O foremost among the Vṛṣṇis, you have become a shelter for all who seek refuge at your feet, freeing them from the fear and turmoil of worldly existence. Beloved Lord, whose lotus hands bestow all blessings, we yearn for your auspicious touch upon our heads. O hero, remover of Vraja’s suffering, your gentle smile humbles the pride of your own people. Dearest friend, accept us as your servants and reveal to us your beautiful, lotus-like face. To those who bow before you, you destroy all sin. You walk among those who graze the grass, and fortune itself dwells with you. Even the mighty serpent offered its hoods at your lotus feet—place those feet upon our breasts and soothe the pain in our hearts. With your 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 stories of your deeds are like nectar for the suffering; praised by poets, they wash away all sin. Simply hearing them brings auspiciousness and wealth, and those who spread your stories throughout the earth are truly the most generous. Your laughter, beloved, your loving glances, your playful acts and your very remembrance are auspicious. The secret words you speak, touching the heart, O enchanter, disturb our minds with longing. When you wander from Vraja, herding the cows, your lotus-like feet tread upon stones, sharp grass, and tender sprouts. Our hearts, tormented by longing, follow you with every step, beloved. At the close of day, with your dark blue hair and face adorned with forest flowers, dusted by the golden clouds, you appear again and again before us, O hero, stirring ever-deeper love in our hearts. Your lotus feet, which grant all desires to those who bow, are worshipped by Lakṣmī, ornament of the earth. Worthy of meditation in all adversity, they bring peace to the soul. Beloved, place those feet upon our breasts and relieve our pain. Your lips, kissed by the melodious flute, kindle love and dispel all sorrow, making us forget every other passion. O hero, grant us the nectar of your lips. When you wander in the forest by day, for those who cannot see you, every moment stretches into an age. Your curly hair and beautiful face are hidden from our eyes, concealed even by our own eyelids. We have left behind husbands, sons, families, brothers, and kin, and have come to you, O infallible one. Knowing your ways, enchanted by your song, what woman could return home at night, forsaking you? Your secret conversations, the rising of love in our hearts, your smiling face, your loving glances, and the splendor of your broad chest, O abode of fortune, repeatedly bewilder our minds and fill them with longing. O embodiment of all auspiciousness for the people of Vraja, your very presence destroys suffering and brings universal blessing. Yet, if you withdraw even slightly from those whose hearts burn with longing for you, your absence alone becomes the cure for the pain of separation among your own people. 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 only by your presence, never stray from you. Thus ends the thirty-first chapter, “The Song of the Gopīs,” in the first half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa, the scripture of the supreme renunciates. After Kṛṣṇa’s departure from this world, the wives of Rāma embraced his body and entered the fire, as did the wives of Vasudeva and the daughters-in-law of Hari, including those of Pradyumna. Likewise, the wives of Kṛṣṇa, led by Rukmiṇī, entered the fire, their spirits united with him. Arjuna, overwhelmed by the sorrow of separation from his beloved friend Kṛṣṇa, consoled himself with songs and wise sayings about the Lord. He performed the proper funeral rites for his relatives whose lineage had ended, arranging for all those who had been slain. Soon after, the ocean flooded Dvārakā, which had been abandoned by Hari, submerging it in a moment, O King, except for the splendid abode of the Lord. There, Lord Madhusūdana is eternally present, removing all evil through remembrance, the most auspicious among all auspicious things. Taking the surviving women, children, and elders, Dhanañjaya brought them to Indraprastha and installed Vajra as king. Hearing of the death of their friends, Arjuna’s grandfathers made you, O King, the bearer of the lineage, and all departed on the great path. Whoever, with faith, recounts the deeds and birth of Viṣṇu, Lord of the gods, is freed from all sins. By hearing and reciting the charming descents, heroic deeds, and childhood exploits of Hari, the Lord, whether here or elsewhere, one attains supreme devotion on the path of the highest renunciates. Driven by the body, pride, increasing anger, and desire, a passionate person quarrels with others who are also desirous, bringing about his own ruin. Within the body, made of the five elements, the ignorant soul clings to the false notions of “I” and “mine,” and this mistaken thinking clouds the intellect. If, again, a living being follows the path of the wicked, seeking only to satisfy the belly and the senses, he indulges and enters darkness as before. Truth, purity, compassion, silence, intelligence, fortune, modesty, fame, forgiveness, tranquility, self-control, and prosperity—all these virtues diminish through association with those who lack them. One should not associate with the restless, foolish, broken in spirit, or unsaintly, nor with those who are pitiable or with women who are like playthings. Delusion and bondage do not arise so much from association with others as from association with women, and even more so from association with those attached to women. Once, the lord of creatures, seeing his own daughter, was overcome by her beauty. She had taken the form of a roe deer, and he, ashamed, pursued her in the form of a stag. Among all created beings, who, except for the sage Nārāyaṇa whose mind is never disturbed, can resist a woman like me, fashioned by illusion? Behold the power of my illusion, embodied as a woman. She conquers even the victorious of all directions, subduing those who have trodden the earth merely by the arching of her brows. One who seeks to ascend to the highest stage of yoga must never associate with women; those who have realized the true self through serving me declare that such association is the gateway to hell. The illusion, in the form of a woman, created by the gods, approaches slowly. One should recognize her as death itself, like a well covered with grass. Deluded, a man thinks of her as his wife, though she is my illusion, appearing as a cow; by such association, he enters womanhood and becomes bound to wealth, children, and home. He should understand her—who is the embodiment of husband, child, and home—as death itself, sent by fate, just as the song of a hunter spells death for the deer. With a body endowed with life, a man wanders from world to world, continually performing actions and experiencing their results without end. The living being’s body, composed of elements, senses, and mind, follows him; its dissolution is his death, and its manifestation is his birth.