As Krishna appeared before the gopīs, each of the cowherd women responded to his presence in her own way, their hearts brimming with love and longing. One slender maiden tenderly caught in her cupped hands the betel leaf he had chewed, cherishing it as a precious gift. Another, burning with desire, pressed Krishna’s lotus-like foot to her bosom, unable to contain her yearning. A third, her brow furrowed in agitation, was so overwhelmed by the tumult of love that she seemed to strike him with her sharp, sidelong glances, her teeth clenched beneath her lips. Yet another gazed unblinking at Krishna’s radiant, lotus-like face. Though she drank in its beauty, her thirst was never quenched, just as the wise can never be sated by the vision of his feet. One more, closing her eyes, drew Krishna into her heart through the portals of her gaze, and, her limbs shivering with bliss, embraced him inwardly as a yogi does, lost in the ecstasy of union. All the gopīs, delighted beyond measure by the sight of Keśava, experienced a festival of joy so profound that the pain of separation vanished from their hearts, just as sorrow is dispelled when one attains true wisdom. Surrounded by those now free from all grief, the Lord Acyuta shone even brighter, O dear one, like a person who is empowered by his own energies. Taking the gopīs with him, Krishna led them to the sandy banks of the Yamunā, where jasmine and mandāra flowers bloomed, the air fragrant with gentle breezes and alive with the humming of bees. The place was auspicious, its darkness dispelled by the autumn moon’s radiant beams, the sand soft and bright beneath Krishna’s restless hand. Their hearts now light and free, as the Vedas find their fulfillment in their goal, the gopīs prepared a seat for their beloved, spreading their own upper garments, marked with the red stains from their breasts. There, Krishna, the Lord and master, seated himself—not only upon the sand, but also in the hearts of the yogis. Among the assembly of gopīs, he shone resplendent, worshipped as the sole abode of all fortune in the three worlds. Honoring him, the kindler of desire, the gopīs offered laughter, playful glances, and expressive movements of their brows. They touched his feet with their hands placed affectionately on his lap, and, with words of gentle reproach and feigned anger, began to speak: “O noble one,” the gopīs said, “one who loves is loved in return by some, while others do the opposite, and some love neither. Please tell us, which of these 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 in such self-interested love. Those who love those who do not love them, as compassionate parents do, act without fault; here, affection and virtue are truly 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 outwardly love even those who love me, for their own devotion; just as a poor man, upon gaining and then losing wealth, becomes so absorbed in thoughts of it that he knows nothing else. In the same way, you, 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 that your love may grow ever deeper. Do not resent this, beloveds. “I am unable to repay your flawless devotion, even with the lifespan of the gods. You have broken the hard chains of home and loved me with a pure heart; let your own virtuous deeds be your 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, the scripture of the supreme swan. Krishna continued, “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. When a person’s mind, through the senses, ceases to distinguish between pleasant and unpleasant objects, 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 the various objects of perception. To this extent alone, through complete yoga, does the yogi attain the desired goal here: 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 on. 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, so too is the play of creation. “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 has been spoken this profound knowledge, which is the vision of Brahman, by which one discerns the reality of both prakriti and purusha. “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—one who is engaged in both; through realization of the truth of the self, and by firm detachment—by all these means, Bhagavan is attained, 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, 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 even to those who hate my devotees. But to one who is faithful, devoted, disciplined, free from envy, friendly to all beings, and eager to serve—let this be given to one who is outwardly detached, whose mind is peaceful, who is free from envy, pure, and for whom I am the dearest among the dear. “O mother, any person who even once hears this with faith, or who recites it with mind fixed on me, surely attains my path.” Śrī Śuka concluded, “Thus, having heard the most beautiful words of the Lord, the cowherd women let go of the pain born of separation, their desires fulfilled by his presence.