As the gopīs spoke among themselves, their hearts were absorbed in the wondrous pastimes of Kṛṣṇa, who wandered through the forests of Vrindāvana. They marveled at how even the simplest creatures were blessed by his presence. The deer, gentle and innocent, gathered with their black-buck mates, enchanted by the sight of Nanda’s son dressed in his dazzling attire. Hearing the melodious sound of his flute, they gazed at him with loving glances, offering their silent worship. The beauty of Kṛṣṇa’s form and conduct was a festival for the eyes, and the sweetness of his flute song, played in secluded places, stirred the hearts of the goddesses riding their celestial chariots. Overcome by love, their minds bewildered, their flower garlands slipped from their necks, and their garments loosened as they fainted in ecstasy. The cows of Vraja, too, were enraptured. Raising their ears to catch the nectar of Kṛṣṇa’s flute song, they stood motionless, their calves pausing mid-feed with milk still in their mouths. Tears welled in the cows’ eyes as they gazed at Govinda, embracing him in their hearts. Even the birds of the forest seemed to be sages. Perched high on the branches of beautiful trees, they listened with closed eyes to Kṛṣṇa’s flute, forgetting everything else in their bliss. The rivers, hearing Mukunda’s song, subdued their currents, forming circles in their waters out of passion. With wave-arms, they embraced Murāri and offered lotuses at his feet. As Rāma and Kṛṣṇa led the cows through the sunlit forest, surrounded by their cowherd friends, Kṛṣṇa played his flute. The trees, filled with love for him, raised their blossoming branches and spread their bodies wide, forming umbrellas to shade their dear friend. The Pulinda women, who wandered the forest, found relief from the pain of love awakened by seeing Kṛṣṇa. They smeared their faces and breasts with the vermilion powder from his lotus feet, which had adorned the breasts of their beloveds and was left behind on the grass. The great hill, Govardhana, stood as the foremost servant of Hari. Delighted by the touch of Rāma and Kṛṣṇa’s feet, he offered them and their cows and companions water, tender grass, and roots from his slopes in respectful service. As Rāma and Kṛṣṇa led the cows through the forest, accompanied by the cowherd boys, the sweet notes of their flutes enchanted all living beings. Even the animals that moved became still, the trees thrilled, and the marks of their bonds fell away in wonder. In this way, the gopīs, describing the Lord’s pastimes in Vrindāvana, became utterly 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. Then, the teaching continued: One who is absorbed in sense objects fails to know himself or anything higher. Living only for the body, like a bellows that merely breathes, his life is wasted. Such fruitive results are not the highest good for people, but are spoken of 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 pursuits bound by darkness? 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. 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. It is expanded by Me, the Infinite, by Brahman of endless power; among beings, it is perceived in the form of sound, like the thread within a lotus stalk. Just as a spider emits its web from its heart through its mouth, so too does the life-breath, endowed with sound, arise from space, taking the form of touch through the mind. He, the Lord, is made of meters and of immortality, possessing a thousand paths; from Om, adorned with consonants, vowels, sibilants, and resonant sounds, he is established within. He creates and withdraws, by himself, the great and endless speech, spread out in various languages, with meters increasing by four syllables each. Gāyatrī, Uṣṇik, Anuṣṭup, Bṛhatī, Paṅkti, Triṣṭubh, Jagatī, Aticchandas, Atyaṣṭi, Atijagat, and Virāṭ—these are the meters. What does it establish, what does it declare, what does it imply, or distinguish? In this world, no one but I knows its heart. It establishes Me, denotes Me, distinguishes and negates Me; thus, the entire meaning of the Vedas, relying on sound, differentiates Me, and, having recited only illusion, finally negates it and becomes gracious. In the same way, it is surrounded by deer, boars, wild dogs, oxen, buffalo, elephants, cow-tails, monkeys, mongooses, and snakes. Entering that foremost holy place, the chief of kings, accompanied by his sons, saw the sage seated there, with the sacrificial fire burning. He saw him shining with his form, long engaged in severe austerity; not too emaciated, due to the Lord’s affectionate glances and the nectar-like words he had heard. He was tall, with eyes like lotus petals, matted-haired, clad in bark garments, appearing unclean as was fitting for an ascetic, and unadorned. When the king approached the hermitage and bowed before the sage, the sage welcomed him with appropriate hospitality and greetings. The sage, having received the proper offerings and seated the self-restrained king, pleased him, remembering the Lord’s command, and spoke with gentle words. He said, “Certainly, O lord, your wandering is for the protection of the virtuous and the destruction of the wicked; for you are the sustaining power of Hari.