After Krishna had slain Kamsa, the enemy of all the Sātvatas, right there in the arena, he made you a promise when he met you. Rest assured, whatever Krishna vowed, he will certainly fulfill. So do not grieve, O greatly fortunate ones; soon you will see Krishna nearby. Know that he dwells within the hearts of all beings, like a radiant light hidden within the vastness of ether. Krishna, in truth, has no one whom he favors or dislikes. He recognizes no superior or inferior, no equal or unequal, for he is the same to all. He has neither mother nor father, nor wife nor sons, nor any others. He is not bound by the idea of “his own” or “another,” nor by body or birth. He is untouched by any action in this world of mixed good and bad; yet, for the sake of his divine play, he appears among us, protecting the virtuous. Though he is beyond all qualities, he assumes the modes of goodness, passion, and darkness—playing with them, he creates, sustains, and dissolves the worlds, though he himself is ever unborn. Just as, when seen through the vision of a bee, things appear to whirl and tremble, so too does the mind imagine the self as the doer, though it is only an illusion of agency. O blessed ones, Krishna is not your son alone. Lord Hari is the son, the self, the father, and the mother of all; he is the true ruler. Whatever is seen or heard, past, present, or future; stable or moving, great or small—apart from the true essence of the infallible, nothing is worth mentioning. He alone is everything, the Supreme Self. Thus, as these words were spoken, the night passed for Nanda, Krishna’s close companion. At dawn, the women of Vraja rose, examined the lamps, worshipped the household deities, and began to churn the curds. Their bracelets and garlands shone as they pulled the ropes, their hips and breasts swaying, necklaces and earrings gently moving, their cheeks radiant and faces adorned with red kumkum. As they worked, the women of Vraja sang of the lotus-eyed Krishna. Their voices, blending with the rhythmic sound of churning curds, seemed to touch the heavens, dispelling all inauspiciousness from every direction. 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 aloud, “Whose chariot is this?” They questioned whether Akrura had returned, or if someone else had arrived on Kamsa’s behalf—the very one by whom Krishna, the lotus-eyed, was taken to Mathurā. They wondered what atonement such a person might perform for their master’s pleasure. As the women spoke thus, Uddhava, having finished his morning rites, arrived. The women of Vraja gazed upon Krishna’s companion. Uddhava was long-armed, with eyes fresh as lotus petals, clad in yellow garments, adorned with a garland of lotuses. His face bloomed like a lotus, his earrings shining brightly. They recognized him at once: “We know you as the attendant of the Yadu lord, sent here by the master to do something dear for his parents. Otherwise, what reason could there be for him to remember Vraja? The bond of affection among kin is hard to renounce, even for a sage. Friendship with others exists only as long as it serves a purpose, like the bond between men and women, or bees and flowers. The destitute are abandoned by prostitutes; a king who loses power is forsaken by his subjects; students leave their teacher once they have learned; priests depart after receiving their fee. Birds leave a tree once the fruit is gone; guests depart from a house after eating; deer abandon a forest once it is burned; lovers leave a woman after enjoying her.” Thus, the gopīs, whose words, bodies, and minds were wholly absorbed in Govinda, set aside all worldly concerns when Uddhava, Krishna’s messenger, arrived. They sang of Krishna’s beloved deeds and wept openly, recalling again and again the enchanting acts of his childhood and youth. One gopī, seeing a honeybee and lost in thoughts of union with Krishna, imagined the bee as a messenger sent by her beloved and spoke: “O bee, companion of the deceitful one, do not touch the feet of my rival. The garland, smeared with 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 Yadus’ assembly. “After giving us but once the nectar of his lips, enchanting us, he abandoned us as a flower is left behind. How does Padmā serve his lotus feet, whose mind is stolen by the praises of the glorious one? 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 the pain of their breasts and granted them their desires. “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; even among the wretched, the name of the glorious one is heard. “Take 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. What trust can we place in him? “Like hunters pursuing the king of monkeys, he wounded women who were unprotected and deformed by love, conquered by desire. Even Bali, though powerful, was bound like a bird. Enough of friendship with the dark one; the topics of his deeds are hard to abandon. “Those who once tasted the nectar of his playful acts, hearing them just once, were freed from all dualities and abandoned their homes and families, 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. “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, his bride, always 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?” Hearing their longing for Krishna, Uddhava comforted the gopīs with loving messages and spoke: “Ah, you are truly 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. By your great fortune, you have established supreme devotion to the Lord of exalted fame—a devotion that is difficult even for sages to attain. By destiny, you have abandoned sons, husbands, bodies, relatives, and homes, and chosen that Supreme Person known as Krishna. The state of complete absorption in the Transcendent, O greatly fortunate ones, has arisen in you through separation; by this, you have bestowed a great favor upon me.