Hearing Akrura’s words, Krishna and Balarama—those mighty destroyers of enemy heroes—smiled gently and informed their father, Nanda, about the king’s command. At once, Nanda instructed all the cowherds: “Gather all the milk and dairy products. Collect gifts to present, and yoke the wagons.” He announced throughout the settlement, “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.” When this news reached the cowherd women, their hearts were filled with distress, for Akrura had come to Vraja to take Rama and Krishna to the city. Some, afflicted and sighing, grew pale; others let their garments, bangles, and braids slip loose in their sorrow. Still others, lost in thoughts of Krishna, ceased their usual activities, unaware of the world around them, as if they had entered an inner realm of longing. Some remembered his loving smiles and gentle words—charming phrases that had touched their hearts and now left them bewildered. They recalled his graceful walk, his gestures, his affectionate smiles and glances, his jokes that dispelled sorrow, and his playful deeds. Fearful and distressed at the prospect of separation from Mukunda, the women gathered in groups, their faces wet with tears, speaking with hearts fixed on Acyuta. They cried out: “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 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 Dasharhas, Bhojas, Andhakas, Vrishnis, and Satvatas; 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 Madhava! 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?” 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. Seeing them so afflicted as he departed, Krishna, 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. When hope of Govinda’s return was gone, they turned back; free from sorrow, they spent their days singing of their beloved’s deeds. O King, the Lord arrived, accompanied by Rama and Akrura, riding swiftly in the chariot, to the purifying Yamuna river. There, after rinsing his mouth and drinking the clear, jewel-like water, Krishna approached a grove of trees with Rama and entered the chariot; Akrura, having bid them farewell and seated himself atop the chariot, went to the Yamuna’s pool and performed ritual bathing. Immersing himself in those waters and reciting the eternal Brahman, Akrura saw Rama and Krishna together. He wondered, “How are the sons of Devaki here in the water, when they should be on the chariot?” Rising up, he looked for them. There again, as before, he saw them seated; he submerged once more, questioning whether his vision of them in the water was false. Once more, he saw the great Lord being praised by Siddhas, Charanas, Gandharvas, and Asuras with bowed heads and musical instruments. He beheld the divine one with a thousand heads, crowned with a thousand serpent hoods, clad in blue garments, shining white like snowy peaks. On his lap rested a dark, cloud-hued person, dressed in yellow silk, four-armed, peaceful, with lotus-petal reddish eyes. His face was beautiful and serene, his gaze adorned with a charming smile; his brows, nose, ears, cheeks, and lips were all lovely and reddish. His arms were long and full, his chest broad and splendid, his neck like a conch, his navel deep, his abdomen marked with folds like tender leaves. His hips and thighs were large, his hands and knees well-formed, his legs graceful and beautifully shaped. His ankles were high, his nails reddish, shining with rays; his feet, adorned with nine toes and thumb-like digits, gleamed like lotus flowers.