O King, as Rama and Krishna approached, their very presence dispelled the darkness in all directions, shining with a brilliance like that of an emerald mountain and a silver one adorned with gold. Akrura, overwhelmed with deep affection, swiftly leapt from his chariot and fell prostrate at the feet of Rama and Krishna. Overcome with joy at beholding the Lord, tears streamed down his face and his body was covered in goosebumps; so eager was he that he could not even utter his own name. The Lord, marked by the wheel on his hand, approached Akrura and embraced him warmly, drawing him close with loving affection, for he is ever fond of those who bow before him. Sankarshana, Rama of great mind, also embraced the humble Akrura, took his hand, and, together with Krishna, led him into their house. After inquiring about his well-being and offering him a seat of honor, they washed his feet according to custom and presented him with a honeyed drink as a gesture of welcome. They then brought forth a cow for their guest, respectfully massaged his weary limbs, and served him abundant, pure food with heartfelt devotion. When Akrura had finished his meal, Rama, the supreme knower of dharma, once again honored him with fragrant scents and garlands as used in sacred rites. Nanda, the chief of the cowherds, duly honored Akrura and asked, “How are you faring in this place, where kindness is scarce while Kamsa still rules, O Dāśārha? Are we not like cowherds under a cruel master? That wicked one who slew 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, honored by Nanda’s sincere words and kindly questioned, Akrura felt the weariness of his journey melt away. Śuka said: Comfortably seated upon a couch, attended with honor by Rama and Krishna, Akrura felt all the desires he had cherished on the road fulfilled. Indeed, what could be unattainable when the Lord, the very abode of fortune, is pleased? Yet, O King, those who are devoted to Him desire nothing at all. After their evening meal, the Blessed One, son of Devakī, inquired among his friends about Kamsa’s behavior and his latest intentions. Krishna addressed Akrura: “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 even ask about our own welfare, when our family is afflicted and Kamsa, our maternal uncle, rules over us and our people? Alas, so much suffering has befallen 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 have longed, O gentle one. Tell me, dear one, the reason for your coming.” Śuka continued: Thus questioned by the Blessed Lord, Akrura described everything—the enmity among the Yadus and Kamsa’s intent to kill Vasudeva. He explained the message and the purpose for which he had been sent as a messenger, and what Nārada had revealed to Kamsa about the birth of Anakadundubhi’s son. Hearing these words, Krishna and Balarama, destroyers of enemy heroes, smiled and informed their father Nanda 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 shall 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, chief among the cowherds, announced to his settlement. When the cowherd women heard this, their hearts were struck with deep distress, knowing that Akrura had come to Vraja to take Rama and Krishna to the city. Some, afflicted in heart, grew pale from sighing; others let their garments, bangles, and hair-braids slip loose. Some, absorbed in thoughts of Krishna, ceased all their usual activities, lost to the world as if they had entered their own inner realm. Others, recalling Krishna’s loving smiles and words, were overwhelmed, bewildered by the sweet phrases that had so touched their hearts. They remembered his graceful walk, his gestures, his affectionate smiles and glances, his jokes that dispelled sorrow, and his playful deeds. Thinking of Mukunda, fearful and distressed at the thought of separation, they gathered together in groups, their faces wet with tears, and spoke, their hearts fixed on Acyuta. The gopīs said: “O Creator, how merciless you are! After uniting embodied beings in friendship and love, you separate them before their desires are fulfilled, just as children’s playthings are taken away. You showed us Mukunda’s face, framed by dark curls, with lovely cheeks and a raised nose, beautiful with a hint of a smile that dispels sorrow—then you make him distant from us; this is not right. You are cruel, truly living up to the name Akrūra! You gave us sight, but now you take it away like a tyrant, for through you we saw the beauty of the enemy of Madhu, the perfection of all creation, in one place. “The son of Nanda, whose affection is fleeting, no longer looks upon us, though we are tormented by our own actions. Having left home, family, and husbands, we came to serve him, but now he has found new beloveds. Surely, for the women of that city, the night will pass happily and their wishes will come true, for they will drink in the face of the Lord of Vraja as he enters, tasting the nectar of his sidelong, smiling glances. Mukunda, captivated by their sweet, honeyed words, is now under their control, though he is strong-willed. How will he ever return to us village women, who are bashful and bewildered by love? “Today, surely, there will be a great festival for the Daśārhas, Bhojas, Andhakas, Vṛṣṇis, and Sātvatas; those on the road will see the beautiful Lord, the abode of all virtues, the son of Devakī. Let the name Akrūra be given to one so pitiless as this! How cruel, that he, without comforting us in our deep sorrow, will take our dearest friend far away. He, with an unfeeling heart, has mounted the chariot, and the reckless urge him on. The cowherds, neglected by their elders, follow with their carts, while fate itself turns against us today. “Let us go and stop Mādhava! What could our elders and relatives do for us, when, by fate, our hearts—unable to bear even a half-blink’s separation from Mukunda—are now shattered? We gopīs, whose hearts were led away by his loving smiles, enchanting words, playful glances, embraces, and the joys of the rāsa dance—how can we cross this endless darkness of separation, even for a moment, without him?