The people of Vraja, enveloped by Krishna’s divine enchantment, never harbored envy toward him, nor did they begrudge one another, for in their hearts, they believed those beside them to be their own spouses. When the night of Brahmā’s duration had ended, the gopīs—so dear to the Lord—though reluctant to part from his presence, returned to their homes with Krishna’s loving permission. It is said that whoever hears or recounts this sacred play of the wives of Vraja with Lord Vishnu, with faith and devotion, quickly attains the highest love for the Lord. The wise, through this story, swiftly dissolve the disease of lust from the heart. Śuka continued: Once, during a festival in honor of the gods, the cowherds of Vraja, filled with excitement, journeyed to the Ambikā forest, their oxen yoked to their carts. There, after bathing in the sacred Sarasvatī, they worshipped the mighty Lord Paśupati with offerings, and, with devotion, honored the goddess Ambikā. They presented gifts to the brāhmaṇas—cows, gold, clothing, honey, and food—praying, “May the Lord be pleased with us.” That night, on the banks of the Sarasvatī, having observed their vows and drunk the holy water, the blessed Nanda, Sunanda, and their companions rested. But as they slept, a great and ravenous serpent, wandering by chance, seized Nanda. Startled and terrified, Nanda cried out, “Krishna! Krishna! This is dreadful! Father, a snake is swallowing me—save me, I have taken refuge in you!” Awakened by his desperate cries, the cowherds leapt up. Seeing Nanda in the serpent’s grip, they struck the snake with sticks, but even as it was burned by their firebrands, the serpent did not release him. Then Krishna, Lord of the Sātvatas, approached and gently touched the serpent with his lotus feet. At that divine touch, the serpent’s evil was destroyed, and it shed its monstrous form, revealing instead a radiant being, honored among the Vidyādharas, adorned with a golden garland. Krishna, the Lord of the senses, addressed him, “Who are you, shining with such splendor? How did you come to be in this wretched state?” The former serpent replied, “I am Sudarśana, a Vidyādhara, famed for beauty and wealth, who roamed the skies in my aerial chariot. Once, proud of my appearance, I mocked the sages Virupa and Angirasa. Because of my own fault, they cursed me to take this lowly birth. Yet their curse, given in compassion, was truly my blessing, for by your touch, O teacher of the world, all misfortune is destroyed.” “Now freed from the curse, I seek your permission to depart, O Lord who removes fear from the terrified and grants refuge to all. I have taken shelter in you, O supreme person, O master of the virtuous. Please grant me leave, O God, sovereign of all worlds. By merely seeing you, O infallible one, I am freed from Brahma’s punishment. Your name, when spoken, purifies all—how much more, then, does your touch?” Thus permitted by Krishna, Sudarśana circled the Lord, offering his obeisance, and ascended to heaven, his curse ended. Nanda, too, was released from his distress. Witnessing Krishna’s wondrous power, the residents of Vraja were filled with amazement. After completing their observance in the forest, they returned home, joyfully recounting all that had happened. On another night, Govinda and Balarama, both possessing extraordinary strength, delighted themselves in the forest, surrounded by the women of Vraja. The gopīs were adorned and anointed, wearing garlands and spotless garments, and they sang sweetly to the brothers, bound to them by ties of affection. As night enveloped the forest and the stars and moon rose, the air became fragrant with jasmine and the humming of intoxicated bees, carried by the breeze from lotus-covered ponds. Together, they sang, their voices weaving a melody that blessed all who heard it, filling hearts and minds with joy. So enchanting was this song that the gopīs became faint, losing awareness of themselves; their garments slipped, and their hair and garlands loosened. As they played and sang, lost in bliss, a Yaksha named Shankhachuda, a follower of Kubera, approached. Seeing the women gathered, he seized them and began to drive them northward, heedless of their cries. Krishna and Balarama, witnessing the distress of their beloved companions, rushed after the Yaksha, just as brothers would pursue a thief who had stolen their cows. They called out, “Do not fear!” Their voices offered reassurance as they brandished their clubs and pursued the wicked Yaksha. Seeing Krishna and Balarama approach like Death and Time themselves, Shankhachuda abandoned the women and fled, desperate to save his life. Krishna chased him relentlessly, intent on seizing the precious jewel from his head, while Balarama stayed behind to protect the women. Soon, Krishna caught up, struck Shankhachuda on the head with his mighty fist, and took the crest jewel and its companion. Having slain the Yaksha, Krishna brought the radiant jewel and, with affection, presented it to his elder brother as the women looked on. Śuka continued: The gopīs, their hearts following Krishna as he went to the forest to graze the cows, spent their days in sorrow, singing of his enchanting pastimes. They said, “Where Mukunda plays his flute, holding it to his lips with his left hand, his left cheek pressed against his arm, his eyebrows dancing, and his delicate fingers tracing the melody—there, he calls us.” The wives of the gods, together with the Siddhas, were astonished as they listened; bashful and overcome by love, they became bewildered and forgot their garments. “Ah, dear friends,” the gopīs exclaimed, “when the son of Nanda, the giver of joy to the suffering, plays his flute, a necklace and a smile shine on his chest like a steady lightning flash.” Even the bulls of Vraja, the deer, and the cows, captivated by the distant sound of Krishna’s flute, would gather in groups, holding mouthfuls of grass between their teeth, their ears attentive, sitting motionless and entranced, as if painted, lost in a blissful sleep. Thus unfolded the wondrous pastimes of Krishna, the delight of Vraja.