Listen, O noble one, to this sacred tale as it unfolds. The wise swan addressed his companion, saying, “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. All this is illusion, spun by my own power, by which you see the man and the virtuous woman as real, though neither truly exists—just as the two swans observe the course of both of us. Know this: I am you, and you are not different from me. You alone are I—understand this, dear friend! The wise never perceive any distinction 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.” With these words, the swan of the mind, awakened by his companion, returned to his true state; through that correction, he regained his lost memory. O Barhiṣmat, this story has been shown in a spiritual manner, indirectly, for the Lord, creator of the universe, delights in what is subtle and indirect. Now, as the nights of autumn arrived, adorned with blooming jasmine, the Blessed Lord, Krishna, desired to enjoy their beauty, drawing upon his yogic power. The moon, king of the stars, rose in the eastern sky, its gentle rays painting the heavens with a soft reddish hue. Its appearance cleansed the hearts of the virtuous, like a beloved returning after a long absence. Beholding the full circle of the moon, radiant as a lotus face tinged with saffron, and the forest alive with the gentle cows, Krishna sang a sweet, enchanting melody for the lovely-eyed women of Vraja. Hearing that song, which stirred the deepest longings of love, the women—whose hearts were already captivated by Krishna—left their homes and duties, coming together, each unnoticed by the others, drawn irresistibly to their beloved, whose earrings swung as he played. Some gopīs, while milking, left the task unfinished in their eagerness; others, leaving milk on the stove, hurried away without feeding their children. Some abandoned their duties of serving food or feeding infants; others, attending to their husbands, departed without finishing their meal. Some, in the midst of applying ointment or cleaning themselves, others painting their eyes, with garments and ornaments in disarray, all rushed to Krishna’s side. Though their husbands, fathers, brothers, and relatives tried to restrain them, their hearts had been stolen by Govinda; enchanted, they could not be stopped. Some gopīs, unable to leave their homes, remained within, but their thoughts were wholly absorbed in Krishna. With eyes closed, they meditated upon him. 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 in the attitude of lovers—they immediately cast off the bondage of their bodies composed of the modes of nature. King Parīkṣit, hearing this, questioned, “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, O King. 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, do not be astonished—for it is by Krishna, the unborn Lord of all yogic masters, that such liberation is attained.” As the women of Vraja approached, the Lord—foremost among speakers—addressed them with charming words, skillfully deluding their minds. He said, “Welcome, O most fortunate ones! What may I do to please you? Is all well in Vraja? Tell me, what brings you here? This night is fearsome, haunted 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. You have seen the forest adorned with flowers, brightened by the moon, and the Yamunā, whose breeze stirs the budding trees. Now, do not delay—return to the cowherd village, serve your husbands faithfully; the calves and children are crying—go, feed and milk them. “Or perhaps, compelled by your deep affection for me, you have come here; this is natural, for all beings are attracted to me. Yet for women, the highest duty is to serve their husbands sincerely, care for their relatives, and nourish their children. Even if a husband is of bad character, unfortunate, old, dull, sick, or poor, he should not be abandoned by women who desire virtue in this world. For noble women, union with a man other than their husband brings no heaven, only disgrace, meager and painful results, fear, and is condemned everywhere. By hearing, seeing, meditating upon, or singing about me, devotion arises—not so much by physical proximity; therefore, return to your homes.” Hearing Govinda’s words, the cowherd women, their hopes shattered, became deeply distressed and fell into overwhelming anxiety. Wiping their faces, their lips parched and faded by sighs, tracing the ground with their feet, their breasts stained with tears and the red of their ornaments, they stood silent, weighed down by sorrow, longing for their beloved Krishna. Having turned away all desires for his sake, they brushed their tear-dimmed eyes, their voices choked with emotion, and spoke a little. They said, “Do not speak so cruelly, Lord! It does not befit you. Having abandoned all else, we have come to your feet. Cherish your devotees—do not reject us with harshness, just as the Supreme Person does not abandon those who seek liberation. You, knower of dharma, have said that a woman’s duty is to serve husband, children, and friends. Let it be so. Yet, O Lord, in you, the teacher of righteousness, you are truly the dearest, the friend and soul of all embodied beings. “The wise place their love in you, the eternal beloved. What use are husbands, sons, and others who bring suffering? Therefore, be gracious to us, Supreme Lord—do not sever the hope we have long cherished in you, O lotus-eyed one. Our minds, happily stolen away by you, do not return to our homes, nor do our hands engage in household tasks. Our feet will not move from your feet. How, then, can we go to Vraja, or what else can we do? “O beloved, moisten us with the nectar of your lips, with your laughter, glances, and sweet songs that soothe the fire in our hearts. Otherwise, consumed by the fire of separation, we will reach your feet in meditation, friend, leaving these bodies behind.” Thus, in the moonlit groves of Vraja, the hearts of the gopīs and the Lord met in a divine exchange, revealing the mystery of devotion and the supreme love that transcends all worldly bonds.