Then, as the brāhmaṇas reflected on all that had transpired, they remembered the plea their wives had made to the Lords of the universe. With this recollection came a deep sense of regret—they had mocked and belittled the Supreme Lord, not recognizing Him, when He had appeared before them in human form. Witnessing the extraordinary devotion their wives had shown for Lord Krishna, the brāhmaṇas became painfully aware of their own lack of such love and faith. Remorse filled their hearts, and they turned the blame inward, lamenting their own shortcomings. “Alas,” they thought, “what use are our noble births, our knowledge of the Vedas, our vows, our learning, our family lineages, and our mastery of ritual—if all these only turn us away from the Lord, who is beyond the senses?” They marveled at the power of the Lord’s māyā, which bewilders even yogis who strive for clarity. “We, who are supposed to be teachers of men, are ourselves confused about our true welfare,” they admitted to one another. Their eyes opened to the steadfastness of their wives, who, for the sake of Krishna—the teacher of the world—had fearlessly broken the bonds of home and death. These women, they noted, had never undergone initiation as twice-born, nor lived with a spiritual teacher, nor practiced austerities or self-inquiry, nor observed strict rituals of purity or auspicious ceremonies. Still, despite all the refinement and virtues the brāhmaṇas themselves possessed, their own devotion to Krishna, the Lord of the exalted and master of all yogis, was not firm. They realized that, deluded as they had been by household duties and forgetful of their true path, Krishna had reminded them of righteousness through the words of the cowherd women. “Otherwise,” they mused, “why would we, who are under His command, need to ask for blessings like liberation or anything else from Him, the very Lord of all blessings, whose every desire is already fulfilled? All of this is but a play of His divine will.” They reflected on Lakshmi herself, who seeks only the touch of Krishna’s feet, forsaking all others to worship Him, and whose request for liberation from her own faults is, in truth, a charm to delude the world. They understood that everything—place, time, objects, mantras, rituals, priests, fires, deities, the sacrificer, the sacrifice, and dharma itself—is composed of Him alone. “This very Lord, Vishnu, master of all yogis, has appeared among the Yadus,” they acknowledged, “yet, deluded as we are, we have not truly known Him.” The brāhmaṇas felt blessed that among them were women whose unwavering devotion to Hari had arisen so naturally in their hearts. With humility, they offered obeisance to Lord Krishna, the all-wise, admitting, “Deluded by Your māyā, our minds wander along the paths of karma.” They found solace in knowing that the original Person surely forgives the transgressions of those bewildered by His māyā, who fail to recognize His true nature. Remembering their own offense, though they had previously neglected Krishna, their desire to see the infallible Lord remained unshaken, even though they feared the wrath of Kamsa. The brāhmaṇas pondered the workings of fate: “If the planets are the cause of happiness and distress, what concern is that for the soul, which is unborn? The wise say the planets only affect each other—so to whom should we direct anger?” They considered karma as well: “If karma is the cause of happiness and distress, what concern is that for the soul? Karma pertains to the insentient and the sentient; this body is mere skin, while the true self is the conscious soul, the suparna. To whom should we be angry? Karma is not the root.” They reflected on time: “If time is the cause of happiness and distress, 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.” They concluded that for the supreme soul, who is beyond all, duality arises nowhere, by no one, in no way. “Just as I am, so is the cycle of birth and death. Thus, one who is awakened does not fear the elements.” Resolved, they declared, “Relying on supreme devotion to the transcendent self, as practiced by the ancient sages, I will cross the boundless, impassable darkness by serving the feet of Mukunda.” The Blessed Lord then spoke: “Having become indifferent, bereft of possessions, free from fatigue, wandering the earth as a renunciant, and even when rejected by the wicked, unwavering in his own duty, the sage spoke this verse: ‘No one else but the soul itself is the cause of happiness and distress for a person; friends, neutrals, and enemies are all creations of worldly ignorance.’” Therefore, the Lord advised, “With all your being, restrain the mind by intelligence fixed in Me; this alone is the essence of yoga. Whoever, with a focused mind, holds, recites, or listens to this song sung by the sage, established in Brahman, is not overcome by the dualities of life.” Śukadeva continued: While the Lord, accompanied by Balarāma, was residing in Vraja, He saw the cowherds preparing for a sacrifice to Indra. Though fully aware of all things, the Lord—soul of all and seer of everything—humbly approached the elders, led by Nanda, and inquired. He asked, “Father, what is this commotion? What is its purpose, for whom is it intended, and by whom is this sacrifice performed? I greatly desire to hear this; please tell me, for I am eager to listen. Indeed, the righteous, who are devoted in all ways, do not keep their actions secret. “One who is indifferent to friends, neutrals, and enemies, who is impartial and avoids hostility, is called a true friend, seeing others as oneself. People perform actions both knowingly and unknowingly; for the wise, actions bring success, but not so for the unwise. “So, what is the purpose of this ritual activity you have considered? Or is it merely customary? Please, as I ask, speak well and tell me.” Nanda replied, “The god Indra is the lord of rain; the clouds are his very form. They pour down water, which delights and sustains all beings. We, and others, worship that lord of the rain-bringers, the master, with offerings and sacrifices prepared with materials and clarified butter. By what remains from that, people live for the sake of the three aims of life; for human efforts, the rain-god is the cause of their fruits. A man who abandons this traditional dharma, passed down through generations, out of desire, greed, fear, or hatred, does not attain good fortune.” Śuka continued: Hearing the words of Nanda and the other residents of Vraja, Keśava, wishing to stir up anger toward Indra, spoke to his father. The Blessed Lord said, “A living being is born by action and is dissolved by action; happiness, sorrow, fear, and safety all arise from action alone. If there is some lord who gives the fruits of others’ actions, he too depends on the doer; for he has no power over one who does not act. What need is there for Indra among beings who follow their own actions? He is powerless to alter what is ordained by their own nature.