Narada, the divine sage, spoke to King Prācīnabarhī with gentle gravity, illuminating the subtle dangers that lie in the path of worldly pleasure. Among women of gentle nature, he said, the shelter of the hermitage is as fragile and fleeting as the fragrance of a flower—barely perceptible and easily lost. Drawn by desires, one becomes absorbed in the pleasures of union, the mind fixed upon them, while the sweet and enticing words of women, like the songs of honeybees, captivate the ears. Yet, all the while, time—like a pack of wolves—devours the days and nights of one’s life, unnoticed amidst the comforts of home. Death, the unseen hunter, waits silently, ready to strike his arrow at any moment. “O King,” Narada warned, “see how the self is pierced by these attachments.” He advised, “Therefore, observe the deer and learn restraint. Just as a charioteer holds steady the reins, so must you control your mind. Leave behind the company of women and the enchanting songs of the herd. Gradually, seek refuge in the shelter of the Swan—become content, and withdraw step by step from worldly entanglements.” The king, hearing these words, reflected deeply. “O brāhmaṇa,” he asked, “I have listened and pondered over what the Lord has spoken. But if this is so, why do teachers not explain these truths, even if they know them?” Narada replied, “O brāhmaṇa, your words have dispelled my great doubt. Even sages are bewildered when the senses cannot reach the truth.” He continued, “Whatever actions a person performs in this life, upon leaving this body, he enjoys the results in another body. This is a subject of debate among the learned—some say the results of actions are hidden, not immediately manifest.” Narada explained, “Indeed, by whatever actions one acts, by those very actions he experiences their results in the next life, seamlessly, through the subtle body and mind. Just as a man leaves behind his sleeping, breathing body, so too does he enjoy the fruits of actions, whether with this body or another. Whatever a person, identifying as ‘I am this,’ grasps in his mind, he attains the results of those actions, leading to rebirth.” He elaborated, “Just as the mind is inferred from the activities of the senses, so too are the actions from previous bodies recognized by the movements of the mind. There are times when, with this body, a person has not experienced, seen, or heard something, yet that form appears within, as it exists within oneself. Thus, O King, the embodied soul attains forms arising from the body, though meanings not directly experienced cannot be grasped by the mind. The mind alone reveals to a person previous forms, as well as those that will be or will not be. Sometimes, things never seen or heard arise 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 sequence; this is the common experience of all.” “When the mind is fixed solely in sattva, dwelling near the Lord, darkness is dispelled, like the shadow of the moon, and everything is illuminated. The notions of ‘I’ and ‘mine’ are interrupted only so long as the arrangement of intellect, mind, senses, and qualities—beginningless as they are—persists. During sleep, fainting, suffering, or when breath is disturbed, the awareness ‘I am’ does not arise—even at the time of death. In the womb and in childhood, due to immaturity, the elevenfold subtle body is not manifest, just as the moon is hidden during its new phase. Even when the object is absent, the cycle does not cease; as one contemplates objects, misfortune may come in dreams, though they are unreal.” “The fivefold subtle body, expanded in three and sixteen ways, when joined with consciousness, is called the living being. By this, the person takes up and abandons bodies, and through this experiences joy, sorrow, fear, pain, and happiness. Just as a leech moving between grass and water neither fully departs nor remains, so a person does not abandon identification with the body, even at the time of death. The unseen does not perish as the seen does, but exists otherwise, like a dream; what has been, what is, and what will be, all sleep day and night.” “When one repeatedly contemplates actions performed by the senses, as long as ignorance persists, bondage arises for the non-self. Therefore, for liberation, worship Hari with all your being, seeing the universe as His own, from whom arise creation, maintenance, and dissolution.” Maitreya then narrated, “The great devotee, Lord Nārada, having revealed the path of the swans and bidding farewell to the king, departed for Siddhaloka. King Prācīnabarhī, the royal sage, after instructing his sons in the duties of creation, went to the hermitage of Kapila to perform austerities. There, with unwavering concentration, he worshipped the lotus feet of Govinda, and, freed from all attachment, attained likeness with Him through devotion.” “O sinless one,” Maitreya said, “this teaching on the transcendental Self was sung by the divine sage. Whoever recites or hears it is liberated from material bondage. The purifying glory of Mukunda, which sanctifies the world and flowed from the mouth of the foremost sage, embodies the purity of the Self. Whoever hears it attains the supreme state and, freed from all bonds, no longer wanders in this existence.” He concluded, “This wondrous transcendental teaching, which I have now received, resolves all doubts regarding the duties of women and men, both in this world and beyond.” Śuka then continued the narration, shifting the scene to Vraja: “When the Lord suddenly disappeared from their midst, the women of Vraja were plunged into sorrow, tormented as female elephants separated from their leader. Absorbed in thoughts of His movements, affection, smiles, playful glances, charming speech, and delightful pastimes, their minds were wholly captivated by the Lord of Lakṣmī. In their longing, they began to imitate His actions, each identifying herself with Him.” “In their walking, smiling, glancing, speaking, and other acts, the beloveds of the Beloved embodied His very form, imitating Kṛṣṇa’s playful ways, each one convinced in her heart, ‘I am He.’ Gathered together, they sang of Him loudly and wandered from forest to forest, as if possessed, searching for Him. They questioned the trees—who, though standing apart, contain the Supreme Person within—as if appealing to the sky itself.” They cried out, “O Aśvattha, Plakṣa, Nyagrodha trees, have you seen the son of Nanda pass this way, stealing our minds with His loving glances and radiant smiles? O Kurabaka, Aśoka, Nāga, Punnāga, Campaka trees, has Rāma’s younger brother, whose smile humbles even the proud, passed this way among the haughty maidens? O blessed Tulasī, dear to Govinda’s feet and surrounded by swarms of bees, have you seen the beloved Acyuta pass by, adorned with you? O Mālatī, O Mallikā, O Jāti, O Yūthikā, have you seen Mādhava pass by, delighting you with His touch?” Thus, their hearts aching with longing, the women of Vraja searched the forests, calling out to every tree and flower for a glimpse of their beloved Lord.