As the earth trembled beneath the marching feet of your great army, O King, its very sphere was shaken and the horizon resounded with the movement of countless warriors, as if you moved across the world like the radiant sun itself. In those days, the boundaries that safeguarded society—the divisions of varṇa and āśrama, established by the Lord for order and harmony—were threatened. Lawless men, driven by greed and unchecked desires, stood ready to shatter these sacred divisions, and if you, O protector, were to falter, the world would surely fall into chaos, seized by outlaws and destroyed by unrighteousness. Yet, O hero, I ask you plainly: for what purpose have you come here? Let us act with honest hearts, according to your intent. Now, O King, listen as I recount another sacred tale. In the first month of winter, the young maidens of Nanda’s Vraja undertook a vow to worship the goddess Kātyāyanī, sustaining themselves on the simplest of foods. Each dawn, as the sun’s first rays touched the earth, they bathed in the cool waters of the Kālindī. On the riverbank, they shaped an image of the goddess from sand and adorned it with fragrant garlands, perfumes, incense, lamps, and an array of offerings—sprouts, fruits, and grains, both large and small. With devotion, they chanted: “O Kātyāyanī, great power, supreme yoginī, ruler of all, make the son of Nanda my husband; I bow to you.” Thus, their hearts fixed on Kṛṣṇa, they worshipped Bhadrakālī for a full month, longing for Nanda’s son to accept them as his beloved. Each morning, the girls would rise together, link arms, and, singing joyfully of Kṛṣṇa, proceed to the Yamunā to bathe. One day, as was their custom, they set their garments aside on the riverbank and played in the water, their voices filled with songs of Kṛṣṇa. The Lord himself, Kṛṣṇa—the master of all yogis—knew their hearts’ desire. Surrounded by his friends, he approached the riverbank with a playful intent to fulfill their wish. Swiftly, he gathered up their clothes and climbed atop a kadamba tree, laughing with his companions. Calling out in jest, he said, “Come here, girls, and each of you may take back your own garment as you wish. I speak the truth—if you are truly wearied by your vow, come and receive them. These boys know I never speak a lie. But come one at a time, not all together.” The gopīs, seeing his playful mood, blushed and smiled shyly at one another, but remained in the water, hesitant to come out. As Govinda continued to tease them, the girls, shivering in the cold water and their minds flustered, pleaded, “O beloved son of Nanda, please respect us. We know you are worthy of all praise in Vraja. Give us our clothes, for we tremble in the cold. O Śyāmasundara, we are your servants and will do as you say. Please return our garments, O knower of dharma, or else we will complain to the king.” Kṛṣṇa replied, “If you are truly my servants and will do as I say, then let these pure-hearted girls come here and receive their garments.” Chilled by the cold, the girls emerged from the water, covering themselves as best they could, their bodies shivering. Seeing them thus, the Lord, pleased by their pure devotion, placed their garments on his shoulder and, smiling affectionately, said, “You entered the water naked while 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 garments and put them on.” Hearing Acyuta’s words, the gopīs realized that bathing naked was indeed a breach of their vow. Yet, understanding that this was ordained by Kṛṣṇa himself, they accepted it as the completion of their ritual, free from blame. When they bowed before him, the Lord, son of Devakī, was moved by their sincerity and returned their garments, pleased with their devotion. Though they had been teased and embarrassed, and even deprived of their clothes, the girls bore no resentment. Instead, they found joy in Kṛṣṇa’s beloved company. After dressing, their hearts still yearning for union with him, they lingered, eyes cast down in modesty, unable to leave his presence. Understanding their longing, Dāmodara spoke to them gently: “Virtuous ones, I know well your intention to worship me. I approve, and it shall 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 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 hearts’ desires fulfilled, returned to Vraja, though it was difficult for them to turn away, their thoughts fixed on his lotus feet. Meanwhile, Kṛṣṇa, accompanied by the cowherd boys and his elder brother, left Vṛndāvana and led the cows to graze in distant pastures. As the midday sun blazed fiercely, the trees spread their branches wide, offering shade like great umbrellas. Seeing this, Kṛṣṇa spoke to his companions: “O Stokakṛṣṇa, Aṃśu, Śrīdāma, Subala, Arjuna, Viśāla, Ṛṣabha, Tejasvin, Devaprastha, Varūthapa—behold these noble trees! They live only for the sake of others, enduring wind, rain, sun, and cold to protect us. Blessed indeed is their birth, for all creatures depend upon them. Like the truly good, they never turn away those who seek their help. They fulfill our desires with their leaves, flowers, fruits, shade, roots, bark, wood, fragrant resin, sap, ashes, and bones.” He continued, “This alone is the true fulfillment of birth: among embodied beings, one should always act for the highest good with life, wealth, intelligence, and speech.” Thus, Kṛṣṇa and his companions entered the shade of the Yamunā’s banks, passing beneath the low branches of trees heavy with fresh shoots, clusters, fruits, flowers, and leaves, embraced by the bounty and beauty of the sacred forest.