As the enchanting night descended upon Vraja, an irresistible call drew the gopīs—Krishna’s beloved cowherd maidens—away from their daily lives. Some, in the midst of milking, left their task unfinished, unable to contain their eagerness. Others, with milk still simmering on the stove, abandoned their kitchens and hurried away, forgetting even to feed their children. Some, while serving meals, left their duties incomplete; others, feeding their infants, set them down and rushed out. There were those who, while attending to their husbands, departed without finishing their own meals. In their haste, some gopīs left behind the ointment they were applying or the bathing they had begun; others, still painting their eyes, hurried away with their garments and ornaments in disarray. Their hearts, utterly captivated by Krishna, could not be restrained—not by husbands, fathers, brothers, or any relatives. Though their families tried to hold them back, the gopīs were enchanted, their minds stolen by Govinda. Yet, not all could leave their homes. Some gopīs, prevented by circumstances, remained inside. But even as they stayed behind, their thoughts were wholly absorbed in Krishna. With closed eyes, they meditated upon him, their longing so intense that the pain of separation became unbearable. This suffering, however, purified them, washing away all inauspiciousness. Through their meditation, they attained union with the infallible Lord, and the bliss they experienced dispelled every trace of misfortune. Thus, united with the Supreme Self—even in the mood of passionate lovers—the gopīs immediately cast off the limitations of their material bodies, their bondage to the modes of nature destroyed at once. King Parīkṣit, listening to this wondrous tale, asked the sage Śuka, “O sage, the women of Vraja loved Krishna as their dearest beloved, not as the formless Brahman. How could they be freed from the flow of the material modes when their minds were fixed on his qualities?” Śuka replied, “This has already been explained, O King. Even the wicked Śiśupāla attained perfection by his focus on Krishna—though it was through hatred. If such liberation is possible for one who hated Hṛṣīkeśa, how much more so for those who are lovingly devoted to the transcendent Lord? For the highest good of all, the Supreme Lord—imperishable, immeasurable, beyond the modes yet the very soul of all qualities—manifests himself. Those who constantly direct their desire, anger, fear, affection, unity, or friendship to Hari become absorbed in him. Therefore, do not be astonished. It is by Krishna, the unborn Lord of yogic masters, that such liberation is attained.” Meanwhile, as the gopīs approached Krishna, the Lord, supreme among speakers, greeted them with charming words that gently tested their resolve. He said, “Welcome, O most fortunate ones! What can I do to please you? Is all well in Vraja? Please tell me why you have come here. “This night is fearsome, filled with 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 them distress. “You have seen the forest adorned with flowers, brightened by the moon, and the Yamunā’s breeze playing among the blossoming 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. 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 about me, seeing me, meditating upon me, or singing my glories, devotion arises—not so much by physical proximity. Therefore, return to your homes.” Hearing these words, the gopīs felt their hopes shatter. Overcome with distress and anxiety, they stood silent, their faces wet with tears, lips parched from sighs, tracing the ground with their feet. Their breasts were stained with tears mingled with the red of their ornaments. Brushing their tear-dimmed eyes, their voices choked with emotion, they spoke to Krishna, their beloved, for whose sake they had turned away from all else. They said, “Do not speak so harshly, Lord! It is not worthy of you. Having abandoned everything, we have come to your feet. Cherish your devotees—do not reject us, just as the Supreme Person never abandons those who seek liberation. “You, knower of dharma, have said that a woman’s duty is to serve her husband, children, and friends. Let it be so. Yet, O Lord, you are the true teacher of righteousness, the dearest friend and soul of all beings. The wise place their love in you, the eternal beloved. What use are husbands, sons, and others 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, happily stolen by you, do not return to our homes. Our hands cannot perform household tasks, nor can our feet move from your feet. How can we go back to Vraja, or what else can we do? “O beloved, moisten us with the nectar of your lips, 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, 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 deeply 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 the 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 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? Even the cows, birds, trees, and deer are delighted by your beauty. Clearly, you have appeared in Vraja to remove fear and suffering, just as the primeval Lord protected the gods. O friend of the afflicted, place your lotus hand upon the burning breasts and heads of your maidservants.” Hearing their heartfelt words, Krishna, the Lord of yogis, though self-satisfied, smiled kindly and delighted in the gopīs. Surrounded by the women whose faces blossomed with joy at his glance, Acyuta shone among them like the moon among stars, his smile radiant as a pair of white jasmine buds. As the chief of hundreds of women sang and was sung to, adorned with the Vaijayantī garland, he wandered through the forest, making it even more beautiful. Together, Krishna and the gopīs entered the riverbank. On the cool, sandy shore, they sported joyfully, caressed by the gentle, fragrant breeze carrying the scent of blooming lotuses. In that divine night, the love between Krishna and his devoted gopīs illuminated the forest of Vraja with the light of transcendental joy.