Akrura, overwhelmed with love for Rama and Krishna, leapt swiftly down from his chariot as soon as he arrived. With deep reverence, he threw himself at their feet, lying prostrate before them. The sight of the two Lords filled Akrura with such joy that his eyes brimmed with tears and his body trembled, covered in goosebumps. So great was his eagerness and emotion that he could not even utter his own name. Krishna, whose hands bore the auspicious mark of the chariot wheel, approached Akrura with affection and drew him close in a loving embrace, for the Lord is ever fond of those who bow before him in devotion. Balarama, the wise Sankarshana, also embraced Akrura warmly, took his hand in friendship, and together with Krishna, led him into the house. There, following the customs of hospitality, they inquired after his welfare and offered him an honored seat. They washed his feet as tradition decreed and brought him a honey-mixture as a welcoming gift. Krishna presented a cow to Akrura, and, with great respect, massaged his weary limbs. Then, with devotion, the Lord offered him abundant, pure food. When Akrura had finished his meal, Rama, the supreme knower of dharma, honored him again with fragrant scents and garlands, as used in sacred rites. Nanda, the chief of the cowherds, also honored Akrura and asked with concern, “How do you fare in that place where kindness is lacking, while Kamsa 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 in anguish—how could there be well-being for you and your people?” Thus, honored and spoken to with such sincerity by Nanda, Akrura felt his weariness from the journey melt away. Śuka continued: Seated comfortably upon a couch, honored by Rama and Krishna, Akrura felt all the desires he had cherished on the journey fulfilled. For what could be unattainable when the Lord, the very abode of all fortune, is pleased? Yet, O King, those devoted to Him desire nothing at all. After the evening meal, Krishna, the Blessed One and son of Devaki, inquired among his friends about Kamsa’s conduct and his latest schemes. Then Krishna addressed Akrura with gentle words: “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 well-being, when our family is afflicted and Kamsa, 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 recounted everything: the enmity among the Yadus, Kamsa’s intent to kill Vasudeva, the message he carried, and what Narada had told Kamsa about the birth of Anakadundubhi’s son. Hearing these words, Krishna and Balarama, destroyers of enemy heroes, smiled and informed 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 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 announced the plan to the entire settlement. When the cowherd women heard this, they were filled with distress, for they knew Akrura had come to take Rama and Krishna to the city. Some, their hearts heavy with sorrow, grew pale and sighed deeply; their garments, bangles, and braids slipped loose as they became lost in thought. Others, absorbed in thoughts of Krishna, abandoned their usual tasks, unaware of the world around them, as if they had retreated into their own inner realms. Some, recalling Krishna’s loving smiles and sweet words, were overwhelmed, bewildered by the memory of his charming phrases that had touched their hearts. They remembered his graceful walk, his gestures, his affectionate smiles and glances, his playful jokes that dispelled all sorrow, and his delightful deeds. Tormented by the thought of separation from Mukunda, the gopīs gathered together in groups, their faces wet with tears, their hearts fixed on Acyuta, and spoke among themselves: “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 raised nose, beautiful with a hint of a smile that dispels all 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 passes happily and their wishes 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 Devaki. 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? When, at day’s end, the friend of Ananta returns to Vraja, surrounded by cowherds, his hair dusted by their hooves, playing his flute, glancing with smiling eyes—how could we live if we were deprived of him?” Thus, with hearts full of longing and sorrow, the gopīs lamented the coming separation from Krishna, their beloved Lord.