Thus, the mind, likened to a swan, having been awakened by the true swan—the Supreme Self—returned to its own natural state. By this awakening, it regained its lost memory and clarity, freed from confusion. O Barhiṣmat, what I have described is a spiritual truth, presented in a symbolic and indirect manner, for the Lord, the creator of the universe, delights in subtlety and indirect teaching. Now, as the autumn nights unfolded, adorned with the sweet fragrance of blooming jasmine, the Blessed Lord, Krishna, beheld their beauty. Desiring to enjoy these nights, He invoked His yogic power, preparing to delight in the enchanting atmosphere. At that time, the moon, king among the stars, rose in the eastern sky. Its gentle rays painted the horizon with a reddish hue, soothing the hearts of the virtuous, just as a beloved brings joy after a long absence. The moon’s unbroken circle shone with the radiance of a lotus face, tinged with saffron. The forest, too, was adorned—tender cows wandered among the blossoming trees. In this magical setting, Krishna sang a sweet and captivating melody, enchanting the hearts of the lovely-eyed women of Vraja. Hearing that song, which awakened and intensified the longing of love within them, the women of Vraja—whose minds were already captivated by Krishna—left their homes one by one, each unnoticed by the others, drawn irresistibly to where their beloved stood, His earrings swinging gently. Some, in the midst of milking cows, abandoned their task unfinished, compelled by eagerness. Others, leaving milk on the stove, hurried away without feeding their children. Some, while serving food, left their household duties behind; others, even as they fed their infants, set them aside. Some, attending to their husbands, departed before finishing their own meals. There were those who, while applying ointment, cleaning themselves, or painting their eyes, rushed out with their garments and ornaments in disarray, all hurrying to Krishna’s side. Though their husbands, fathers, brothers, and other relatives tried to restrain them, their hearts had already been stolen by Govinda, and no force could hold them back—they were utterly enchanted. Yet, some gopīs, unable to leave their homes, remained inside. Even so, absorbed in thoughts of Krishna, they closed their eyes and meditated upon Him. The pain of separation from their beloved was unbearable, and in their intense suffering, all inauspiciousness was washed away. 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 mood of a lover—they immediately cast off their bodies, composed of the modes of nature, and their bondage was at once destroyed. Hearing this, King Parīkṣit asked, “O sage, the women of Vraja knew Krishna as their supreme beloved, not as Brahman. How could those whose minds were fixed on His qualities attain freedom from the modes of nature?” Śuka replied, “O King, this has already been explained: even the wicked Śiśupāla attained perfection. If one who hated Hṛṣīkeśa was liberated, how much more so those who are 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 surprised, for it is by Krishna, the unborn Lord of yogic masters, that such liberation is attained.” Meanwhile, seeing the women of Vraja approach, the Lord—foremost among speakers—addressed them with charming words, designed to test and delude their minds. He said, “Welcome, O most fortunate ones! How may I please you? Is all well in Vraja? Tell me, what has brought you here? This night is fearsome, haunted by wild creatures. Return to Vraja, O slender-waisted women; it is not proper for you to remain here. Your mothers, fathers, sons, brothers, and husbands are searching for you, anxious and unable to find you. Do not cause your relatives distress. “You have seen the forest adorned with flowers, brightened by the moon, and the Yamunā, whose breeze plays among the budding trees. Now, do not delay—return to your village and serve your husbands faithfully. The calves and children are crying—go, feed and milk them. Or perhaps, compelled by deep affection for Me, you have come here; this is natural, for all beings are drawn to Me. Still, for women, the highest duty is to serve their husbands sincerely, to care for their relatives, and to nourish their children. Even if a husband is of poor character, unfortunate, old, dull, sick, or poor, he should not be abandoned by women who desire virtue. For noble women, union with a man other than their husband brings no heaven—only disgrace, meager and painful results, and fear; it 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 these words, which seemed harsh to their loving hearts, the gopīs were deeply distressed. Their hopes shattered, they fell into overwhelming anxiety. They wiped their faces, their lips parched from sighing, and traced patterns on the ground with their feet. Tears, mixed with the red of their ornaments, stained their breasts. Silently, weighed down by sorrow and longing for Krishna—having turned away from all other desires for his sake—they brushed their tear-filled eyes. Their voices choked with emotion, and after a while, the devoted ones spoke. 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, just as the Supreme Person does not abandon those who seek liberation. You, knower of dharma, have said a woman’s duty is to serve husband, children, and friends. Let it be so. Yet, O Lord, 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, Supreme Lord, be gracious—do not sever the hope we have cherished in you, O lotus-eyed one. Our minds, joyfully stolen 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, your laughter, your glances, and your sweet songs that soothe the fire in our hearts. Otherwise, consumed by the pain of separation, we will reach your feet in meditation, friend, leaving these bodies behind. O lotus-eyed one, from the moment we touched your feet—even for a moment, as Lakṣmī herself desires—we have not been able to stand before anyone else, so enchanted are we by you. “Lakṣmī herself longed for the dust of your lotus feet. Though she gained a place on your chest and is served by your attendants, she still desires your feet. Even the gods strive for your glance. In the same way, we too have surrendered to the dust of your feet. Therefore, be gracious to us, destroyer of suffering. We have abandoned our homes, seeking only to serve at your feet. O ornament of men, our hearts burn with longing for your beautiful smile and glance—grant us the service of your maidservants. “Seeing your face framed by locks of hair, your earrings shining on your cheeks, the nectar of your lips, your smiling glances, your arms bestowing fearlessness, and your chest—the sole abode of Lakṣmī—we wish only to be your servants.” Thus, their love and longing poured forth, the gopīs stood before Krishna, their hearts surrendered completely, seeking only the grace and company of their beloved Lord.