O King, the purifying glory of Mukunda, which sanctifies the world, has flowed from the lips of the foremost divine sage—whose very being embodies the purity of the Self. Whoever hears this sacred narration attains the supreme state, freed from all bonds, no longer to wander in the cycle of birth and death. This wondrous and transcendental teaching, which has now been received, dispels all doubts about the duties of women and men, both in this life and beyond. Sūta continued: Śuka then spoke, describing a wondrous episode. When the Lord, the beloved of Vraja, suddenly disappeared from sight, the women of Vraja were plunged into torment, like female elephants bereft of their leader. Their hearts and minds absorbed in His every movement, His affection, enchanting smiles, playful glances, sweet words, and delightful pastimes, the gopīs became utterly captivated by the Lord of Lakṣmī. In their longing, they began to imitate His actions, each one identifying herself with Him. In walking, smiling, glancing, speaking, and all manner of playful gestures, the beloveds of the Beloved, as if embodying His very form, mimicked Krishna’s ways, each one convinced in her heart, “I am He.” Gathering together, they sang of Him with loud voices and wandered from forest to forest, as if possessed, searching for Him. In their search, they questioned the trees—who, though rooted and unmoving, hold the Supreme Person within—as if petitioning the sky. “O Aśvattha, Plakṣa, Nyagrodha trees!” they called, “Have you seen the son of Nanda pass this way, He who steals our minds with His loving glances and radiant smiles? O Kurabaka, Aśoka, Nāga, Punnāga, Campaka trees, has Rāma’s younger brother, whose smile humbles the proud, passed this way among the proud and haughty maidens? O blessed Tulasī, so dear to Govinda’s feet and surrounded by swarms of bees, have you seen the beloved Acyuta pass by, adorned with your leaves? O Mālatī, O Mallikā, O Jāti, O Yūthikā, have you seen Mādhava, who delights you with His touch, pass this way? O Cūta, Priyāla, Panasa, Āsana, Kovida, Jambu, Arka, Bilva, Bakula, Āmra, Kadamba, Nīpa, and all you trees on the banks of Yamunā, please reveal to us, whose hearts are empty, the path Krishna has taken.” They addressed the Earth herself: “O Earth, what austerity have you performed, that you shine so, your hairs standing on end with joy from the festival of Keśava’s feet touching you? Is it from the touch of His feet, His mighty deeds, or the embrace of His Boar form? Or has Acyuta come here to His beloved, O friend, delighting her senses with His body and gaze? The fragrance of the garland on the chief of the clan, stained with the kuṅkuma from His beloved’s breasts, is wafting here.” They noticed the bees and Tulasī following Him: “With His lotus hand placed on the shoulder of His beloved, Rāma’s younger brother is wandering here, followed by intoxicated bees and Tulasī. Do the trees bow to Him as He passes, glancing at them with affection? Ask these creepers, who embrace the trees with their arms—surely, touched by His hand, they display horripilation in delight.” Thus, speaking in their loving madness, the gopīs, distressed in their search for Krishna, imitated His playful acts, each one absorbed in Him. One, imitating Pūtanā, approached and offered her breast for Krishna to suckle. Another, pretending to be a crying child, was comforted; yet another, acting as the cart-demon, was struck by a playful foot. Some, taking on the roles of demons, seized those playing Krishna; others, imitating the sounds of the cowherd settlement, dragged their friends by the foot. Some played as Krishna and Rāma, herding cows; another played the calf-demon and was defeated, while one among them became the crane-demon. One called out to a distant friend as Krishna would, another followed after, playing the flute and sporting about, and the others praised her, saying, “Well done!” Placing her arm on another’s shoulder, one said, “I am Krishna—see my graceful gait,” her mind absorbed in Him. Another, saying, “Do not fear the wind or the rain; I have arranged for your protection,” tried to cover her friend with her garment, using only one hand. One climbed upon another, stepping on her head, and declared, “Wicked one, go away! I am born as the punisher of the wicked!” Another cried, “O cowherds, see this terrible forest fire! Close your eyes, and I will quickly ensure your safety.” A slender gopī, tying another with a garland to a mortar, said, “I am binding the butter thief who broke the pots and stole the clarified butter!” The other, feigning fear, covered her eyes. In this way, as they questioned the creepers and trees of Vṛndāvana about Krishna, they came upon the footprints of the Supreme Soul in the forest. “These footprints, so clearly visible, belong to the great son of Nanda,” they exclaimed. “See the marks of the banner, lotus, thunderbolt, goad, and barleycorn.” Following the various footprints, the women went ahead. When they noticed certain footprints closely joined with those of another, they spoke in distress, “Whose footprints are these, going with the son of Nanda, with her arm placed on his shoulder, just as an elephant cow is embraced by the elephant?” They lamented, “Surely, this one has worshipped the Lord, Hari, the Supreme, for Govinda, pleased, has left us all and led her away in secret. How blessed are these creepers and plants, dusted by the pollen from Govinda’s lotus feet, which Brahmā, Śiva, and the goddess Lakṣmī place upon their heads for their highest good. Her footprints, deeply pressed, disturb us greatly, for, having taken only her away from among the gopīs, Acyuta enjoys her lips in secret; her footprints are not seen further—surely, her tender feet, pained by grass and sprouts, caused her beloved to lift her up.” “See here, gopīs, these footprints are pressed deeper—Krishna, burdened by love, is carrying his beloved; here, the great-souled one set his beloved down to pick flowers. Here, for his beloved, the dear one picked flowers; look, at every step, the marks of his feet are clearly seen. Here, a lover arranged the hair of his beloved; surely, while she was seated here, he adorned her tresses. Though self-satisfied and undivided in himself, he enjoyed with her, showing the wretchedness of lovers and the fickleness of women.” Thus, as they spoke, the gopīs, bewildered, wandered about. Meanwhile, the gopī whom Krishna had led away, leaving the others in the forest, considered herself the most fortunate of all women: “Having abandoned the gopīs who desire him, my beloved now worships me.” But then, having reached a spot in the forest, proud, she said to Keshava, “I can walk no further; take me wherever your heart desires.” Thus addressed, the beloved said, “Climb onto my shoulder.” But as she reached out in pride, Krishna vanished, and that bride was left alone to lament.