The sage spoke of the many paths by which one may approach the Supreme: through action, sacrifice, gifts, austerity, study, self-restraint, mastery over the senses and mind, and renunciation of actions. By practicing yoga in its various forms—including the yoga of devotion—and by living a life of dharma marked both by activity and renunciation, one who is engaged in these ways may draw nearer to Bhagavan. Through realization of the truth of the self and unwavering detachment, the Lord can be attained, whether one perceives Him as possessing qualities or as beyond all attributes, by those who see with the eye of their own soul. The sage continued, saying, “I have described to you the fourfold nature of bhakti-yoga, as well as that which vanishes among living beings when time enters the unmanifest. The cycles of transmigration, born from ignorance and action, carry the living being from one existence to another, while the self, entering each form, remains unaware of its own path.” He advised solemn caution: “This sacred knowledge must never be shared with the wicked, the undisciplined, the arrogant, the hostile, or with those whose religiosity is merely outward. Nor should it be given to the greedy, to those whose minds are absorbed in household life, to those lacking devotion to Me, or 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 teaching be given. Share it also with those who are outwardly detached, whose minds are peaceful, pure, free from envy, and for whom I am dearest of all.” “O mother,” he declared, “anyone who hears these words even once with faith, or recites them with a mind fixed on Me, will surely attain My path.” Śrī Śuka then spoke: Having heard the most beautiful words of the Lord, the cowherd women felt their pain of separation dissolve; their desires were fulfilled by His presence. There, Govinda began the rāsa play, surrounded by devoted and joyful women—the finest jewels among women—each entwining arms with one another. The festival of rāsa commenced, adorned by the circle of gopīs, with Kṛṣṇa, the lord of yogis, standing between each pair. Entering among them, Kṛṣṇa drew the women close by the neck; those who witnessed this imagined the sky crowded with hundreds of flying palaces. The gods and their wives, minds carried away by eagerness, watched from above. Drums sounded, flowers showered down, 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 women, all together with their beloveds. Among them, the Lord, son of Devakī, shone exceedingly, like a great emerald among golden gems. With stamping feet, waving arms, smiling glances, playful movements of brows, swaying earrings brushing their cheeks, loosened hair braids damp with sweat, the wives of Kṛṣṇa sang, shining like lightning within a circle of clouds. Dancing, their voices raised, throats flushed with passion, delighted by Kṛṣṇa’s touch, the beloveds sang, filling the place with their song. One gopī, together with Mukunda, skillfully blended her singing with His. Honored by Him with affection and praised as “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 beside her. One, taking Kṛṣṇa’s arm, fragrant with blue lotus and smeared with sandalwood, to her nose, thrilled with joy, 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. One, dancing and singing, her anklets and girdle ringing, weary, placed the lotus hand of Acyuta, who stood beside her, upon her breasts for comfort. The gopīs, having gained Acyuta as their beloved—the exclusive consort of Śrī—embraced Him around the neck with their arms, singing and enjoying with Him. With lotus earrings, locks of hair, cheeks shining with sweat, faces radiant, and the music of bracelets and anklets, the gopīs danced together with the Lord, their garlands loosened in their hair, as bees sang in the cowherd’s grove. Thus, with embraces, touches of the hand, affectionate glances, exuberant playful smiles and laughter, the Lord of Lakshmi delighted with the beautiful women of Vraja, just as a child delights in his own reflected image. Their senses overwhelmed with joy from contact with His limbs, the women of Vraja—hair, garments, or breastbands loosened—could not properly gather up what had fallen, O best of the Kurus, their garlands and ornaments slipping down. Seeing Krishna’s playful sports, the celestial women in the sky became bewildered, overcome by desire; even the moon, along with his retinue, was astonished. Assuming as many forms as there were cowherd women, the Blessed Lord—though self-satisfied—enjoyed with them all by His own playful will. When they became tired from excessive play, He, compassionate and loving, gently wiped their faces with His peaceful hand. The gopīs, their cheeks adorned by the radiance of golden earrings and hair, with sweet smiles and glances, sang of the glorious deeds of the foremost of men, feeling blessed by the touch of His lotus hands. Surrounded by those women, their garlands crushed and smeared with saffron from their breasts, He entered the forest, followed by hosts of Gandharvas, just as a weary elephant, breaking through a dam, enters the water surrounded by female elephants. There, as He was bathed by the young women, gazed upon with love and laughter from all sides, and praised by the celestial beings showering flowers, He, the self-delighting Lord, sported like the king of elephants. Then, in Krishna’s grove, on land and water, where the directions were filled with the fragrance of flowers, He wandered, surrounded by swarms of joyful women, like a rutting elephant with his female companions. Thus, through nights adorned by the rays of the moon, He, true to His word and surrounded by loving women, enjoyed with them, His passion absorbed within Himself, savoring the poetic essence of the autumn season. King Parikshit, pondering these events, asked: “To establish righteousness and subdue unrighteousness, the Lord of the universe descends in person. How then, O Brahman, could He, who is the speaker, doer, and protector of the boundaries of righteousness, act contrary to them by touching the wives of others? The Lord of the Yadus, who is self-satisfied, performed an act that is censured; what was His intention in this? Please dispel our doubt, O virtuous one.” Śuka replied: “Transgressions of righteousness and bold acts are seen among the lords. For the powerful, there is no fault, just as fire consumes everything.