Having explained the fourfold path of bhakti-yoga, and how, when time itself enters the unmanifest, all things—including this path—disappear from the living beings, the Lord continued. He spoke of the endless cycles of birth and death, the transmigration of the soul, brought about by ignorance and action, into which the self enters again and again, yet remains unaware of its own true journey. With great care, the Lord instructed: this sacred teaching must never be given to those who are wicked, undisciplined, arrogant, hostile, or merely outwardly religious. Nor should it be shared with the greedy, those absorbed in the distractions of household life, those lacking devotion to the Lord, or those who bear ill-will toward his devotees. Instead, it is meant for the faithful and devoted—those who are disciplined, free from envy, friendly to all beings, and eager to serve. Such teachings are to be given to those who are outwardly detached, whose minds are peaceful and pure, for whom the Lord is dearest of all. He assured: “O mother, anyone who even once hears this with faith, or recites it with a mind fixed on me, will surely attain my path.” Śrī Śuka then spoke: Having listened to these most beautiful and compassionate words of the Lord, the gopīs—the cowherd women of Vraja—were freed from the pain of separation. Their hearts’ desires were fulfilled simply by being in his presence. There, amidst the moonlit groves, Govinda began the divine rāsa dance, surrounded by those devoted and joyous women, the finest among all, their arms entwined with one another. The festival of rāsa commenced: the gopīs formed a radiant circle, and Kṛṣṇa, the master of yogis, stood between each pair, entering among them and drawing them close by the neck. To anyone who beheld this wondrous sight, it was as if the sky were crowded with hundreds of flying palaces. The gods, accompanied by their wives, watched from the heavens, their minds carried away by eagerness. Drums resounded, flowers rained down from above, and the Gandharvas, along with their consorts, sang the spotless glory of the Lord. Within the circle, a joyous tumult arose from the jingling bracelets, anklets, and bells of the women, all together with their beloveds. Among them, the Lord, son of Devakī, shone resplendent, like a great emerald among golden gems. As they danced, their feet stamped, arms waved, and glances sparkled with smiles and playful movements of their brows. Their earrings swayed, brushing their cheeks, and their loosened braids, damp with sweat, glistened. The gopīs sang, shining like flashes of lightning within a ring of clouds. Their voices rose in song, throats flushed with passion, delighted by Kṛṣṇa’s touch. One gopī, singing with Mukunda, skillfully blended her voice with his. Honored by his affection and praise—“Well done, well done!”—she sang again and again, receiving his special favor. Another, exhausted from the dance, rested her arm—bracelet loosened, jasmine garland slipping—upon the shoulder of the mighty mace-bearer beside her. One, seizing Kṛṣṇa’s lotus-scented arm, pressed it to her nose and kissed it in joyful ecstasy. Another, her cheek gleaming with the play of her earrings, pressed her face to his and offered him betel she herself had chewed. Yet another, weary from dancing and singing, her anklets and girdle ringing, placed Acyuta’s lotus hand upon her breasts for comfort. Having gained Acyuta as their beloved—the exclusive consort of Śrī—the gopīs embraced him around the neck, singing and delighting in his company. Their lotus earrings, shining faces, loosened garlands, and locks of hair were radiant, while bees sang in the cowherd’s grove. With embraces, gentle touches, loving glances, playful smiles, and laughter, the Lord of Lakshmi rejoiced with the beautiful women of Vraja, just as a child delights in his own reflection. Overwhelmed by the joy of his touch, their hair, garments, and breastbands loosened, the gopīs could scarcely gather up what had fallen—their garlands and ornaments slipping from their bodies. Even the celestial women in the sky were bewildered and overcome by desire upon seeing Kṛṣṇa’s playful sports. The moon and his retinue, too, looked on in astonishment. By his own playful will, the Blessed Lord assumed as many forms as there were gopīs, though he was ever self-satisfied, and delighted with each of them. When the gopīs grew tired from their joyous play, Kṛṣṇa, full of compassion, gently wiped their faces with his peaceful hand. Their cheeks adorned by golden earrings and shining hair, they smiled sweetly and sang of his glorious deeds, feeling blessed by the touch of his lotus hands. Surrounded by these women, their garlands crushed and stained with saffron, Kṛṣṇa entered the forest, followed by hosts of Gandharvas, just as a mighty elephant, breaking through a dam, enters the water with his female companions. There, as he was bathed by the young women, gazed upon with love and laughter, and praised by the celestials showering flowers, the self-delighting Lord sported like the king of elephants. In Krishna’s grove, on land and water, where the air was filled with the fragrance of flowers, he wandered, surrounded by joyful women like a rutting elephant with his mates. Thus, through nights adorned by the rays of the moon, keeping true to his word and surrounded by loving women, he enjoyed with them, his passion ever absorbed within himself, savoring the poetic essence of the autumn season. At this, King Parikshit inquired: “The Lord of the universe descends to establish righteousness and subdue unrighteousness. How then, O Brahman, could he, the speaker, doer, and protector of righteousness, act contrary to it by touching the wives of others? The Lord of the Yadus, ever self-satisfied, performed an act that is censured. What was his intention? Please dispel my doubt.” Śuka replied: “Among the lords and gods, transgressions and bold acts are seen; for the powerful, there is no fault, just as fire consumes all things. One who is not a lord must never imitate this, not even in thought. If one acts in ignorance, he perishes—just as Rudra was harmed by the poison of the ocean. The words of the lords are true, and so too are their actions at times; but the wise should follow only those words and deeds that are in accord with reason. The lords act without personal aim, and for those free of ego, even the opposite of righteousness brings no harm.