O beloved, the gopīs spoke with tender affection, recalling how they would gently place Kṛṣṇa’s beautiful, lotus-like feet upon their breasts, though they were always anxious that his feet, so delicate, might be hurt by the hard forest paths. They wondered if this was why he wandered the forests, and worried whether his feet suffered pain from walking over sharp stones. Their minds, sustained only by his presence, could never stray from him. As the song of the gopīs came to an end, so too did the chapter known as "The Song of the Gopīs" in the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa revered by the supreme renunciates. Elsewhere, in the wake of Kṛṣṇa’s departure from the world, the wives of Rāma, overcome with grief, embraced his body and entered the fire. The wives of Vasudeva, and the daughters-in-law of Hari—including those of Pradyumna—did likewise. The wives of Kṛṣṇa, led by Rukmiṇī, entered the fire as well, their spirits united with him. Arjuna, stricken with sorrow at the loss of his dearest friend Kṛṣṇa, found solace by singing songs and recalling wise teachings about him. He performed the proper funeral rites for his slain relatives, arranging them with due order, honoring those whose lineage had been lost. With Hari gone, the ocean swiftly flooded the city of Dvārakā, submerging it in a moment, O King, save for the resplendent abode of the Lord. There, Lord Madhusūdana remains eternally present, purifying all evil through remembrance—he who is the most auspicious among all things auspicious. Taking the surviving women, children, and elders, Arjuna—Dhanañjaya—brought them to Indraprastha and installed Vajra as king there. When Arjuna’s grandfathers learned of the deaths of their friends, they appointed you, O King, as the bearer of the lineage, and then all departed upon the great journey. Anyone who, with faith, recounts the deeds and birth of Viṣṇu, Lord of the gods, is freed from all sins. Thus, by hearing and reciting the delightful descents, heroic exploits, and childhood pastimes of Hari, the Lord, whether here or elsewhere, one attains the highest devotion along the path of supreme renunciates. Yet, driven by the body, pride, swelling anger, and desire, a passionate person quarrels with others who are also desirous, bringing ruin upon himself. In the body, composed of the five elements, the ignorant soul clings again and again to false notions of "I" and "mine," and this misguided thinking produces a faulty intellect. If, once more, a person follows the path of the wicked, seeking only to gratify his genitals and belly, he again falls into indulgence and 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 keep company 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 they do from association with women, and even more so from association with those attached to women. The lord of creatures himself, beholding his own daughter transformed into a roe deer, was overcome by her beauty and, ashamed, pursued her in the form of a stag. Among all the beings created and recreated, who, save the sage Nārāyaṇa—whose mind is never disturbed—can withstand a woman like me, fashioned by illusion? Behold the power of my illusion, embodied as a woman, which conquers even the victorious of all directions; with but the arching of her brows, she subdues those who have trodden the earth. Therefore, one seeking to ascend the highest stage of yoga should never associate with women; those who have realized the true self by 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 for the self, like a well hidden by grass. Deluded, a man thinks of her as his wife, though she is my illusion, appearing as a cow; by association with women, he enters womanhood and becomes bound to wealth, children, and home. He should see her—who is the embodiment of husband, child, and home—as death itself, destined 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, endlessly performing actions and experiencing their results without end. The living being’s body, made 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 components lose the ability to see, the seer’s capacity to perceive ceases—so too, when both are unfit, vision ends. Therefore, one should not be afraid, nor grieve or be confused; knowing the journey of the soul, the wise, free from attachment, should live in this world 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 then continued: Thus, the gopīs, singing and lamenting in many ways, wept aloud, yearning to see Kṛṣṇa again. Then, Hari himself appeared among them, his lotus face radiant with a smile, clad in yellow garments and adorned with a garland—he who bewilders even the god of love. Upon seeing their beloved return, the gopīs’ eyes blossomed with joy; all of them rose at once, as if life itself had returned to their bodies. One joyfully took Hari’s lotus hand in her joined palms; another placed his sandalwood-scented arm upon her shoulder. One slender maiden received the betel leaf he had chewed into her cupped hands; another, burning with longing, placed his lotus foot between her breasts. One, her brow furrowed in agitation, overwhelmed by the tumult of love, seemed to strike him with her sidelong glances, her teeth clenched beneath her lips. Another, with unblinking eyes, gazed upon his lotus-like face; and though she drank in his beauty, she was never satisfied, just as the wise are never satiated by his feet. Another, closing her eyes, drew him into her heart through the gateway of her eyes, and embraced him with her limbs covered in goosebumps, immersed in the bliss of a yogi. All of them, delighted by the sight of Keśava, experienced the highest festival of joy, abandoning the pain of separation, just as people do upon attaining wisdom. Surrounded by those freed from sorrow, the Lord Acyuta shone forth all the more, O dear one, like a person empowered by his own energies.