Some seekers, in order to dispel inauspicious influences, turn their minds to Me, meditating upon My form, chanting My name, or following the path laid down by the great masters of yoga. Others, wise in their own way, strive to establish their bodies in youthful vigor and stability, employing various methods to attain perfection. Yet, such skill and effort are not to be esteemed, for the body, like the fruit of a tree, is perishable and all labor invested in its preservation is ultimately fruitless. Even if, by diligent practice of yoga, one succeeds in making the body fit for long life, the truly intelligent do not place their faith in such temporary gains. Instead, they abandon attachment to the body and the practice of yoga itself, devoting themselves wholly to Me. The yogi who thus surrenders to Me, taking refuge in My presence, remains undisturbed by obstacles, free from desires, and finds happiness within his own being. Consider a beloved woman who, unaware that her dearest has departed, sits steadfastly in her place, behaving just as before. When, during her worship, she no longer feels the warmth in her husband's feet, anxiety fills her heart, and she sits like a doe separated from her herd. She grieves in helplessness and loneliness, weeping as she presses her breasts in the solitude of the forest, her voice clear in its sorrow. "O rise, rise, O royal sage!" she laments. "You must protect this land, encircled by the ocean, which trembles in fear of robbers and fallen kṣatriyas." Thus lamenting, the young woman follows her husband into the forest, falling at his feet and shedding unrestrained tears. She builds a wooden funeral pyre, places her husband's body upon it, and, preparing to join him in death, fixes her mind while lamenting. At that moment, an old friend appears—a self-realized brāhmaṇa—who gently consoles her with soothing words as she weeps. The brāhmaṇa speaks: "Who are you? To whom do you belong? Who is this for whom you grieve? Do you remember me, your friend, with whom you once wandered? Recall, O friend, how you and I were swans, companions dwelling in the lake of the mind, never separated for thousands of years. But you abandoned me, seeking another place, absorbed in worldly pleasures. You wandered and saw a place fashioned by a certain woman: five gardens, nine gates, one guardian, three chambers, six families, five marketplaces, and fivefold nature—the abode of woman. "The five sense objects are the pleasures, the nine gates are the channels of life, the digestive fires and food are the compartments, and the family is the collection of senses. The marketplace is the power of action; the elemental nature is imperishable. The lord of power is the person who has entered here, yet does not realize it. There, you, touched by Rāma, delighting, lost your memory and hearing; from that association, you came to this degraded condition. "You are not the daughter of Vidarbha, nor is this hero your friend; you are not the husband of Purañjanī, who was confined by her at the ninth gate. This is illusion, created by Me, through which you perceive the man and the virtuous woman as real, though neither truly exists—just as the two swans observe the course of both of us. "I am you, and you are not other than Me; you alone are I. Understand this, O friend. The wise never see any flaw or difference between us, not even the slightest. Just as a person sees himself as one, yet perceives two in the mirror and in his own sight, so is the inner nature of both of us. Thus, the swan of the mind, awakened by the swan, returned to his own state and, by that correction, regained his lost memory. "O Barhiṣmat, all this has been shown to you in a spiritual, indirect manner, for the Lord, creator of the universe, delights in such subtle teaching." Now, at another time, the Blessed Lord, seeing the nights of autumn adorned with blooming jasmine, desired to enjoy, employing His yogic power. The moon, king of stars, rose with gentle rays, painting the eastern sky with a reddish hue, cleansing the hearts of the virtuous—like a beloved appearing after a long absence. Seeing the full, unbroken circle of the moon, radiant as a lotus face tinged with saffron, and the forest adorned by tender cows, Krishna sang a sweet, enchanting melody, calling to the lovely-eyed women. Hearing that song, which stirred their hearts with longing, the women of Vraja, whose minds were captivated by Krishna, came together, each unnoticed by the others, drawn to the spot where their beloved stood, his earrings swinging. Some, while milking, left the task unfinished in their eagerness; others, leaving milk on the stove, hurried away without feeding their children. Some, serving food, abandoned their duties; some, while feeding their infants, left them; others, attending to their husbands, departed without finishing their meal. Some, applying ointment or cleaning themselves, others painting their eyes, with garments and ornaments in disarray, all rushed to Krishna's side. Though restrained by husbands, fathers, brothers, and relatives, their hearts stolen by Govinda, they could not be stopped, so deeply were they enchanted. Some gopīs, unable to leave their homes, remained inside, but absorbed in thoughts of Krishna, they meditated on him with closed eyes. Tormented by the unbearable pain of separation from their beloved, their intense suffering washed away all inauspiciousness; through meditation they attained union with the infallible Lord, and by that bliss, all misfortune was dispelled. Having come together with the Supreme Self—even with the attitude of a lover—they immediately cast off their bodies composed of the modes of nature, their bondage instantly destroyed. King Parīkṣit then asked: "O sage, the women of Vraja knew Krishna as their supreme beloved, not as Brahman. How could the cessation of the flow of the modes occur for those whose minds were fixed on qualities?" Śuka replied: "This has already been explained to you before—how even the wicked Śiśupāla attained perfection. If one who hated Hṛṣīkeśa was liberated, how much more so those devoted to the transcendent Lord? For the highest good of people, O King, the Supreme Lord—imperishable, immeasurable, beyond the modes, yet the soul of all qualities—manifests Himself in this world.