Just as a person who understands the origin and end of a tree—its seed and its fruit—remains distinct from the tree itself, so too is the true self, the witness, separate from the body. Yet, when someone fails to distinguish the self from material nature, confused by their constant contact, they become entangled in the cycle of worldly existence. According to the qualities one associates with, different destinies unfold: by cultivating sattva, one attains the gods; through rajas, one is drawn among demons and humans; and by tamas, one falls into the state of spirits and animals. Bound by their actions, souls wander endlessly among these realms. Just as a person, watching others dance and sing, is compelled to imitate them, so too, by observing the qualities of intellect, even one who remains inactive is drawn to mimic what is seen. Our perceptions themselves are easily deceived: just as trees seem to move when water flows past them, or the earth appears to spin when our eyes whirl, so too is our understanding distorted. The experiences we have through the mind’s imagination—like the enjoyment of sense objects—are ultimately false, just as the visions in dreams are unreal. In the same way, O descendant of Dasarha, worldly existence is illusory for the self. Even when the objects of the senses are absent, the cycle of birth and death does not cease; for one who dwells on sense objects, misfortune arises in dreams just as it does in waking life. Therefore, Uddhava, do not indulge in sense objects through unreliable senses. See the confusion that arises from misidentifying the self, and recognize the error born of illusion. Whether one is cast out, insulted by the wicked, mocked, envied, beaten, restrained, or deprived of livelihood—whether spat upon or otherwise mistreated by the ignorant, shaken in many ways—one who truly desires the good should strive to uplift oneself, even amidst hardship, by one’s own self. At this, Śrī Uddhava humbly asked, “How may I truly understand this, O best of speakers? Please explain it to us. For this kind of unbearable transgression against oneself seems exceedingly difficult to endure, even for the wise, since nature is so powerful—except for those who are devoted to your dharma, peaceful, and sheltered at your feet.” He continued, “Bṛhaspati, in the doctrine of Brahman, and Hari himself, in the state of self-realization, follow Viṣvaksena through their devotion to cows, teachers, and Brahmins. By praise and song, men throughout the three worlds enter the hearts of women through their ears, just as Rāma does among the virtuous. And through food and offerings, there is favor among the wives of the sacrificers.” At this point, the cowherds approached, saying, “O Rāma, mighty-armed! O Kṛṣṇa, destroyer of the wicked! Hunger afflicts us; we beg you to relieve it.” Śrī Śuka then narrated: Hearing the plea of the cowherds, the Lord, son of Devakī, kindly spoke for the sake of the Brahmin’s wife, his devotee. He instructed, “Go to the sacrificial altar where the Brahmins, learned in Brahman, are performing the Angirasa sacrifice, seeking heaven. Go, and ask for cooked rice, sent by us. Mention the names of the Lord, the noble one, and myself.” Following the Lord’s instructions, the cowherds went to the Brahmins, bowed deeply, prostrated themselves, and with folded hands said, “O lords of the earth, listen! We have come at Kṛṣṇa’s command. Know that we are cowherds sent by Rāma; may good fortune be yours. O best knowers of dharma, Rama and Achyuta, tending the cows not far from here, are hungry and seek food from you. If you have faith, please give them the cooked rice they desire. Except during the consecration for the animal sacrifice or the Sautramani rite, even for one who is consecrated, food is not spoiled by eating it.” But though the Brahmins heard this request on behalf of the Lord, they paid no heed. Absorbed in rituals and petty desires, proud of their age and learning, they remained unmoved. They failed to recognize that the place, time, materials, mantras, procedures, priests, fires, deities, sacrificer, the ritual, and even dharma itself—all are composed of Him. That Supreme Brahman, the Lord, Adhokshaja Himself, they could not discern, seeing Him instead as a mere mortal. They neither agreed to give the rice nor refused outright. Disappointed, the cowherds returned and recounted to Krishna and Rama all that had happened. Hearing this, the Lord, Master of the universe, laughed gently and spoke again to the cowherds, showing them a different path. “Go and inform the wives, telling them that Sankarshana and I have come. Their minds are affectionate and devoted to me; they will gladly give you food.” So the cowherds went to the homes of the Brahmins’ wives. Finding them seated and adorned, the cowherds bowed and respectfully said, “Salutations to you, O noble wives of the Brahmins. Please listen to our words. Not far from here, we, sent by Krishna, are tending the cows. He, with Rama and the cowherds, has come a long way. Please give food to him, who is hungry and accompanied by his companions.” The moment the women heard that Achyuta had arrived, their hearts—long absorbed in his stories—leapt with excitement. Gathering four kinds of excellent food in vessels, all of them hurried forth to their beloved, like rivers rushing to the ocean. Though forbidden by their husbands, brothers, relatives, and sons, their minds remained fixed on the Lord of excellent fame, sustained by the teachings they had long heard. 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. They beheld him, dark as a raincloud, clad in golden garments, adorned with forest garlands and peacock feathers, dressed as a dancer, a lotus resting on his shoulder, one hand twirling a lotus, a lily at his ear, locks of hair framing his cheeks, his face blossoming with a radiant smile. Their minds, immersed in the stories of Krishna, their hearts delighted by his presence, they gazed upon him, embracing him within their hearts, and, O king, as wise ones, let go of all their sorrow as they wished. Thus, having abandoned all other hopes, they came, longing to see their very Self. Krishna, the seer of all, knowing their hearts, greeted them with a gentle, smiling face: “Welcome, O highly fortunate ones! Please be seated. What may I do for you? It is fitting that you have come here, desiring to see us. Indeed, those who are truly wise and seek their own good render to me, who am dearer than their very selves, devotion that is causeless and unbroken.