As the gentle nights of autumn unfolded, adorned with jasmine in full bloom, the Blessed Lord Krishna, moved by the season’s beauty, desired to delight in playful pastimes, invoking his mystic powers. At that time, the moon—the sovereign of the stars—rose in the east, its soft rays painting the sky with a delicate reddish hue. Like a beloved returning after a long absence, the moon’s appearance cleansed the hearts of the virtuous. Krishna beheld the unbroken circle of the moon, radiant and lovely as a lotus face newly brushed with saffron. The forest, too, was enchanting, graced by the presence of tender cows. Captivated by this scene, Krishna began to sing a melody—sweet and enchanting—intended for the women of Vraja, whose eyes were as lovely as lotus petals. Hearing Krishna’s song, which stirred the longing of love in their hearts, the gopīs—whose minds were wholly captivated by him—left their homes to seek their beloved. Each slipped away unnoticed by the others, drawn by Krishna’s call, his earrings swaying as he waited. Some of the gopīs, in the midst of milking cows, left their task unfinished, unable to resist their eagerness. Others, leaving milk boiling on the stove, hurried away without feeding their children. Some abandoned their duties of serving food; others left their infants while feeding them; and some, even as they attended to their husbands, departed before finishing their own meal. There were those who, while applying ointment or cleaning themselves, or painting their eyes, rushed out with their garments and ornaments in disarray—so urgent was their longing to reach Krishna. Even when restrained by husbands, fathers, brothers, or other relatives, their hearts, stolen by Govinda, could not be held back; they were utterly enchanted. Some gopīs, unable to leave their homes, remained inside. Yet, absorbed in thoughts of Krishna, they meditated upon him with closed eyes. The agony of separation from their beloved was so intense that it washed away all inauspiciousness; through the power of meditation, they attained union with the infallible Lord, and in that bliss, all misfortune vanished. Thus, coming together with the Supreme Self—even with the feeling of a lover—they immediately cast off their bondage to the modes of nature, freed at once from all limitations. Hearing this, King Parīkṣit asked, “O sage, the women of Vraja knew Krishna as their supreme beloved, not as Brahman. How could their focus on his qualities bring about the cessation of material bondage?” Śuka replied, “O King, this has already been explained: even the wicked Śiśupāla attained perfection by his constant thought of Krishna. If one who hated the Lord was liberated, how much more so those whose devotion is pure? For the highest good of all, the Supreme Lord—imperishable, immeasurable, beyond the modes, yet the soul of all qualities—manifests himself. Those who constantly direct their desire, anger, fear, affection, unity, or friendship toward Hari become absorbed in him. Therefore, do not be astonished—by Krishna, the unborn master of yogic power, such liberation is attained.” When the women of Vraja reached Krishna, the Lord, foremost among speakers, greeted them with charming words that playfully tested their resolve. He said, “Welcome, O most fortunate ones! Tell me, is all well in Vraja? What brings you here tonight? This night is fearsome, haunted by wild creatures—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 them distress. “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 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. Yet for women, the highest duty is to serve their husbands sincerely, care for their families, and nourish their children. Even if a husband is of poor character, unfortunate, old, dull, sick, or poor, a virtuous woman should not abandon him. For noble women, union with another brings no heaven—only disgrace, pain, fear, and condemnation. Devotion arises by hearing, seeing, meditating upon, or singing about me—not so much by physical proximity. Therefore, return to your homes.” Hearing Govinda’s words, so unexpectedly harsh, the gopīs’ hopes were shattered. Overwhelmed by sorrow, they stood in silence, their faces streaked with tears, lips parched by sighs, and their feet tracing the dust. Their breasts bore the marks of tears mingled with the red of their ornaments. Dimming their eyes with their hands, their voices choked with emotion, they at last spoke, hearts heavy with longing for Krishna, having given up all else for him. They said, “Do not speak so cruelly, Lord! It does not befit you. We have abandoned everything and 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 a woman’s duty is to serve her husband, children, and friends. Let it be so. Yet, O Lord, you are the true dearest, the friend and soul of all beings. “The wise place their love in you, the eternal beloved. What use are husbands or sons who bring only suffering? Be gracious to us, Supreme Lord—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 serve in household tasks. Our feet will not move from your feet. How, then, can we return 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 fire of separation, we will reach your feet through meditation, leaving these bodies behind. “O lotus-eyed one, from the moment we touched the soles of your feet—even for a moment, a blessing sought by Lakṣmī herself—we have not been able to stand before anyone else, so enchanted are we by you. Lakṣmī longed for the dust of your feet, and though she gained a place on your chest, served by your attendants, she still desired it. 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 service 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 abode of Lakṣmī—we wish only to be your servants. “What woman in the three worlds, enchanted by your sweet words and divine deeds, would not be captivated? Even the cows, birds, trees, and deer gaze at you with delight—who would not be moved? Surely, you have appeared in Vraja to remove fear and suffering, just as the ancient Lord protected the gods. O friend of the afflicted, place your lotus hand on the burning breasts and heads of your maidservants.” Thus, the gopīs poured out their hearts, their devotion and longing shining forth, seeking only the grace and presence of their beloved Krishna.