All around, the land blossomed with flower-laden groves, echoing with the joyful songs of flocks of birds. The ponds were alive with graceful swans and cranes, and lotuses bloomed upon their waters, adding beauty to the scene. Into this paradise arrived Uddhava, the beloved companion of Krishna. Nanda, overjoyed to see someone so dear to Krishna, embraced Uddhava warmly, honoring him with the same devotion he held for Vāsudeva himself. He welcomed Uddhava with the finest hospitality—serving him the choicest foods, seating him on a soft, comfortable couch, and, when he saw that Uddhava’s weariness had faded, attending to his well-being with gentle foot massages and other caring services. With affection, Nanda inquired, “O fortunate one, is our friend, the son of Śūra, well? Is he surrounded by his family and children, free from troubles, and steadfast in his friendship?” Gratitude filled Nanda’s heart as he recalled, “By good fortune, the wicked Kaṃsa—who always hated the virtuous Yadus—has been slain, along with his followers, by the force of his own evil.” Nanda’s voice grew wistful. “Does Krishna still remember us—his mother, his friends, the cowherds, our village, his dear ones, the cows, Vrindavana, and the sacred hill? Will Govinda return, even once, to see his own people? If only we could behold that face of his again, with its fine nose and beautiful, smiling eyes.” He remembered all the dangers they had faced—forest fires, storms and rains, wild bulls and serpents, perils that seemed impossible to cross, even death itself. Through all these, Krishna, the supremely great soul, had protected them. “Whenever we recall Krishna’s heroic deeds, his playful glances, his laughter and words, O dear one, all our daily tasks fall away. Our minds become absorbed in those places—the rivers, mountains, and forests—marked by Mukunda’s footsteps, where we once saw him play.” Nanda reflected, “I believe Krishna and Rama, the best among the gods, came here for some great purpose of the gods, just as Garga once told us. Kaṃsa, whose strength was like ten thousand elephants, the wrestlers, and the lord of elephants—Krishna destroyed them all with ease, like a lion among 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, feared even by gods and demons, he slew here in play.” Śuka, the sage, narrates: Thus, as Nanda remembered again and again, his heart wholly devoted to Krishna, he became overwhelmed with longing and sat silent, overcome by the surge of love. Yaśodā, listening to stories of her son’s deeds, felt her eyes fill with tears, and her breasts, flowing with motherly affection, became wet. Seeing such supreme love for Krishna in Nanda and Yaśodā, Uddhava was filled with joy. He spoke to Nanda, “You two are truly the most praiseworthy among all beings, O bestowers of honor, for your minds are so steadfastly fixed upon Nārāyaṇa, the teacher of all. For 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 even an impure mind is fixed for a moment at the time of death, swiftly removes the store of karma. Radiant as the sun and full of Brahman, he leads one to the supreme path. In Nārāyaṇa, the cause of all, who has taken mortal form for the sake of all souls—since you have set your hearts so deeply upon him, what greater merit could there be for you?” He reassured them, “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 the Sātvatas, in the midst of the arena, whatever Krishna promised you when he last 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 spoke of Krishna’s true nature: “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. 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.” Uddhava reminded them, “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.” As Uddhava and Nanda spoke through the night, dawn approached. The cowherd women of Vraja arose, examined their lamps, worshipped the household deities, and began to churn the curds. As they worked, their bracelets and garlands shone; their hips, breasts, necklaces, and earrings moved with their efforts, their cheeks radiant and faces adorned with red kumkum. The women of Vraja sang of the lotus-eyed Krishna, their voices rising to touch the heavens. Mingled with the sound of churning curds, their song dispelled all inauspiciousness from every direction. When the sun rose and the Lord appeared, the residents of Vraja gathered at Nanda’s door. They saw a golden chariot and wondered aloud, “Whose is this? Has Akrura arrived, or someone else, who fulfills Kaṃsa’s purpose—by whom Krishna, the lotus-eyed one, was taken to Mathura? What atonement will he accomplish for us, for the pleasure of our master?” As the women spoke thus, Uddhava, having performed his morning rites, arrived. The women of Vraja beheld Krishna’s companion—long-armed, with fresh lotus eyes, clad in yellow, adorned with a garland of lotuses, his face like a blooming lotus, his earrings shining. They said, “We know you as the attendant of the Yadu lord, come here, sent by the master, to do something dear for his parents. Otherwise, we cannot imagine any reason for him to be remembered in Vraja; the bond of affection among kin is hard to renounce, even for a sage.