As the gopīs wandered through the forests of Vṛndāvana, their hearts aching with longing for Kṛṣṇa, they recalled the sweet pastimes of their beloved Lord. One slender gopī, in playful imitation, fastened another friend with a garland to a mortar, declaring, “I am binding the butter thief who broke our pots and stole the clarified butter!” The other, feigning fear, covered her eyes and pretended to tremble, just as Kṛṣṇa had once done before his mother. As they moved through the woods, the gopīs questioned the creepers and trees about Kṛṣṇa’s whereabouts, searching for any sign of him. Suddenly, they noticed footprints in the soft earth—distinctive marks left by the Supreme Soul, the great son of Nanda, whose feet bore the signs of a banner, lotus, thunderbolt, goad, and barleycorn. Eagerly, they followed these footprints deeper into the forest. To their surprise, they saw another set of footprints closely joined with Kṛṣṇa’s—those of a bride. Distressed, they wondered aloud, “Whose footprints are these, walking with Nanda’s son, her arm resting on his shoulder, just as an elephant cow is embraced by her mate?” They sighed, “Surely, this fortunate one has worshipped Hari so well that Govinda, pleased, has left us all behind and led her away in secret.” Their eyes fell upon the creepers and plants dusted with the pollen from Govinda’s lotus feet—feet that even Brahmā, Śiva, and Lakṣmī revere, placing their dust upon their heads. How blessed were these simple forest plants! But as they traced the footprints, they noticed that only the gopī’s prints pressed deeply into the ground, then suddenly disappeared. They lamented, “It pains us to see that, taking only her from among us, Acyuta now enjoys her lips in secret. Her footprints vanish—surely, her tender feet were hurt by the grass and sprouts, and her beloved must have lifted her up.” “Look, sisters!” they exclaimed. “Here, Kṛṣṇa’s footprints are pressed deeper—he must have carried her, burdened by love. Here, he set her down to pick flowers for her. At every step, the marks of his feet are clear.” In another spot, they saw where Kṛṣṇa had arranged his beloved’s hair while she sat, and they realized how, though self-satisfied and ever-complete, he had delighted in her company, displaying the ways of lovers and the fickleness of the heart. As they pieced together these signs, the gopīs wandered through the forest, bewildered and longing. Meanwhile, the gopī whom Kṛṣṇa had led away, leaving the others behind, began to think herself the most fortunate among women. “My beloved has abandoned the others who desire him and now worships me alone,” she mused. But soon, pride swelling within her, she said to Keshava, “I can walk no further; take me wherever your heart desires.” Smiling, Kṛṣṇa replied, “Climb onto my shoulder.” Yet, as soon as she prepared to do so, Kṛṣṇa vanished, leaving her alone and sorrowful. She cried out in anguish, “Alas, Lord, beloved, dearest! Where are you? Where are you, mighty-armed one? O friend, show yourself to your poor servant!” As the other gopīs continued searching for Kṛṣṇa, they found their friend disheveled and distressed, lost in separation from her beloved. Hearing her tale—her pride, Kṛṣṇa’s playful response, and her humiliation—they were filled with wonder. Still yearning for Kṛṣṇa, the gopīs wandered through the woods as long as the moon shone. When darkness fell, they returned, their minds absorbed in thoughts of him, their words and actions all imitating his. So deep was their devotion that they forgot their homes entirely. Gathering on the bank of the Yamunā, their hearts fixed on Kṛṣṇa, they sang together, longing for his return. Their longing was so intense that, as if in anger, they seemed to breathe out fire and wind, threatening to scorch the very earth, just as the Samvartaka fire does at the end of an age. Witnessing this, Brahmā himself appeared and pacified the sons of Barhiṣmat with wise counsel. The remaining trees, trembling in fear, offered their daughter to the Pracetas, as Svayambhū had instructed. By Brahmā’s command, the Pracetas accepted Māriṣā, and from her, due to a great offense, the progenitor of beings was born. When the interval of the Cākṣuṣa Manvantara arrived, and creation began anew, Dakṣa, impelled by destiny, created the living beings as desired. He shone with his own radiance and skill, earning the name Dakṣa, “the able one.” The Lord, who is without beginning, appointed Dakṣa and others as the lords of all creatures, entrusting them with the creation and protection of beings. Returning to the gopīs, their longing for Kṛṣṇa overflowed in song. They sang, “Vraja flourishes because of your birth, O beloved; Lakṣmī always dwells here. Let your devotees be seen in all directions, for those whose lives depend on you search for you everywhere. “O noble one, in the autumn night, your glance steals the beauty of the lotus’s heart. Lord of love, we are your unpaid servants—O giver of boons, is it right for you to slay us with longing? “O supreme one, you have saved us again and again—from poisoned waters, from the serpent-demon, from storms, lightning, fire, from the son of the rain-god, and from every danger. You are not only the delight of the gopīs, but the inner witness of all beings. At Brahmā’s request, you appeared in the Sātvata clan to protect the world. “O foremost of the Vṛṣṇis, your feet are a refuge for all who seek you, freeing them from the fear of worldly existence. Beloved, whose lotus hands bestow every desire, place your auspicious touch upon our heads. “O hero, remover of Vraja’s suffering, whose smile humbles even your own people, accept us as your servants and show us your beautiful, lotus-like face. “Destroyer of sin, follower of the cows, abode of fortune—your lotus feet were honored by the serpent’s hoods; place them on our breasts and relieve the pain in our hearts. “O lotus-eyed one, your sweet words and wisdom delight our minds and bewilder us. Nourish us with the nectar of your lips. “The nectar of your stories is life for the suffering, praised by poets, and destroys all sin. Hearing them brings auspiciousness and prosperity; those who spread your glories are truly generous. “Your laughter, beloved, your loving glances, your playful acts, and your meditations are all auspicious. The secret conversations that touch our hearts, O enchanter, disturb our minds. “When you wander from Vraja, herding the cows, your lotus feet tread on stones, grass, and sprouts. Our minds, afflicted by longing, follow you always, beloved.” Thus, their hearts poured out in song, the gopīs waited, yearning for the return of their beloved Kṛṣṇa, their every thought, word, and action devoted only to him.