Gathering together in their longing, the gopīs roamed from forest to forest, their voices raised in song for Kṛṣṇa, as if possessed by His love. Their hearts restless, they questioned the trees—though the trees stood apart and silent, each was a dwelling of the Supreme Person, as if the gopīs were appealing to the very sky. “O Aśvattha, Plakṣa, Nyagrodha,” they called, “have you seen Nanda’s son pass this way, He who steals our minds with His gentle glances and radiant smile?” To the Kurabaka, Aśoka, Nāga, Punnāga, and Campaka trees, they pleaded, “Has Rāma’s younger brother, whose smile humbles the proud, wandered here among the proud maidens?” Turning to the sacred Tulasī, beloved of Govinda’s feet and surrounded by bees, they asked, “Have you seen Acyuta, adorned with you, pass by?” They spoke to Mālatī, Mallikā, Jāti, and Yūthikā creepers: “Has Mādhava delighted you with His touch as He passed?” To the trees along the Yamunā—Cūta, Priyāla, Panasa, Āsana, Kovida, Jambu, Arka, Bilva, Bakula, Āmra, Kadamba, Nīpa, and all others—they pleaded, “Our hearts are empty; show us the way Kṛṣṇa has gone.” They marveled at the earth itself: “O Earth, what great austerity have you performed, that you shine with joy, your hairs standing on end from the festival of Keśava’s feet touching you? Is it His touch, His mighty deeds, or the embrace of His Boar form that fills you with bliss?” They wondered, “Perhaps Acyuta has come here to His beloved, delighting her with His body and gaze—see, the fragrance of His garland, tinged with the kuṅkuma from her breasts, drifts on the breeze.” They imagined Him, lotus hand resting on the shoulder of His beloved, wandering through the woods, followed by bees and Tulasī, the trees bowing as He glanced at them with affection. “Ask the creepers,” they urged, “who embrace the trees as if in delight—surely, touched by His hand, they shiver in ecstasy.” Thus, lost in their longing, the gopīs, distressed and searching for Kṛṣṇa, began to imitate His playful acts, each fully absorbed in thoughts of Him. One, acting as Pūtanā, offered her breast for Kṛṣṇa to suckle; another, playing the crying child, was comforted; another, taking the role of the cart-demon, was struck by a foot. Some played the demon, seizing one who played Kṛṣṇa; others, imitating the sounds of the cowherd village, dragged a friend by the foot. Some, as Kṛṣṇa and Rāma, played at herding cows; one played the calf-demon, another the crane-demon. One called out to a friend in the distance as Kṛṣṇa would, another played the flute, and others praised her, exclaiming, “Well done!” One, placing her arm on another’s shoulder, walked gracefully, declaring, “I am Kṛṣṇa—see my walk,” her mind absorbed in Him. Another, saying, “Do not fear the wind or rain, I have arranged your protection,” tried to shield her friend with her garment, using only one hand. One climbed on another, stepping on her head, and declared, “Wicked one, go away! I am born as the punisher of the wicked!” Another said, “O cowherds, see this terrible forest fire! Close your eyes and I will save you,” just as Kṛṣṇa had done. A slender gopī tied another with a garland to a mortar, saying, “I am binding the butter thief who broke the pots and stole the butter!” The other, feigning fear, covered her eyes. As they questioned the creepers and trees of Vṛndāvana about Kṛṣṇa, they noticed the footprints of the Supreme Soul imprinted in the forest. “See these marks,” they said, “they belong to Nanda’s son—marked with the banner, lotus, thunderbolt, goad, and barleycorn.” Following the trail, the gopīs pressed on. Soon, they saw a set of footprints joined with those of a bride, and their hearts were troubled. “Whose footprints walk with Nanda’s son, with her arm upon His shoulder, just as an elephant cow is embraced by her mate?” They sighed, “Surely, she has worshipped Hari, for Govinda, pleased, has led her away from us in secret.” They marveled at the creepers dusted by the pollen from Govinda’s feet, which even Brahmā, Śiva, and Lakṣmī place on their heads for their highest good. But then they noticed: “Her footprints are pressed deeper here—Acyuta, having taken only her, enjoys her lips in secret. Her footprints vanish—surely, her tender feet were hurt by grass and sprouts, and so her beloved lifted her up.” They pointed, “See, here Kṛṣṇa’s footprints are pressed deeper—He is carrying His beloved. Here, He set her down to gather flowers. At every step, His marks are seen.” They noticed where He arranged her hair as she sat, and said, “Although self-satisfied and undivided, He enjoys with her, showing the wretchedness of lovers and the fickleness of women.” Thus, as they spoke, the gopīs wandered bewildered, and the one whom Kṛṣṇa had led away, leaving the others behind, began to think herself the most fortunate: “He has abandoned all the gopīs for me—now my beloved worships me alone.” Proud, she said to Keshava, “I can walk no further; take me wherever you wish.” Kṛṣṇa replied, “Climb onto my shoulder.” But as she prepared, He vanished, leaving her alone to lament. She cried out, “Alas, Lord, beloved, dearest! Where are you, where are you, mighty-armed one? O friend, show yourself to your poor servant!” Śuka continued: As the gopīs searched for Kṛṣṇa’s path, not knowing where He had gone, they found their friend, bewildered and distressed by separation. Hearing her story—her pride, Mādhava’s response, and her sorrow at her misfortune—they were filled with wonder. The night deepened, and the gopīs wandered in the forest as long as the moonlight lasted. When darkness fell, they turned back. Yet their minds remained absorbed in Kṛṣṇa, their speech was only of Him, their actions imitated Him, their very selves devoted to Him. Singing His virtues, they forgot all else—even their own homes.