As Yaśodā listened to the stories of her beloved son Krishna’s wondrous deeds, her heart overflowed with affection. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her motherly love was so deep that her breasts became wet with the milk of longing and care. Observing this boundless love for Krishna in both Nanda and Yaśodā, Uddhava, who had come to Vraja as Krishna’s messenger, was filled with joy. With reverence, he addressed Nanda. He said, “O most honorable ones, among all living beings, you are truly the most praiseworthy. For your minds are steadfastly fixed on Nārāyaṇa, the supreme teacher of all. Know that Rāma and Mukunda are the very source and womb of the universe—the supreme Person and the Primal Matter. In all beings, they are the ancient lords of wisdom and mastery, distinct and exalted beyond all else. “Even if, at the final moment of life, a person’s mind—however impure—rests for but a moment on him, the Lord swiftly removes the burden of their karma. Radiant as the sun, full of Brahman, he leads such a soul to the highest path. Since you have set your hearts so deeply upon Nārāyaṇa, the cause of all, who has taken a human form for the sake of all souls, what greater merit could there be for you, O blessed ones? “Be assured, within a short time, Acyuta—the Lord of the Sātvatas—will come to Vraja and bring joy to his parents. After slaying Kamsa, who was the enemy of the Sātvatas, in the midst of the arena, Krishna will certainly fulfill whatever promises he made to you when last you met. Therefore, do not grieve, O most fortunate among parents. You will see Krishna nearby, for he dwells within the hearts of all beings, like a light shining in the vastness of space. “Know that for him who truly exists, there is no one dear or disliked, no one superior or inferior, no equal or unequal; he is equal to all. He has neither mother nor father, nor wife, sons, or others; no one is his own or another’s, nor does he have body or birth. He performs no action in this world, untouched by good or bad, yet for the sake of divine play, he appears to protect the virtuous. “Though beyond all qualities, he assumes the modes of goodness, passion, and darkness, and, playing with them, creates, maintains, and destroys, though he himself is unborn. Just as an object appears to whirl and tremble when seen through the eyes of a bee, so too, in the mind, the self is remembered as the doer only by the notion of agency. “Indeed, O blessed ones, he is not your son alone. Lord Hari is the son, the self, the father, and the mother of all beings; he is the supreme ruler. Whatever is seen or heard, past, present, or future, stable or moving, great or small—apart from the true substance of the infallible Lord—none of it is worth speaking of. He alone is everything, the Supreme Self.” As Uddhava and Nanda thus spoke through the night, the hours passed quietly for Nanda, Krishna’s dear companion. With the coming of dawn, the cowherd women of Vraja awoke. They examined their lamps, worshipped the household deities, and began to churn the curds. Adorned with bracelets and garlands, they pulled the ropes with graceful movements—their hips, breasts, necklaces, and earrings all swaying. Their cheeks shone, their faces brightened with red kumkum, and as they sang of the lotus-eyed Krishna, their voices seemed to reach the heavens. Their melodies, mingled with the rhythmic sound of churning, dispelled all inauspiciousness from every direction. When the sun rose and the Lord appeared, the residents of Vraja gathered at Nanda’s door. There, they beheld a golden chariot and wondered aloud, “Whose chariot is this? Is it Akrura, or someone else sent by Kamsa, by whom Krishna, our lotus-eyed darling, was taken to Mathura? What atonement will he perform for us, for the sake of our beloved Krishna?” As the women spoke thus, Uddhava, having completed his morning rites, arrived. The women of Vraja saw Krishna’s companion approaching—tall and long-armed, with eyes as fresh as lotuses, clad in yellow garments, adorned with a garland of lotuses, his face radiant like a blooming lotus, his earrings shining brightly. They recognized him at once. “We know you,” they said, “as the attendant of the Yadu lord, sent here by our master to do something dear for his parents. Otherwise, why else would he be remembered in Vraja? The bonds of kinship are hard to renounce, even for a sage.” They reflected further, “Friendship with others is made for some purpose, and it lasts only as long as that purpose remains—just as men with women, or bees with flowers. The destitute are abandoned by prostitutes; subjects forsake a powerless king; students leave their teacher once the lesson is learned; priests depart after receiving their fee. Birds fly away from a tree once its fruit is gone; guests depart after eating; deer abandon a forest when it is burned; lovers leave a woman after their pleasure is taken.” Yet, for the gopīs, whose words, bodies, and minds were wholly absorbed in Govinda, all worldly concerns faded when Uddhava, Krishna’s messenger, arrived. They sang of Krishna’s beloved deeds and wept, unashamed, their hearts aching as they remembered again and again the sweet acts of his childhood and youth. One gopī, seeing a honeybee and lost in thoughts of union with Krishna, imagined the bee to be his messenger and spoke to it: “O bee, companion of the deceitful, do not touch the feet of my rival. Her garland, stained with the pollen from her breasts, has colored your whiskers. Let the lord of bees carry the favor of those proud women, for you are his messenger, fit to be mocked in the assembly of the Yadus. “After giving us but once the nectar of his lips and enchanting us, he abandoned us as one discards a flower. How does Padmā serve at his lotus feet, she whose mind is so easily stolen by his praise? Why do you, six-legged one, sing here of the lord of the Yadus, the ancient master of our homes? Go sing of his exploits among his friends in victory, for he has healed their pain and granted their desires. “What women, in heaven, on earth, or in the underworld, are unattainable to him, whose charming smile and playful brows deceive all? We, who are but humble worshippers of the dust of his feet, are indeed lowly; yet even among the wretched, the name of the glorious one is heard. Remove his foot from your head; I know his sweet words. You come, skilled in persuasion, as his messenger. He has abandoned his wives and children here—those he himself created—and left without a care. How can we trust him? “Like hunters who pursued the king of monkeys, he wounded women who were unprotected and deformed by love, conquered by desire. Even Bali, though mighty, was bound like a bird. Enough of friendship with the dark one; yet, the stories of his deeds are impossible to abandon. “Those who have tasted the nectar drops of his playful acts, even once, are freed from all dualities and abandon home and family, though left destitute. Many here, like birds, wander as mendicants. We, trusting his crooked words as nectar, were as naïve as chicks listening to their mother’s call. We are Krishna’s wives, like deer, helpless. Again and again, we recall the intense pain from the touch of his nails. Tell us some other news, O messenger. “Dear friend, have you come, sent by our beloved? Tell me, what do you seek? You are worthy of honor, gentle one. How will you bring us to the side of the one who cannot be abandoned, when Lakshmi herself forever dwells upon his chest?” Thus, in Vraja, the night gave way to morning, and the hearts of Krishna’s parents and devotees overflowed with longing, love, and the bittersweet memories of their beloved Lord.