As Akrūra prepared to depart from Vraja with Krishna and Balarāma, the hearts of the gopīs were overwhelmed with anguish. They addressed Akrūra with bitter affection, “You truly live up to your name, Akrūra—cruel one! You gave us the vision of Krishna, the enemy of Madhu, the very perfection of creation, and now you steal it away like a tyrant. Through you, we were blessed to see him, and now, through you, he is taken from our sight.” Their voices trembled with sorrow as they lamented, “The son of Nanda, whose affection is as fleeting as a dream, no longer looks upon us. We are tormented by our own deeds. We left behind our homes, families, and even our husbands to serve him, but now he has found new beloveds elsewhere.” They imagined the women of Mathurā, saying, “Surely, for the women of that city, the night passed in joy, their wishes fulfilled. They will be the ones to drink in the beauty of the Lord of Vraja as he enters their midst, delighting in the nectar of his sidelong, smiling glances.” Their pain deepened as they continued, “Mukunda, ever captivated by sweet, honeyed words, will now be under their sway, though he is strong-willed. How could he ever return to us, the simple village girls, bashful and bewildered by love?” They pictured the coming celebrations, “Today, the Daśārhas, Bhojas, Andhakas, Vṛṣṇis, and Sātvatas will rejoice in a great festival. Those along the road will see the beautiful Lord, the very abode of all virtues, the son of Devakī.” Turning again to Akrūra, they cried, “Let the name Akrūra belong to one so pitiless! How cruel of him, to take away our dearest friend without offering us any comfort in our deep sorrow.” Their grief grew as they watched the preparations, “He, with a heart unmoved, mounts the chariot, urged on by the reckless. The cowherds, neglected by their elders, follow with their carts, while fate itself seems to turn against us today.” Desperate, they resolved, “Let us go and stop Mādhava! What can our elders and relatives do for us now, when fate itself has shattered our hearts—hearts that cannot bear even a half-blink’s separation from Mukunda?” They remembered Krishna’s love, “We, the gopīs, whose hearts were stolen by his loving smiles, enchanting words, playful glances, embraces, and the joys of the rāsa dance—how can we possibly cross this endless darkness of separation, even for a moment, without him?” They recalled the joy of his daily return, “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 at us with smiling eyes—how could we live if we were deprived of him?” Overcome, the women of Vraja, their minds absorbed in Krishna and tormented by separation, cast aside all shyness and wept aloud, crying out, “Govinda! Dāmodara! Mādhava!” As the sun rose, and their lamentations filled the air, Akrūra, having completed his friendly duties, urged the chariot onward. Nanda and the other cowherds followed with their carts, bringing many gifts—jars filled with the products of their beloved cows. The cowherd women, enchanted by Krishna, followed after him, longing for a sign from their Lord, and stood waiting in hope. Seeing their distress 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 chariot’s banner was visible and the dust of its wheels could be seen, the gopīs continued to follow, their hearts utterly fixed upon him, as if drawn by painted images. But when all hope of Govinda’s return was gone, they turned back. Free from sorrow, they spent their days singing of their beloved’s deeds. Meanwhile, Krishna, accompanied by Balarāma and Akrūra, rode swiftly in the chariot to the sacred, purifying waters of the Yamunā. There, after rinsing his mouth and drinking the clear, jewel-like water, Krishna entered a grove of trees with Balarāma and returned to the chariot. Akrūra, having bid them farewell, seated himself atop the chariot and went to the Yamunā’s pool to perform his ritual bathing. Immersing himself in the waters and reciting the eternal Brahman, Akrūra was suddenly graced with a wondrous vision: he saw Balarāma and Krishna together within the water. Startled, he wondered, “How are the sons of Devakī here in the water, when they should be on the chariot?” Rising from the water, he looked for them, and there they were, seated as before. Unsure if his vision was real or false, he submerged himself once more. Again, Akrūra beheld a divine spectacle. He saw the great Lord being praised by Siddhas, Charanas, Gandharvas, and Asuras, all bowing their heads and playing musical instruments. There, before him, was the divine one with a thousand heads, crowned with a thousand serpent hoods, clad in blue garments and shining white like snowy peaks. On his lap rested a dark, cloud-hued person, dressed in yellow silk, with four arms, peaceful and radiant, his eyes reddish like lotus petals. His face was serene and beautiful, adorned with a charming smile; his brows, nose, ears, cheeks, and lips were all lovely and tinged with red. His arms were long and full, his chest broad and splendid, his neck conch-like, 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 glowing, his feet gleaming like lotus flowers, adorned with nine toes and thumb-like digits. He was adorned with priceless jewels: a radiant crown, bracelets, armlets, sacred thread, waistband, garlands, anklets, and earrings. His lotus hands shone, holding the conch, discus, and mace; his chest bore the mark of Srivatsa, the luminous Kaustubha gem, and a garland of forest flowers. He was attended by Sunanda, Nanda, and other close associates, by the Sanaka sages, by the lords of the gods such as Brahmā and Rudra, and by nine foremost twice-born sages. Prahlāda, Nārada, Vasu, and other great devotees stood nearby, each praising him with pure hearts and spotless minds, each from their own perspective. He was served by Sri (fortune), Pushti (nourishment), speech, brilliance, fame, satisfaction, dissolution, victory, knowledge, ignorance, power, and illusion. Beholding this vision, Akrūra was filled with supreme devotion and delight; his body thrilled with joy, his heart overflowed with emotion, and his eyes became moist. With a choked voice, standing firm in goodness, Akrūra praised the Lord, bowing low with joined palms, slowly and with great care. Thus ends the thirty-ninth chapter, “Akrūra’s Return,” in the first half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the supreme scripture for the paramahaṃsas. Then, with deep reverence, 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. Yet these, beginning with the unmanifest, do not know your true nature, for they are grasped as not-self; even the unborn, bound by qualities to the unborn, knows only what is beyond qualities, not your true form.