When Akrura had finished his meal, Balarāma—the supreme knower of dharma—honored him again with deep affection, adorning him with fragrant scents and festive garlands used in sacred rites. Nanda, too, offered Akrura all due hospitality and then, with concern, asked, “O descendant of Daśārha, how do you fare here in this harsh land, with Kamsa still ruling? Are we not like cowherds under a cruel master, always at his mercy? That wicked one killed his own nephews even as their mothers cried out in anguish—how could there be well-being for you and your people while he lives?” Thus, honored and gently questioned by Nanda’s sincere words, Akrura felt his weariness from the journey melt away. Śuka tells us that, seated comfortably on a couch and honored by both Rāma and Kṛṣṇa, Akrura found 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 truly devoted to Him desire nothing at all. Later, after the evening meal, the Blessed Lord Kṛṣṇa, son of Devakī, inquired among His friends about Kamsa’s actions and his latest intentions. He said, “Dear Akrura, gentle one, welcome! May all be well with you. Is everything free from illness and misfortune among your relatives and kin?” Then, with a heavy heart, He added, “How can I ask about our own welfare, when our family suffers so, ruled by Kamsa, our maternal uncle? Alas, so much sorrow has befallen my noble parents because of us—on our account, their sons were killed and they themselves imprisoned. Yet, by good fortune, today I see my own people, as I have longed for so long. Tell me, dear one, the reason for your coming.” Thus questioned by the Blessed Lord, Akrura described everything: the enmity among the Yadus, Kamsa’s intent to kill Vasudeva, the message he had been sent to deliver, and what Nārada had told Kamsa about the birth of Anakadundubhi’s son. Hearing Akrura’s words, Kṛṣṇa and Balarāma, the 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 Mathurā, 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 the plan in his settlement. When the cowherd women heard this, they were overcome with distress, for Akrura had come to Vraja to take Rāma and Kṛṣṇa away to the city. Some, hearts afflicted, grew pale from sighing; others let their garments, bangles, and hair-braids slip loose in grief. Some, absorbed in thoughts of Kṛṣṇa, ceased all their usual activities, oblivious to the world around them, as if drawn into their own inner realm. Others, recalling Śauri’s loving smiles and words, were overwhelmed and bewildered by the sweet, enchanting phrases that had once 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: “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 snatched 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 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 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 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? 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 says: Thus, the women of Vraja, their minds absorbed in Kṛṣṇa and tormented by separation, cast off their shyness and wept aloud, crying, “Govinda! Dāmodara! Mādhava!” As the women wept in this way and the sun rose, Akrūra, having fulfilled his friendly duties, urged the chariot onward. The cowherds, led by Nanda and others, followed with their carts, bringing many gifts—jars filled with the products of the cows. The cowherd women, enchanted by their beloved Kṛṣṇa, followed after him; longing for a sign from the Lord, they stood waiting. Seeing them so afflicted as he departed, Kṛṣṇa, the foremost of the Yadus, comforted them with loving words, assuring them through messengers, “I will return.” As long as the banner was visible and the dust of the chariot could be seen, they continued following, their hearts set upon him, as if drawn by painted images.