdom, they found that during their long absence the forests had grown uncontrollably and there was insufficient cultivable land for the people.

Enraged, the ten Prachetas generated fire and wind from their mouths and began burning the forests, which so frightened Soma (the moon), lord of the trees, that he appeared before them himself and, calming them, proposed the marriage of Marisha, daughter of the sage Kandu — Marisha, who had herself been born from a tree-form through a wondrous story, became the shared wife of the ten Prachetas.

From them was born a son named Daksha — that same Daksha, whose story had been narrated at the beginning of this very Fourth Skandha as his dispute with Shiva, now reborn, this time as the god of prosperity and creation, who was entrusted by Brahma's command with the great task of populating creation, and who, through his many daughters — including Sati — filled all the worlds.

Thus, the cycle of the story completes itself — that same Daksha, whose pride caused destruction at the beginning of this skandha, ultimately, in his rebirth, becomes an instrument of creation and prosperity, showing that no soul remains permanently bound in the cycle of time and the Lord's will, but that the opportunity for purification and change is always available.

Thus the Fourth Skandha, which wondrously encompasses such diverse yet deeply interconnected subjects as Daksha's pride and fall, Sati's poignant sacrifice, Dhruva's guileless childhood devotion, Prithu's ideal rule and renunciation, and the profound allegorical story of Puranjana, comes to its conclusion. Shukadeva reminded Parikshit that all these stories carry one single, eternal message — that pride ultimately leads to destruction, while humility, guileless devotion, and righteousness alone are the path to true prosperity and, ultimately, supreme liberation. With this teaching, the narrative now prepares to move toward the Fifth Skandha, where the stories of Rishabhadeva and Maharaja Bharata will unveil this very subject in even greater depth.