In the forest, the devoted wife, bereft of the warmth she once felt at her husband’s feet as she worshipped him, sat with an anxious heart, much like a doe separated from her herd. Grieving for herself, helpless and friendless, she wept bitterly, pressing her breasts in the wilderness and crying out in a clear voice. “Rise, rise, O royal sage!” she called. “You must protect this land encircled by the ocean, which trembles in fear of robbers and kṣatriya outcasts.” Lamenting in this way, the young woman followed her husband deeper into the forest. Overcome with sorrow, she fell at his feet and shed her tears without restraint. With trembling hands, she built a wooden funeral pyre, placed her husband’s body upon it, and, preparing to follow him in death, fixed her mind on him while lamenting. At that moment, an old friend appeared—a self-realized brāhmaṇa. With gentle, soothing words, he consoled her as she wept. He said, “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 continued, “Do you recall, O friend, that you were my unknown companion? Leaving me, you sought another place, absorbed in earthly pleasures. O noble one, you and I were like swans, friends dwelling in the lake of the mind. For thousands of years, we were never separated. But you abandoned me, O companion, and went to earth with a worldly mind. Wandering, you saw a place fashioned by a certain woman—a place with five gardens, nine gates, a single guardian, three chambers, six families, five marketplaces, and a fivefold nature—the abode of woman. “The five sense objects are pleasures; the nine gates are the channels of life; the digestive fires and food are the compartments; the families are the collection of senses. The marketplaces are the powers of action, and 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, delighted and lost your memory and hearing; from that association, O master, you attained such a 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, by which you consider the man and the virtuous woman as real. Neither is true, 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 between us, not even the slightest. Just as a person sees himself as one, yet as two in the mirror and in his own sight, so too is the inner nature of both of us.” Awakened by the words of the swan, the swan of the mind returned to his own state, regaining his lost memory through that correction. “O Barhiṣmat,” the brāhmaṇa concluded, “this has been shown in a spiritual manner, indirectly, for the Lord, creator of the universe, delights in what is indirect.” As autumn nights unfolded, adorned with blooming jasmine, the Blessed Lord, Krishna, desired to enjoy these nights, resorting to His yogic power. The moon, king of the stars, rose with gentle rays, painting the eastern sky with a reddish hue. Its radiance cleansed the hearts of the virtuous, much like a beloved appearing after a long absence. Krishna, seeing the full moon’s unbroken circle—radiant as a lotus face tinged with saffron—and the forest adorned by tender cows, sang a sweet, enchanting melody for the lovely-eyed women. Hearing that song, which stirred longing in their hearts, the women of Vraja, captivated by Krishna, came together, unnoticed by each other, to where their beloved stood, his earrings swinging. Some, while milking, left their task unfinished in eagerness; others, leaving milk on the stove, hurried away without feeding their children. Some, serving food, abandoned their duties; some, while feeding infants, left them; others, attending to their husbands, departed without finishing their meal. Some were applying ointment or cleaning themselves, others painting their eyes; with garments and ornaments disarranged, they hurried to Krishna’s side. Though restrained by husbands, fathers, brothers, and relatives, their hearts stolen by Govinda, they could not be stopped, enchanted as they were. 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 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 at once destroyed. King Parīkṣit, hearing this, 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. Those who constantly direct desire, anger, fear, affection, unity, or friendship toward Hari, indeed 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.” Seeing the women of Vraja approach Him, Krishna—the foremost among speakers—addressed them with charming words, gently 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. This night is fearsome in form, frequented by fierce creatures; return to Vraja, O slender-waisted women, for it is not proper for you to remain here. Your mothers, fathers, sons, brothers, and husbands are searching for you, unable to find you; do not cause your relatives anxiety.