As Akrura journeyed toward Gokula, his heart was filled with wonder and humility. He pondered, “What good deed have I performed, what great austerity have I practiced, or what worthy gift have I given, that today I shall behold Keśava?” The thought of seeing the Lord, renowned for His glorious deeds, seemed to him a most rare blessing—much like the chanting of Brahman is rare for one born as a śūdra, attached to the pleasures of the senses. He hoped fervently that even someone as fallen as himself might not be denied this vision of Acyuta, for, he mused, sometimes even those swept away by the river of Time manage to cross over. Today, Akrura felt his misfortune was destroyed and his existence had borne fruit, for he would bow to the lotus feet of the Lord—those feet which are the object of meditation for yogis. Akrura reflected that Kaṁsa, though wicked, had inadvertently shown him the greatest favor, for he would soon see the lotus feet of Hari, who had descended as an incarnation. The radiance of Hari’s toenails had once dispelled a darkness so profound that even the ancients could not cross it. Those feet, worshipped by Brahmā, Śiva, and other gods, by the goddess Śrī, by sages, and by the Sātvatas, wander in the forest with His companions tending the cows, and are marked with the saffron of the gopīs’ breasts. He imagined beholding Mukunda’s face—its beautiful cheeks and nose, its smiling, glancing, reddish lotus eyes, covered with curling locks, around which deer move in circumambulation. Perhaps, he thought, his eyes would at last attain the fruit of beholding Viṣṇu, who has assumed human form by His own will to relieve the earth’s burden, who is the very abode of beauty. Akrura marveled at the Lord’s nature: though free from ego and duality, Krishna dispels the darkness of ignorance by His own radiance. By His māyā, He is perceived in the homes of beings through their life, senses, and intellect. The Lord’s words, filled with auspicious qualities, deeds, and birth, destroy all inauspiciousness, enliven, purify, and sanctify the world. Those who remain indifferent to them, Akrura mused, are like beautiful corpses. He rejoiced that Krishna had descended in the lineage of the Sātvatas, bringing joy to the best of the gods who guard their realms. The Lord dwelled in Vraja, spreading His fame, while the gods sang His all-auspicious deeds. Akrura anticipated the moment when he would see Him—the goal of the great, the teacher, the delight of the three worlds, the festival for the eyes, bearing a form that is the desired abode of Śrī—with his own eyes at the break of dawn. He envisioned Krishna descending from the chariot, and hoped to obtain for himself the feet that even yogis hold in their minds. He would bow to them, as would Krishna’s friends and the dwellers of the forest. Perhaps the Lord would place His own lotus hand upon Akrura’s head as he fell at His feet, granting fearlessness to those terrified by the serpent of Time and seeking refuge. Akrura recalled that by Krishna’s touch, Kauśika (Viśvāmitra) and Bali, having offered worship, attained lordship of the three worlds; or, in play, Krishna removed the fatigue of the women of Vraja by the touch of His fragrant hand. He trusted that Acyuta, who sees all, would not regard him with enmity, even though he was Kaṁsa’s messenger. For Krishna, the knower of the field, perceives with pure vision all that is done, within and without, by the mind. Perhaps, Akrura hoped, Krishna would look upon him, fallen at His feet with folded hands, with a gentle, smiling, compassionate gaze. Then, all his sins would be destroyed, and he would enjoy great, fearless joy. The best of friends, his kinsman, his only deity, would embrace him with broad arms, sanctifying him and dispelling his bondage born of karma. When Akrura, bowing with folded hands, attained the touch of Krishna’s limbs, the Lord would speak to him. Yet, Akrura reflected, though they were born as humans, if they were not honored by Krishna, the birth of such a one would indeed be to be condemned. Krishna has no one as dearest, no best friend, nor anyone unloved, hated, or neglected; yet, just as the wish-fulfilling tree gives to those who approach it, so does He favor His devotees. In time, the eldest and foremost among the Yadus, smiling, embraced Akrura, who had bowed with folded hands, led him into the house where all honors had been arranged, and inquired about the troubles caused by Kamsa among his relatives. Śuka narrated: Thus reflecting on Krishna, the son of Śvaphalka, while traveling, arrived at Gokula by chariot, just as the sun reaches the western mountain. There, in the cowherd settlement, Akrura saw the footprints of the one whose dust is worn by all the rulers of the worlds upon their crowns, distinguished by marks such as the lotus, barleycorn, and goad. Filled with joy and reverent excitement at that sight, his eyes overwhelmed with tears and his hair standing on end from love, Akrura descended from the chariot and moved among the footprints, exclaiming, “Ah! These are the dust of the Lord’s feet!” For embodied beings, the greatest benefit is to abandon pride, fear, and sorrow, which is first achieved by seeing, hearing, and other forms of contact with the signs of Hari. Akrura saw Krishna and Rama in Vraja, returning from the cow-milking, wearing yellow and blue garments, their eyes like autumn lotuses. They were youthful—one dark and one fair—abodes of beauty, with broad arms, handsome faces, splendid forms, and the strength and gait of young elephants. The great souls, with feet marked by banners, thunderbolts, goads, and lotuses, adorned Vraja, their glances smiling and full of compassion. Noble and charming in play, adorned with garlands and forest wreaths, their bodies were anointed with sacred fragrances, bathed, and clad in spotless garments. The two, the primeval Purushas, the causes and lords of the world, had descended for the sake of the earth, as Balarama and Keshava, with their own portions. They dispelled the darkness in all directions with their own radiance, like an emerald mountain and a silver one adorned with gold. Overwhelmed with affection, Akrura swiftly leapt from the chariot and fell prostrate at the feet of Rama and Krishna. Overjoyed at the sight of the Lord, his eyes streaming with tears and his body covered with goosebumps, he was so eager that he could not speak his own name. The Lord, approaching him, marked by the chariot wheel upon His hand, embraced Akrura, drawing him near with affection, for He is fond of those who bow before Him. Sankarshana, of great mind, embraced Akrura, took his hand in his own, and, together with his brother, led him into the house. After asking him about his welfare and offering him a seat of honor, they washed his feet according to custom and brought the honey-mixture as a welcome gift. Presenting a cow to the guest and respectfully massaging his tired limbs, the Lord offered him abundant, pure food with devotion. When he had eaten, Rama, the supreme knower of dharma, with great affection, again honored him with scents and garlands used in sacrifices. Nanda, having duly honored Akrura, asked, “How are you faring in this place without kindness, while Kamsa still lives, O Dāśārha? Are we not like cowherds under a cruel master?” He lamented, “That wicked one who killed his own nephews, even as their mothers cried out in anguish—how could there be well-being for you and your people, we wonder?” Thus, Akrura’s journey, filled with longing and reverence, culminated in his blessed meeting with Krishna and Balarama, and the warm hospitality of the people of Vraja.