Once, he who possessed mastery of self created his own city and its people, fashioning them for the sake of those he had brought forth. When those earlier beings saw his work, they praised the Lord of creatures, marveling at his deed. They exclaimed, “O creator of the world, how excellent is your action! In you, all rituals find their foundation. Let us together partake of food, for you are the one in whom all ceremonies are established.” With deep austerity, knowledge, and yoga—immersed in profound concentration—Hṛṣīkeśa, the sage among sages, brought forth the beings he desired. To each, the unborn one gave a portion of his own essence: the prosperity that comes from meditation and yoga, austerity, knowledge, and detachment. Śuka then spoke: In the autumn, when the waters were clear and the air carried the fragrance of blooming lotuses, Acyuta entered the forest, cooled by gentle breezes, accompanied by the cowherd boys and their cows. The forests were alive with blossoming trees, bees humming in swarms, and lakes and rivers echoing with the calls of birds. The lord of the bees, herding cows with his companions, entered these woods and played upon his flute. When the women of Vraja heard the song of that flute, which stirred love in their hearts, they began to describe it to their friends, unseen by Kṛṣṇa. They tried to speak of it, recalling Kṛṣṇa’s wondrous deeds, but, O King, overwhelmed by the force of love, their minds grew restless and they could not continue. Kṛṣṇa entered the forest of Vṛndā adorned with a peacock feather, dressed as the finest dancer, 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, surrounded by cowherd boys, he made the forest delightful with his footprints and famed by his song. The sound of his flute, enchanting all beings, was heard by all the women of Vraja. As they described it among themselves, they became absorbed in its sweetness. 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, receiving 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 fortune has this flute attained!” the gopīs exclaimed. “It alone enjoys the nectar of Dāmodara’s lips, which even we desire. The rivers, tasting the leftover sweetness from the flute, rejoice, their waters trembling, and the trees shed tears like elders.” “O friend, Vṛndāvana spreads its fame across the earth, for the water from the feet of Devakī’s son has graced it. When Govinda plays the flute, intoxicated peacocks dance, and all creatures on the mountain slopes become still.” “Blessed are even these simple-minded deer,” they continued, “for seeing Nanda’s son in his wondrous attire, hearing the sound of his flute with their black-buck mates, they offer worship with loving glances.” Seeing Kṛṣṇa, 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 Kṛṣṇa’s mouth, ears raised, stood still. Their calves paused, milk in their mouths, tears welling in their eyes as they gazed at Govinda, as if embracing him in their hearts. “Mother, even the birds in this forest are blessed sages,” the gopīs said. “Climbing 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 marked by circles, their passion subdued, embraced 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, Kṛṣṇa 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—left on the grass after adorning their beloveds’ breasts—applied it to themselves, relieving the pain of love awakened by seeing him. “Behold this hill,” they said, “the best among the servants of Hari. Delighted by the touch of Rama and Krishna’s feet, it offers 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. Thus, as they described the pastimes of the Lord who wanders in Vrindavana, the gopīs, speaking among themselves, became absorbed in His play. Here ends the twenty-first chapter of the first half of the Tenth Canto in the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for the paramahaṃsas. But, O dear one, a person absorbed in sense objects does not know himself or anything higher. Living for the sake of the body, like a bellows merely breathing, his life is wasted. The fruitive results spoken of are not the highest good for people, but are mentioned to attract them, just as medicine is made palatable to encourage its use. From birth, mortals are attached in mind to desires, to life, and to their own people, though these attachments 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 engage them in those same darkness-bound pursuits? Thus, some, lacking understanding and with misguided minds, do not speak of 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. Having worshipped the gods here 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. These Vedas, with their threefold division, concern the topics of Brahman, the self, and the gods. The sages speak indirectly, and I too am fond of indirect speech. The sound-Brahman is exceedingly difficult to comprehend, composed of life-breath, senses, and mind; it is boundless, unfathomable, deep, and as hard to penetrate as the ocean.