Clad in a brilliant yellow garment fastened with a golden belt around his dark, graceful hips, the Lord stood resplendent. His thighs, knees, and shins were perfectly shaped, each limb beautiful to behold. His feet shone like autumn lotuses, their radiant nails casting a light that dispelled the darkness within. O Teacher, reveal to us your own feet, for they are the path for those who seek to cross the deep gloom of ignorance. This divine form is meant for meditation by all who yearn for the purification of their own selves. Devotion to it grants fearlessness to those who faithfully perform their duties. You are attainable only by the devoted, though difficult to reach for all embodied beings. Even the sovereignty of the self falls short of that supreme state of self-realization which is gained through exclusive devotion to you. Who, after worshipping Him—so difficult to approach even for the virtuous and hard to attain—would desire anything outside His feet? Death, the ender of life, does not approach those who are indifferent to it, even as he destroys the universe with his terrible might and the fierce arching of his brows. Not even heaven or liberation can compare to even half a moment spent in the company of the Lord’s devotees—what then of lesser blessings? Therefore, O sinless one, may we have the association of those whose character is pure and compassionate toward all beings, whose sins are washed away by bathing, inside and out, in the sacredness of Your fame—may this alone be Your grace to us. One whose mind is not distracted by external objects nor lost in the dark cave of ignorance, whose mind is purified by the favor of devotion and yoga—such a sage surely perceives Your path. That in which this universe appears, and by which the universe is illumined—that reality, the supreme Brahman, the highest light, is vast like space itself. He who, by His own power of illusion, created this world of many forms, sustains it, and again dissolves it, yet remains unchanged—the perception of difference arises only from the instability of the mind. O Lord, we recognize You as self-dependent. With faith, yogis worship You alone through various rituals for the attainment of perfection. You are perceived in all beings, senses, and the mind—thus, those skilled in the Veda and Tantra know You. You alone are the primeval Person, whose power lies dormant; by that power, the modes of passion, goodness, and darkness are differentiated. From You arise the great ego, space, air, fire, water, earth, the gods, sages, and all beings. Having entered this creation by Your own power, You dwell within the fourfold body as a portion of the self. Thus, the wise know that Person who, abiding within, enjoys the essence of the senses as one savors honey. You, who are the swift chariot of time, drag all worlds with irresistible force; the elements, whose nature is inferred, are like masses of clouds, and You are like the wind—unbearable in might. While people, intoxicated and distracted by thoughts of action, greedily long for sense objects, You, ever alert, suddenly seize them like a snake licking up a mouse, O Death. What wise person would abandon Your lotus feet, which are the abode of honor and humility? Out of fear, even the fourteen Manus, revered teachers of the world, worshipped You, lest they fall from their position. Therefore, O Brahman, Supreme Self, You are the refuge of the wise; when the universe is struck by the fear of Rudra, You are the shelter, free from all fear. Recite this, O noble sons of kings, remaining pure, performing your own duties, and offering your intentions to the Lord—may all be well for you. Worship that very Self, who abides within the self and is present in all beings, praising and meditating constantly on Hari. Having received the instruction in yoga, maintaining the vows of sages, and with concentrated minds, may you all practice this with reverence. Long ago, the Lord, master of creation, spoke this to us, desiring to produce the sons of Bhṛgu and others, and to those wishing to create. We, all the lords of progeny, were not prompted in the creation of beings; but by this teaching, with darkness dispelled, we wished to create various creatures. Now, one who is always engaged, reciting this attentively, soon attains the highest good, being devoted to Vāsudeva. Here, the supreme knowledge is the highest welfare for all; with the boat of knowledge, one easily crosses the difficult ocean of misfortune. Whoever, with faith, recites this praise of the Lord sung by me, worships Hari, who is otherwise hard to worship. From this, one attains whatever is desired, swiftly, from the song sung by me, which is dear to the highest welfare. Whoever, rising early, with joined palms and filled with faith, hears or recites this, is freed from the bonds of karma. O sons of men-gods, this song, this praise of the Supreme Person, the Paramātmā, has been sung by me; recite it with focused mind as a great austerity, practice it, and in the end you will attain your desired goal. Now, hear of the wondrous deeds of the Lord. Out of anger, Indra, the king of the gods, poured down a torrent of club-like rain for the protection of the inhabitants of Vraja, and for the lifting of Govardhana. Enraged, Indra commanded the destructive clouds called Sāṃvartaka, speaking words full of authority: “Ah! The pride and greatness of these cowherds, dwellers of the forest, who, relying on Krishna—a mere mortal—have shown disrespect to the gods. Just as, abandoning the true science of inquiry, some wish to cross the ocean of existence by rituals performed with strong actions and names, so too have these cowherds, relying on Krishna—a talkative, childish, arrogant, ignorant one who thinks himself wise—done me wrong. Blinded by their own wealth, puffed up by Krishna, they destroy their pride born of prosperity and drive their cattle to ruin. I, mounting Airāvata, my great elephant, will go to Vraja, accompanied by the wind-gods with great force, intent on destroying Nanda’s cowherd settlement.” Thus, Śuka said, commanded by Maghavan, the clouds, now freed from restraint, began to afflict Nanda’s cowherd village with torrents of rain. Lightning flashed, thunder roared, and fierce winds drove the clouds as they poured down water and hail. Thick and thin streams of rain fell incessantly into the chasms; the earth, flooded by torrents of water, was no longer visible—neither low nor high could be distinguished. Because of the excessive, violent wind, the animals began to tremble in fear; the cowherds and their women, afflicted by cold and distress, sought refuge in Govinda, the protector of all.