On the banks of the Yamunā, the gopīs, their hearts aching with emptiness, turned to the trees—Cūta, Priyāla, Panasa, Āsana, Kovida, Jambu, Arka, Bilva, Bakula, Āmra, Kadamba, Nīpa, and all others—imploring them to reveal which path Kṛṣṇa had taken. Their longing was so deep that they addressed even the Earth herself, marveling at her joy, her hairs standing on end from the festival of Keśava’s feet touching her. They wondered what austerity had made the Earth so blessed: was it the touch of Kṛṣṇa’s feet, his mighty deeds, or the embrace she received when he took the form of the Boar? The gopīs speculated aloud: perhaps Acyuta had come here to meet his beloved, delighting her with his body and gaze. The fragrance of the garland Kṛṣṇa wore, stained with the kuṅkuma from his beloved’s breasts, wafted through the air, confirming their suspicions. With his lotus hand placed on the shoulder of his beloved, Rāma’s younger brother wandered here, followed by intoxicated bees and Tulasī. Did the trees bow as he passed, receiving his affectionate glances? They asked the creepers, who wrapped themselves around the trees, if they had been touched by Kṛṣṇa’s hand, for they seemed to shiver in delight. Thus, lost in their madness, the gopīs, distressed in their search, began to imitate Kṛṣṇa’s playful acts, each one absorbed in thoughts of him. One gopī imitated Pūtanā, offering her breast to Kṛṣṇa to suckle; another pretended to be a crying child, comforted by a friend; another, playing as the cart-demon, was struck by a foot. Another, acting as a demon, seized a friend playing Kṛṣṇa; yet another, imitating the sounds of the cowherd settlement, dragged someone by the foot. Some played as Kṛṣṇa and Rāma, acting as cowherds; another was defeated as the calf-demon, and one took the role of the crane-demon. One called out to a distant friend as Kṛṣṇa would, playing the flute and sporting about, while others praised her, saying, “Well done!” Another, placing her arm on a friend’s shoulder, declared, “I am Kṛṣṇa—see my graceful gait,” her mind absorbed in him. One tried to cover a friend with her garment, saying, “Do not fear the wind or rain; I have arranged for your protection,” using only one hand, as Kṛṣṇa had done. Another climbed upon a friend’s head, saying, “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 with a garland to a mortar, saying, “I am binding the butter thief who broke the pots and stole the clarified butter!” Frightened, her friend covered her eyes and feigned fear. As they questioned the creepers and trees of Vṛndāvana about Kṛṣṇa, they pointed out his footprints in the forest. These footprints, clearly visible, belonged to the great son of Nanda, marked with symbols like the banner, lotus, thunderbolt, goad, and barleycorn. Following these footprints, the women went ahead; when they saw certain footprints closely joined with those of a bride, 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 wondered. Surely, this one had worshipped the Lord, Hari, for Govinda, pleased, had left them all and led her away in secret. They marveled at the blessedness of the creepers and plants, dusted by the pollen from Govinda’s lotus feet, which Brahmā, Śiva, and Lakṣmī themselves place upon their heads for their highest good. They noticed her footprints, deeply pressed, and were disturbed, for Acyuta had taken only her away and was enjoying her lips in secret; her footprints disappeared further ahead—her tender feet, pained by grass and sprouts, had surely 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.” Here, for his beloved, he picked flowers; at every step, the marks of his feet were clearly seen. Here, a lover arranged the hair of his beloved; surely, while she was seated, 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 revealed these things, the gopīs, bewildered, wandered about, while the gopī whom Krishna had led away, leaving the others in the forest, considered herself the most excellent of all women: “Having abandoned the gopīs who desire him, my beloved now worships me.” 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, her beloved said, “Climb onto my shoulder.” But then Krishna 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 your presence to your poor servant!” Śuka explained: While searching for the path of the Lord, the gopīs, not knowing where he had gone, found their friend, bewildered and distressed by separation. Hearing from her what had happened—her pride, Mādhava’s response, and her humiliation—they were filled with wonder. They entered the forest as long as the moonlight lasted; but when darkness fell, the women turned back. Their minds absorbed in him, their speech about him, their actions imitating him, their very selves devoted to him, singing only his virtues, they did not remember their own homes. Returning to the bank of the Yamunā, their thoughts fixed on Krishna, they gathered together, longing for his arrival, singing of him. Then, O King, out of anger, they released fire and wind from their mouths, as if to make the earth barren, like the Samvartaka at the end of the age. Seeing the trees being reduced to ashes, Brahmā arrived and pacified the sons of Barhiṣmat with wise counsel. The remaining trees, frightened, gave their daughter to the Pracetas, as instructed by Svayambhū. And by Brahmā’s command, they accepted Māriṣā, from whom, due to a great offense, was born the progenitor of beings.