When the women of the village heard that Achyuta—Krishna himself—had arrived, their hearts leapt with excitement. Always eager to see him, their minds constantly absorbed in his stories, they could not contain their joy. Gathering together, they hurriedly took up vessels filled with four kinds of the finest foods, and, their affection overflowing, they rushed toward their beloved Krishna, just as rivers rush to merge with the ocean. Though their husbands, brothers, relatives, and sons tried to restrain them, the women’s minds were fixed unwaveringly on the Lord of glorious renown. Sustained by the teachings they had long cherished, they paid no heed to these objections and pressed on, drawn by their longing for him. In a beautiful grove along the Yamuna, fresh asoka shoots blossoming all around, the women finally saw Krishna. He wandered there with his elder brother Balarama and the cowherd boys, surrounded by an aura of joy. Their eyes beheld him: dark as a raincloud, clad in golden garments, adorned with garlands of forest flowers and peacock feathers, dressed as a graceful dancer. A lotus rested on his shoulder, and he twirled another in his hand; a lily decorated his ear, locks of hair framed his radiant cheeks, and his face shone with a blossoming smile. Entranced, the women gazed upon Krishna—the one whose stories delighted their minds and whose presence was music to their ears. Through their eyes they entered into him, embracing him within their hearts for a long, blissful moment. In that sacred inward union, O King, they, wise and devoted, let go of all their sorrows as they wished. Having abandoned all other hopes and desires, they had come only to see the Lord, their very Self. Krishna, the seer of all hearts, recognized this, and with a gentle, smiling face, he spoke to them: “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.” He continued, “Truly wise people, seeking their own highest good, offer to me—who am dearer than their very selves—devotion that is causeless and unbroken. Life, intellect, mind, self, wives, children, wealth, and all else become dear only through their connection with me; therefore, who else could truly be dear? Now, O wives of the twice-born, return to the sacrificial altar. Your husbands, the householders, will complete their sacrifice with your participation.” But the women replied, “Do not speak so harshly, O Lord! Fulfill the promise of your scriptures, for we have left behind all relatives to gather the dust of your feet, adorned with tulasi, to place in our hair. Neither our husbands, nor parents, nor children, nor brothers, nor friends—none will accept us now. Therefore, O subduer of enemies, we have fallen at your feet; for us, there is no other refuge—please grant us this.” The Blessed Lord reassured them: “Let not your husbands, fathers, brothers, sons, or others bear resentment; even the worlds, the gods, and all beings honor you, for now you are connected with me. In this world, physical association is not the true basis of love or affection; by fixing your minds on me, you will soon attain me.” Śuka continued: Thus instructed, the wives of the brāhmaṇas returned to the sacrificial enclosure. Their husbands, now freed from envy, completed the sacrifice together with their wives. There was one woman, however, whom her husband had restrained at home. Yet, in her heart, she embraced the Lord as she had heard of him, and, relinquishing her body bound by karma, she attained liberation. Meanwhile, Lord Govinda took the offerings the women had brought and, in fourfold ways, fed the cowherd boys; he himself also partook of the food. Thus, Krishna, assuming his human form for the sake of his divine play, delighted the cows, cowherds, and cowherd women with his beauty, his enchanting words, and his marvelous deeds. Afterward, the brāhmaṇas recalled the request their wives had made to the Lords of the universe on Krishna’s behalf. Repentant for their offense—having previously mocked the Lord in his human guise—they felt deep remorse. Seeing the extraordinary devotion of their wives to Krishna, and recognizing their own lack of such devotion, they blamed themselves, lamenting: “Fie upon our birth, our threefold knowledge, our vows, our great learning, our lineage, and our ritual expertise—if we are turned away from the Lord who is beyond sense perception. “Surely, the Lord’s māyā is deluding, even for yogis; for we, the supposed teachers of men, are bewildered about our own true welfare. Behold the steadfastness of these women, who, for the sake of Krishna, the teacher of the world, broke the bonds of death called ‘home.’ These women had no initiation as twice-born, no residence with a teacher, no austerity, no self-inquiry, no ritual purity, and no auspicious rites. Yet, even though we possess refinement and other virtues, our devotion to Krishna, the Lord of the most exalted, the master of all yogis, is not firm. “Indeed, though we were deluded about our true welfare and distracted by household life, he reminded us of the path of the righteous through the words of the cowherd women. Otherwise, what need would we—who are subject to his command—have for boons like liberation or anything else from him, the Lord of all blessings, whose desires are already fulfilled? This is only his divine play. “Lakshmi herself, seeking only the touch of his feet, abandons all others and worships him even once; her request for liberation from her own faults is merely a deluding charm for people. Place, time, distinct objects, mantras, rituals, priests, fires, deities, the sacrificer, the sacrifice, and dharma—all these are composed of him. “He, this very Lord Vishnu, the master of all yogis, has appeared among the Yadus—we have heard so, yet, being deluded, we do not truly know him. Ah, how blessed we are, for among us are such women whose unwavering devotion to Hari has arisen in their hearts. “Obeisance to you, O Lord Krishna, of unfailing wisdom; deluded by your māyā, our minds wander along the paths of karma. He, the original person, surely forgives the transgressions of those whose minds are bewildered by his own māyā and who do not recognize his true nature. Thus, remembering our own offense, though we had neglected Krishna, we did not waver in our desire to see the infallible one, even though we were afraid of Kamsa. “If the planets are the cause of happiness and distress for a person, what concern is that for the soul, who is unborn? The wise say that the planets only affect other planets; so, to whom should a person direct anger? If karma is the cause of happiness and distress for a person, what concern is that for the soul? For karma pertains to the insentient and the sentient. This body is merely skin, while the person is the conscious self, the suparna; so to whom should one be angry? For karma is not the root. “If time is the cause of happiness and distress for a person, what concern is that for the soul? For time is of the same nature as the soul. Just as heat is not the property of fire, nor cold of snow, to whom should one be angry? For duality does not belong to another. “By no one, anywhere, in any way, does duality arise for the supreme soul, who is beyond all. Just as I am, so is the cycle of birth and death; thus, one who is awakened does not fear the elements. “Relying on this supreme devotion to the transcendent self, which was practiced by the ancient sages, I will cross the boundless, impassable darkness by serving the feet of Mukunda.” Thus concludes the story of the brāhmaṇa wives’ devotion to Krishna, and the awakening of their husbands to the true path of love and surrender.