Just as merchants, abandoning their true wealth for the allure of dreams, imagine blessings in a fleeting, insubstantial world—so too do some people delight in tales as pleasing yet unreal as dreams. Those who are attached to the qualities of passion, goodness, or ignorance, and who cherish these very qualities, turn their worship not to the Supreme Lord as He truly is, but to Indra and other principal deities. Having performed sacrifices to these gods, they imagine, “We shall enjoy the pleasures of heaven.” Yet, when the fruits of such worship are exhausted, they long again for wealth and high birth upon the earth. Thus, for those whose minds are distracted by flowery words, who are puffed up with pride and excessive greed, even the teachings of the Lord fail to attract. The Vedas themselves, divided into three sections, discuss Brahman, the self, and the gods. The sages speak in indirect ways, and even the Lord delights in such subtlety. The sound-Brahman—the sacred vibration—is exceedingly difficult to grasp. Composed of life-breath, senses, and mind, it is boundless, unfathomable, and as deep and hard to penetrate as the ocean itself. This sound-Brahman is expanded by the Infinite Lord, by the all-powerful Brahman. Among living beings, it is perceived as sound, subtle and pervading, like the thread running within the stalk of a lotus. Just as a spider emits its web from its very heart, through its mouth, so too does the life-breath, bearing sound, arise from space, taking on the quality of touch through the mind. The Lord is manifest as the very meters of speech and as immortality itself, possessing countless paths. From the sacred syllable Om—adorned with consonants, vowels, sibilants, and resonant sounds—he is established within. He alone creates and withdraws the great and endless speech, which spreads forth in various languages, with meters that increase by four syllables each. These meters are known as Gāyatrī, Uṣṇik, Anuṣṭup, Bṛhatī, Paṅkti, Triṣṭubh, Jagatī, Aticchandas, Atyaṣṭi, Atijagat, and Virāṭ. What does this speech truly establish, declare, imply, or distinguish? In this world, no one but the Lord knows its heart. It establishes Him, denotes Him, distinguishes and negates Him; thus, the entire meaning of the Vedas, relying on sound, ultimately differentiates the Lord, and, having recited only illusion, finally negates it and becomes gracious. In the same way, this sacred sound is surrounded, as if by deer, boars, wild dogs, oxen, buffalo, elephants, cow-tails, monkeys, mongooses, and snakes—each a symbol for the many distractions and obstacles. It was into this sacred and wild place that the chief of kings entered, along with his sons. There, they saw the sage seated with the sacrificial fire burning before him. The sage shone with the radiance of his form, having long practiced severe austerity. Yet, he was not emaciated, for the Lord’s affectionate glances and nectar-like words had nourished him. He was tall, with eyes like lotus petals, hair matted, clad in bark garments, appearing unclean as befits an ascetic, and without ornament. As the king approached the hermitage and bowed low before the sage, the sage welcomed him warmly, offering the appropriate hospitality and greetings. Having received the proper offerings and seated the self-restrained king, the sage, recalling the Lord’s command, pleased him and spoke with gentle words. “O lord, your wandering is for the protection of the virtuous and the destruction of the wicked; 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, jewel-adorned chariot, brandishing your fierce bow, you still terrify the wicked. Crushing the earth’s circle with the feet of your army, shaking its very sphere, you draw forth your great host and roam like the radiant sun. If you did not do so, O King, the boundaries established by the divisions of varṇa and āśrama, created by the Lord, would be broken by bandits. Unrighteousness would arise, fostered by greedy and unrestrained men. If you were to rest, this world, seized by outlaws, would surely perish. Nevertheless, O hero, I ask you: for what purpose have you come here? Let us, with honest hearts, act accordingly.” Meanwhile, Śuka continued his narration: In the first month of winter, the young girls of Nanda’s Vraja undertook the vow of worshipping Kātyāyanī, eating only the simplest food. At dawn, after bathing in the waters of the Kālindī as the sun rose, they fashioned an image of the goddess from sand on the riverbank and worshipped her, O King. They offered fragrant garlands, perfumes, incense, lamps, and a variety of gifts, both great and small—sprouts, fruits, and grains. They chanted this mantra: “O Kātyāyanī, great power, great yoginī, supreme ruler, O goddess, make the son of Nanda my husband; I bow to you.” Thus they performed their worship. In this way, the maidens, their minds fixed on Kṛṣṇa, observed the vow for a month, worshipping Bhadrakālī, all desiring that the son of Nanda become their husband. Each dawn, rising with their companions, arms linked, they sang loudly of Kṛṣṇa as they made their way to bathe in the Kālindī. One day, as usual, they came to the riverbank, left their clothes on the shore, and, singing of Kṛṣṇa, joyfully played in the water. The Lord Kṛṣṇa, master of all yogis, understanding their hearts’ desire, came there with his friends, intent on fulfilling their wish. Quickly, he gathered up their garments and climbed a kadamba tree, laughing with the boys as he called out to the girls in jest. “Come here, girls, and each of you take back your own garment as you wish. I speak the truth, not merely in jest—if you are truly wearied by your vow. I have never spoken a lie before, and these boys know it. O fair-waisted ones, come one by one to receive your garments, not all together.” Seeing his playful gesture, the gopīs, overwhelmed with love, looked at one another bashfully, smiled, but did not come out of the water. As Govinda spoke thus in jest, their minds agitated, the girls, immersed up to their necks in the cold water and shivering, addressed him: “O beloved son of Nanda, please respect us; we know you are worthy of Vraja’s praise. Give us our clothes, for we are trembling.