Consider, O gentle listener, the nature of this body and the self. Just as we call a lamp a flame or water a stream, so too do we call this assemblage of limbs and senses a man. Yet such words conceal the truth, for the notion that this body or life endures is but a fleeting illusion. One should not imagine that a person is truly born from his own past actions, nor that he truly dies. These are but appearances, like fire seeming to arise and perish with wood—while in reality, the fire exists apart from its fuel. The body passes through nine stages: conception, gestation, birth, childhood, boyhood, youth, maturity, old age, and finally death. These various bodies—some higher, some lower—are shaped by the mind’s fancies and assumed through association with the qualities of nature. Sometimes one acquires a body, sometimes one abandons it, but the true self remains unchanged. People infer the coming and going of the self by observing fathers and sons, but one who truly knows the real nature of what arises and ceases is not bound by these distinctions. Just as a person who knows the seed and fruit of a tree understands its birth and destruction, yet remains distinct from the tree itself, so too is the witness—consciousness—distinct from the body. But when one fails to distinguish the self from nature, bewildered by contact with the world, one becomes entangled in worldly existence. Depending on the qualities one associates with, one attains different states: through sattva, the gods; through rajas, demons and humans; through tamas, spirits and animals. Driven by actions, beings wander among these various states. Just as one, observing others dance and sing, is moved to imitate them, so too does the self, seeing the play of the qualities of intellect, become compelled to imitate, even if it is by nature inactive. When water flows, trees on the bank seem to move; when one’s eyes whirl, the earth appears to spin; so too are our perceptions distorted by our own minds. The experience of sense objects, conjured by the mind, is as false as visions in dreams. In the same way, worldly existence is unreal for the self, O descendant of Dasarha. Even when the objects of desire do not exist, the cycle of worldly life does not cease, for one who meditates on sense objects suffers misfortune in dreams as in waking. Therefore, O Uddhava, do not indulge in sense pleasures with unreliable senses. See the confusion that arises from identifying the self with the body, and recognize this as a great error born of illusion. Whether cast out, insulted by the wicked, mocked, envied, beaten, restrained, or deprived of livelihood; whether spat upon, urinated on by ignorant people, or shaken in many ways—one who seeks true good, even in hardship, should uplift oneself by one’s own self. Hearing this, Uddhava humbly asked, “How may I truly understand this, O best of speakers? Please tell us. For this kind of unbearable transgression against the self seems exceedingly difficult to endure, even for the wise, O Soul of the Universe, for nature is powerful. Only those devoted to your dharma, peaceful, and sheltered at your feet are able.” He continued, “Bṛhaspati, in the doctrine of Brahman, and Hari himself, in the state of self-realization, by devotion to cows, teachers, and Brahmins, follow Viṣvaksena. Throughout the three worlds, men enter into the hearts of women by praise and song, just as Rāma does among the virtuous. And by food and offerings, there is favor among the wives of the sacrificers.” At that time, the cowherds approached Krishna and Balarama, saying, “O Rāma, mighty-armed, O Krishna, destroyer of the wicked, hunger afflicts us; you ought to bring us relief.” Śrī Śuka narrated: Thus addressed, the Lord, son of Devakī, spoke kindly for the sake of the devotee, the wife of the Brahmin. “Go to the sacrificial altar where the Brahmins, learned in Brahman, are performing the Angirasa sacrifice, desiring heaven. Go, cowherds, and ask for cooked rice, sent by us, mentioning my name, the name of the noble one, and myself.” Following the Lord’s instruction, the cowherds went and, with folded hands, bowed to the Brahmins, prostrating themselves. “O lords of the earth, listen! We have come as those carrying out Krishna’s command. Know that we are cowherds sent by Rāma; may good fortune be yours. O best knowers of dharma, Rama and Achyuta, tending cows not far from here, are hungry and seek food from you. If you have faith, give them the cooked rice they desire. O excellent ones, except during the consecration for the animal sacrifice or the Sautramani rite, even for one who is consecrated, food is not spoiled by eating.” Yet, though the Brahmins heard this request on behalf of the Lord, they did not listen. Their minds were petty, absorbed in rituals, childish, and proud of their learning and age. They did not understand that the place, time, materials, mantras, procedures, priests, fires, deities, sacrificer, the ritual, and dharma itself—all are composed of Him. That Supreme Brahman, the Lord, Adhokshaja Himself, they failed to recognize, seeing Him as a mere human. They neither said, “Give it to the Yadus,” nor did they refuse outright. Disappointed, the cowherds returned and told Krishna and Rama what had happened. Hearing this, the Lord, Master of the universe, laughed and spoke again, showing a worldly course of action. “Go and inform the wives, telling them that Sankarshana and I have come. They are affectionate and devoted to me in thought; they will gladly give you food.” So the cowherds went to the house of the Brahmins’ wives. Seeing them seated and adorned, the cowherds bowed and spoke respectfully: “Salutations to you, O Brahmins’ wives. Please listen to our words. Not far from here, we, sent by Krishna, are tending the cows. He, tending the cows with the cowherds and with Rama, has come a long way. Please give food to him, who is hungry and accompanied by his companions.” Hearing that Achyuta had come, the women, ever eager to see Him and their minds absorbed in His stories, became filled with excitement. Gathering four kinds of excellent food in vessels, they hurried forth to their beloved, like rivers rushing to the ocean. Though forbidden by their husbands, brothers, relatives, and sons, their minds fixed on the Lord of excellent fame and sustained by the teachings they had long heard, they went forth. In a grove on the Yamuna, adorned with fresh asoka shoots, the women saw Him—Krishna—surrounded by cowherds and His elder brother, wandering there.