He was tall, with eyes like lotus petals, his hair matted and his body clad in garments of bark. Unadorned and appearing unclean as befitted an ascetic, he stood out with a natural dignity. As King Parīkṣit approached the hermitage, he bowed before the venerable sage, who received him with all proper hospitality and respectful greetings. After offering the king a seat and the customary tokens of welcome, the sage, recalling the Lord’s command, addressed the self-restrained king with gentle, pleasing words. “O lord,” he said, “your wandering is for the protection of the virtuous and the destruction of the wicked, for you are the sustaining power of Hari. You take on the forms and duties of the sun, moon, fire, Indra, wind, Yama, Dharma, and Varuṇa. I offer you homage, pure one. “When you do not mount your victorious chariot, adorned with jewels and wielding your fierce bow, you terrify the wicked merely by your presence. With the feet of your army, you crush the circle of the earth, shaking its very sphere and drawing forth your great host—you roam like the radiant sun. If, O King, you were to neglect this duty, all the boundaries set by the Lord through the divisions of varṇa and āśrama would be broken by bandits. Unrighteousness would flourish, fostered by greedy and unrestrained men. If you were to lie down and abandon your charge, this world would surely fall to ruin at the hands of outlaws. “Nevertheless, O hero, I ask you: for what purpose have you come here? Let us act together with honest hearts according to your intention.” Śuka then continued the narration. In the first month of winter, the young girls of Nanda’s Vraja began a vow of worship to Kātyāyanī, subsisting only on simple food. At dawn, when the sun had just risen, they would bathe in the river Kālindī, then gather on the sandy bank to fashion an image of the goddess from the river’s sand. With fragrant garlands, perfumes, offerings, incense, lamps, and gifts both great and small—sprouts, fruits, and grains—they worshipped her. Chanting the mantra, “O Kātyāyanī, great power, great yoginī, supreme ruler, O goddess, make the son of Nanda my husband; I bow to you,” the maidens performed their worship. Thus, with hearts fixed on Kṛṣṇa, they observed this vow for a month, venerating Bhadrakālī, all desiring that the son of Nanda become their husband. Each morning, the girls would rise at dawn, link arms with their companions, and, singing loudly of Kṛṣṇa, walk together to bathe in the Kālindī. One day, as was their custom, they left their clothes on the riverbank and, singing joyfully of Kṛṣṇa, played together in the water. The Lord Kṛṣṇa, master of all yogis, understood their intention and, wishing to fulfill their desire, arrived there surrounded by his friends. Quickly, he gathered up their garments and climbed a kadamba tree, laughing with the boys. He called out to the girls in jest, “Come here 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 them, not all together.” Seeing his playful mood, the gopīs, overwhelmed with love, looked at each other bashfully and smiled, but did not come out of the water. As Govinda teased them, their minds agitated, they stood immersed up to their necks in the cold river, 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 as best they could 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, spoke to them with affection: “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 take your clothes and put them on.” Hearing these words from Acyuta, the girls understood that bathing naked was a breach of their vow. Wishing to fulfill their purpose, they accepted this as the completion of their ritual, for it was directly ordained by him and thus blameless. Seeing them bowing, the Lord, son of Devakī, moved by compassion, returned their garments, being pleased. Though they had been teased, embarrassed, and made to play as if in sport—even having their clothes taken—the girls did not resent him, finding only joy in his beloved company. After putting on their garments, their hearts set on meeting their beloved, the girls, their eyes cast down in modesty, did not wish to leave him. Understanding their desire to touch his feet, the Lord Dāmodara spoke to the girls who had kept their vow: “Your intention 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 lead to 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 this vow was performed by you with the aim of worshiping me.” Thus instructed by the Lord, the maidens, their desires fulfilled, returned to Vraja, meditating on his lotus feet, though it was difficult for them to part. Then, surrounded by the cowherd boys, the Lord, son of Devakī, left Vṛndāvana and, along with his elder brother Balarāma, herded the cows at a distance. As they wandered, Kṛṣṇa saw the trees providing cool shade with their own bodies as umbrellas against the fierce, scorching rays of the midday sun, and he spoke to the residents of Vraja, marveling at the kindness of the forest.