The Blessed Lord spoke to the gopīs, addressing the nature of love and devotion. He said, “Those who love one another for their own personal benefit are called friends, but in such relationships, true affection and righteousness are absent, for their foundation is self-interest alone. Yet, when someone loves those who do not reciprocate, as compassionate parents love their children, that is faultless; there, affection and virtue are truly excellent. There are some who do not even love those who love them, let alone those who do not. Such persons are satisfied in themselves, fulfilled, ungrateful, and show no respect to their elders. But as for myself, dear friends, I do not love even those who love me, though their devotion is pure. Consider a poor man who, having gained wealth and then lost it, becomes so absorbed in thoughts of what he has lost that he knows nothing else—so too is my disposition. You, tender-hearted ones, have forsaken all worldly and scriptural duties for my sake, seeking only to serve me. Though you worship me directly, I have concealed myself from you—not out of disregard, but so you may not feel resentment, beloved ones. Truly, I am unable to repay your spotless devotion, not even with the lifespan of the gods. You have broken the hard chains of home and family for my sake; let your own virtuous deeds be your reward, for nothing else would suffice.” Thus concludes the thirty-second chapter, called ‘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. The Lord continued, “When devotion, in the form of yoga, is directed toward Bhagavān Vāsudeva, it swiftly brings forth detachment and true knowledge, leading to the realization of Brahman. When a person’s mind, through the senses, no longer distinguishes between objects—whether pleasant or unpleasant—then, at that very moment, he perceives his own self by himself, 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; Bhagavān is perceived as one, though he appears as distinct through the variety of objects and perceptions. Through complete yoga, the yogi attains the highest goal here—total detachment from all things. The one knowledge, when reflected through the outward-turned senses, appears—by illusion—in the form of objects, as Brahman without qualities takes on the characteristics of sound and the rest. 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 this 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 this profound knowledge been spoken, the vision of Brahman, by which one discerns the reality of both prakṛti and puruṣa. Just as an object, though possessing many qualities, is not divided when 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 many 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, attains Bhagavān, both with qualities and without, perceiving him 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 of the living being, created by ignorance and action, are such that the self enters them, yet does not know its own path. This knowledge 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 those absorbed in household life, nor to those who are 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, and eager to serve—to such a one, let this teaching be given. It should 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 then said: Having heard these most beautiful and consoling words of the Lord, the cowherd women let go of the pain born of separation; all their desires were fulfilled by his presence. There, Govinda began the rāsa dance, surrounded by the devoted and joyful gopīs, the finest among women, their arms entwined with one another. The festival of rāsa commenced, the circle of gopīs adorned the night, and Kṛṣṇa, the lord of yogis, appeared between every pair among them. Entering among them, he drew the women close by the neck; those who beheld this vision imagined the sky filled with hundreds of flying palaces. The gods, along with their wives, their hearts carried away by eagerness, watched from above. Drums sounded, showers of flowers fell from the heavens, and the lords of the Gandharvas sang his spotless glory with their wives. In the rāsa circle, a tumultuous sound arose from the bracelets, anklets, and bells of the gopīs, together with their beloved. Among them, the Lord, son of Devakī, shone exceedingly, as a great emerald among golden gems. With the stamping of feet, the waving of arms, smiling glances, playful movements of brows, earrings swaying and brushing their cheeks, loosened hair braids damp with sweat, the wives of Kṛṣṇa sang; they shone like flashes of lightning within a circle of clouds. Dancing, their voices raised, their throats flushed with passion, delighted by Kṛṣṇa’s touch, the beloveds sang, filling the place with their song. One, together with Mukunda, skillfully blended her singing with his; honored by him with affection and praised—“Well done, well done!”—she sang again and again, and he showed her great favor. Another, exhausted from the rāsa, rested her arm, with loosened bracelet and jasmine garland, upon the shoulder of the mace-bearer who stood beside her. One, taking Kṛṣṇa’s arm—fragrant with blue lotus and smeared with sandalwood—brought it to her nose, thrilled with joy, and kissed it. Another, her cheek adorned by the gleam of earrings tossed by her dancing, pressed her cheek to his and offered him betel she had chewed. Thus, in the circle of the rāsa, the Lord delighted the gopīs, fulfilling their hearts with his presence and his love.