As the gopīs wandered through the moonlit forests of Vraja, their hearts ablaze with longing for Kṛṣṇa, they marveled at the blessedness of even the creepers and plants. These humble beings were dusted by the pollen from Govinda’s lotus feet—feet so revered that Brahmā, Śiva, and the goddess Lakṣmī themselves place their essence upon their heads for their highest good. The gopīs felt awe and envy, recognizing that the very earth and foliage were sanctified by Kṛṣṇa’s touch. Their search was guided by the footprints left behind. They noticed, with great disturbance, the deeply pressed marks among the grass and sprouts, evidence that Acyuta had taken only one gopī away from their midst to enjoy her lips in secret. The footprints suddenly ceased, leading the gopīs to surmise that her tender feet, pained by the forest’s roughness, had caused her beloved to lift her up. As they followed the trail, they observed places where Kṛṣṇa, burdened by love, had carried his chosen gopī. At another spot, they saw where the great-souled one had set her down to pick flowers for her. At every step, the marks of his feet were clearly visible, revealing his loving acts. In one place, a lover had arranged the hair of his beloved, adorning her tresses as she sat, lost in his affection. Though Kṛṣṇa was self-satisfied and undivided in himself, he enjoyed with her, demonstrating the wretchedness that can afflict lovers and the fickleness of women. As the gopīs revealed these signs, they wandered, bewildered, through the forest. The gopī whom Kṛṣṇa had led away, leaving the others behind, then considered herself the most excellent of all women, thinking, “Having abandoned the gopīs who desire him, my beloved now worships me.” Eventually, having reached a remote spot in the forest, pride swelling within her, she said to Keshava, “I can walk no further; take me wherever your heart desires.” Thus addressed, Kṛṣṇa gently invited her, “Climb onto my shoulder.” But in that moment, Kṛṣṇa vanished, leaving her alone to lament. She cried out in anguish, “Alas, Lord, beloved, dearest! Where are you, where are you, mighty-armed one? O friend, show your presence to your poor servant!” Meanwhile, the gopīs, searching for Kṛṣṇa’s path, found their friend, bewildered and distressed by separation from her beloved. Hearing from her what had transpired—her pride, Mādhava’s response, and her humiliation—they were filled with great wonder. They pressed deeper into the forest, searching as long as the moonlight lasted. When darkness fell, the women turned back, their minds absorbed in Kṛṣṇa, their speech only about him, their actions imitating him, their very selves devoted to him. Singing his virtues, they forgot their own homes. Once more, they gathered on the banks of the Yamunā, their thoughts fixed on Kṛṣṇa, longing for his arrival, singing his praises. In their anguish, they released fire and wind from their mouths, as if to make the earth barren like the Samvartaka flames at the end of the age. Seeing the trees reduced to ashes, Brahmā arrived and pacified the sons of Barhiṣmat with wise counsel. The remaining trees, frightened, gave their daughter Māriṣā to the Pracetas, as instructed by Svayambhū. By Brahmā’s command, Māriṣā was accepted, and from her, due to a great offense, was born the progenitor of beings. When the interval of the Cākṣuṣa Manvantara arrived, at the dawn of creation, Dakṣa, impelled by destiny, created the desired beings. He, shining with his own radiance and skill, was called Dakṣa, the able one, for his deeds. The timeless Lord installed him for the creation and protection of beings, appointing him and others as lords of all creatures. Meanwhile, the gopīs, hearts burning with longing, sang to Kṛṣṇa: “Vraja flourishes more because of your birth; Lakṣmī always dwells here. Beloved, let your devotees be seen in all directions; those whose lives are sustained by you search for you. O noble one, in the autumn night, your gaze 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 kill us here? From the poison of water, from the demon in serpent form, from storms, lightning, fire, from the son of the rain-god, and from dangers everywhere, O supreme one, you have repeatedly protected us. You are not merely the delight of the gopīs; you are the inner witness of all embodied beings. Requested by Brahmā for the protection of the world, friend, you appeared in the clan of the Sātvatas. O foremost of the Vṛṣṇis, you have made your feet a shelter for those who approach, freeing them from the fear of worldly existence. Beloved, whose lotus hands grant desires, place your auspicious grasp upon our heads. O hero, remover of Vraja’s suffering, whose smile destroys the pride of your own people, friend, accept us as your servants; show us your beautiful lotus-like face. Destroyer of sin for those who bow, follower of those who graze grass, abode of fortune, your lotus feet were offered by the serpent’s hoods; place them on our breasts and relieve the pain in our 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. The nectar of your stories is the life for the suffering; praised by poets, it removes sin. Hearing them brings auspiciousness and wealth; those who spread them on earth are truly generous. Your laughter, beloved, your loving glances, your play, and your meditation are auspicious. The secret conversations that touch the heart, O enchanter, disturb our minds. When you wander from Vraja, herding the cows, O lord, your lotus-like feet tread on stones, grass, and sprouts; our minds, afflicted by longing, follow you, beloved. At the end of the day, with blue hair, you appear, bearing a forest-flower face, covered in dust from the clouds, repeatedly showing yourself; O hero, you stir love in our hearts. Your lotus feet, which grant desires to those who bow, are worshipped by Lakṣmī, ornament of the earth, worthy of meditation in adversity, and bring peace; beloved, place them upon our breasts and relieve our pain. Your lips, kissed by the melodious flute, increase love and destroy sorrow, making people forget all other passions; O hero, grant us the nectar of your lips. When you wander the forest by day, for those who do not see you, a moment becomes an age; your curly hair and beautiful face, for those who gaze with dull eyes, are hidden by their own eyelids. Having abandoned husbands, sons, family, brothers, and relatives, we, the last ones, have come to you, O infallible one. Knowing your path, enchanted by your song, which woman would return home at night? The secret conversations, the rising of love in the heart, your smiling face, loving glances, and the splendor of your broad chest, O abode of fortune, repeatedly cause our minds to long and become bewildered.” Thus, the gopīs’ devotion and longing for Kṛṣṇa overflowed, their hearts united in yearning, their voices echoing through the sacred forests of Vraja, ever seeking the beloved who is the soul of all.