As the gopīs wandered through the enchanting forests of Vṛndāvana, their hearts aching with longing for Kṛṣṇa, they began to enact his pastimes, each one taking on a role in their playful yearning. One gopī, comforting her companions, assured them, “Do not fear the wind or the rain; I have arranged for your protection,” and, with only one hand, tried to shield another with her garment. Another, climbing atop her friend and stepping on her head, declared with playful authority, “Wicked one, go away! I am born as the punisher of the wicked!” Yet another, pointing toward the forest, called out, “O cowherds, see this terrible forest fire! Close your eyes, and I will quickly ensure your safety.” In their game, a slender gopī tied another to a mortar with a garland and said, “I am binding the butter thief who broke the pots and stole the clarified butter!” The one thus bound covered her eyes in feigned fear. Wandering deeper, their hearts full of questions, the gopīs approached the creepers and trees, asking about Kṛṣṇa’s whereabouts. They soon discovered footprints upon the soft earth—clear impressions marked with divine symbols: a banner, lotus, thunderbolt, goad, and barleycorn. “These footprints,” they exclaimed, “belong to the great son of Nanda!” Eagerly, the gopīs followed the trail, but soon noticed that some footprints were joined by those of another—closely pressed together. Distressed, they wondered, “Whose footprints are these, walking with the son of Nanda, her arm upon his shoulder, just as an elephant cow is embraced by her mate?” They realized with a pang that one among them had been chosen above all, for Govinda, pleased with her, had led her away in secret. “Surely, she has worshipped the Lord, Hari, with special devotion,” they sighed. As they moved on, their eyes fell upon the blessed creepers and plants dusted with the pollen from Govinda’s lotus feet—feet that even Brahmā, Śiva, and Lakṣmī long to place upon their heads. Suddenly, the gopīs noticed that the chosen one’s footprints were pressed deeper into the earth, then vanished. “Her tender feet must have been hurt by the sharp grass and sprouts,” they surmised, “so her beloved must have lifted her up.” They saw where Kṛṣṇa, burdened by love, had carried his dear one, and where he set her down to pick flowers for her. At each step, the marks of his feet were clearly visible. Here, they saw where he had arranged her hair as she sat, adorning her tresses with blossoms. Yet, though Kṛṣṇa is self-satisfied and complete in himself, he delighted in these loving exchanges, revealing both the wretchedness of lovers and the fickle nature of women. As the gopīs pieced together these signs, they wandered, bewildered, through the forest. The gopī whom Kṛṣṇa had led away, leaving the others behind, felt herself the most fortunate. “Having abandoned the others who desire him, my beloved now worships me alone,” she thought with pride. But after a while, weary from walking, she said to Keshava, “I can go no further; take me wherever your heart desires.” Smiling, Kṛṣṇa replied, “Climb onto my shoulder.” But in that very moment, he vanished, leaving her alone and sorrowful. Overcome with grief, she cried, “Alas, Lord, beloved, dearest! Where are you, mighty-armed one? O friend, show yourself to your poor servant!” Meanwhile, the other gopīs, searching for Kṛṣṇa’s path, found their friend lost and bewildered by separation. Hearing her tale—her pride, Kṛṣṇa’s gentle teasing, and her sorrow—they marveled at the mystery of his ways. Together, they wandered through the forest as long as the moonlight guided them. But when darkness fell, they turned back. Absorbed in thoughts of Kṛṣṇa, their speech and actions imitating him, their very selves devoted to him, the gopīs sang only of his virtues, forgetting even their own homes. They returned to the banks of the Yamunā, their hearts yearning for his presence, and gathered together to sing of Kṛṣṇa. In their longing and distress, they released their pent-up emotions, their anger manifesting as fire and wind from their mouths, threatening to scorch the earth like the Samvartaka fire at the end of the age. Witnessing the trees being reduced to ashes, Brahmā himself appeared and pacified the sons of Barhiṣmat with wise counsel. The frightened trees, following Svayambhū’s command, gave their daughter to the Pracetas, who accepted Māriṣā by Brahmā’s order. From her, due to a great offense, was born the progenitor of beings. When the time of the Cākṣuṣa Manvantara arrived, and creation began anew, Dakṣa, impelled by destiny, brought forth the desired beings. Brilliant from birth, he was called Dakṣa, the able one, renowned for his deeds. The beginningless one appointed him and others as the lords of all creatures, entrusting them with creation and protection. Returning to the gopīs, their hearts still aching for Kṛṣṇa, they began to sing in praise and supplication: “O beloved, because of your birth, Vraja flourishes; Lakṣmī herself dwells here always. Let your devotees be seen everywhere, for those whose lives depend on you search for you ceaselessly. “O noble one, your glance in the autumn night surpasses the beauty of the lotus’s heart. We are your unpaid servants, O giver of boons—how can you abandon us to die of longing? “You have saved us again and again—from the poison of the waters, from the serpent-demon, from storms, lightning, fire, and the son of the rain-god, from dangers everywhere. O supreme one, you are our protector. “You are not only the delight of the gopīs—you are the inner witness in all beings. Requested by Brahmā to protect the world, you appeared in the Sātvata clan, O friend. “O foremost of the Vṛṣṇis, your feet are a shelter for all who approach, freeing them from worldly fear. Beloved, whose lotus hands grant all desires, place your auspicious touch upon our heads. “O hero, remover of Vraja’s suffering, whose smile destroys the pride of your own people, accept us as your servants; show us your beautiful, lotus-like face. “Destroyer of sin for those who bow, follower of the cows and the grass, abode of fortune, your lotus feet were honored even by the serpent’s hoods—place them upon our breasts and relieve our aching hearts. “With sweet speech, charming words, and wisdom pleasing to the mind, O lotus-eyed one, you bewilder us. O hero, nourish us with the nectar of your lips.” Thus, united in their longing and devotion, the gopīs poured out their hearts in song, their souls yearning for the return of their beloved Kṛṣṇa.