As King Parīkṣit approached the sage’s hermitage, he beheld a radiant figure before him. The sage’s form glowed, evidence of long and intense austerities, yet he was not wasted away—his body preserved by the Lord’s loving glances and the ambrosial words he had received. He was tall, with eyes as lovely as lotus petals, his hair matted, dressed in simple bark garments. His appearance was unadorned and bore the marks of an ascetic’s life—unclean as was proper for one absorbed in penance. When the king entered, he bowed low before the sage, who received him with all due hospitality and warm greetings. After the customary offerings were made and the self-controlled king was seated, the sage, mindful of the Lord’s command, sought to please his guest and spoke to him in gentle, kind words. “O mighty one,” the sage said, “your journeys are for the protection of the virtuous and the destruction of the wicked, for you are the sustaining power of Hari himself. You take on the forms and roles of the sun, the moon, fire, Indra, the wind, Yama, Dharma, and Varuṇa. Homage to you, the pure one! When you do not mount your victorious, jewel-adorned chariot with your fierce bow, you still strike terror in the hearts of the wicked. With the march of your army, you shake the very earth and roam like the radiant sun, drawing forth your hosts. If you were to rest, O King, then all the boundaries set by the divisions of varṇa and āśrama, established by the Lord, would be broken by lawless men. Unrighteousness would arise, fostered by the greedy and unrestrained, and the world, seized by outlaws, would surely perish. Still, O hero, I ask—what brings you here? Let us act together with honest hearts.” At this point, Śuka, the son of Vyāsa, continued his narration to King Parīkṣit, turning to another sacred story. He described how, in the first month of winter, the young girls of Nanda’s Vraja undertook a vow to worship Kātyāyanī, eating only the simplest food. At dawn, when the sun had just risen, they would bathe in the waters of the Kālindī. On the riverbank, they fashioned an image of the goddess from sand and worshipped her with devotion. They adorned her with fragrant garlands, perfumes, incense, lamps, and many offerings—sprouts, fruits, and grains, both great and small. With joined hearts, they chanted this prayer: “O Kātyāyanī, great power and yoginī, supreme ruler, O goddess, make the son of Nanda my husband; I bow to you.” Thus, for a full month, the maidens of Vraja, their minds fixed on Kṛṣṇa, observed their vow, worshipping Bhadrakālī with the hope that Nanda’s son would become their husband. Each morning, they rose with their friends, linked arms, and sang joyfully of Kṛṣṇa as they went to bathe in the Kālindī. One day, after reaching the riverbank, the girls left their clothes as usual and entered the water, singing of Kṛṣṇa and playing together. The Lord Kṛṣṇa, the master of all yogis, understanding their hearts’ true desire, arrived there with his companions, intent on fulfilling their wish. Quickly, he gathered up their garments and climbed a kadamba tree, laughing with the cowherd boys. From his perch, he called out 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 can attest to it. O fair-waisted ones, come one by one to receive your garments, not all together.” Seeing his playful mood, the gopīs, overwhelmed with love, glanced at one another bashfully, smiling but too shy to come out of the water. As Govinda teased them, their minds agitated, they stood immersed up to their necks in the cold water, shivering, and 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. O Śyāmasundara, we are your servants and will do as you say; give us our garments, O knower of dharma, or else we will complain to the king.” The Blessed Lord replied, “If you are truly my servants and will do as I have said, let these pure-smiling girls come here and receive their garments.” Shivering from the cold, the girls emerged from the water, covering themselves with their hands, afflicted by the chill. Seeing them thus, the Lord, pleased by their pure devotion, placed their garments on his shoulder and, smiling affectionately, spoke: “You entered the water naked, maintaining your vow, and this is an offense against the gods. With folded hands, bow your heads to dispel this fault, and then, taking your clothes, put them on.” Hearing these words from Acyuta, the girls of Vraja realized that bathing naked was a breach of their vow. Wishing to fulfill their purpose, they accepted this as the proper completion of their ritual, for it was ordained directly by him and thus faultless. Seeing them bowing in this way, the Lord, son of Devakī, moved by compassion, returned their garments, pleased with their devotion. Though they had been teased, embarrassed, and made to play, and even had their clothes taken, the girls felt no resentment. Instead, they rejoiced in the beloved company of Kṛṣṇa. After putting on their garments, their hearts set on meeting their beloved, the girls, their eyes cast down in modesty, lingered and did not wish to leave. Understanding their longing to touch his feet, Lord Dāmodara addressed the girls, who had kept their vow faithfully. “Your intention, O virtuous ones, to worship me, is known to me. I approve of it, and it will be fulfilled. For those whose minds are fixed on me, desire does not become lust, just as roasted and boiled grains do not sprout. Go now, girls, to Vraja, perfected in your vow. In the nights to come, you will enjoy with me, for your vow was performed with the aim of worshiping me.” Thus instructed by the Lord, the maidens, their desires fulfilled, returned to Vraja, their minds absorbed in meditation on his lotus feet, though it was difficult for them to depart. Then, surrounded by the cowherd boys, the Lord, son of Devakī, left Vṛndāvana and, along with his elder brother, tended the cows at a distance.