Close your eyes and look within. That is what Devarshi Narada, the ocean of compassion, told King Prachinabarhi. The king had spent his entire life performing yajnas with meticulous precision. Every fire lit according to the rules. Every offering placed just so. He believed ritual alone would carry him to heaven.
Then Narada told him the story of King Puranjana: a man who built a city with nine gates, married a beautiful queen, and lost himself so completely in pleasure that old age, death, and rebirth swallowed him whole. The city was the body. The queen was the buddhi. And the king's elaborate rituals, performed without a drop of real love, were just feeding the great wheel of samsara.
The teaching struck Prachinabarhi like lightning. He entrusted his kingdom to his ten sons, the Prachetas, and walked away to Kapilashram. There he surrendered his heart to Bhagavan and, through devotional tapas, attained moksha.
His sons walked their own path of grace. Following Narada's guidance, all ten traveled to Narayanasara and performed tapas for ten thousand years. Bhagavan arrived seated upon Garuda, blessed them with darshan, and bestowed the boon of bhakti. He directed all ten to marry a single maiden, and from that union Prajapati Daksha was born. Having entrusted the kingdom to Daksha, the ten brothers returned to the forest for the worship of Bhagavan.
The tika tells us their ending: through such intense bhakti, upon leaving their mortal bodies they assumed divine forms and departed for the eternal abode of Bhagavan.
Prachinabarhi's transformation speaks to every seeker who has ever mistaken the form of devotion for its substance. Ritual without love is empty performance. It may win temporary heavenly reward, but it cannot liberate the jiva. The greatest offering is not what you place upon the altar. It is the surrender of your own heart.
Ritual Without Love Is Empty Performance
King Prachinabarhi spent his entire life performing yajnas with flawless precision. Every fire was lit according to the rules. Every offering was placed just so. He believed that correct ritual form would carry him to liberation. Then Narada arrived and held up a mirror. All that meticulous sacrifice, performed without a drop of real love for Bhagavan, was feeding the wheel of samsara rather than releasing him from it. Ritual has its place, but form without inner surrender is merely performance. What Bhagavan receives is not the ghee poured into the fire. It is the heart that pours it. If love is absent, the most elaborate ceremony is hollow. If love is present, even the simplest act of remembrance carries the seeker home.
Srimad Bhagavatam 4.25-4.29; Bhaktamal entry 49
The Body Is a City You Will Have to Leave
Narada taught Prachinabarhi through the allegory of King Puranjana, a man who built a city with nine gates and lost himself completely in its pleasures. The city was the body. The queen was the intellect. The pleasures were the senses drawing attention outward. Old age came, then death, then rebirth, and the cycle continued without end. This story is not merely about a fictional king. It is about every seeker who mistakes the dwelling for the dweller. The body is a temporary palace. Identifying entirely with it, directing all energy toward its comfort and ornamentation, is a certain path to bondage. The teaching is not to hate the body, but to remember clearly that the one who lives inside it is not made of it.
Srimad Bhagavatam 4.25-4.29, the allegory of Puranjana; Bhaktamal entry 49
The Moment of Real Hearing Changes Everything
Prachinabarhi had heard teachings before. He had been trained in the Vedas, had performed their prescriptions faithfully for decades. But Narada's allegory of Puranjana struck him in a place that scriptural recitation alone had never reached. The teaching did not enter through his intellect. It entered through the crack that compassion opens. He heard it not as information but as recognition, as something his own heart had been waiting to understand. That kind of hearing is rare and it is everything. The Bhagavatam calls it shravana, listening that goes below the surface of the mind. When a teaching truly lands, the seeker does not need to be pushed toward renunciation. He simply hands over the kingdom and walks away.
Srimad Bhagavatam 4.29; Bhaktamal entry 49
Renunciation Is Not Loss, It Is a Homecoming
After Narada's teaching, Prachinabarhi did not hesitate. He entrusted his kingdom to his ten sons, the Prachetas, and walked away to Kapilashram. From the outside this looks like loss: a king giving up wealth, power, and the comfortable rhythms of a life he had built over decades. But the Bhagavatam's telling makes clear that this was not loss. It was clarity finally acting on what it knows. When a seeker truly understands that the world cannot offer what the heart is searching for, renunciation becomes natural rather than forced. The grief is not in leaving. The grief, if it belongs anywhere, is in all the years spent looking for liberation in the wrong direction.
Srimad Bhagavatam 4.31; Bhaktamal entry 49
The Sons Who Followed the Same Grace
Prachinabarhi's transformation did not exhaust the grace at work in his story. His ten sons, the Prachetas, received Narada's guidance as well and traveled to Narayanasara, where they performed tapas for ten thousand years. Bhagavan appeared before them, seated on Garuda, and gave them darshan and the boon of bhakti. They fulfilled their worldly duties by accepting a single bride and begetting Prajapati Daksha, then returned to the forest for the worship of Bhagavan. Their story teaches that the impulse toward liberation can flow through a lineage. A parent who truly turns toward Bhagavan does not leave his children behind in the dark. The light he finds illuminates a path that others can also walk.
Srimad Bhagavatam 4.30-4.31; Bhaktamal entry 49
Hindi text from OCR scan (Khemraj Shrikrishnadas Prakashan, CC0). May contain errors.