O Uddhava, all your questions have been answered as they should be. Why linger further on the details of virtue and fault? To see faults even within virtues is itself a failing, while true virtue is that which stands free from both fault and the pride of virtue. Once, in the land of Vraja, the cowherds returned home and spoke to the womenfolk of Krishna and Balarama’s wondrous deeds—how they had extinguished a raging forest fire and slain the mighty Pralamba. Hearing these marvels, the elder cowherds and the women were filled with astonishment, and they began to regard Krishna and Rama, who had come among them, as the foremost among the gods. Soon, the rainy season arrived, bringing forth all living beings. The sky and earth echoed with the sound of thunder, and the horizon was lit up. The heavens were dense with dark clouds, streaked by lightning and roaring with thunder, shining dimly behind this veil—much like Brahman when it is covered by qualities. When the time was ripe, the clouds released the water they had drawn from the earth over eight months, pouring it down by their own power. Great clouds, accompanied by flashes of lightning and shaken by fierce winds, showered life-giving rain, their bounty as compassionate as a generous heart. The earth, parched and scorched by the sun, was drenched and revived by the rain, just as a body worn thin by austerity is restored upon attaining its cherished goal. As night fell, only the fireflies glimmered in the darkness, while the planets remained unseen—just as, in the age of Kali, the Vedas are obscured among heretics by the darkness of sin. With the thunder of the clouds, frogs who had long been silent suddenly began to croak, much as brāhmaṇas, after their vows, resume their recitations. The small rivers, which had dried up and strayed from their courses, began to flow again—just as the wealth and strength of a self-reliant man are restored. The earth became green with new grass and dotted with the red of indragopa insects, shaded by mushrooms, resembling the arrival of fortune for humankind. The fields, rich with crops, brought joy to the farmers, but to the proud who do not understand the role of fate, they brought only regret. All creatures, on land and in water, refreshed by the new rains, took on a lovely appearance—just as those who serve Hari become radiant. The rivers, swollen by many streams, surged with waves driven by the wind, like the mind of an immature yogi agitated by passion and the play of qualities. Yet the mountains, though struck by torrents of rain, did not tremble—just as those whose minds are fixed on the Supreme remain unmoved by calamities. The paths became uncertain, overgrown with grass and unmarked, like the Vedas neglected by brahmins and obscured by the quarrels of the age. The bonds among people became as fleeting as lightning among clouds, and so too the constancy of women did not remain toward men, even those adorned with virtues. A rainbow appeared in the sky, seemingly possessing qualities though itself beyond them—just as one without qualities seems to possess them when they are manifest. The moon, veiled by clouds radiant with its own light, did not shine forth, just as a person blinded by ego fails to shine with true brilliance. The peacocks, delighted by the arrival of clouds, rejoiced; yet in their homes, scorched and disheartened, they waited for the coming of the Lord, just as His devotees yearn for Him. The trees, having drunk deeply through their roots, regained their forms, after having been withered and exhausted by austerity—just as one recovers from the pursuit of desires. The cranes settled in the tranquil waters of lakes and reservoirs, just as people with vain hopes dwell in households full of restless duties. The embankments were broken by the torrents unleashed by the lord of rain, just as the paths of the Vedas are broken in the age of Kali by the false words of heretics. The clouds, driven by the wind, released their waters as nectar for all beings, just as lords of wealth, urged by the twice-born, give blessings at the proper time. Thus, Hari, accompanied by his companions and surrounded by cows and cowherds, entered the forest, which was lush with ripe dates and jambu trees, to enjoy its beauty. The cows, moving slowly under the heavy weight of their udders, came quickly when called by the Lord, their udders moist with affection. The forest dwellers rejoiced, seeing rows of trees dripping with honey, and the caves near the mountains resounded with the music of falling water. Sometimes, when rain fell into the hollows of trees or in caves, the Lord entered and delighted there, eating roots, tubers, and fruits. With Sankarshana and the cowherds, Krishna ate the curds and rice that had been brought, sitting on a stone near the water, sharing the meal with his companions. Seated on the grass as they grazed, the bulls, calves, and cows, weary from the weight of their udders, closed their eyes in contentment, fully satisfied. Beholding the glory of the rainy season, which brought joy to all beings and was enhanced by his own power, the Lord honored it with worship. Thus, as Rama and Keshava dwelt in Vraja, autumn arrived, bringing clear skies, pure waters, and gentle winds. In autumn, as the lotuses bloomed, the waters returned to their natural state, just as the minds of those who have fallen are restored through the practice of yoga. Autumn swept away the clouds from the sky, impurity from the earth, and filth from the waters, just as devotion to Krishna cleanses the ascetic’s heart. Having abandoned all their possessions, the waters shone with pure radiance, just as sages who have renounced all desires become peaceful and freed from sin. The mountains released their waters, but sometimes withheld what was auspicious, just as the wise give the nectar of knowledge at the proper time, or sometimes do not. The creatures in deep waters did not notice the diminishing water, just as foolish householders do not perceive their lives slipping away day by day. Nor did these creatures feel the heat of the autumn sun, just as a poor, pitiable householder with uncontrolled senses fails to perceive his own suffering. Gradually, the plants shed their mud and dryness, just as the wise slowly abandon the notions of “I” and “mine” with respect to the body and all things that are not truly the self.