The gopīs of Vraja, hearts aching with longing, cried out in sorrow. “You showed us Mukunda’s face,” they lamented, “his lovely cheeks framed by dark curls, his raised nose, and the hint of a smile that dispels all sorrow—then you take him from us. This is not right.” Their grief was directed at Akrūra, whose very name now seemed to them a cruel irony. “You are truly cruel, living up to your name! You gave us sight, but now you snatch it away like a tyrant. Through you, we glimpsed the beauty of the enemy of Madhu, the perfection of all creation, gathered in one place.” They spoke of Krishna, the son of Nanda, whose affection seemed fleeting. “He no longer looks upon us, though we are tormented by our own actions. We left home, family, and husbands to serve him, but now he has found new beloveds.” Their minds wandered to the women of the city, certain that their night had passed happily, their wishes fulfilled—for as Krishna entered, they would drink in 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, bashful and bewildered by love?” They imagined the festival that would unfold for the Daśārhas, Bhojas, Andhakas, Vṛṣṇis, and Sātvatas, as travelers glimpsed the beautiful Lord, the son of Devakī, the abode of all virtues. Their anguish deepened. “Let the name Akrūra be given to one so pitiless! Without comforting us in our sorrow, he takes our dearest friend far away.” Akrūra, with an unfeeling heart, mounted the chariot, urged on by the reckless. The cowherds, neglected by their elders, followed with their carts, while fate itself seemed to turn against the gopīs. “Let us go and stop Mādhava!” they cried. “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?” Their hearts, drawn away by Krishna’s loving smiles, enchanting words, playful glances, embraces, and the joys of the rāsa dance, despaired. “How can we cross this endless darkness of separation, even for a moment, without him?” They remembered how, at day’s end, Krishna 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 narrated: Thus the women of Vraja, their minds absorbed in Krishna and tormented by separation, cast off 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. The cowherds, led by Nanda and others, followed with their carts, bringing 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, standing and waiting. Krishna, seeing them so afflicted as he departed, comforted them with loving words, assuring them through messengers, “I will return.” As long as the chariot’s banner was visible and the dust 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. Meanwhile, the Lord arrived, accompanied by Rama and Akrūra, 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. Akrūra, having bid them farewell, seated himself atop the chariot and went to the Yamuna’s pool to perform ritual bathing. Immersing himself in those waters and reciting the eternal Brahman, Akrūra 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, and again saw them seated as before. He submerged once more, questioning whether his vision 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 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. His lotus hands shone, holding conch, discus, and mace; his chest bore the mark of Srivatsa, the radiant Kaustubha gem, and a garland of forest flowers. He was attended by Sunanda, Nanda, and other associates, by the Sanaka sages, by the lords of the gods such as Brahma and Rudra, and by nine foremost twice-born sages. Prahlada, Narada, Vasu and other foremost devotees praised him with words, each from their own perspective, their hearts pure and spotless. He was served by Sri (fortune), Pushti (nourishment), speech, brilliance, fame, satisfaction, dissolution, victory, knowledge, ignorance, power, and illusion. Beholding him, Akrūra was deeply delighted, filled with supreme devotion. His body thrilled with joy, his heart overflowing with emotion, his eyes moist. With a choked voice, standing firm in goodness, he bowed low with his head, palms joined in reverence, and slowly, with care, praised the Lord. Thus ends the thirty-ninth chapter, “Akrura’s Return,” in the first half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the supreme scripture for the paramahaṃsas. Then, Akrūra spoke: “I bow to you, the cause of all causes, Nārāyaṇa, the primeval, imperishable Person, from whose navel-lotus Brahmā arose, and from whom this world has come forth. Earth, water, fire, wind, space, the great elements, the origin of the unmanifest, mind, senses, all the objects of the senses, and all the gods—these are the elements that make up the world, O Lord.