The gopīs, their hearts aching with longing, called out to Kṛṣṇa with words overflowing with devotion and love. “Your lotus feet,” they pleaded, “grant every desire to those who bow before them. Even Lakṣmī, the ornament of the earth, worships them. They are worthy of meditation in times of trouble and bring peace to all. Beloved, place those feet upon our breasts and relieve us of our pain.” They continued, their yearning deepening, “Your lips, touched by the melodious notes of your flute, stir love in our hearts and dispel all sorrow. When we remember the nectar of your lips, all other passions fade away. O hero, let us taste that nectar.” The gopīs lamented the agony of separation, saying, “When you wander through the forest during the day, each moment without you stretches into an age. Your curly locks and beautiful face are hidden from us, and even our own dull eyes, covered by their lids, betray us by keeping us from your sight.” Addressing Kṛṣṇa as the infallible one, they confessed, “We have left behind our husbands, sons, families, brothers, and kin. Enchanted by your song and knowing the true path, which woman could possibly return home at night, leaving you here?” They spoke of the secret conversations, the rising love in their hearts, the smiles, the loving glances, and the radiant splendor of Kṛṣṇa’s broad chest. “O abode of fortune,” they said, “these memories repeatedly bewilder our minds and make us long for you even more.” “O embodiment of auspiciousness for the people of Vraja,” they prayed, “your very presence destroys all suffering and brings universal blessings. Yet, if you must, withdraw even slightly from those whose hearts are tormented by longing for you—for only your absence can cure the pain of separation among your own.” With gentle fear, they placed his beautiful lotus feet upon their breasts, wondering, “Are your feet not hurt by the sharp stones of the forest? Is this why you wander there? Our minds, sustained only by your life, never stray from you.” Thus concluded the chapter known as “The Song of the Gopīs,” in the first half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa and scripture of the supreme renunciates. The narrative then recalls the devotion of those closest to the Lord. The wives of Rāma, Vasudeva, Pradyumna, and Hari, led by Rukmiṇī, united in spirit with their beloved, entered the fire after his departure. Arjuna, overwhelmed by the grief of losing his dear friend Kṛṣṇa, found solace in singing and speaking of Kṛṣṇa’s glories and wisdom. Arjuna also performed the proper funeral rites for his relatives, arranging their ceremonies with due order. After Hari had left, the ocean swiftly flooded the city of Dvārakā, sparing only the Lord’s splendid abode. There, Lord Madhusūdana remains eternally present, removing all evil by remembrance and being the most auspicious among all blessings. Arjuna, known as Dhanañjaya, gathered the surviving women, children, and elders, bringing them safely to Indraprastha and installing Vajra as king. When Arjuna’s grandfathers heard of the loss of their friends, they made King Parīkṣit the bearer of the lineage and then departed on the great journey. Whoever, with faith, recounts the divine 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. Yet, the scriptures caution: a passionate person, driven by pride, anger, and desire, engages in conflict with others, bringing ruin upon himself. The ignorant soul, bound to a body made of the five elements, clings to false notions of ‘I’ and ‘mine,’ which leads to a faulty intellect. If a creature again follows the path of the wicked, seeking only to satisfy the senses, he falls into 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, the foolish, the broken in spirit, the unsaintly, the pitiable, or with women who are like playthings. Delusion and bondage arise most strongly from association with women, and even more from association with those attached to women. The scriptures recount how the lord of creatures, seeing his own daughter in the form of a roe deer, was overcome by her beauty and pursued her in the form of a stag, though he was ashamed. Among all beings, only the sage Nārāyaṇa, whose mind is never disturbed, can resist a woman fashioned by illusion. Behold the power of illusion, embodied as a woman, which conquers even the victorious of all directions—she subdues the mighty with just the arch of her brows. Those who seek the highest yoga should never associate with women; those who have realized the true self through serving the Lord declare that such association is the gateway to hell. Illusion, in the form of a woman created by the gods, approaches slowly and should be recognized as death for the self, like a well hidden by grass. Deluded, a man thinks of her as his wife, though she is only illusion, and through such association he becomes bound to wealth, children, and home, and even enters womanhood in future births. He should understand her—who appears as husband, child, and home—as death itself, sent by fate, just as the song of a hunter is death for the deer. With a living body, 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. When the means of perceiving an object and the capacity to perceive it are lost, that is called dissolution; the sense of ‘I’ arises with the perception of objects, and that is called birth. Just as when the eye or its parts lose the ability to see, vision ends—so too, when both are unfit, perception ceases. Therefore, one should not be afraid, nor feel pity or confusion. Knowing the journey of the soul, the wise, free from attachment, should live accordingly. With intellect endowed with true vision, joined with yoga and detachment, one should live in this world, fashioned by illusion, unconcerned with the body. Śuka continued, “Thus, the gopīs, singing and lamenting in many ways, wept loudly, longing to see Kṛṣṇa. Then, Hari appeared among them—his lotus face smiling, dressed in yellow garments, adorned with a garland—he who bewilders even the god of love. Seeing their beloved returned, the women’s eyes blossomed with joy; all of them rose at once, as though life itself had returned to their bodies. One joyfully took Hari’s lotus hand in her joined palms; another placed his sandalwood-smeared arm upon her shoulder.