As evening descended upon Vraja, the stars and moon rose in the sky, casting their gentle light over the land. The air was fragrant with the scent of jasmine, carried by breezes from lotus-filled ponds, and intoxicated bees drifted on the wind. Amidst this enchanting atmosphere, melodies filled the night—harmonious songs sung together, blessing the minds and ears of all beings with their skillful weaving. The gopis, hearing these divine songs, became so entranced that they lost awareness of themselves; their garments slipped from their bodies, their hair and garlands loosened, and they were overcome with faintness. Immersed in play and song, lost in delight, they did not notice the approach of Shankhachuda, a follower of Kubera. As Krishna and Balarama watched, Shankhachuda, seeing the women gathered and crying out, began driving them northward without hesitation. The gopis cried out, “Krishna! Rama!” and as their companions were seized, Krishna and Balarama rushed after them, as brothers would pursue a thief who had stolen their cows. Calling out reassuringly, “Do not fear!” the two powerful brothers, armed with clubs, swiftly pursued the wicked Yaksha. Seeing Krishna and Balarama approach like Death and Time, the foolish Yaksha abandoned the women and fled, desperate 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 gopis. Not far off, Krishna caught up with Shankhachuda, struck him on the head with his fist, and took both the crest jewel and its companion jewel. Having slain Shankhachuda, Krishna took the radiant jewel and, with affection, gave it to his elder brother, Balarama, as the gopis looked on. In the days that followed, the gopis, their hearts and minds ever following Krishna as he went to the forest to graze the cows, spent their days in sorrow, singing of Krishna’s pastimes. They spoke among themselves: “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 and the Siddhas were astonished as they listened to Krishna’s flute; bashful and surrendered to the arrows of love, they became bewildered and forgot their garments. The gopis marveled: “O 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, captivated by the sound of the flute from afar, stood motionless, mouthfuls held between their teeth, ears attentive, as if painted and asleep. Sometimes, Mukunda adorned himself with peacock feathers, colored minerals, and leaves, imitating the garb of a wrestler, and together with the cowherd boys, called the cows. The rivers, their currents broken, carried by breezes bearing dust from Krishna’s lotus feet, longed for him as the gopis did, blessed by many merits. Their waters stilled, their arms trembled with love. When Krishna, the original person, was praised by his companions for his valor, he wandered the forest and called the cows with his flute along the mountain slopes. The forest creepers and trees, abundant with flowers and fruits, seemed to manifest Vishnu within themselves; their branches bowed with honey streams, their bodies thrilled with love, producing blossoms. Adorned with tilaka, a garland of forest flowers, divine fragrance, and honey-laden tulasi, when Krishna played the flute, intoxicated bees sang their desired song, honoring him. In the lakes, cranes, swans, and birds, captivated by the beautiful song, approached Hari with restrained minds and closed eyes, maintaining silence as they worshiped him. With his companions, adorned with garlands and ornaments, on the slopes of the hills, Krishna delighted the cowherd women with the sound of his flute, spreading joy throughout the world. The cloud, cautious not to exceed its bounds, softly rumbled and, as a friend, showered flowers and provided shade, forming a canopy for Krishna. Expert in tending various cows and skilled in flute playing, Krishna brought forth melodies of his own creation. Hearing these, the lords of the gods—Indra, Shiva, Brahma, and others—along with the sages, bowed their necks and minds, bewildered and unable to discern the truth. The cows, with the marks of flag, thunderbolt, lotus, and goad on their hooves, delighted by the flute, soothed the earth of Vraja, covering the wounds made by their hooves. As Krishna passed by, the gopis, overcome by his playful glances and the force of desire awakened in their hearts, wandered in confusion, not knowing whether their hair or garments were in disarray. Sometimes, adorned with a garland fragrant with tulasi, Krishna counted the cows, and, placing his arm on the shoulder of a dear companion, sang as he walked. Deceived in mind by the sound of his flute, the wives of Krishna followed him, their hearts absorbed in him; even the deer, like the cowherd women freed from attachment to their homes, followed the ocean of his virtues. Welcomed with garlands of jasmine and festive attire, surrounded by cowherds and cattle on the banks of the Yamuna, Nanda’s son delighted the hearts of his loving friends with playful pastimes. A gentle breeze, fragrant with sandalwood, blew to honor him; groups of celestial singers encircled him with music, song, and offerings as they praised him. Affectionate to the cows of Vraja and honored by the elders along the path, Krishna led all the cattle home at day’s end, his fame sung by the sound of his flute. With the beauty of his face shining from exertion, his garland dusted with earth kicked up by hooves, Krishna came, wishing to bless his friends—this king who arose from Devaki’s womb. His eyes rolled slightly from joy, the garland-wearing giver of honor to his friends, his lips pale like the jujube fruit, his soft cheeks adorned by the splendor of golden earrings. The lord of the Yadus, sporting among the king of elephants, at day’s end came like the lord of the night; his face radiant with joy, he approached the village, relieving the cows of Vraja from the day’s heat. In this way, O King, the women of Vraja, singing of Krishna’s pastimes, spent their days absorbed in him, their minds and hearts wholly devoted, filled with great joy. Thus ends the thirty-fifth chapter, named “The Song of the Gopīs in Pairs,” in the first half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for supreme renunciates. Then, Ariṣṭa, the bull-demon, arrived at the cowherd settlement, shaking the earth with his massive hump and tearing up the ground with his hooves. Bellowing harshly, scraping the earth with his feet, he raised his tail and tossed the mounds, lifting them with the tips of his horns.