Śuka began, “O King, the gopīs, overwhelmed by longing for Kṛṣṇa, sang and lamented in many ways, their voices rising in loud weeping as they yearned to see him once more. Then, in their midst, Hari himself appeared—his lotus-like face radiant with a gentle smile, clad in yellow garments, adorned with a garland—he whose beauty bewilders even the god of love. When the gopīs saw their beloved Kṛṣṇa returned, their eyes blossomed with joy. It was as if life itself had returned to their bodies, and all of them rose at once in delight. One, overjoyed, took Hari’s lotus hand within her joined palms; another placed his sandalwood-scented arm upon her shoulder. One slender gopī cherished the betel leaf he had chewed, holding it carefully in her hands, while another, burning with longing, placed his lotus foot upon her breast. There was one among them whose brow was knit with agitation, overwhelmed by the tumult of love—her sidelong glances seemed to strike, her teeth pressed beneath her lips. Another gazed upon his lotus-like face with unblinking eyes, drinking it in ceaselessly, never finding satisfaction—just as the wise are never satiated by his feet. Yet another, closing her eyes, drew him into her heart through her gaze and embraced him inwardly, her limbs covered in goosebumps, immersed in the bliss known by yogis. All the gopīs, delighted by the sight of Keśava, experienced the highest festival of joy. The pain of separation melted away, just as suffering vanishes when wisdom is attained. Surrounded by these women, now freed from sorrow, the Lord Acyuta shone all the more brilliantly, O dear one, like a person radiant with the power of his own energies. Taking them with him, the Lord entered the sandy banks of the Yamunā, which bloomed with jasmine and mandāra flowers, filled with fragrant breezes and the humming of bees. The place was auspicious, its darkness dispelled by the beams of the autumn moon, the sand soft and bright, and Kṛṣṇa’s hand restless with gentle play. Their hearts now healed by the joy of beholding him—just as the Vedas reach their goal—the gopīs prepared a seat for their beloved, spreading their own upper garments on the sand, marked with the red of their breasts. There, seated, the Lord, the master, took his place, just as he sits in the hearts of yogis, shining among the assembly of gopīs, worshipped and bearing a form that is the single abode of the fortune of all the worlds. Honoring him, the kindler of desire, with laughter, playful glances, and expressive brows, the gopīs touched his feet with their hands, which they placed on his lap. Praising him, they spoke with a gentle, feigned anger, saying, ‘One who loves is loved in return by one; another does the opposite; and some do not love at all. Please tell us, O noble one, which is right?’ The Blessed Lord replied, ‘Those who love each other for their own benefit are merely friends; there is no true affection or righteousness there, for it is only for self-interest. Those who love those who do not love them, as compassionate parents do, act without fault; here, affection and virtue are excellent. Some do not love even those who love them, let alone those who do not; such people 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, having gained wealth and then lost it, thinks of nothing else, absorbed in longing for what is gone. In the same way, you, O gentle ones, have abandoned worldly and scriptural duties for my sake, to serve me. Though you worship me directly, I sometimes hide myself from you, so you should not resent this, O beloveds. I am unable to repay your flawless devotion, even if I had the lifespan of the gods. For those who have loved me, breaking the hard chains of home, let their own virtuous deeds be their reward.’ Thus concludes the thirty-second chapter, ‘The Consolation of the Gopīs,’ in the first half of the tenth book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa, scripture of the supreme swan. Śuka continued, ‘When devotion, in the form of yoga, is directed toward Bhagavan Vāsudeva, it quickly gives rise to detachment and the knowledge that leads to realization of Brahman. When a person’s mind, through the senses, makes no distinction among objects—whether pleasant or unpleasant—then, at that very moment, he perceives himself by himself as unattached, seeing all equally, free from acceptance and rejection, and established in the supreme state. ‘Pure knowledge alone is the supreme Brahman, the Supreme Self, the Lord, the Person. Bhagavan is perceived as one, though appearing as distinct through objects of perception and so forth. To this extent alone, through complete yoga, does the yogi attain the desired goal here: that is, total detachment from all things. The one knowledge, by the outward-turned senses, appears—through illusion—in the form of objects, as Brahman without qualities, taking on the characteristics of sound and so forth. ‘Just as the great principle, in the form of ego, becomes threefold and fivefold, self-ruling, and its elevenfold form is the cosmic egg from which the world arises—this is seen by one who, with faith and devotion, practices yoga constantly, whose mind is collected, who is unattached, and who sees with detachment. ‘Thus, this profound knowledge, which is the vision of Brahman, has been spoken—by which one discerns the reality of both prakṛti and puruṣa. Just as an object, though possessing many qualities, is not divided because it is perceived through the separate gates of the senses, so too is Bhagavan, though approached by various scriptural paths. ‘By action, by sacrifices, by gifts, by austerity, by study, by self-restraint, by mastery over the senses and mind, and by renunciation of actions; by yoga with its various limbs, and indeed by the yoga of devotion; by dharma marked by both activity and renunciation, and by one who is engaged in both; through realization of the truth of the self, and by firm detachment—Bhagavan is attained by these means, both with qualities and without, by one who sees with his own self. ‘I have described to you the fourfold nature of bhakti-yoga, and also that which, when time has entered the unmanifest, disappears among living beings. The many cycles of transmigration of the living being are created by ignorance and action, into which the self enters, yet does not know its own path. ‘This should never be taught to the wicked, nor to the undisciplined, nor to the arrogant, nor to the hostile, nor to those who are only outwardly religious. It should not be taught to the greedy, nor to one whose mind is absorbed in household life, nor ever to one who is not devoted to me, nor to those who hate my devotees.