The people of Vraja, hearts heavy with longing, wondered aloud: “Will Govinda return, even once, to see his own people?” They yearned to behold his radiant face, with its fine nose and beautiful, smiling eyes. Memories flooded their minds—how Krishna, the supremely great soul, had protected them from forest fires, storms and rains, wild bulls, serpents, and dangers impossible to cross—even from death itself. Whenever they remembered Krishna’s heroic deeds, his playful glances, his laughter and speech, all their daily activities seemed to lose their importance and energy. Their minds became absorbed in those sacred places—rivers, mountains, and forests—adorned by Mukunda’s footsteps, where they had seen him play. Some among them reflected, “I think Krishna and Rama, the best among the gods, have come here for some great purpose of the gods, just as Garga said.” They recalled how Krishna had effortlessly destroyed Kamsa, whose strength was like ten thousand elephants, along with the wrestlers and the lord of elephants, just as a lion destroys beasts. He had broken three mighty palm trees, strong as a great bow, with one hand, and held up the mountain for seven days. Pralamba, Dhenuka, Arishta, Trinavarta, Baka, and other demons—conquerors of gods and demons—had been slain by him here, all as part of his playful pastimes. As these memories washed over them, Nanda, whose mind was wholly devoted to Krishna, became overwhelmed with longing and sat silent, overcome by the surge of love. Yaśodā listened to tales of her son’s deeds, her eyes filling with tears and her breasts wet with affection. Witnessing such supreme love for Krishna in Nanda and Yaśodā, Uddhava was filled with joy and spoke to Nanda: “You two are surely the most praiseworthy among all embodied beings, 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. 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? Within a short time, Acyuta, the Lord of the Sātvatas, will come to Vraja and bring joy to his parents. Having slain Kamsa, 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. 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. 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, the night passed for Nanda, Krishna’s companion. The cowherd women arose, examined 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 moving, cheeks radiant, faces adorned with red kumkum. As the women of Vraja sang of the lotus-eyed one, their voices seemed to touch the heavens; mingled with the sound of churning curds, their singing dispelled all inauspiciousness from the directions. When the sun rose and the Lord appeared, the residents of Vraja gathered at Nanda’s door and saw a golden chariot. They asked, “Whose is this? Is Akrura arrived, or someone else, who fulfills Kamsa’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. Seeing Krishna’s companion, the Vraja women beheld him—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. Friendship with others is made for some purpose, as long as the purpose lasts; as men make with women, just as bees do with flowers. The destitute are abandoned by prostitutes; subjects forsake a king who is powerless; students leave a teacher once the knowledge is learned; priests depart after receiving their fee. Birds leave a tree once its fruit is gone; guests depart from a house after eating; deer abandon a forest when it is burned; lovers leave a woman after enjoying her.” Thus, the gopīs, whose words, bodies, and minds were absorbed in Govinda, renounced worldly concerns when Krishna’s messenger, Uddhava, arrived. They sang of his beloved deeds and wept, unashamed, recalling again and again the acts of his childhood and youth.