As autumn arrived, a special vitality filled the world. The cows, deer, birds, women, and even the blossoming plants flourished, each sought out by their own kind, just as fruits are brought forth through the mysterious workings of the Lord. The lotus flowers awakened in joy at the sun’s rising, except for the lilies that bloom at night, much as people live without fear under a righteous king but tremble in the presence of robbers. In towns and villages, the earth sparkled with the richness of ripe harvests, and people celebrated with festivals, their senses delighted—especially because of the divine arts of Hari. Merchants, sages, and kings, having bathed, set out to fulfill their duties and desires, just as perfected beings, when the time is right, take up their bodies again after being restrained by the rains. He who possesses the self, the Lord, created his own city and its people for their sake. When those previously created beheld this, they praised the Lord of creatures, exclaiming, “O creator of the world, how excellent is your deed! In you, all rituals have their foundation. Let us together partake of food.” Endowed with austerity, knowledge, and yoga, and absorbed in deep concentration, Hṛṣīkeśa, the sage of sages, brought forth the desired beings. To each, the unborn Lord gave a portion of his own body—the prosperity of meditation and yoga, austerity, knowledge, and detachment. Śuka continued: Thus, in the clear, fragrant days of autumn, when the water was pure and lotuses bloomed, Acyuta, along with the cowherd boys and cows, entered the forest, cooled by gentle breezes. The forests, alive with blossoming trees, humming bees, and the sounds of birds by lakes and rivers, welcomed the Lord of the bees as he herded the cows with his companions, playing sweetly on his flute. When the women of Vraja heard that enchanting flute song, which awakened love in their hearts, some—unseen by Kṛṣṇa—began to describe it to their friends. But as they recalled Kṛṣṇa’s wondrous deeds, their hearts overwhelmed by love, their minds faltered and they could not continue. Kṛṣṇa, adorned with a peacock feather, appeared as the best of dancers. Karṇikāra flowers graced his ears, his garments gleamed yellow as gold, and a garland of forest flowers hung from his neck. Filling the holes of his flute with nectar from his lips, surrounded by the cowherd boys, he entered the forest of Vṛndā, making it delightful with his footprints and famed by his song. O King, the sound of Kṛṣṇa’s flute, enchanting all living beings, was heard by all the women of Vraja. As they described it, they became completely absorbed in its melody. The gopīs said to each other, “O friends, what greater blessing is there for the eyes than this—seeing the two sons of the lord of Vraja, herding cows with their companions, their faces adorned by the flute, and receiving their loving glances?” Adorned with mango shoots, tender leaves, peacock feathers, and garlands of lotuses and lilies, and dressed in garments decorated with forest flowers, the two shone brilliantly among the cowherd community, like expert dancers on a stage, singing joyfully. “What good fortune this flute has attained!” the gopīs exclaimed. “It alone enjoys the nectar of Dāmodara’s lips—a sweetness even the gopīs long for. The rivers, tasting its leftover sweetness, rejoice, their waters trembling, and the trees shed tears like loving elders.” “O friends, Vṛndāvana itself is glorious, for it is blessed by the water from Devakī’s son’s feet. When Govinda plays his flute, even the peacocks, intoxicated by the sound, dance, and all creatures on the mountain slopes become still.” “Even the simple-minded deer are blessed. Seeing Nanda’s son in his wondrous attire, hearing his flute with their black-buck mates, they offer worship with loving glances.” The goddesses in their celestial chariots, seeing Kṛṣṇa—whose form and conduct are a festival for the eyes—and hearing his flute’s sweet, secluded song, became overwhelmed by love. Their flower garlands slipped, their garments loosened, and some even fainted. The cows, drinking in the nectar of the flute song from Kṛṣṇa’s mouth with ears raised, stood motionless. Their calves, pausing with milk in their mouths, gazed at Govinda with tears in their eyes, as if embracing him in their hearts. “Mother,” the gopīs said, “even the birds in this forest are blessed sages. Perched on the branches of beautiful trees, they listen with closed eyes to Kṛṣṇa’s flute song, forgetting all else.” The rivers, hearing Mukunda’s song, their currents swirling, subdued their passion and embraced Murāri with their wave-arms, offering lotuses at his feet. The trees, seeing the cows of Vraja grazing in the sun with Rāma and the cowherd boys, and Kṛṣṇa playing the flute, were filled with love. They raised their blossoming branches and spread their bodies as umbrellas to shade their dear friend. The Pulinda women, their faces and breasts smeared with the vermilion dust from the lotus feet of the great singer—which had adorned their beloveds’ breasts and was left on the grass—applied it to themselves, soothing the pain of love awakened by seeing him. “Behold this hill, the best among Hari’s servants,” the gopīs said. “Delighted by the touch of Rāma and Kṛṣṇa’s feet, it offers respect to them, their cows, and companions with water, tender grass, and roots from its slopes.” As Rāma and Kṛṣṇa led the cows through the forest, accompanied by the cowherd boys, the sweet notes of their flutes enchanted all beings. Even the moving creatures became still, the trees thrilled, and the marks of their bonds fell away in wonder. In this way, as the gopīs described the Lord’s pastimes in Vṛndāvana, they became completely absorbed in his play. Thus ends the twenty-first chapter of the first half of the Tenth Canto in the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for the paramahaṃsas. But, dear one, a person absorbed in sense objects does not know himself or anything higher. Living only for the sake of the body, like a bellows that merely breathes, his life is wasted. Such fruitive results are not the highest good for people; they are only 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 encourage them to engage again in those same darkness-bound pursuits? Thus, some, lacking understanding and with misguided minds, do not speak of the flowery fruitive results, for those who know the Veda do not praise them. Those who are lustful, pitiable, and greedy, whose minds are fixed 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 devoted to sense objects, if they develop attachment to violence, then even sacrifice is not enjoined for them. Indeed, the cruel, desiring their own pleasure, perform sacrifices to the gods, ancestors, and spirits with animals obtained by violence. Like merchants abandoning real wealth for dreams, they imagine in their hearts blessings in that insubstantial world, which is as pleasing to hear about as a dream. Those established in passion, goodness, or ignorance, and those who cherish these qualities, worship Indra and other principal gods, but not Me as I truly am.