Nanda, the chief of the cowherds, gathered his people and gave clear instructions: “Collect all the milk and dairy products, gather gifts for offering, and yoke the wagons.” He announced to everyone in the settlement, “Tomorrow we will go to Mathurā. We shall present our produce to the king and witness the grand festival, for it is said that people from all the countryside are gathering there.” But when the cowherd women heard this news, their hearts were seized with distress. They knew that Akrūra had come to Vraja to take Rāma and Kṛṣṇa away to the city. The pain of impending separation weighed heavily upon them—some women, afflicted with sorrow, grew pale and sighed deeply; their garments slipped, their bangles and braids loosened in their distraction. Others, lost in thoughts of their beloved Kṛṣṇa, abandoned their daily tasks, so absorbed in longing that they seemed to leave the world behind, dwelling only in their inner realm. Some remembered the loving smiles and sweet words of Śauri, Kṛṣṇa, and were overwhelmed. The tender phrases he had spoken still echoed in their hearts, leaving them dazed and bewildered. They recalled his graceful walk, his gentle gestures, the affectionate smiles and glances he offered, the playful jokes that dispelled their sorrows, and his enchanting deeds. Tormented by the thought of separation from Mukunda, the gopīs gathered in groups, their faces streaked with tears. Their hearts fixed on Acyuta, they spoke out in anguish: “O Creator, how merciless you are! You unite living beings in bonds of love and friendship, only to tear them apart before their desires are fulfilled, just as a child’s playthings are snatched away. You showed us Mukunda’s beautiful face, framed with dark curls, radiant cheeks, and a raised nose, his gentle smile banishing all sorrow. And now you make him distant from us—this is not just!” They continued, “You are cruel, truly living up to the name Akrūra! You gave us eyes only to take away their purpose, for through you we beheld the beauty of the enemy of Madhu, the perfection of all creation, gathered in one place. Nanda’s son, whose affection now seems fleeting, no longer looks upon us, though we are consumed by the consequences of our own actions. We left home, family, and even our husbands to serve him, but now he has found new beloveds.” They lamented, “Surely, the women of that city will rejoice tonight, their wishes fulfilled, for as the Lord of Vraja enters, they will drink in the nectar of his sidelong, smiling glances. Mukunda, captivated by their sweet, honeyed words, will be under their sway, though he is strong-willed. How will he ever return to us, simple village girls, bashful and bewildered by love?” “Today will surely be a grand festival for the Daśārhas, Bhojas, Andhakas, Vṛṣṇis, and Sātvatas. Those along 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! Without comforting us in our deep sorrow, he will take our dearest friend far away.” “He, with a heart of stone, 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 can our elders and relatives do for us, when fate decrees that our hearts—unable to bear even a blink’s separation from Mukunda—are shattered?” “We gopīs, whose hearts were stolen 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 would return to Vraja, surrounded by cowherds, his hair dusted by their hooves, playing his flute, glancing with smiling eyes—how could we live if we are deprived of him?” Śuka, the sage, explained: Thus, the women of Vraja, their minds wholly absorbed in Kṛṣṇa and tormented by separation, cast aside their shyness and wept aloud, crying, “Govinda! Dāmodara! Mādhava!” As the women wept and the sun rose, Akrūra, having fulfilled his friendly duties, urged the chariot onward. Nanda and the other cowherds followed with their carts, carrying many gifts—jars filled with the bounty of their cows. The cowherd women, enchanted by their beloved Kṛṣṇa, followed after, longing for a sign from the Lord, and stood waiting. Seeing their distress as he departed, Kṛṣṇa, the foremost of the Yadus, comforted them with loving words. Through messengers, he assured them, “I will return.” As long as the banner on the chariot was visible and the dust could be seen, the women continued to follow, their hearts drawn to him as if by painted images. When at last hope of Govinda’s return faded, they turned back. Yet, freed from sorrow, they spent their days singing of their beloved’s deeds. Meanwhile, the Lord arrived—accompanied by Rāma and Akrūra, riding swiftly in the chariot—at the purifying Yamunā river. There, after rinsing his mouth and drinking the clear, jewel-like water, Kṛṣṇa, with Rāma, entered a grove of trees and returned to the chariot. Akrūra, having taken his leave, went to the Yamunā’s waters and performed ritual bathing. Immersing himself in those sacred waters, reciting the eternal Brahman, Akrūra beheld a wondrous vision: Rāma and Kṛṣṇa together in the water. He wondered in amazement, “How are the sons of Devakī here in the water, when they should be on the chariot?” Rising, he looked for them. There again, as before, he saw them seated on the chariot. He submerged himself once more, questioning whether his vision was false. Once again, he saw the great Lord being praised by Siddhas, Charanas, Gandharvas, and Asuras, their heads bowed, playing 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, with four arms, peaceful, his lotus-petal eyes tinged with red. His face was beautiful and serene, 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 and shining with rays; his feet, adorned with nine toes and thumb-like digits, gleamed like lotus flowers. He was adorned with priceless jewels: crown, bracelets, armlets, sacred thread, waistband, garlands, anklets, and earrings. Thus did Akrūra witness the divine glory of the Lord in the sacred waters of the Yamunā.