In the sacred discourse, it is revealed that qualities such as truth, purity, compassion, silence, intelligence, fortune, modesty, fame, forgiveness, tranquility, self-control, and prosperity gradually diminish when one associates with those who lack them. Therefore, it is advised that one should avoid the company of restless, foolish, broken-hearted, or unsaintly individuals, as well as those who are pitiable or women who are merely objects of play. The scripture further warns that delusion and bondage arise most strongly through association with women, and even more so through association with those who are deeply attached to women. The lord of creatures himself, upon seeing his own daughter who had assumed the form of a roe deer, was overcome by her beauty; ashamed, he pursued her in the form of a stag. Among all beings repeatedly created, it is said that none, except the sage Nārāyaṇa whose mind remains undisturbed, can resist a woman fashioned by illusion. The power of this illusion, embodied as a woman, is so great that she conquers even the victorious in all directions—subduing those who have walked the earth merely by the arching of her brows. For those who seek to ascend to the highest stage of yoga, association with women is to be avoided; those who have realized the true self through service to the Lord declare that such association is the gateway to hell. This illusion, created by the gods and taking the form of a woman, approaches slowly, and one should recognize her as death for the self, just as a well covered with grass is hidden danger. Deluded, a man may think of her as his wife, though she is only the Lord’s illusion, appearing as a cow; by associating with women, he enters womanhood and becomes bound to wealth, children, and home. He should understand that she—who embodies husband, child, and home—is 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 cessation. 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 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 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 then describes how the gopīs, singing and lamenting in various ways, wept loudly, longing to see Kṛṣṇa. Then, Hari himself appeared among them, his lotus face smiling, dressed in yellow garments and 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 if 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. One slender woman received the betel leaf he had chewed with her cupped hands; another, burning with longing, placed his lotus foot between her breasts. One, her brow knit in agitation, overwhelmed by the tumult of love, seemed to strike with her sidelong glances, her teeth clenched beneath her lips. Another, with unblinking eyes, gazed upon his lotus-like face, and though she drank it in, she was never satisfied—just as the wise are never satiated by his feet. Another, closing her eyes and drawing him into her heart through the opening of her eyes, embraced him with goosebump-covered limbs, 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 even more, like a person empowered by his energies. Taking them, the Lord entered the sandy bank of the Yamunā, blooming with jasmine and mandāra flowers, fragrant breezes, and humming bees. The place was auspicious, its darkness dispelled by the mass of autumn moonbeams, with Krishna’s restless hand, and sand soft and bright. Their hearts relieved of pain by the joy of seeing him, as the Vedas reach their goal, they prepared a seat for their beloved with their own upper garments, marked with the red of their breasts. There, seated, the Lord, the master, assumed a seat in the hearts of the yogis, and shone among the assembly of gopīs, worshipped, bearing a form that is the single abode of the fortune of the three worlds. Honoring him, the kindler of desire, with laughter, playful glances, and expressive brows, they touched his feet with their hands placed on his lap, and, praising him, spoke with a slight feigned anger. The gopīs asked, “One who loves is loved in return by one; another does the opposite; some do not love either. Please tell us, O noble one, which is right?” The Blessed Lord replied, “Those who love each other for their own benefit are friends, but there is no true affection or righteousness there, for it is only for self-interest. Those who love those who do not love them, like compassionate parents, act without fault; here, affection and virtue are excellent. Some do not love even those who love them, let alone those who do not; for they are self-satisfied, fulfilled in themselves, ungrateful, and disrespectful to their elders. “But I, O friends, do not love even those who love me, for their devotion; just as a poor man, upon gaining wealth and then losing it, absorbed in its thought, knows nothing else. Thus, you, weak ones, have abandoned worldly and scriptural duties for my sake, to serve me; though you worship me directly, I hide myself, so you should not resent this, O beloveds. I am unable to repay your flawless devotion, even with the lifespan of the gods; those who have loved me, breaking the hard chains of home, let their virtuous deeds be your reward.” Thus ends the thirty-second chapter, named “The Consolation of the Gopīs,” in the first half of the tenth book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa, the scripture of the supreme swan. And it is declared: When devotion in the form of yoga is directed toward Bhagavan Vasudeva, it quickly gives rise to detachment and knowledge that leads to realization of Brahman.