As autumn arrived, the world transformed in wondrous ways. The lotuses bloomed, and the waters returned to their clear, natural state, just as the minds of those who have fallen are restored through the discipline of yoga. The season swept away the clouds from the sky, cleansed the earth of impurities, and purified the waters, much like devotion to Krishna removes the stains of ascetic life. Those who had abandoned all possessions shone with pure radiance, resembling sages who, having renounced every desire, become peaceful and freed from sin. The mountains released their stored waters, yet sometimes withheld what was auspicious, just as the wise impart the nectar of knowledge only at the proper time, or withhold it when it is not suitable. Creatures living deep in the waters did not notice the gradual decrease in water, just as foolish householders fail to perceive their lifespan slipping away day by day. Nor did these creatures feel the heat of the autumn sun, just as a pitiable householder with uncontrolled senses remains oblivious to his suffering. Gradually, the plants shed their mud and dryness, just as wise people slowly let go of the notions of ‘I’ and ‘mine’ regarding the body and other things not belonging to the self. The ocean became still and silent with autumn’s arrival, just as a sage, when all movements cease, becomes absorbed in the self. Farmers drew water from their fields with sturdy embankments, much as yogis restrain the flow of knowledge with their vital energies. The moon, gentle and cool, removed the heat of the autumn sun from living beings, just as Mukunda dispelled the suffering born of bodily identification in the women of Vraja. The sky shone spotless, filled with pure stars, just as a mind endowed with goodness perceives the meaning of the sound of Brahman. The moon, surrounded by stars, shone with its unbroken orb, mirroring Krishna, surrounded by the Vṛṣṇi clan, shining on earth. People embraced the forest breeze, cool and warm, fragrant with flowers, and shed their suffering—save for the gopīs whose hearts were stolen by Krishna. 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 of the sun, except for the night-blooming lilies; likewise, people are fearless under a righteous king, but not in the presence of robbers. Towns and villages, filled with festivals and delighted senses, shone with ripe harvests, especially through the arts of Hari. Merchants, sages, and kings, having bathed, went forth to pursue their purposes, just as perfected beings, when the time arrives, seek their own bodies after being restrained by the rains. He who possesses the self created his own city and people for them; seeing those who had been previously created, they praised the Lord of creatures. They exclaimed, “O creator of the world, how excellent is your deed! In whom all rituals are established, let us partake of food together.” 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—the prosperity of meditation and yoga, austerity, knowledge, and detachment. Śuka continued: In this way, during autumn, with clear waters and the fragrance of blooming lotuses, Acyuta, along with the cowherd boys and cows, entered the forest cooled by the gentle breeze. The forests were alive with blossoming trees, swarms of humming bees, and lakes and rivers resounding with the calls of birds. The lord of the bees entered, herding the cows with his companions, and played the flute. When the women of Vraja heard the flute song, which awakened love, some, unseen by Krishna, described it to their friends. They began to speak of it, remembering Krishna’s deeds, but, O King, overwhelmed by the force of love, their minds were disturbed and they could not continue. Krishna, adorned with a peacock feather, the form of the best of dancers, karṇikāra flowers at his ears, garments yellow as gold, and a garland of forest flowers, filled the holes of his flute with nectar from his lips. Surrounded by cowherd boys, he entered the forest of Vṛndā, making it delightful with his footprints and famed by his song. The sound of the flute, enchanting all beings, was heard by the women of Vraja, who, describing it, became absorbed in its sweetness. The gopīs said, “O friends, we know no greater fruit for the eyes than this—seeing the two sons of the lord of Vraja, herding cows with their companions, faces adorned by the flute, and receiving their loving glances.” Adorned with mango shoots, tender leaves, peacock feathers, and garlands of lotuses and lilies, dressed in garments decorated with forest flowers, the two shone brilliantly in the midst of the cowherd community, like expert dancers on a stage, singing. The gopīs marveled, “What good fortune has this flute attained, O friends, that it alone enjoys the nectar of Dāmodara’s lips, which even we desire, and the rivers, tasting its leftover sweetness, rejoice, their waters trembling and trees shedding tears like elders.” “O friend, Vṛndāvana spreads its fame on earth, for the water from the feet of Devakī’s son has graced it; seeing Govinda playing the flute, intoxicated peacocks dance, and all creatures on the mountain slopes become still.” “Blessed indeed are even these simple-minded deer, who, seeing Nanda’s son in his wondrous attire, hearing the sound of his flute with their black-buck mates, offer worship with loving glances.” Seeing Krishna, whose form and conduct are a festival for the eyes, and hearing his flute’s sweet, secluded song, the goddesses in their celestial chariots, their minds disturbed by love, their flower garlands slipping, fainted, their garments loosening. The cows, drinking in the nectar of the flute song flowing from Krishna’s mouth with ears raised, stood still, their calves pausing with milk in their mouths, tears welling in their eyes as they gazed at Govinda, as if embracing him in their hearts. “Surely, mother,” the gopīs said, “even the birds in this forest are blessed sages; climbing the branches of beautiful trees, they listen with closed eyes to Krishna’s flute song, forgetting all else.” The rivers, hearing Mukunda’s song, their currents marked by circles, their passion subdued, embrace Murāri with their wave-arms, offering lotuses at his feet. Seeing the cows of Vraja grazing in the sun with Rāma and the cowherd boys, Krishna playing the flute, the trees, filled with love, raised their blossoming branches and spread their bodies as umbrellas to shade their friend. The Pulinda women, their faces and breasts smeared with the vermilion from the lotus feet of the great singer, which had adorned their beloveds’ breasts and was left on the grass, applied it to themselves, relieving the pain of love awakened by seeing him. Behold this hill, the best among the servants of Hari, delighted by the touch of Rama and Krishna’s feet, offering respect to Them and Their cows and companions with water, tender grass, and roots from its slopes. As Rama and Krishna led the cows through the forest, accompanied by the cowherd boys, the sweet notes of Their flutes enchanted all living beings. Even the moving creatures became still, the trees thrilled, and the marks of their bonds fell away in wonder.