Hearing the enchanting melody of Krishna’s flute, which stirred the deepest longing in their hearts, the women of Vraja—whose minds had been utterly captivated by Him—rose up, each drawn alone and unnoticed by the others, and made their way to the place where their beloved Krishna stood, his earrings swinging gently in the moonlight. Some left their milking unfinished, compelled by eagerness; others hurried away, leaving milk boiling on the stove and their children unfed. There were those who, in the midst of serving food, abandoned their duties, and some who left their infants as they fed them. Others, though attending to their husbands or in the middle of their own meal, could not restrain themselves and departed at once. Some were still applying ointment or cleansing themselves, others painting their eyes—garments and ornaments askew—all hastened to Krishna, unable to wait any longer. Though their husbands, fathers, brothers, and other relatives tried to restrain them, the gopīs could not be held back; their hearts had been stolen by Govinda, and they were helpless before His enchantment. Yet, some, unable to slip away from their homes, remained inside. Even so, absorbed in thoughts of Krishna, they closed their eyes and meditated deeply upon Him. The pain of separation from their beloved was unbearable, and the intensity of their suffering washed away all inauspiciousness. Through their meditation, they attained union with the infallible Lord; by that bliss, all misfortune was dispelled. Thus, the gopīs, coming together with the Supreme Self—even in the mood of passionate lovers—immediately cast off the bondage of their bodies, composed of the modes of nature, and were freed at once. At this, King Parīkṣit inquired, “O sage, the women of Vraja knew Krishna as their dearest beloved, not as Brahman. How could such freedom from the modes arise for those whose minds were fixed on qualities?” Śuka replied, “O King, this has already been explained—the wicked Śiśupāla, though filled with enmity, attained perfection by his focus on Krishna. If even one who hated Hṛṣīkeśa was liberated, how much more so those devoted in love to the transcendent Lord? For the highest good of all, the Supreme Lord—imperishable, immeasurable, beyond the modes, yet the soul of all qualities—manifests Himself. Those who, in any mood—desire, anger, fear, affection, unity, or friendship—constantly direct their hearts to Hari, truly become absorbed in Him. Therefore, do not be surprised; it is by Krishna, the unborn Lord of yogic masters, that such liberation is attained.” Meanwhile, as the women of Vraja approached Him, Krishna, the master of speech, addressed them with charming words that were meant to delude their minds. “Welcome, O most fortunate ones!” He said. “What may I do to please you? Is all well in Vraja? Tell Me, what is the reason for your coming here? This night is fearsome, haunted by wild 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 them anxiety. “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, 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, to care for their relatives, and to nourish their children. Even if a husband is of bad character, unfortunate, old, dull, sick, or poor, he should not be abandoned by those who desire virtue. For noble women, union with a man other than their husband brings no heaven, only disgrace, meager and painful results, 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 seemingly harsh words, the cowherd women’s hopes were shattered. Overwhelmed by sorrow, they fell into deep anxiety. Wiping their faces—lips parched and faded by sighs—they traced patterns in the dust with their feet, their breasts stained with tears mingled with the red of their ornaments. They stood in silence, weighed down by longing for Krishna, for whom they had renounced all other desires. Brushing their tear-dimmed eyes and their voices choked with emotion, the devoted gopīs finally spoke. They pleaded, “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. Those who are 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. “O lotus-eyed one, from the moment we touched the soles of your feet—granted even for a moment to Lakṣmī, beloved of the forest-dwellers—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, and though she gained a place on your chest, served by your attendants, she still desired it. For the sake of your glance, even other gods strive. 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. “What woman in the three worlds, enchanted by your sweet, melodious words and divine deeds, would not be captivated? Seeing your beauty, which even cows, birds, trees, and deer behold with delight, who would not be moved? Clearly, you have appeared in Vraja to remove fear and suffering, just as the primeval Lord, protector of the gods. O friend of the afflicted, place your lotus hand on the burning breasts and heads of your maidservants.” Hearing their anguished words, the Lord of yogis, though self-satisfied, smiled kindly and delighted in the gopīs. Surrounded by those women, whose faces blossomed with joy at His glance, Acyuta, radiant with a smile like twin jasmine buds, shone among them like the moon amidst the stars. As the chief among hundreds of women sang and was sung to, adorned with the Vaijayantī garland, Krishna wandered through the forest, making it all the more beautiful by His presence.