As Krishna stood before the serpent who had ensnared Nanda, he radiated an effulgence so brilliant and wondrous that even the serpent was struck with awe. Humbled, the serpent asked, “Who are you, O shining one, whose splendor is supreme and whose form is marvelous? How is it that you, so glorious, have come to be in this pitiable state?” The serpent replied in a voice tinged with sorrow and relief, “I am a Vidyādhara named Sudarśana, famed for my beauty and wealth. I once traveled freely through the skies in my aerial chariot, delighting in my fortune. But in my pride, I offended the great sages Virupa and Angirasa. They, proud of their own appearance, laughed at me, and, because of my own misdeeds, I was cursed by them to be born in this lowly form. “Yet, that curse, though it seemed harsh, was in truth a blessing from those compassionate sages. For when you, the teacher of the world, touched me with your sacred foot, all my misfortune was destroyed. Now, freed from this curse, I beseech you—O you who remove the fear of those beset by worldly suffering, who grant refuge to the distressed—please allow me to depart, having received the blessing of your touch. “I take shelter in you, O great yogi, supreme person, lord of the virtuous. Please grant me leave, O god, master of all the worlds and their rulers. O infallible one, at the mere sight of you I am instantly freed from Brahma’s punishment. Your very name, when spoken, purifies all who hear and speak it—how much more so, then, when one is graced by the touch of your foot!” Thus, having received Krishna’s permission, Sudarśana—the Vidyādhara—circled Krishna in reverence, offered his obeisances, and ascended to the heavens, his curse lifted. With the serpent’s departure, Nanda was released from his distress. The people of Vraja, witnessing Krishna’s divine power, were filled with astonishment and wonder. After completing their observances at the sacred spot, they returned home to Vraja, their hearts brimming with joy as they recounted all that had transpired. One evening, Govinda (Krishna) and his brother Rama (Balarama), both possessing extraordinary strength, delighted themselves in the forest at night, surrounded by the women of Vraja. Adorned with fragrant garlands and spotless garments, their bodies anointed and decorated, they were serenaded by their companions, whose sweet songs echoed through the woods. The women, bound to Krishna and Rama in deep friendship, sang joyfully as the moon and stars rose, the air carrying the scent of jasmine and the hum of intoxicated bees, wafting in on the breeze from the lotus-filled ponds. Together, Krishna, Rama, and the gopis sang, their harmonies so skillful and melodious that all who heard them felt their hearts and minds blessed. The gopis, overcome by the beauty of the music, became faint and lost awareness of themselves; their garments slipped and their hair and garlands fell loose as they surrendered to delight. As they played and sang in this rapture, Shankhachuda, a powerful Yaksha and follower of Kubera, approached. Seeing the women gathered together, he suddenly drove them northward, heedless of their cries. Krishna and Rama, witnessing the abduction and hearing the gopis call out, “Krishna! Rama!” rushed after Shankhachuda, just as brothers would chase a thief who had stolen their cattle. “Do not fear!” Krishna and Rama called out, their voices strong and reassuring. Armed with clubs, they pursued the wicked Yaksha with great speed. Seeing them approach like Death and Time incarnate, Shankhachuda abandoned the women in terror and fled for his life. Krishna chased him relentlessly, determined to seize the precious jewel from his head, while Balarama stayed behind to protect the women. Not far from the others, Krishna caught up with Shankhachuda, struck him on the head with his mighty fist, and took both the radiant crest jewel and its companion gem. Having slain the wicked Yaksha, Krishna returned to his brother and, in the presence of the gopis, lovingly presented the jewel to Balarama. Later, as Krishna departed each day to graze the cows in the forest, the gopis’ hearts followed him, leaving them behind in sorrow. They spent their days singing of Krishna’s pastimes, their minds absorbed in thoughts of his beauty and play. The gopis would say to one another, “Wherever Mukunda stands with his flute pressed to his lips, his left cheek resting on his arm, his brows dancing, and his delicate fingers tracing the flute’s path, he calls to us with that enchanting sound. Even the wives of the gods and the Siddhas are astonished when they hear him play; bashful and overcome by love, they become bewildered, forgetting even their garments. “O friends, when the son of Nanda, the bringer of joy to the suffering, plays his flute, a necklace and a smile shine on his chest like a steady flash of lightning. The bulls, cows, and deer of Vraja, captivated by the distant sound, stand motionless with mouthfuls of grass suspended, ears attentive, as if painted in a picture, motionless and entranced. “Adorned with peacock feathers, colored minerals, and leaves, dressed like a wrestler, Mukunda, with his cowherd friends, calls the cows in playful imitation. The rivers, their currents broken and slowed by the dust from his lotus feet carried on the breeze, long for him as we do; their waters stilled, they seem to reach out for him with trembling arms of love. “When he, the original person, is praised by his companions for his valor, and as a wanderer in the forest calls the cows with his flute along the mountain slopes, the forest creepers and trees, heavy with flowers and fruit, seem to manifest Vishnu within themselves. Their branches, bowed with honey, tremble with love and burst into blossoms. “Adorned with tilaka, garlands of forest flowers, divine fragrance, and honey-laden tulasi, when Krishna plays the flute, the intoxicated bees sing their own sweet songs in his honor. In the lakes, cranes, swans, and other birds, captivated by the melody, approach Hari with closed eyes and silent devotion, worshipping him in stillness. “On the hillsides, adorned with garlands and ornaments, he delights the cowherd women with the flute’s music, and joy spreads through the world. The clouds, careful not to exceed their bounds, softly rumble and, as friends, shower flowers and provide shade, forming a canopy above him. “Expert in tending the cows, skilled in flute-playing, Krishna creates new melodies each time he lifts the flute to his lips. Hearing these, the lords of the gods—Indra, Shiva, Brahma, and the sages—bow their heads and minds, bewildered and unable to grasp the truth of his glory. “The cows, their hoofs marked with flags, thunderbolts, lotuses, and goads, soothe the earth of Vraja as they walk, covering the wounds made by their own steps, enchanted by the sound of Krishna’s flute. “And as he passes by, our hearts are overcome by the playful glances he casts, and the desire awakened within us leaves us confused and unaware—whether our hair or garments are in disarray, we do not know, so lost are we in him. “Sometimes, adorned with a garland fragrant with tulasi, Krishna counts the cows, placing his arm affectionately on a dear friend’s shoulder, singing as he walks through the forest.” In this way, the gopis spent their days, their minds ever absorbed in Krishna, singing of his pastimes and longing for his return.