As autumn unfolded, the sky became clear and spotless, adorned with pure, shining stars. It was as if the very heavens mirrored a mind illumined by goodness, able to perceive the deep, subtle meaning of the sound of Brahman. The moon, radiant and whole, rose in the night sky, surrounded by stars, shining just as Krishna shone among the Vṛṣṇi clan on earth—brilliant, central, and resplendent. The gentle forest breeze, carrying both coolness and warmth and sweet with the fragrance of blossoming flowers, soothed the hearts of all who felt it, washing away their sorrows. Yet, amidst this peace, the gopīs—whose hearts had been captivated by Krishna—found no relief from their longing. In this season, the cows, deer, birds, women, and even the flowering plants flourished, each sought out by their own mates, just as fruits are produced by the actions of the Lord. Lotus flowers opened joyfully at the touch of the sun’s rays, except for the night-blooming lilies, which closed; just as people are fearless under the protection of a righteous king, but not in the presence of robbers. The towns and villages, alive with festivals and delighting the senses, shone with abundance, their harvests rich—especially due to the grace and playful arts of Hari. Merchants, sages, and kings, having completed their ritual baths, ventured out to fulfill their duties and desires, just as perfected beings, freed from the restraint of the rains, seek their own forms when the time is right. The Self-possessed One then created His own city and its people for their sake; and when those previously created saw this, they praised the Lord of all 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 deep meditation, Hṛṣīkeśa, the sage of sages, created the beings as desired. To each, the unborn Lord gave a portion of His own self—prosperity in meditation and yoga, austerity, knowledge, and detachment. Thus, Śuka continued, during this beautiful autumn, when the waters were clear and the fragrance of blooming lotuses filled the air, Acyuta entered the forest, accompanied by the cowherd boys and cows, cooled by the gentle breeze. The forests were alive with blossoming trees and humming bees; lakes and rivers echoed with the calls of birds. There, the Lord of the bees, Krishna, herded the cows with His companions and played His flute. When the women of Vraja heard that flute song—so enchanting that it awakened love—they began to describe it to their friends, though Krishna Himself was unseen by them. As they spoke, remembering Krishna’s pastimes, their hearts were so overwhelmed by love that their minds faltered, and they could not continue. Krishna entered the forest of Vṛndā, His form adorned with a peacock feather, dressed as the finest dancer, karṇikāra flowers at His ears, golden-yellow garments, and a garland of forest flowers. The nectar from His lips filled the holes of His flute, and, surrounded by the cowherd boys, He made the whole forest delightful with His footprints and the fame of His song. The sound of Krishna’s flute, O King, enchanted all living beings. The women of Vraja, hearing it, were so absorbed that they could speak of nothing else. The gopīs exclaimed, “O friends, what greater blessing is there for the eyes than this? To see the two sons of the lord of Vraja, herding cows with their companions, their faces radiant with 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, Krishna and Balarama shone like expert dancers on a stage, singing amidst the cowherd community. The gopīs marveled at the fortune of Krishna’s flute: “How blessed is this flute, O friends, that it alone drinks the nectar of Dāmodara’s lips, which even we desire! The rivers, tasting the sweetness left by the flute, rejoice—their waters tremble and the trees shed tears like elders, moved by love.” They praised Vṛndāvana itself: “How glorious is this place, touched by the water from the feet of Devakī’s son! When Govinda plays the flute, peacocks dance intoxicated, and all creatures on the mountain slopes become still.” They saw even the deer as blessed: “How fortunate are these simple-minded deer, who, seeing Nanda’s son in His wondrous attire and hearing His flute with their mates, offer worship with loving glances.” The goddesses in their celestial chariots, upon seeing Krishna and hearing His flute, were so overcome with love that their garlands slipped, their garments loosened, and they fainted. The cows, drinking in the nectar of Krishna’s flute song with ears raised, stood utterly still, their calves pausing with milk in their mouths, tears welling in their eyes as they gazed at Govinda, embracing Him in their hearts. The birds, too, were like sages, the gopīs said: “See, mother! Even these birds are blessed. Climbing the branches of beautiful trees, they close their eyes and listen to Krishna’s flute, forgetting everything else.” The rivers, hearing Mukunda’s song, became filled with love, their currents swirling as they embraced Murāri with their wave-arms, offering lotuses at His feet. The trees, seeing Krishna and Balarama lead the cows in the sun, raised their blossoming branches and spread their bodies as umbrellas to shade their beloved friend. The Pulinda women, their faces and breasts smeared with the vermilion dust from Krishna’s lotus feet—left behind on the grass and carried there by their beloveds—applied it to themselves, soothing the pain of love awakened by seeing Him. Even Govardhana Hill, the best of Hari’s servants, delighted in the touch of Rama and Krishna’s feet, and offered water, tender grass, and roots to Them, Their cows, and Their companions. As Rama and Krishna wandered through the forest with the cowherd boys, the sweet notes of Their flutes enchanted all beings. Even the moving creatures became still, the trees thrilled with joy, and the marks of their bonds fell away in wonder. In this way, as the gopīs described Krishna’s pastimes amongst themselves, their hearts became utterly absorbed in His playful activities. Thus ends the twenty-first chapter of the first half of the Tenth Canto in the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for the paramahaṃsas. Yet, O dear one, those absorbed in sense objects do not know themselves or anything higher; living only for the sake of the body, like bellows that merely breathe, their lives are wasted. The fruit of such actions is not the highest good for people, but is spoken of to attract them, just as medicine is sweetened to encourage its use. From birth, mortals are attached in mind to desires, to life, and to their own people, though these are the very causes of their misfortune. Those who do not know their true interest wander lost on the path of suffering; how could a wise person again direct them to those same pursuits bound in darkness? Thus, some, lacking understanding and with misguided minds, do not speak of the flowery fruits of action, for those who truly know the Veda do not praise them. Those who are lustful, pitiable, and greedy, who focus on the flowers rather than the fruit, are like moths drawn to fire—they do not know their own true world. O dear one, they do not know Me, who dwell in the heart and from whom this world arises; just as those unsatisfied by hymns and rituals are like people whose vision is blocked by fog. Without understanding My indirect intention, those attached to sense objects, if they develop a taste for violence, then even sacrifice is not enjoined for them.