O lotus-eyed Krishna, from the moment we touched even for an instant the soles of your feet—feet that are cherished by Lakṣmī herself and venerated by the denizens of the forest—we have become so completely enchanted by you that we cannot stand before anyone else. The goddess Lakṣmī, though she gained a place upon your chest and was served by your attendants, still longed for the dust of your lotus feet. Even the gods strive for your merciful glance. In the same way, we too have surrendered ourselves to the dust of your feet. Therefore, O destroyer of suffering, be gracious to us. We have left behind our homes, seeking only to serve at your feet. O ornament of men, our hearts burn with intense longing for your beautiful smile and loving glance—grant us the service of your maidservants. When we behold your face—framed by curling locks, cheeks adorned with shining earrings, the nectar of your lips, your smiling glances, your arms that bestow fearlessness, and your chest, the sole abode of Lakṣmī—we desire nothing but to become your servants. What woman in the three worlds, hearing your sweet, melodious words and witnessing your divine deeds, would not be captivated? Even the cows, birds, trees, and deer delight in your beauty. Who could remain unmoved? Clearly, you have appeared in Vraja to remove fear and suffering, just as the primeval Lord protected the gods. O friend of the afflicted, please place your lotus hand upon the burning breasts and heads of your devoted maidservants. Hearing these heartfelt and distressed words, Śuka narrates, the Lord of yogis, though fully self-satisfied, smiled kindly and took delight 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 the stars. As the chief among hundreds of women sang and was sung to, wearing the Vaijayantī garland, Krishna 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. Thus, having received the favor of the great-souled Lord Krishna, those proud women considered themselves the most fortunate on earth. Yet, observing their pride, born from their good fortune, Keśava disappeared from their midst at once, to pacify and favor them. Thus concludes 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, removing the fear of worldly existence. Hari is the soul of all embodied beings, the Lord of nature Himself; his feet are the refuge, from which comes safety for people in this world. 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. Then Nārada spoke: “O best of men, your question has thus been answered. Now, as I speak, listen attentively to this secret, well-determined matter. Imagine a small, wandering creature, seeking shelter among the gentle, becoming 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 the fragrance of a flower—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? 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. Therefore, O King, the embodied soul attains such a form arising from the body; the meaning not directly experienced cannot be grasped by the mind. The mind alone reveals to a person the previous forms, and likewise those that will be, as well as those that will not be—may you be blessed. Here, sometimes, what has not been seen or heard appears in the mind; thus, one should infer according to place, time, and action. All objects accessible to the mind and senses come and go repeatedly in accordance with sequence; all people share this experience. When the mind is fixed solely in sattva, dwelling near the Lord, then darkness, like the moon’s shadow, is dispelled and this is illuminated. The notion of ‘I’ and ‘mine’ is interrupted in the person, as long as the arrangement of intellect, mind, senses, and qualities, which is beginningless, persists. During sleep, fainting, and suffering, due to disruption of breath, the awareness ‘I am’ does not arise—even in the burning of death. In the womb and in childhood, due to immaturity, the elevenfold subtle body is not manifest, just as the moon is hidden in the new phase. Even when the object is absent, the cycle does not cease; as one contemplates objects, misfortune comes in dreams, though they are unreal. Thus, the fivefold subtle body, expanded in three and sixteen ways, when joined with consciousness, is called the living being.