There, in the sacred forest, the Lord—master of all—sat among the gathered gopīs. Though present before their eyes, he also took his seat deep within the hearts of the yogis, shining radiantly in their midst. His very form was the singular dwelling place of all the fortune of the three worlds, and the gopīs worshipped him with reverence and joy. They honored him, the kindler of longing, with laughter, playful glances, and eloquent movements of their brows. With gentle hands, they touched his feet as they rested upon his lap, and, their voices tinged with a sweetly feigned anger, they began to praise him and speak. The gopīs asked, “One who loves is loved in return by some, while others give love to those who do not love them, and still others love neither. O noble one, tell us truly—which of these is right?” The blessed Lord replied, “When two love each other for their own benefit, they are merely friends; true affection and righteousness are absent, for their bond is rooted in self-interest. But those who love even those who do not love them—like compassionate parents—are faultless. There, true affection and virtue shine. Some do not love even those who love them, let alone the indifferent; such people are self-satisfied, fulfilled in themselves, ungrateful, and disrespectful to their elders. “But I, dear friends, do not love even those who love me, for their own devotion. Think of a poor man who gains wealth and then loses it—absorbed in that loss, he can think of nothing else. Likewise, you, tender-hearted ones, have abandoned all worldly and scriptural duties for my sake, to serve me alone. Though you worship me directly, I sometimes hide myself from you, so that your love may not grow resentful, O beloveds. “I am unable to repay your flawless devotion, not even if I possessed the lifespan of the gods. You have broken the hard chains of home and family for me; let the greatness of your own virtuous deeds be your reward.” Thus, the thirty-second chapter, called “The Consolation of the Gopīs,” concludes in the first half of the tenth book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa, scripture of the supreme swan. The Lord continued, “When devotion in the form of yoga is directed toward Bhagavān Vāsudeva, it swiftly gives rise to detachment and knowledge, which lead to realization of Brahman. When a person’s mind, through the senses, no longer distinguishes between pleasant and unpleasant things, then, at that very moment, he perceives himself by himself—unattached, seeing all equally, free from both acceptance and rejection, and established in the supreme state. “Pure knowledge alone is the supreme Brahman, the Supreme Self, the Lord, the Person; Bhagavān is perceived as one, though appearing distinct through the diversity of objects. To this extent alone, through complete yoga, does the yogi attain the desired goal here: complete detachment from all things. “The one knowledge, when turned outward through the senses, appears—by illusion—as the objects of the world; Brahman without qualities seems to take on the marks 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—this is seen by one who, with faith and devotion, practices yoga constantly, whose mind is collected, unattached, and who sees with detachment. “Thus has this profound knowledge been spoken, 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 Bhagavān, 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 in its various forms, 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 firm detachment—by all these means Bhagavān 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 enters the unmanifest, disappears among living beings. The many cycles of transmigration, created by ignorance and action, into which the self enters—yet it does not know its own path. “This should never be taught to the wicked, the undisciplined, the arrogant, the hostile, nor to those who are only outwardly religious. Nor should it be taught to the greedy, to those absorbed in household life, to those not devoted to me, nor to those who hate my devotees. But to one who is faithful, devoted, disciplined, free from envy, friendly to all beings, eager to serve—let this be given. Also, to one who is outwardly detached, whose mind is peaceful, who is pure, without envy, and for whom I am dearest among the dear. “O mother, anyone who even once hears this with faith, or who recites it with mind fixed on me, surely attains my path.” Śrī Śuka continued: Thus, having heard the Lord’s most beautiful words, the cowherd women let go of the pain of separation, their hearts’ desires fulfilled by his presence. There, Govinda began the rāsa play, surrounded by devoted and joyful women, the finest among all, their arms entwined with one another. The festival of rāsa commenced, adorned by the circle of gopīs, with Kṛṣṇa, the Lord of yogis, appearing between each pair among them. Entering among them, he drew the women close by the neck; those who saw this might imagine the sky crowded with hundreds of flying palaces. The gods, along with their wives, their minds carried away by eagerness, watched this wondrous sight. Drums resounded, showers of flowers fell from the heavens, and the lords of the Gandharvas sang his spotless glory with their wives. Within the rāsa circle, a tumultuous music arose from the bracelets, anklets, and bells of the women, together with their beloveds. Among them, the Lord, son of Devakī, shone exceedingly, like a great emerald among golden gems. With the stamping of feet, the waving of arms, smiling glances, playful movements of brows, swaying earrings brushing their cheeks, and loosened hair braids damp with sweat, the wives of Kṛṣṇa sang and shone like lightning within a circle of clouds. Dancing and singing, their throats flushed with passion, delighted by Kṛṣṇa’s touch, the beloveds filled the place with their song. One gopī, together with Mukunda, skillfully blended her singing with his; honored by his affectionate praise—“Well done! Well done!”—she sang again and again, and he showed her great favor.