As the sun was setting, Uddhava, the illustrious companion of Krishna, arrived at the village of Nanda in Vraja. The air was thick with the golden dust raised by the hooves of countless cattle returning home, so much so that his chariot was hidden from view. All around, the deep bellowing of strong bulls echoed as they competed for the attention of the cows, while the plaintive cries of calves, eager for their mothers heavy with milk, filled the evening air. The pastures and lanes of Vraja were alive with white calves leaping about, and the gentle sounds of milking mingled with the sweet melodies of flutes. Here and there, the gopīs, beautifully adorned, joined with the cowherd men in singing the auspicious deeds of Balarāma and Krishna, making the entire village resplendent with their voices. Within this delightful settlement, sacred rituals were being performed everywhere—for the fire, the sun, honored guests, cows, brāhmaṇas, ancestors, and the gods. The fragrance of incense, the glow of lamps, and garlands of flowers adorned every home. All around bloomed groves heavy with flowers, their beauty enhanced by the songs of flocks of birds. Ponds, full of swans, cranes, and blossoming lotuses, added to the serene charm of Vraja. When Uddhava arrived, Nanda, the head of the cowherds and Krishna’s beloved foster-father, came forward to greet him. Overjoyed to see Krishna’s dear friend, Nanda embraced Uddhava warmly and honored him with the same devotion he felt for Vāsudeva himself. Uddhava was offered the finest food and seated comfortably on a soft couch. When Nanda saw that Uddhava’s fatigue had vanished, he inquired after his well-being, offering services such as foot massages and other marks of respect. “O fortunate one,” Nanda asked, “is our friend, the son of Śūra, well? Is he surrounded by his family and children, free from troubles, and steadfast in his friendship? By good fortune, the wicked Kaṃsa, who always hated the virtuous and righteous Yadus, has been slain along with his followers by his own evil. But—does Krishna still remember us? His mother, his friends, the cowherds, the village, his own dear ones, the cows, Vrindavana, and the hill?” Nanda’s voice grew wistful. “Will Govinda return, even once, to see his own people? Then we shall behold that face of his, with its fine nose and beautiful, smiling eyes. From forest fires, storms and rains, wild bulls and serpents, and from dangers impossible to cross—even from death itself—we were protected by Krishna, the supremely great soul. When we remember Krishna’s heroic deeds, his playful glances, his laughter and speech, O dear one, all our activities become slack. Our minds become absorbed in those places—rivers, mountains, and forests—adorned by Mukunda’s footsteps, where we saw him play.” Nanda continued, “I think Krishna and Rama, the best among the gods, have come here for some great purpose of the gods, just as Garga said. Kaṃsa, whose strength was like ten thousand elephants, the wrestlers, and the lord of elephants—he destroyed them all effortlessly, as a lion does beasts. He broke the three mighty palm trees, strong as a great bow, with one hand, and for seven days he held up the mountain. Pralamba, Dhenuka, Arishta, Trinavarta, Baka, and others—these demons, conquerors of gods and demons, were slain by him here in play.” Śuka, the sage, narrates that as Nanda remembered again and again Krishna’s wondrous deeds, his heart, devoted to Krishna, became overwhelmed with longing. He sat silent, overcome by the surge of love. Yaśodā, too, as she listened to the stories of her son’s deeds, found her eyes brimming with tears, and her breasts, flowing with affection, became wet. Seeing such supreme love for Krishna in Nanda and Yaśodā, Uddhava was filled with joy and addressed them with deep reverence. “You two are surely the most praiseworthy among all embodied beings, O bestowers of honor, for your minds are fixed in this way upon Nārāyaṇa, the teacher of all. For these two—Rāma and Mukunda—are the seed and womb of the universe: the Person and the Primal Matter. In all beings, they are the ancient lords of knowledge and mastery, distinct from all else.” Uddhava continued, “He, in whom, at the time of death, a person fixes even an impure mind for a moment, who swiftly removes the store of karma—he, radiant as the sun and full of Brahman, leads one to the supreme path. In him, Nārāyaṇa, cause of all, who has taken a mortal form for the sake of all souls—since you have set your hearts so deeply, O great ones, what greater merit could there be for you?” He offered reassurance: “Within a short time, Acyuta, the Lord of the Sātvatas, will come to Vraja and bring joy to his parents. Having slain Kaṃsa, the enemy of all the Sātvatas, in the midst of the arena, whatever Krishna promised you when he met you, he will surely fulfill. Do not grieve, O greatly fortunate ones; you will see Krishna nearby. He dwells within the hearts of all beings, like a light within the ether.” Uddhava explained further, “For him who exists in reality, there is no one dear nor anyone disliked; neither superior nor inferior, nor equal nor unequal, for he is the same to all. He has neither mother nor father, nor wife nor sons and others; neither his own nor another, nor body nor birth at all. Nor does he have any action in this world among the mixed sources of good and bad; even so, for the sake of play, he appears for the protection of the virtuous. Though beyond qualities, he assumes the modes of goodness, passion, and darkness; playing with them, he creates, maintains, and destroys, though unborn.” He continued with a gentle analogy: “Just as, by the vision of the bee, something appears to whirl and be greatly agitated, so, in the mind, the self is remembered as the doer by the notion of agency. Indeed, he is not your son alone, O blessed ones; the Lord Hari is the son, the self, the father, and the mother of all, he is the ruler. Whatever is seen, heard, past, present, or future; stable or moving, great or small—apart from the true substance of the infallible, nothing is worth speaking of; he alone is everything, the Supreme Self.” Thus, as they spoke through the night, the hours passed for Nanda and Krishna’s companion, Uddhava. At dawn, the cowherd women rose, checked the lamps, worshipped the household deities, and began to churn the curds. They shone with bracelets and garlands as they pulled the ropes; their hips, breasts, necklaces, and earrings swayed, their cheeks radiant and their faces adorned with red kumkum. As these women of Vraja sang of the lotus-eyed one, their voices seemed to touch the heavens. Their singing, mingled with the sound of churning curds, dispelled all inauspiciousness from the directions. When the sun rose and the Lord appeared, the residents of Vraja gathered at Nanda’s door. There, they saw a golden chariot and wondered amongst themselves, “Whose is this?