The beloved companions of Kṛṣṇa, their hearts overflowing with love, wandered through the moonlit groves of Vṛndāvana, their every movement—walking, smiling, glancing, speaking—an imitation of Kṛṣṇa’s own playful ways. Each gopī, convinced in her heart, declared, “I am He,” and in their devotion, they embodied His very form. Together, their voices rose in song, singing loudly of their beloved Kṛṣṇa as they roamed from forest to forest, their longing so intense that they seemed possessed, searching everywhere for Him. They turned to the trees—silent, unmoving witnesses, yet containing within them the Supreme Person—as if questioning the very sky itself. They called out: “O Aśvattha, Plakṣa, Nyagrodha trees, 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, has Rāma’s younger brother, whose smile humbles the proud, come this way among the proud maidens? O blessed Tulasī, so dear to Govinda’s feet and surrounded by bees, have you seen the beloved Acyuta, adorned with your leaves, pass by? O Mālatī, Mallikā, Jāti, Yūthikā, have you seen Mādhava, who delights you with His touch, go this way?” They pleaded with all the trees along the banks of the Yamunā—Cūta, Priyāla, Panasa, Āsana, Kovida, Jambu, Arka, Bilva, Bakula, Āmra, Kadamba, Nīpa, and the rest—“Please, reveal to us, whose hearts are empty, the path Kṛṣṇa has taken.” They marveled at the earth itself: “O Earth, what austerity have you performed, that you shine so, your hairs standing on end in 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?” They wondered aloud: “Or has Acyuta come here to His beloved, delighting her senses with His body and gaze? The fragrance of His garland, stained with kuṅkuma from His beloved’s breasts, wafts through the air.” They imagined the scene: “With His lotus hand on the shoulder of His beloved, Rāma’s younger brother, followed by intoxicated bees and Tulasī, wanders here. Do the trees bow to Him as He passes, glancing at them with affection?” They urged each other: “Ask these creepers, who embrace the trees with their arms; surely, touched by His hand, they display horripilation in delight.” In their longing and madness, the gopīs continued to speak and act as if possessed by Kṛṣṇa’s presence. They imitated His playful acts, each absorbed in thoughts of Him. One, pretending to be Pūtanā, offered her breast to a child Kṛṣṇa; another, playing the role of a crying infant, was comforted; another, acting as the cart-demon, was struck by a foot. Some pretended to be demons, seizing those playing Kṛṣṇa, while others mimicked the sounds of the cowherd settlement, dragging friends by the foot in play. Some played as Kṛṣṇa and Rāma, leading the cowherds; another, acting as the calf-demon, was defeated; one took the role of the crane-demon. One called out, as Kṛṣṇa would, to a friend far away; another followed, playing the flute and sporting about, while the others praised her, saying, “Well done!” Another, placing her arm on a friend’s shoulder, said, “I am Kṛṣṇa—see my graceful gait,” her mind fully absorbed in Him. “Do not fear the wind or rain; I have arranged for your protection,” said one, covering her friend with her garment using only one hand. Another climbed onto a friend, stepping on her head, and declared, “Wicked one, go away! I am born as the punisher of the wicked!” One cried, “O cowherds, see this terrible forest fire! Close your eyes, and I will quickly ensure your safety.” A slender gopī tied another to a mortar with a garland, saying, “I am binding the butter thief who broke the pots and stole the clarified butter!” The other, frightened, covered her eyes and feigned fear. In this way, as they questioned the creepers and trees of Vṛndāvana about Kṛṣṇa, they came upon footprints in the forest—the unmistakable marks of the Supreme Soul. “These footprints, so clearly visible, belong to the great son of Nanda,” they said, noting the banner, lotus, thunderbolt, goad, and barleycorn imprinted in the earth. Following those footprints, the gopīs pressed onward. Soon, they noticed a set of footprints closely joined with Kṛṣṇa’s own, and their hearts grew heavy. “Whose footprints are these, walking with the son of Nanda, her arm upon his shoulder, just as an elephant cow is embraced by the elephant?” they wondered. “Surely, this one has worshipped the Lord, Hari, the Supreme, for Govinda, pleased, has left us all and led her away in secret,” they said with awe and longing. “How blessed are these creepers and plants, dusted by the pollen from Govinda’s lotus feet, which Brahmā, Śiva, and Lakṣmī place upon their heads for their highest good.” But soon their wonder turned to distress: “Her footprints, deeply pressed, disturb us greatly. Having taken only her away from among us, 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—Kṛṣṇa, burdened by love, is carrying his beloved. Here, the great-souled one set her down to pick flowers. 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.” As they revealed these things, the gopīs, bewildered, continued their search. The gopī whom Kṛṣṇa had led away, leaving the others in the forest, began to reflect on her fortune. She thought, “I am the most excellent of all women—my beloved has abandoned the other gopīs who desire him and now worships me alone.” But soon, reaching a spot in the forest, pride crept into her heart. She said to Keśava, “I can walk no further; take me wherever your heart desires.” Kṛṣṇa replied, “Climb onto my shoulder.” But in that very moment, Kṛṣṇa vanished, leaving her alone and bereft. She cried out in despair, “Alas, Lord, beloved, dearest! Where are you, where are you, mighty-armed one? O friend, show your presence to your poor servant!” Śuka then explained: As the gopīs searched for the path of the Lord, not knowing where He had gone, they found their friend, bewildered and distressed by separation from her beloved. Hearing from her what had happened—her pride, Mādhava’s response, and her humiliation—they were filled with great wonder. Together, they entered the forest, searching as long as the moonlight guided them. But when darkness finally fell, the women, hearts heavy with longing, turned back.