On that fateful day, the air in Vraja was heavy with anticipation and sorrow. The gopīs, their hearts bound in love for Krishna, spoke among themselves, "Today, surely, the Daśārhas, Bhojas, Andhakas, Vṛṣṇis, and Sātvatas will celebrate a great festival. Those traveling the roads will behold the beautiful Lord, the very abode of all virtues, the son of Devakī." Yet, their joy was overshadowed by anguish. "Let the name Akrūra be given to one so pitiless as this!" they lamented. "How cruel, that he, without comforting us in our deep sorrow, will take away our dearest friend." With pain in their voices, they continued, "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." Desperate, they resolved, "Let us go and stop Mādhava! What good are our elders and relatives to us now, when, by fate, our hearts—unable to bear even the briefest separation from Mukunda—are now shattered?" Their minds raced with memories: "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?" They remembered, too, the evenings when Krishna, the friend of Ananta, would return to Vraja at dusk, surrounded by cowherds, his hair dusted by their hooves, playing his flute, casting smiling glances upon them. "How could we live if we were deprived of him?" they wondered, hearts aching. Thus, the women of Vraja, their minds wholly absorbed in Krishna and tormented by separation, cast off all shyness and wept aloud, crying out, "Govinda! Dāmodara! Mādhava!" Their voices rose with the sun, and as dawn broke, 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 their beloved cows. The cowherd women, enchanted by Krishna, followed after him, longing for a sign from their Lord, and stood waiting, their eyes searching for his glance. 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 banner of the chariot was visible and the dust could still be seen, they continued to follow, their hearts drawn to him, as if enchanted by painted images. But when hope of Govinda's return was lost, the gopīs turned back. Yet, free from sorrow, they spent their days singing of their beloved's deeds, keeping him always alive in their hearts. Meanwhile, Krishna, accompanied by Balarama and Akrūra, rode swiftly in the chariot to the purifying waters of the Yamuna river. There, after rinsing his mouth and drinking the clear, jewel-like water, Krishna approached a grove of trees with Balarama and returned to the chariot. Akrūra, having bid them farewell and seated himself atop the chariot, went to the Yamuna's pool to perform ritual bathing. Immersing himself in those sacred waters and reciting the eternal Brahman, Akrūra was granted a wondrous vision: he saw Rama and Krishna together within the river. Amazed, he wondered, "How are the sons of Devakī here in the water, when they should be on the chariot?" Rising from the waters, he looked for them, and there they were, as before, seated on the chariot. Uncertain whether his vision was true, he submerged himself once more. Again, a divine sight unfolded before him. He saw the great Lord being praised by Siddhas, Charanas, Gandharvas, and Asuras, all bowing their heads and 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. Upon his lap rested a dark, cloud-hued person, dressed in yellow silk, four-armed, peaceful, with lotus-petal reddish eyes. Akrūra gazed upon the Lord's beautiful, serene face, adorned with a charming smile, his brows, nose, ears, cheeks, and lips all lovely and tinged with red. His arms were long and full, his chest broad and splendid, his neck like a conch, his navel deep, and his abdomen marked with delicate folds. 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, his feet, adorned with nine toes and thumb-like digits, gleamed like lotus flowers. He was adorned with priceless jewels: a 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 Śrīvatsa, the radiant Kaustubha gem, and a garland of forest flowers. Attending him were Sunanda, Nanda, and other associates, the Sanaka sages, lords of the gods such as Brahmā and Rudra, and nine foremost twice-born sages. Prahlāda, Nārada, Vasu, and other great devotees offered him praise, each from their own perspective, their hearts pure and spotless. He was served by Sri (fortune), Puṣṭi (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 were moist with tears. With a choked voice, standing firm in goodness, he bowed low with joined palms and, slowly and with care, began to praise the Lord. He said, "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. Yogis worship you directly as the Supreme Person, the Lord, O righteous one, as the principle within the self, within beings, and within the gods. Some twice-born, following the Vedic path, worship you through the threefold Veda, with elaborate sacrifices of many forms and names. Others, having renounced all actions and attained tranquility, worship you, the embodiment of knowledge, through the sacrifice of wisdom. Still others, purified in mind and following prescribed rites, worship you, who are composed of all, as the one with many forms and yet a single form." Thus ends the sacred chapter, 'Akrūra's Return,' in the first half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the supreme scripture for the paramahaṃsas.