As the rainy season unfolded in Vraja, the river, swollen by countless streams, surged with waves whipped up by the wind. Its restless motion resembled the agitated mind of an immature yogi, disturbed by passions and the play of qualities. Yet, the mountains, battered by torrents of rain, stood firm and unmoved, just as those whose minds are fixed on the Supreme remain steady in the face of calamity. The paths through the land became uncertain, overgrown with grass and unmarked, much like the Vedas themselves when neglected by brahmins and obscured by quarrel. Bonds among people proved as fleeting as lightning among clouds, and even the constancy of women toward virtuous men did not remain. In the sky, the rainbow appeared without true qualities, yet seemed to possess them, just as a person without qualities may seem adorned when qualities manifest. The moon, veiled by radiant clouds, could not shine forth, just as a person blinded by ego fails to reveal their own true brilliance. 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 do. The trees, having drunk water through their roots, regained their forms after being withered and exhausted by austerity, just as one is by the pursuit of desires. Cranes settled in the tranquil waters of lakes and reservoirs, much like people with vain hopes dwell in households filled with restless duties. Embankments were broken by torrents of water sent by the lord of rain, just as the paths of the Vedas are disrupted in the age of Kali by the false words of heretics. The clouds, driven by the winds, released water as nectar for all beings, just as the lords of wealth, urged by the twice-born, grant blessings at the proper times. It was in this flourishing forest, rich with ripe dates and jambu trees, that Hari, accompanied by His companions and surrounded by cows and cowherds, entered to enjoy its beauty. The cows, burdened by the heavy weight of their udders, came quickly when called by the Lord, their udders moist with affection. The forest dwellers, joyful, saw rows of trees dripping with honey, and caves near the mountains resounded with the sound of falling water. Sometimes, when rain fell in the hollows of trees or caves, the Lord entered and delighted there, eating roots, tubers, and fruits. Along with Sankarshana and the cowherds, He ate curds and rice brought for them, 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—wearied by 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 worshipped it. Thus, as Rama and Keshava dwelt in Vraja, autumn arrived, bringing clear skies, pure waters, and gentle winds. With the blooming of lotuses, the waters returned to their natural state, just as the minds of those fallen are restored through yoga. Autumn cleared the clouds from the sky, impurity from the earth, and filth from the waters, just as devotion to Krishna removes impurity from ascetics. Having abandoned all possessions, beings 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 impart the nectar of knowledge at the proper time—or sometimes do not. Creatures living in deep waters did not perceive the diminishing water, just as foolish householders fail to notice their lifespan decreasing day by day. Nor did they feel the heat caused by the autumn sun, just as a poor, pitiable householder with uncontrolled senses does not perceive 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 became still and silent at the arrival of autumn, just as a sage, when all movements cease, becomes fully absorbed in the self. Farmers drew water from fields with strong embankments, just as yogis, by restraining the flow of knowledge with their vital energies, control it. The moon removed the heat caused by the rays of the autumn sun from living beings, just as Mukunda dispelled the suffering born of bodily identification in the women of Vraja. The sky, in autumn, appeared spotless and full of pure stars, just as the mind endowed with goodness perceives the meaning of the sound of Brahman. The moon, surrounded by stars, shone in the sky with its unbroken orb, just as Krishna, surrounded by the Vṛṣṇi clan, shone on earth. Embracing the forest breeze—equally cool and warm, fragrant with flowers—people 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, being sought by their own males, just as fruits are produced by the actions of the Lord. Lotus flowers rejoiced at the rising of the 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, with festivals and senses delighted, the earth shone, rich with ripe harvests, especially due to the arts of Hari. Merchants, sages, and kings, having bathed, went out to pursue their purposes, just as perfected beings, when the time arrives, seek their own bodies after being restrained by the rains. He, possessing the self, created His own city and people for them; seeing those who had been previously created, they praised the Lord of creatures: “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. To each of them, the unborn one gave a portion of His own body—that is, the prosperity of meditation and yoga, austerity, knowledge, and detachment.