As the rains descended, all creatures on land and water were refreshed, their beauty restored, just as those who serve Hari are graced with loveliness. The rivers, swollen by countless streams, surged with wind-driven waves, resembling the mind of an unsteady yogi—restless and agitated by passion and the play of qualities. Yet the steadfast mountains, though lashed by torrents, did not tremble, just as those whose minds are fixed on the Supreme remain unmoved by calamities. The paths, now hidden beneath thick grass and without markers, seemed uncertain—like the Vedas themselves, neglected and obscured by quarrel when brahmins fail in their duty. Among people, bonds became as fleeting as flashes of lightning among clouds, and the constancy of women, even toward virtuous men, did not endure. The rainbow arched across the sky, appearing to possess qualities though it was itself without them—just as a person without attributes seems to have them when qualities are manifest. The moon, veiled by clouds radiant with its own light, did not shine forth; so too, a person blinded by ego cannot reveal his true brilliance. The peacocks, delighted by the coming of clouds, rejoiced, but in their homes they waited, scorched and disheartened, for the Lord’s arrival—just as His devotees long for Him. The trees, having drunk deeply through their roots, regained their forms, restored from exhaustion by the nourishing rains, just as one is revived from the weariness of desire. Cranes settled in the tranquil waters of lakes and reservoirs, much like people with vain hopes who dwell in households filled with restless duties. The embankments, broken by the torrents sent by the lord of rain, resembled the paths of the Vedas, shattered in the age of Kali by the false words of heretics. The clouds, driven by the wind, released water as nectar for all beings, just as lords of wealth, prompted by the twice-born, bestow blessings at the proper time. Thus, Hari, accompanied by His companions and surrounded by cows and cowherds, entered the forest, rich with ripe dates and jambu trees, to enjoy its delights. The cows, heavy with udders, moved slowly, yet came quickly when called by the Lord, their affection evident. The forest dwellers rejoiced at the sight of trees dripping with honey, and the caves near the mountains echoed with the sound of falling water. Sometimes, when rain fell into the hollows of trees or caves, the Lord would enter and delight there, partaking of roots, tubers, and fruits. With Sankarshana and the cowherds, He sat on a stone beside the water and ate the curds and rice they had brought, sharing the meal with His companions. Seated on the grass, the bulls, calves, and cows, weary from the weight of their udders, grazed contentedly, their eyes closed in satisfaction. Beholding the glory of the rainy season, which brought joy to all beings and was further beautified by His own presence, the Lord honored it. And so, as Rama and Keshava dwelt in Vraja, autumn arrived, bringing clear skies, pure waters, and gentle winds. With autumn, the lotuses bloomed and the waters returned to their natural clarity, just as the minds of those fallen are restored through the practice of yoga. Autumn cleared the sky of clouds, the earth of impurity, and the waters of filth, just as devotion to Krishna purifies ascetics. Having abandoned all possessions, beings shone with pure radiance, just as sages who have renounced all desires become peaceful and sinless. The mountains released their waters, but sometimes held back what was auspicious, just as the wise impart the nectar of knowledge at the proper time, or withhold it. The creatures living in deep waters did not perceive the diminishing water, just as foolish householders do not notice their lives slipping away day by day. Nor did those deep-dwelling creatures feel the heat of the autumn sun, just as pitiable householders with uncontrolled senses fail to perceive their own suffering. Gradually, the plants shed their mud and dryness, just as the wise slowly abandon the notions of ‘I’ and ‘mine’ regarding the body and other non-self things. The ocean, too, became still and silent at autumn’s arrival, just as a sage, when all movements cease, is absorbed in the Self. Farmers drew water from their fields with strong embankments, just as yogis restrain the flow of knowledge with their vital energies. The moon’s cool rays relieved the heat of the autumn sun from living beings, just as Mukunda dispelled the suffering of bodily identification in the women of Vraja. The sky, spotless and full of pure stars, was like the mind endowed with goodness, perceiving the meaning of the sound of Brahman. The moon, surrounded by stars, shone with its unbroken orb, just as Krishna, surrounded by the Vṛṣṇi clan, shone on earth. The people, embracing the forest breeze—at once cool, warm, and fragrant with flowers—shed their suffering, but the gopīs, whose hearts had been stolen by Krishna, did not. Cows, deer, birds, women, and flowering plants flourished in autumn, sought out by their own males, just as fruits are produced by the actions of the Lord. Lotus flowers rejoiced at the rising sun, except for the night-blooming lilies; just as people are fearless under a king, but not in the presence of robbers. In towns and villages, the earth shone with festivals, senses delighted, and ripe harvests, especially due to the arts of Hari. Merchants, sages, and kings, having bathed, set out to pursue their purposes, just as perfected beings, when the time arrives, seek their own bodies after being restrained by the rains. He, the self-possessed Lord, created his own city and people; seeing those who had been created before, they praised the Lord of creatures, saying, “Ah, O creator of the world, how excellent is your deed! In whom all rituals are established, together let us partake of food.” Endowed with austerity, knowledge, and yoga in deep concentration, Hṛṣīkeśa, the sage of sages, created the desired beings.