As the night deepened in Vraja, words of wisdom and comfort were spoken to the cowherd folk, whose hearts ached with longing for Krishna. “Even if, at the moment of death, a person fixes the mind—however impure—on Him, the radiant Lord who is full of Brahman, that Lord swiftly destroys the store of karma and leads the soul to the supreme path. He is like the sun, shining forth and dispelling all darkness.” It was then said to the assembled elders, “You have set your hearts so deeply on Nārāyaṇa, the cause of all, who has assumed a mortal form for the sake of every soul. What greater merit could there be for you, O noble ones? Before long, Acyuta, the Lord of the Sātvatas, will return to Vraja and gladden the hearts of his parents.” They were reminded, “Having slain Kamsa, the enemy of the Sātvatas, in the very midst of the arena, Krishna will surely fulfill whatever promises he made to you when last he met you. Do not grieve, O most fortunate souls; you will see Krishna nearby. He dwells within the hearts of all beings, like a light shining in the vastness of space.” The words continued, “For the one who truly exists, there is no one dear or disliked, no superior or inferior, no equal or unequal; he is the same to all. He has no mother or father, no wife or sons, no one is his own or another’s, nor does he possess body or birth. He performs no action in this world of mixed good and evil; 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, sustains, and destroys, though he himself is unborn.” They reflected, “Just as a bee’s whirling vision makes things seem to spin, so the mind, imagining itself as the doer, remembers the self as the agent. But truly, he is not your son alone, O blessed ones. Lord Hari is the son, the self, the father, and the mother of all; he is the supreme ruler.” They were reminded of the truth, “Whatever is seen or heard, past, present, or future; whether 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 these sacred words were exchanged, the night passed for Nanda, Krishna’s dear companion. With dawn, the women of Vraja rose, examined the lamps, worshipped the household deities, and began to churn the curds. As they pulled the ropes, their bracelets and garlands shone, their hips and breasts swayed, necklaces and earrings danced, and their cheeks glowed, faces adorned with red kumkum. The women of Vraja sang of the lotus-eyed Krishna, their voices rising to the heavens and mingling with the sound of churning. Their song dispelled all inauspiciousness from every direction. As the sun rose and the Lord appeared, the people of Vraja gathered at Nanda’s door and beheld a golden chariot. They wondered, “Whose chariot is this? Has Akrura arrived, or someone else serving Kamsa’s purpose, by whom Krishna, the lotus-eyed one, was taken to Mathura? What atonement will he seek for us, for the pleasure of our master?” While the women spoke thus, Uddhava, having completed his morning rites, arrived. The women of Vraja saw Uddhava—Krishna’s companion—tall and long-armed, with fresh lotus eyes, clad in yellow, adorned with a garland of lotuses, his face blooming like a lotus, his earrings shining. They recognized him, saying, “We know you as the attendant of the Yadu lord, sent by the master to do something dear for his parents. Otherwise, why would Krishna be remembered in Vraja? The bond of kinship is hard to renounce, even for a sage.” They spoke of the ways of the world, “Friendships are formed for some purpose, and last only as long as that purpose endures—like the bond between men and women, or bees and flowers. The destitute are abandoned by prostitutes, subjects forsake a powerless king, students leave their teacher once knowledge is gained, and priests depart after receiving their fee. Birds leave a tree when its fruit is gone, guests depart after eating, deer abandon a forest when it burns, and lovers leave a woman after enjoying her.” Yet, despite these truths, the gopīs, whose words, bodies, and minds were absorbed in Govinda, cast aside all worldly concerns as Krishna’s messenger, Uddhava, arrived. They sang of Krishna’s beloved deeds and wept openly, recalling again and again his childhood and youthful pastimes. One gopī, seeing a honeybee and thinking of Krishna, imagined it to be his messenger and spoke: “O bee, companion of the deceitful, do not touch the feet of my rival. The garland, tinged with the pollen from her breasts, stains 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.” She continued, “He gave us but once the nectar of his lips, enchanting us, and then abandoned us as a flower is left behind. How does Padmā serve his lotus feet, whose mind is captured by the praises of the glorious one? Why do you, O 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, granting them their desires.” She lamented, “What women in heaven, on earth, or in the underworld are unattainable to him, whose charming smile and playful brows deceive? We, whose fortune is to worship the dust of his feet, are but humble; yet even among the wretched, his name is heard. Remove his foot from your head; I know his sweet words. He sends you, skilled in persuasion, as his messenger. He has abandoned his wives and children here, whom he himself created, and left without concern. How can we trust him?” She recalled, “Like hunters pursuing the king of monkeys, he wounded women unprotected and deformed by love, conquered by desire. Even Bali, though powerful, was bound like a bird. Enough of friendship with the dark one—though the stories of his deeds are hard to abandon.” She confessed, “Those who once tasted the nectar of his playful acts, hearing them but once, were freed from all dualities and left home and family, though destitute. Many here, like birds, wander as mendicants. We, trusting his crooked words as nectar, ignorant as chicks listening to their mother’s call, are Krishna’s wives, like deer. Again and again we recall the intense pain from his nail’s touch. Let other news be told, O messenger.” She asked, “Dear friend, have you returned, sent by the 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 ever dwells upon his chest? Is the noble son now in Mathurā? Does he remember his father’s house, his kin, and the cowherds? Does he ever speak of us, his servants? When will he place his mighty, fragrant arm upon our heads?” Śuka then said: Uddhava, hearing their deep longing for Krishna, comforted the gopīs with loving messages and spoke to them, “Truly, you are fulfilled and honored in this world, for you have devoted your minds entirely to Vāsudeva, the Lord. By vows, austerity, sacrifice, recitation, study, self-restraint, and many other means, devotion to Krishna is attained.