Though Krishna was self-satisfied and whole within himself, he delighted in the company of the gopīs, revealing through his actions the suffering of those in love and the fickle nature of women’s hearts. As all these truths unfolded, the gopīs, bewildered by their emotions, wandered through the forest. Among them, there was one whom Krishna had led away from the others, leaving the rest behind beneath the trees. This gopī, feeling chosen above all, became proud. She thought, “He has abandoned the other gopīs, who all desire him, and now my beloved worships me alone.” As they walked together through the moonlit forest, her pride grew, and, feeling herself special, she said to Keshava, “I can walk no further. Carry me wherever you wish, for I am weary.” Krishna, smiling gently, replied, “Then climb onto my shoulder.” But as soon as she reached out, he vanished from her sight, leaving her alone to grieve. Stricken with sorrow, she cried out into the night, “Alas, Lord! Beloved, dearest! Where are you? Where are you, mighty-armed one? O friend, show yourself to your poor servant!” Meanwhile, the other gopīs, searching for Krishna’s path, found their friend, confused and distressed by her separation from him. Hearing her recount her pride, Krishna’s playful response, and her heartbreak at his sudden disappearance, the gopīs were filled with astonishment. Still longing for Krishna, they continued their search through the forest as long as the moonlight lingered. But when darkness fell, they turned back, their hearts still yearning. Their minds absorbed in thoughts of Krishna, their voices speaking only of him, their actions imitating his, their entire beings devoted to him—they forgot their own homes and families. Returning to the banks of the Yamunā, the gopīs gathered together, their thoughts fixed solely on Krishna, longing for his return, and sang of his glories. Their longing was so intense that, O King, out of anger and anguish they seemed to breathe fire and wind from their mouths, as if to scorch the earth like the Samvartaka fire at the end of the age. Witnessing the trees being reduced to ashes by this fierce energy, Brahmā himself arrived and calmed the sons of Barhiṣmat with wise counsel. The remaining trees, terrified, offered their daughter in marriage to the Pracetas, as Brahmā had instructed. Obeying Brahmā’s command, the Pracetas accepted Māriṣā, and from her, due to a great offense, was born the progenitor of all beings. When the interval of the Cākṣuṣa Manvantara came and a new creation began, Dakṣa, impelled by destiny, brought forth the desired living beings. Dakṣa, who was radiant from birth, outshining all with his brilliance and skill, earned his name as the able one by his deeds. He, who is eternal, was installed by the Supreme for the creation and protection of beings, and was appointed, along with others, as lord over all creatures. Meanwhile, the gopīs, their hearts still yearning, sang to Krishna: “Vraja flourishes more than ever because of your birth; Lakshmi herself dwells here. Beloved, let your devotees be seen in all directions, for those whose lives depend on you search everywhere for you. “O noble one, in the autumn night, your gaze steals the beauty from the heart of the lotus. Lord of love, we are your unpaid servants; O giver of boons, is it right for you to abandon us here? “O supreme one, you have repeatedly saved us from poison in the water, from demons in serpent form, from storms, lightning, fire, from the son of the rain-god, and from all dangers. You are not merely the delight of the gopīs; you are the inner witness of all embodied beings. At Brahmā’s request, you appeared in the Sātvata clan to protect the world. “O foremost of the Vṛṣṇis, your feet give shelter to all who approach, freeing them from fear. Beloved, whose lotus hands grant all desires, please 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 reveal to us your beautiful, lotus-like face. “Destroyer of sin for those who bow, companion of those who graze 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. “With sweet speech, charming words, and wisdom that delights 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 life for the suffering; praised by poets, it removes sin. Hearing them brings auspiciousness and wealth; those who spread your stories are truly generous. “Your laughter, beloved, your loving glances, your playful deeds, and your meditative presence are all auspicious. The secret conversations that touch our hearts, O enchanter, disturb our minds. “When you wander from Vraja, herding the cows, O lord, your lotus feet tread on stones, grass, and sprouts. Our minds, afflicted by longing, follow you, beloved. “At day’s end, with your blue hair and forest-flower face, covered in dust, you return, repeatedly revealing yourself, O hero, stirring 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 us 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 are hidden even by our 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 could return home at night? “The secret conversations, the rising of love in our hearts, your smiling face, loving glances, and the splendor of your broad chest, O abode of fortune, again and again bewilder our minds with longing. “O embodiment of auspiciousness for the dwellers of Vraja, your presence alone destroys all suffering and brings universal blessing. If you must, withdraw even slightly from those whose hearts are afflicted by longing for you, for your absence is the only cure for the pain of separation among your own people. “O beloved, we gently place your beautiful lotus feet upon our breasts, though we fear their hardness. Is this why you wander the forest? Do your feet not feel pain from sharp stones? Our minds, sustained by your life, never leave you.” Thus concludes the “Song of the Gopīs,” the thirty-first chapter in the first half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa, the scripture of the supreme renunciates. In another time, when Krishna departed from the world, the wives of Balarāma, the wives of Vasudeva, the daughters-in-law of Hari, including those of Pradyumna, and Krishna’s own wives led by Rukmiṇī, all embraced their beloved’s body and entered the fire, united in spirit with him. And Arjuna, overwhelmed by sorrow at the separation from his dear friend Krishna, consoled himself by singing songs and recalling the wise teachings of Krishna, finding solace in his memories.