A yogi who earnestly follows the path of yoga, taking refuge in the Lord, remains undisturbed by obstacles. Such a one is free from desires and finds contentment within, experiencing happiness that arises from his own being. In another place, a beloved woman, not realizing that her dearest husband has departed, sits steadfastly in her seat, behaving just as she always has. But when she no longer feels the warmth in her husband’s feet as she worships him, anxiety fills her heart—like a doe separated from her herd, she becomes restless and forlorn. Overcome by helplessness and friendlessness, she weeps bitterly, pressing her breasts in sorrow amidst the forest, and calls out in a clear, plaintive voice, “Rise, rise, O royal sage! You must protect this land, surrounded by the ocean, which now trembles in fear of robbers and outcast kṣatriyas.” Lamenting in this way, the young woman follows her husband into the forest. She falls at his feet, shedding tears without restraint. With deep grief, she builds a wooden funeral pyre, lays her husband’s body upon it, and, preparing to follow him in death, fixes her mind on him while lamenting. At that moment, an old friend appears—a self-realized brāhmaṇa, who gently consoles her with soothing words as she weeps. He asks, “Who are you? Whose are you? Who is this for whom you grieve? Do you remember me as a friend, with whom you once wandered?” He continues, “Do you recall, O friend, how you and I, like swans, once dwelled together in the lake of the mind for thousands of years, never separated? But then you left me, seeking another place, absorbed in worldly pleasures. You entered a realm fashioned by a certain woman—a place with five gardens, nine gates, one guardian, three chambers, six families, five marketplaces, and a fivefold nature: the abode of woman. The five sense objects are its pleasures; the nine gates are the channels of life; the digestive fires and food are the compartments; 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 enters, yet does not realize it.” The brāhmaṇa tells her, “There, touched by Rāma, you delighted and lost your memory and hearing. From that association, you descended into this degraded condition. You are not truly 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 all illusion, created by me, by which you perceive the man and the virtuous woman as real. Neither is true, just as the two swans observe the course of both of us.” He reveals, “I am you, and you are not other than me; you alone are I—understand this, O friend. The wise never see the slightest difference between us. Just as a person sees himself as one, yet as two in the mirror and in his own sight, so too is our inner nature.” Thus awakened by the words of his companion, the swan of the mind returns to its original state, regaining its lost memory. This story, O Barhiṣmat, has been told in a spiritual, indirect manner, for the Lord, the creator of the universe, delights in what is subtle and indirect. In another time, the Blessed Lord, beholding the autumn nights adorned with blooming jasmine, desired to enjoy, employing his yogic power. The moon, king of the stars, rose in the east, its gentle rays tinting the sky with a reddish hue, cleansing the hearts of the virtuous—like a beloved returning after a long absence. Seeing the full, unbroken circle of the moon, radiant as a lotus face newly tinged with saffron, and the forest beautified by the tender cows, Krishna sang a sweet and enchanting melody for the lovely-eyed women. Hearing this song, which stirred the longing of love in their hearts, the women of Vraja—whose minds were captivated by Krishna—left their homes, unnoticed by each other, and came to where their beloved stood, his earrings swinging. Some, while milking, left their task unfinished, eager to go. Others, leaving milk on the stove, hurried away without feeding their children. Some, in the midst of serving food, abandoned their duties; others left their infants while feeding them, and some, even while attending to their husbands, departed without finishing their meal. Still others, applying ointment or cleaning themselves, or painting their eyes, rushed to Krishna’s side with their garments and ornaments in disarray. Though their husbands, fathers, brothers, and relatives tried to restrain them, their hearts had been stolen by Govinda, and they could not be stopped—they were utterly enchanted. Some gopīs, unable to leave their homes, remained inside; absorbed in thoughts of Krishna, they meditated on him with closed eyes. Tormented by the unbearable pain of separation from their beloved, their suffering washed away all inauspiciousness. Through meditation, they attained union with the infallible Lord, and by that bliss, all their misfortune was dispelled. Coming together with the Supreme Self—even with the attitude of lovers—the gopīs immediately cast off their bodies composed of the modes of nature, and their bondage was at once destroyed. Hearing this, King Parīkṣit inquired, “O sage, the women of Vraja knew Krishna as their supreme beloved, not as Brahman. How could their bondage to the modes of nature cease, since their minds were fixed on qualities?” Śuka replied, “This has already been explained to you—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, the Supreme Lord—imperishable, immeasurable, beyond the modes, yet the soul of all qualities—manifests Himself. Those who constantly direct desire, anger, fear, affection, unity, or friendship toward Hari become absorbed in Him. Therefore, you should not be astonished by this, for it is by Krishna, the unborn Lord of all yogic masters, that such liberation is attained.” Meanwhile, as the women of Vraja approached Him, the Lord—the foremost among speakers—addressed them with charming words, deluding their minds. He said, “Welcome, O most fortunate ones! What may I do to please you? Is all well in Vraja? Please tell Me the reason for your coming.