Even if a husband is unfortunate, of poor character, aged, dull, sick, or lacking in wealth, a virtuous woman should never abandon him. Such is the path of righteousness for women who seek virtue in this world. For noble women, union with any man other than their own husband brings no true happiness or heavenly reward; it only leads to disgrace, meager and painful results, and is universally condemned. It brings fear, not fulfillment. Krishna then spoke to the cowherd women, saying, “Devotion to Me arises not so much from physical closeness, but from hearing about Me, seeing Me, meditating upon Me, or singing My glories. Therefore, return to your homes.” Hearing Govinda’s stern words, the hearts of the gopīs were shattered. Their hopes dashed, they were plunged into deep distress and overwhelming anxiety. Their faces were stained with tears, their lips parched from sighing. They stood silently, their feet tracing patterns in the dust, their breasts wet with tears mingled with the red of their ornaments. Their eyes, dimmed by weeping, they brushed with trembling hands, and though their voices were choked with emotion, they managed to speak a little to Krishna. They said, “Do not speak so harshly, O Lord! Such words are not fitting for you. We have given up everything and come to your feet. Please, cherish your devotees—do not reject us with cruelty, just as the Supreme Person never abandons those who seek liberation. “You, who know the way of righteousness, have taught 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 dharma, and in you alone are you 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 only bring suffering? Therefore, be gracious to us, O Supreme Lord—do not sever the hope we have long cherished in you, O lotus-eyed one. “Our minds, joyfully stolen away 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 go back to Vraja, or what else can we do? “O beloved, moisten us with the nectar of your lips, with 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 in meditation, friend, leaving these bodies behind. “O lotus-eyed one, from the moment we touched the soles of your feet—even for a moment, a blessing 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 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, 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 flowing hair, your earrings shining on your cheeks, the nectar of your lips, your smiling glances, your arms giving fearlessness, and your chest—the sole abode of Lakṣmī—we wish only to be your servants. “What woman in all the three worlds, enchanted by your sweet, melodious words and divine deeds, would not be captivated? Even cows, birds, trees, and deer delight to see your beauty—who would not be moved? “It is clear 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.” Śuka then said: Hearing these words, so full of distress, 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, radiant with a smile bright as a pair of white jasmine buds, shone among them like the moon among the stars. The chief among hundreds of women sang for him and with him. Krishna, adorned with the Vaijayantī garland, wandered through the forest, making it even more beautiful. Entering the riverbank with the gopīs, on the cool, sandy shore, he played, 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 in all the world. But seeing their pride, born from their good fortune, Keśava disappeared from their midst at once, to pacify and favor them. Thus ends the twenty-ninth chapter of the first half of the Tenth Canto in the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for the supreme paramahaṃsas. I bow to that Supreme Person, the foremost, known as Krishna, who, like a bee extracting the essence of the Vedas, imparted the nectar of knowledge and realization to his servants, to remove the fear of worldly existence. Hari is the very soul of all embodied beings, the Lord of nature Himself. His feet are the true refuge, from which comes safety for all people. He alone is the dearest Self, from whom not even the slightest fear arises. He who knows this is truly wise, and such a wise one is the teacher—Hari Himself. Nārada then spoke: “O best of men, your question has thus been answered. Now, as I speak, listen attentively to this secret, well-determined matter. “A small, wandering creature, seeking shelter among the gentle, becomes attached to the sweet songs of the six-legged ones, greedy for their sound. Heedless of the wolves ahead, who are never satisfied, he moves forward, while behind, a deer—wounded by the hunter’s arrow—pursues him. “The meaning is this: Among women of gentle nature, the shelter of the hermitage is like a flower’s fragrance—very slight. Seeking fleeting pleasure born of desire, one becomes absorbed in union, with the mind fixed there. Like the songs of the six-legged ones, the alluring speech of women captivates the ears. Ahead, like a pack of wolves, time devours one’s lifespan, day and night, unnoticed, as one enjoys life at home. Meanwhile, unseen, the hunter—Death—strikes with his arrow. O King, you should see this self, whose heart is pierced. “Therefore, observe the behavior of the deer and restrain your own mind within your heart, as a charioteer holds the reins. Abandon the company of women and the songs of the herd, and gradually take refuge in the shelter of the Swan—be satisfied and withdraw step by step.” The king then said, “O brāhmaṇa, I have heard and reflected on what the Lord has spoken. Why do the teachers not explain this, if they know it? O brāhmaṇa, my great doubt has been dispelled by your words. Even sages are bewildered where the senses do not reach. “By whatever actions a person acts here, abandoning this body, with another body he enjoys the results of those actions there. This is the debate heard among those who know the Vedas: the actions performed are said to be hidden, not manifest.” Nārada replied, “By whatever actions one acts, by those very actions he enjoys the results in the next life, without interruption, through the subtle body and mind. Just as a man leaves behind a sleeping, breathing body, so does he enjoy the results of actions, either with that body or with another. “Whatever this person, saying ‘I am this,’ grasps with his mind, he attains the results of those actions, by which rebirth occurs. Just as the mind is inferred from the activities of both types of senses, so too are actions from previous bodies recognized by the movements of the mind. With this body, one has not experienced nor seen nor heard; yet, at some time, that form may be perceived, as it is within oneself.