As Akrura journeyed toward Gokula, his heart was filled with thoughts of Krishna. He reflected, “Acyuta, the infallible one who sees all, will not look upon me with enmity, even though I am Kaṁsa’s messenger. For He, the knower of all hearts, perceives with pure vision everything that is done, both within and without, by the mind. Perhaps, when I approach Him and fall at His feet with folded hands, He will look upon me with a gentle, smiling, compassionate gaze. In that moment, all my sins will be destroyed, and I will be filled with fearless, boundless joy. He is the best of friends, my kinsman, my only deity. If He embraces me with His broad arms, at that very instant I will be sanctified, and the bondage of karma that holds me will be dispelled. When I, bowing with folded hands, receive the touch of His limbs and He addresses me, what greater blessing could there be? For though we are born as humans, without His honor, such a birth is indeed to be lamented. He has no one as dearest, no best friend, nor anyone unloved or neglected; yet, like the wish-fulfilling tree that gives to whoever approaches it, He bestows favor upon His devotees.” As Akrura’s mind thus dwelled on Krishna, he recalled how Krishna, the eldest and foremost among the Yadus, would welcome him with a smile, embrace him as he bowed with folded hands, lead him into the house where all honors were prepared, and inquire about the troubles caused by Kaṁsa among their kin. Immersed in these thoughts, Akrura, the son of Śvaphalka, arrived at Gokula in his chariot, just as the sun reaches the western mountain. As he entered the cowherd settlement, his eyes caught sight of footprints in the dust—marks revered by all the rulers of the worlds, who bear their dust upon their crowns. These footprints were distinguished by the signs of the lotus, barleycorn, and goad. Overwhelmed with joy and reverent excitement at this vision, Akrura’s eyes filled with tears and his hair stood on end from love. He descended from his chariot, moving among those footprints, exclaiming, “Ah! This is 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. Then, Akrura beheld Krishna and Balarama in Vraja, returning from the milking of the cows. Krishna was clad in yellow, Rama in blue; their eyes shone like autumn lotuses. They were youthful—one dark, one fair—abodes of beauty, with broad arms, handsome faces, splendid forms, and the strength and gait of young elephants. Their feet bore auspicious marks—banners, thunderbolts, goads, and lotuses—and as they walked, their compassionate, smiling glances adorned Vraja. Noble and charming in their play, they were adorned with garlands and forest wreaths, their bodies anointed with sacred fragrances, bathed and clad in spotless garments. These two, the primeval Purushas, the causes and lords of the world, had descended for the sake of the earth as Balarama and Keshava, each with their own divine portion. Their radiance dispelled the darkness in all directions—Krishna like an emerald mountain, Rama like 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 streamed with tears, his body covered with goosebumps; so eager was he that he could not even speak his own name. The Lord, marked by the sign of the chariot wheel upon His hand, approached Akrura and, drawing him near with affection, embraced him—for He is ever fond of those who bow before Him. Sankarshana, of great mind, also embraced Akrura, took his hand, and together with Krishna, led him into the house. There, after asking about his welfare and offering him a seat of honor, they washed his feet and brought the honey-mixture as a welcome gift. A cow was presented to Akrura, and the Lord respectfully massaged his tired limbs, offering him abundant, pure food with devotion. When he had eaten, Rama, the supreme knower of dharma, again honored him with scents and garlands used in sacrifices. Nanda, having duly honored Akrura, asked, “How are you faring in that place without kindness, while Kaṁsa still lives, O Dāśārha? Are we not like cowherds under a cruel master? 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?” Thus honored by Nanda’s sincere words and kindly questions, Akrura felt the weariness of his journey melt away. Seated comfortably on a couch, honored by Rama and Krishna, Akrura felt all the desires he had cherished on the road fulfilled. For what is unattainable when the Lord, the abode of all fortune, is pleased? Yet, those devoted to Him desire nothing at all. After the evening meal, Krishna, the Blessed One, son of Devaki, asked among His friends about Kaṁsa’s conduct and his latest intentions. He said, “Dear one, gentle Akrura, welcome! May all be well with you. Is everything free from illness and misfortune among your relatives and kin? How can I ask about our own welfare, when our family is afflicted and Kaṁsa, our maternal uncle, rules over us and our people? Alas, so much suffering befell my noble parents because of us—on our account, their sons were killed, and on our account, they were imprisoned. Yet by good fortune, today I see my own people, as I longed, O gentle one. Tell me, dear one, the reason for your coming.” Thus questioned by Krishna, Akrura described everything: the enmity among the Yadus, Kaṁsa’s intent to kill Vasudeva, and the message for which he had been sent. He also recounted what Narada had told Kaṁsa concerning the birth of Anakadundubhi’s son. Hearing Akrura’s words, Krishna and Balarama, destroyers of enemy heroes, smiled and informed Nanda, their father, of the king’s command. Nanda then instructed the cowherds, “Gather all the milk and dairy products. Collect gifts to present, and yoke the wagons. Tomorrow we will go to Mathura, offer our produce to the king, and witness the great festival, for people from the countryside are said to be going.” Thus, Nanda, the chief cowherd, announced in his settlement. When the cowherd women heard this, they were filled with great distress, for Akrura had come to Vraja to take Rama and Krishna to the city. Some, afflicted in heart, grew pale with sighing; others let their garments, bangles, and hair-braids slip loose, overcome with sorrow at the thought of separation from their beloved Lords.