As the sacred autumn season arrived, merchants, sages, and kings, having completed their ritual baths, set out to fulfill their various duties—just as perfected beings, once released from the restraint of the rainy season, eagerly seek their own forms again. The Supreme Lord, self-possessed and all-knowing, then created a city and a people for their sake. When those beings who had been brought forth before witnessed this, they praised the Lord of all creatures. With reverence, they exclaimed, “O Creator of the worlds, how wonderful is your work! In you are all sacred rites established. Let us come together and partake of food.” Endowed with the power of austerity, knowledge, and deep yogic meditation, Hṛṣīkeśa, the sage of sages, brought forth the desired beings. To each one, the Unborn Lord granted a portion of his own essence: the prosperity that comes from meditation and yoga, from austerity, knowledge, and detachment. Śuka continued: In this way, during the clear and fragrant autumn, with waters shining and lotuses blooming, Acyuta entered the forest cooled by gentle breezes, accompanied by the cowherd boys and cows. The forests were alive with blossoming trees, the humming of bees, and the calls of birds echoing over lakes and rivers. Krishna, the lord of the bees, herded the cows with his companions, his flute song filling the air. When the women of Vraja heard the enchanting melody of Krishna’s flute—a song that awakened the deepest love—some, unseen by Krishna, began to describe it to their friends. As they recalled Krishna’s wondrous deeds, their hearts overwhelmed by love, their minds became so agitated that they could hardly speak. They saw Krishna, adorned with a peacock feather, dressed as the finest of dancers, karṇikāra flowers at his ears, golden-yellow garments, and a garland of forest flowers. Filling the holes of his flute with nectar from his lips, he entered the enchanting forest of Vrindā, surrounded by the cowherd boys, leaving the ground delightful with his footprints and the air renowned by his song. O King, the sound of Krishna’s flute, so captivating, reached the ears of all the women of Vraja, who, absorbed in describing it, lost themselves in its spell. The gopīs said to each other, “O friends, what greater blessing is there 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, bestowing loving glances upon us?” Adorned with mango shoots, tender leaves, peacock feathers, and garlands of lotuses and lilies, dressed in garments woven with forest flowers, Krishna and Balarāma shone in the midst of the cowherd community like expert dancers on a stage, singing joyfully. The gopīs marveled, “How fortunate is this flute, O friends, for it alone enjoys the nectar of Dāmodara’s lips—a sweetness even we desire. The rivers, tasting the remnants of this nectar, rejoice, their waters trembling, and the trees shed tears like elders overcome with emotion.” They continued, “Vṛndāvana is truly glorious, sanctified by the dust of Devakī’s son’s feet. When Govinda plays his flute, peacocks, intoxicated by the music, dance wildly, and all creatures on the mountain slopes fall silent in awe. Even the simple deer are blessed, for, seeing Nanda’s son in his splendid attire and hearing his flute, they worship him with loving glances alongside their mates.” The celestial goddesses, riding in their chariots, became so enchanted by Krishna’s form and the sweetness of his flute that their garlands slipped and their garments loosened, their minds overwhelmed by love. The cows, too, stood transfixed, drinking in the nectar of Krishna’s flute through their raised ears; even their calves, with milk still in their mouths, gazed at Govinda with tears in their eyes, as if embracing him with their hearts. The gopīs pointed out, “Mother, even the birds in this forest are like great sages. Perched on the branches of beautiful trees, they listen to Krishna’s song with closed eyes, forgetting everything else.” The rivers, hearing Mukunda’s song, slowed their currents, embraced Murāri with their wave-arms, and offered lotuses at his feet. As the cows of Vraja grazed in the sunlight, with Rāma and the cowherd boys at their side and Krishna playing the flute, the trees, filled with love, raised their blossoming branches and spread their leaves as umbrellas to shade their beloved friend. The Pulinda women, their faces and breasts smeared with the vermilion from Krishna’s lotus feet—left on the grass after adorning their beloveds—applied it to themselves, soothing the pain of love awakened by seeing him. “Behold this hill,” the gopīs exclaimed, “the best among the servants of Hari! Delighted by the touch of Rāma and Krishna’s feet, it offers them and their cows and companions water, tender grass, and roots in reverence.” As Krishna and Balarāma led the cows through the forest, accompanied by the cowherd boys, the sweet music of their flutes enchanted all living beings. Even the moving creatures became still, the trees trembled with joy, and the marks of their bonds fell away in wonder. Thus, as the gopīs described the pastimes of the Lord who wanders in Vrindāvana, their hearts became ever more absorbed in his divine play. Here ends the twenty-first chapter of the first half of the Tenth Canto in the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for those who seek the highest truth. And yet, O dear one, those who are absorbed in sense objects do not know their true selves or anything higher; living only for the body, they are like bellows that merely breathe, their lives wasted. The pursuit of fruitive results is not the highest good, but is spoken of to attract people, just as medicine is sweetened to encourage its use. From birth, mortals are attached in mind to desires, to life, and to those they call their own, though these are the very sources of their suffering. Those who do not know their true interest wander lost on the path of sorrow; how could the wise ever engage them again in such darkness-bound pursuits? Therefore, those lacking understanding and led astray do not speak of flowery fruitive results, for those who truly know the Veda do not praise such things. Those who are lustful, pitiable, and greedy, whose minds are fixed on the flowers rather than the fruit, are like moths drawn to a flame; they do not know their own true world. 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 intent, those devoted to sense objects, if they develop a taste for violence, are not even enjoined to perform sacrifice. Indeed, the cruel, seeking their own pleasure, perform sacrifices to gods, ancestors, and spirits, using animals taken by violence. Like merchants abandoning real wealth for dreams, they imagine in their hearts blessings in that insubstantial world—a world as pleasing to hear about as a dream. Those established in passion, goodness, or ignorance, and those who cherish these qualities, worship Indra and the other principal gods, but not Me as I truly am. Having worshipped the gods with sacrifices, they think, “We shall enjoy in heaven,” and when that ends, they wish to be wealthy and of high birth again on earth. Thus, for those whose minds are distracted by flowery words, who are proud and excessively greedy, even My teachings do not appeal. The Vedas, with their threefold division, speak of Brahman, the self, and the gods; the sages speak in indirect ways, and I too am fond of such indirectness.