Though their husbands, fathers, brothers, and relatives tried to restrain them, the hearts of the gopīs were stolen by Govinda. Enchanted by Krishna’s irresistible charm, nothing could hold them back. Some, unable to leave their homes, stayed inside, but even there their minds were absorbed in thoughts of Krishna. With closed eyes, they meditated on him, longing for his presence. Tormented by the unbearable pain of separation from their beloved, the gopīs’ intense suffering washed away all inauspiciousness. Through deep meditation, they attained union with the infallible Lord, and in that bliss, all misfortune melted away. Having come together with the Supreme Self, even with the attitude of lovers, they immediately cast off their bodies composed of the modes of nature, their bondage destroyed in an instant. King Parīkṣit then asked, “O sage, the women of Vraja saw 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. 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, O King, 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.” Meanwhile, seeing the women of Vraja approach him, Krishna—the foremost among speakers—addressed them with charming words that bewildered their minds. He welcomed them gently, saying, “O most fortunate ones! What may I do to please you? Is all well in Vraja? Please tell me the reason for your coming. This night is fearsome, frequented 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 plays among the beautiful 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. 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 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 seemingly harsh words, the cowherd women’s hopes were shattered. They became deeply distressed and fell into overwhelming anxiety. Wiping their faces, their lips faded by sighs, tracing the ground with their feet, their breasts stained with tears mingled with the red of their ornaments, they stood silent, weighed down by sorrow. Longing for their beloved Krishna, who had turned away all desires for his sake, they brushed their tear-dimmed eyes, their voices choked with emotion, and finally spoke a little. The gopīs 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. 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 intense 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 distressed 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 a pair of white jasmine buds, shone among them like the moon among stars. As the chief of hundreds of women sang and was sung to, wearing the Vaijayantī garland, he wandered through the forest, adorning it with his presence. Entering the riverbank with the gopīs, on the cool, sandy shore, he sported, delighted by the gentle, fragrant breeze carrying the scent of lotuses. With outstretched arms, embraces, playful struggles, loosened girdles, and the touch of nails, with laughter, glances, and smiles, Krishna aroused the god of love, delighting the beautiful women of Vraja. Having received the favor of the great-souled Lord Krishna, those proud women considered themselves the most fortunate on earth. But seeing their pride, born from their good fortune, Keśava disappeared from there at once, to pacify and favor them.