As autumn arrived, the season gently cleansed the world—sweeping away the clouds from the sky, purifying the earth, and clearing the waters, much as devotion to Krishna purifies the hearts of ascetics. Freed from all their possessions, people shone with a serene radiance, just as sages glow in the peace that comes from renouncing desire and sin. The mountains released their waters, though sometimes they withheld their gifts, just as the wise share the nectar of knowledge only at the right time—or withhold it when it is not appropriate. Meanwhile, the creatures dwelling deep within the waters failed to notice as their world diminished, just as householders, absorbed in daily life, do not perceive their own lives slipping away day by day. Likewise, these deep-water creatures did not feel the heat of the autumn sun, much like householders with uncontrolled senses, who remain oblivious to their own suffering. Gradually, the plants cast off their mud and dryness, just as the wise slowly relinquish the false ideas of ‘I’ and ‘mine’ regarding the body and all things that are not truly the self. The ocean, too, became calm and silent at autumn’s touch, just as a sage, when all external movements cease, becomes absorbed in the self. Farmers drew water from fields protected by strong embankments, just as yogis restrain the flow of knowledge with the vital energies of prāṇa, keeping it under control. The moon, rising in the autumn sky, soothed the heat left by the sun, just as Mukunda relieved the suffering born of bodily identification in the women of Vraja. The sky gleamed, pure and filled with radiant stars, just as the mind, when infused with goodness, perceives the true meaning of the sound of Brahman. The moon, surrounded by stars, shone with an unbroken orb in the sky, just as Krishna, surrounded by the Vṛṣṇi clan, illuminated the earth. The people, embracing the gentle forest breeze—cool, warm, and fragrant with flowers—shed their suffering. Yet the gopīs, whose hearts Krishna had stolen, found no relief. In autumn, cows, deer, birds, women, and flowering plants flourished, each sought out by their own mates, just as fruits are produced through the actions of the Lord. Lotus flowers rejoiced at the rising sun, except for the night-blooming lilies, just as people feel safe under a good king, but not in the presence of robbers. Everywhere, towns and villages sparkled with festivals, the senses of the people delighted, the earth rich with ripe harvests—especially through the arts of Hari. Merchants, sages, and kings, having bathed, set out to fulfill their duties, just as perfected beings, when the time arrives, seek their own forms after being restrained by the rains. He, the self-possessed, created a city and people for Himself. Seeing those He had created before, they praised the Lord of creatures, exclaiming, “O creator of the world, how excellent is your deed! In you all rituals are established—let us partake of food together.” Endowed with austerity, knowledge, and yoga, in profound concentration, Hṛṣīkeśa, the sage of sages, created the beings as He desired. To each, the unborn Lord gave a portion of His own body: the prosperity of meditation and yoga, austerity, knowledge, and detachment. Śuka then continued: In this way, during the autumn season—when the waters were clear and the air carried the fragrance of blooming lotuses—Acyuta, accompanied by the cowherd boys and cows, entered the forest, cooled by the gentle breeze. The forests, alive with blossoming trees, the hum of bees, and the calls of birds from lakes and rivers, welcomed the Lord of the bees. Krishna, herding the cows with His companions, played His flute. When the women of Vraja heard the song of Krishna’s flute—a melody that awakens love—some, unseen by Krishna, began to describe its sweetness to their friends. They tried to speak of His deeds, but, O King, overwhelmed by love, their minds faltered and they could not continue. Krishna, adorned with a peacock feather, looking like the best of dancers, karṇikāra flowers at His ears, garments yellow as gold, and a garland of forest flowers, filled His flute with nectar from His lips. Surrounded by cowherd boys, He entered the forest of Vṛndā, making it delightful with His footprints and renowned by His song. Thus, the enchanting sound of Krishna’s flute was heard by all the women of Vraja, who, describing it among themselves, became wholly absorbed in its melody. The gopīs said, “O friends, there is no greater blessing for the eyes than this: to see the two sons of the lord of Vraja, herding the cows with their companions, their faces adorned by the flute, and to receive 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. “What great fortune this flute enjoys, O friends! It alone drinks the nectar of Dāmodara’s lips—nectar even the gopīs long for. Rivers, tasting the flute’s leftover sweetness, rejoice; their waters tremble and the trees shed tears, like elders overwhelmed by love. “Vṛndāvana is truly glorious, for the dust of the feet of Devakī’s son has graced it. When Govinda plays His flute, intoxicated peacocks dance, and even the creatures on the mountain slopes stand still, spellbound. “Even these simple-minded deer are blessed, for, seeing Nanda’s son in His wondrous attire and hearing the flute with their black-buck mates, they worship Him with loving glances. “The goddesses in their celestial chariots, seeing Krishna—whose form and conduct are a festival for the eyes—and hearing His sweet, secret song, are so overcome by love that their garlands slip and their garments loosen as they faint. “The cows, drinking in the nectar of the flute song with raised ears, stand still, their calves pausing with milk in their mouths. Tears well in their eyes as they gaze at Govinda, as if embracing Him in their hearts. “Mother, even the birds in this forest are blessed sages; they climb the branches of beautiful trees and, closing their eyes, listen to Krishna’s flute song, forgetting all else. “The rivers, hearing Mukunda’s song, their currents swirling, their passions subdued, embrace Murāri with their wave-arms and offer lotuses at His feet. “Seeing the cows of Vraja grazing in the sun with Rama and the cowherd boys, Krishna playing the flute, the trees, filled with love, lift their blossoming branches and spread themselves as umbrellas to shade their friend. “The Pulinda women, their faces and breasts smeared with the vermilion dust from the lotus feet of the great singer—dust that had adorned their beloveds’ breasts and was left on the grass—apply it to themselves, soothing the pain of love awakened by seeing Him. “Behold this hill, the best among servants of Hari! Delighted by the touch of Rama and Krishna’s feet, it offers respect to Them, their cows, and companions with water, tender grass, and roots from its slopes. “As Rama and Krishna lead the cows through the forest, surrounded by the cowherd boys, the sweet notes of Their flutes enchant all living beings. Even the moving creatures become still, the trees are thrilled, and the marks of their bonds fall away in wonder.” Thus, as the gopīs described the pastimes of the Lord who wanders in Vrindavana, speaking among themselves, they became completely absorbed in His play—lost in love and remembrance of Krishna.