As the gopis of Vrindavana gathered together, they spoke among themselves of the wondrous pastimes of Lord Krishna, who roamed their village and enchanted their hearts. Immersed in the stories of His playful deeds, their minds became absorbed in His divine play, losing themselves in the sweetness of His presence. Thus concludes the twenty-first chapter of the first half of the Tenth Canto of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the sacred scripture revered by the paramahaṃsas. The narrative then turns to a deeper reflection: A person absorbed in sense objects, living only for the sake of the body, becomes blind to his own self and to higher truths. Such a life, like a bellows that merely breathes, is wasted. The pursuit of worldly rewards is not the highest good for people, yet these results are spoken of to attract them—much like medicine is sweetened to encourage its use. From birth, mortals are attached in mind to desires, to life, and to their own kin, even 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 encourage them to return to such darkness-bound pursuits? Thus, some, lacking understanding and misguided in mind, refrain from speaking 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. The 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. At this point, the chief of kings, accompanied by his sons, entered that foremost holy place and saw the sage seated there, with the sacrificial fire burning brightly. The sage shone with his form, long engaged in severe austerity; yet he was not too emaciated, for the Lord’s affectionate glances and nectar-like words had nourished him. He was tall, with eyes like lotus petals, matted-haired, clad in bark garments, appearing unclean as was fitting for an ascetic, and unadorned. As the king approached the hermitage and bowed before the sage, the sage welcomed him with appropriate hospitality and greetings. Having received the proper offerings and seating the self-restrained king, the sage 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. You assume the forms and stations of the sun, moon, fire, Indra, wind, Yama, Dharma, and Varuṇa—homage to you, the pure one. When you do not mount your victorious chariot, adorned with jewels, brandishing your fierce bow, you terrify the wicked with your chariot. Crushing the earth’s circle with the feet of your army, shaking its sphere, and drawing forth the great host, you roam like the radiant sun. At that time, O King, all the boundaries established by the divisions of varṇa and āśrama, created by the Lord, would surely be broken by bandits. Unrighteousness would arise, fostered by greedy and unrestrained men; if you were to lie down, this world, seized by outlaws, would surely perish. Nevertheless, O hero, I ask you for what purpose you have come here; let us, with honest hearts, act accordingly.” Śuka then continued: In the first month of winter, the young girls of Nanda’s Vraja performed the vow of worshipping Kātyāyanī, subsisting only on simple food. At dawn, when the sun had just risen, they bathed in the waters of the Kālindī. On the riverbank, they made an image of the goddess from sand and worshipped her, O King. With fragrant garlands, perfumes, offerings, incense, lamps, and various gifts—both great and small—such as sprouts, fruits, and grains, they worshipped her with devotion.