After Akrura arrived in Vraja, the people received him with warmth and respect. They inquired after his well-being, offered him a seat of honor, and, according to custom, washed his feet. As a gesture of welcome, they brought him a honey-mixture. The Lord himself presented a cow to Akrura and, with reverence, massaged his weary limbs. Then, with heartfelt devotion, he served Akrura abundant, pure food. Once Akrura had eaten, Rama, the supreme knower of dharma, honored him again with scents and garlands used in sacrifices, showing deep affection. Nanda too paid him due respect and asked, “How are you faring in this place, where kindness is scarce and Kamsa still lives, O Dāśārha? Are we not like cowherds under a cruel master?” Nanda spoke of the wickedness of Kamsa, who had killed his own nephews as their mothers cried out in anguish, wondering aloud how there could be any well-being for Akrura and his people. Honored by Nanda’s sincere words and kindly questioned, Akrura felt the fatigue of his journey melt away. Śuka describes how, comfortably seated on a couch and honored by Rama and Krishna, Akrura attained all the desires he had cherished on the road. Indeed, what is unattainable when the Lord, the very abode of fortune, is pleased? Yet, O King, those devoted to Him desire nothing at all. After the evening meal, the Blessed One, son of Devaki, inquired among his friends about Kamsa’s conduct 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?” He continued, “How can I 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 befell my noble parents because of us—on our account, their sons were killed, and on our account, they were imprisoned. 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 the Blessed Lord, Mādhava, Akrura described everything—the enmity among the Yadus and Kamsa’s intent to kill Vasudeva. He explained the message and purpose for which he had been sent as a messenger, and what Narada had told Kamsa about 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 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 greatly distressed, for Akrura had come to Vraja to take Rama and Krishna to the city. Some, afflicted in heart, had faces pale from sighing; others let their garments, bangles, and hair-braids slip loose. Some, absorbed in thoughts of Krishna, ceased all their usual activities, unaware of the world around them, as if lost in their own inner realm. Others, recalling Śauri’s loving smiles and words, were overwhelmed; the charming phrases that touched their hearts left them bewildered. 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 by the impending separation, they gathered together in groups, their faces wet with tears, and spoke, their hearts fixed on Acyuta. The gopis lamented: “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 sorrow—then you make him distant from us; this is not right. “You are cruel, truly living up to the name Akrura! 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 passed happily and their wishes came 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 Akrura 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 gopis, whose hearts were led away by his loving smiles, enchanting words, playful glances, embraces, and the joys of the rasa 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?” Śuka narrates that thus, the women of Vraja, their minds absorbed in Krishna and tormented by separation, cast off their shyness and wept aloud, crying, “Govinda! Damodara! Madhava!” As the women wept in this way and the sun rose, Akrura, having fulfilled his friendly duties, urged the chariot onward. The cowherds, led by Nanda and others, followed after with their carts, bringing many gifts—jars filled with products of the cows. The cowherd women, enchanted by their beloved Krishna, followed after him; longing for a sign from the Lord, they stood waiting.