As the gopīs wandered through the moonlit forest, their hearts aching with longing, they came upon the deeply pressed footprints of Rādhā, the beloved of Acyuta, and Krishna himself. These prints disturbed them, for they revealed that Krishna had singled out one among them, enjoying her lips in secret, and her footprints disappeared further along the path. They realized her tender feet, pained by grass and sprouts, must have compelled Krishna to lift her up and carry her. Examining the ground, the gopīs saw where Krishna’s footprints pressed even deeper, burdened by love as he carried his beloved. In another spot, they noted where the great-souled Krishna had set her down to gather flowers. Here, Krishna picked blossoms for her, and at every step, the marks of his feet were clearly visible. In yet another place, they noticed evidence of a lover arranging his beloved’s hair; surely, Krishna had adorned her tresses as she sat there. Though Krishna is self-satisfied and undivided in himself, he had enjoyed with her, exposing the wretchedness of lovers and the fickleness of women. As the gopīs revealed these signs to one another, they wandered bewildered through the forest, searching for Krishna and the gopī he had led away. Meanwhile, the gopī who had been chosen by Krishna considered herself the most excellent of all women. She thought, “Having abandoned the gopīs who desire him, my beloved now worships me.” Proudly, when they reached a spot in the forest, she said to Keshava, “I can walk no further; take me wherever your heart desires.” Krishna replied, “Climb onto my shoulder.” But just then, Krishna 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 your presence to your poor servant!” While searching for Krishna’s path, the gopīs found their friend, bewildered and distressed by separation from her beloved. Hearing from her what had happened—her pride, Mādhava’s response, and her humiliation due to misfortune—they were filled with great wonder. The gopīs then entered the forest, searching as long as the moonlight lasted. When darkness fell, they returned. Their minds absorbed in Krishna, their speech only about him, their actions imitating him, their very selves devoted to him, singing only his virtues, they forgot their own homes. Once again, they gathered on the banks of the Yamunā, their thoughts fixed on Krishna, longing for his arrival, and sang of him. In their anger and grief, they released fire and wind from their mouths, as if to make the earth barren like the destructive 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 Māriṣā to the Pracetas, as instructed by Svayambhū. By Brahmā’s command, the Pracetas accepted Māriṣā, from whom, due to a great offense, was born the progenitor of beings. When the interval of the Cākṣuṣa Manvantara arrived, at the beginning of creation, as time swept on, Dakṣa, impelled by destiny, created the desired beings. Dakṣa, who at birth outshone all the brilliant with his own radiance and skill, was called the able one because of his deeds. He who is without beginning installed Dakṣa for the creation and protection of beings, appointing him and others as the lords of all creatures. Returning to the present, the gopīs, hearts full of longing, sang to Krishna: “Vraja flourishes more because of your birth; Lakshmi 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?” They recalled his protection: “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 Brahma 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 Lakshmi, 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. O embodiment of auspiciousness for the dwellers of Vraja, your presence alone destroys all suffering and brings universal blessing. Please, withdraw even slightly from those whose hearts are afflicted by longing for you, for your absence is the cure for the pain of separation among your own people.” Thus, the gopīs, their hearts overflowing with devotion, continued to sing and long for Krishna, their beloved, whose presence alone brought them joy and whose absence filled them with pain. Their love and yearning echoed through the forest, as they waited for his return.