The serpent, now freed from its coils, spoke: “I am Sudarśana, a Vidyādhara renowned for my beauty and wealth, traveling the skies in my aerial chariot. Once, the sages Virupa and Angirasa, proud of their own appearance, laughed at me. Because of my own arrogance, I earned their curse and was made to enter this birth as a serpent. Yet, their curse, given in compassion, has become my blessing—for when I was touched by the foot of the teacher of the world, all my misfortune was destroyed. Now, released from the curse, I humbly ask you, who remove fear from those troubled by worldly existence and grant refuge, to allow me to depart, having received the blessing of your foot’s touch. I take shelter in you, O great yogi, supreme person, lord of the virtuous—please grant me leave, O god, master of all worlds and their rulers. By seeing you, O infallible one, I am freed from Brahma’s punishment at once. Your name, when uttered, purifies all who hear it and oneself—how much more so when one is touched by your foot!” Having received permission from Krishna, the descendant of Dasarha, Sudarśana circled him reverently and offered obeisance. Then, he ascended to heaven, and Nanda was released from his distress. Witnessing this divine power of Krishna, the residents of Vraja were astonished. After completing their observance at the holy place, they returned home, joyfully recounting the miraculous events. Once, Govinda and Rama, both possessing wondrous strength, enjoyed themselves in the forest at night, surrounded by the women of Vraja. Adorned and anointed, wearing garlands and spotless garments, they were sung to sweetly by the women, bound to them in friendship. As night fell, stars and moon rose, and the air was filled with the fragrance of jasmine and intoxicated bees, carried by the breeze from the lotus ponds. Together, they sang, producing melodies that blessed the minds and ears of all beings, skillfully weaving harmonies. Hearing that song, the gopis became faint, unaware of themselves; their garments slipped, their hair and garlands loosened. As they played and sang, lost in delight, Shankhachuda, a follower of Kubera, approached. While Krishna and Rama watched, Shankhachuda saw the women gathered and crying out, and began to drive them northward without hesitation. Seeing the women cry out, “Krishna! Rama!” and observing their companions seized, the two brothers rushed after them, as brothers would pursue a thief who has taken their cows. Calling out, “Do not fear!” with voices of reassurance, Krishna and Rama, armed with clubs, swiftly pursued the wicked Yaksha. Seeing them approach like Death and Time, Shankhachuda abandoned the women and fled to preserve his life. Govinda chased after him wherever he ran, intent on seizing the jewel from his head, while Balarama stayed behind to protect the women. Not far off, Krishna struck the wicked Yaksha’s head with his fist and took the crest jewel along with its companion. Having slain Shankhachuda, Krishna took the radiant jewel and, with affection, gave it to his elder brother as the women watched. Shuka then spoke: The gopis, their minds following Krishna as he went to the forest for grazing, spent their days in sorrow, singing of Krishna’s pastimes. They said: “Where Mukunda plays the flute, holding it to his lips with his left hand, his left cheek pressed against his left arm, his brows dancing, and his delicate fingers tracing the path, there he calls us. The wives of the celestial beings, together with the Siddhas, were astonished as they listened; bashful, their minds surrendered to the arrows of love, they became bewildered and forgot their garments. Ah, wondrous girls, listen: when the son of Nanda, the giver of delight to the suffering, plays the flute, a necklace and a smile shine on his chest like a steady lightning flash. In groups, the bulls of Vraja, the deer, and the cows, their minds captivated by the sound of the flute from afar, with mouthfuls held between their teeth and ears attentive, sat as if painted, motionless and asleep. With peacock feathers, colored minerals, and leaves adorning him, imitating the garb of a wrestler, sometimes Mukunda, together with the cowherd boys, calls the cows. Then, the rivers, their currents broken, carried by the breeze bearing dust from his lotus feet, long for him as we do, blessed by many merits, their arms trembling with love, their waters stilled. When he, the original person, like a mountain lord, 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, abundant with flowers and fruits, seem to manifest Vishnu within themselves; their branches bowed with honey streams, their bodies thrilled with love, they produced blossoms. Adorned with a tilaka, a garland of forest flowers, divine fragrance, and honey-laden tulasi, when he plays the flute, the bees, intoxicated, sing their desired song, honoring him. In the lake, cranes, swans, and birds, their minds captivated by the beautiful song, approach Hari, their minds restrained, eyes closed, maintaining silence as they worship him. With his companions, adorned with garlands and ornaments, on the slopes of the hills, when he delights the cowherd women with the sound of the flute, joy arises and pervades the world. The cloud, cautious of exceeding its bounds, softly rumbles, and, as a friend, showers flowers and provides shade, forming a canopy for him. Expert in tending various cows, skilled in flute playing, your son, when he places the flute on his lips, brings forth melodies of his own creation. Hearing this, the lords of the gods—Indra, Shiva, Brahma, and others—together with the sages, bowed their necks and minds, became bewildered, unable to discern the truth. With the marks of flag, thunderbolt, lotus, and goad on their hoofs, the cows, delighted by the flute, soothe the earth of Vraja, covering the wounds made by their hooves. As he passes by, we, overcome by the playful glances he casts and the force of desire awakened in our hearts, do not know how we wander about, or whether our hair or garments are in disarray, lost in confusion. Sometimes, adorned with a garland fragrant with the beloved scent of tulasi, he counts the cows, and, placing his arm on the shoulder of a dear companion, he sings as he walks. Deceived in mind by the sound of his flute, the wives of Krishna followed him, their hearts absorbed in him; following the ocean of his virtues, the deer—like the cowherd women, freed from attachment to their homes—went after him. Thus, Vraja was filled with the wonder and joy of Krishna’s pastimes, as all beings—gods, sages, animals, and rivers—became enchanted by the music of his flute and the sweetness of his presence.