As Uddhava stood before the gopīs in the forest of Vraja, he witnessed the depth of their longing for Krishna. One of the gopīs, her heart wounded by separation, turned to a buzzing bee near her feet and spoke bitterly, “O bee, companion of the deceitful, do not touch the feet of my rival. Your whiskers are stained with the pollen from her garland, the mark of her favor. Go, let the lord of bees carry the pride of those women you serve, for you are his messenger—fit only to be mocked among the Yadus.” Her voice trembled as she continued, “He gave us but once the nectar of his lips, enchanting us, and then abandoned us as easily as one discards a flower. How does Padmā, the goddess Lakshmi, serve at his lotus feet, when his mind is stolen by the praises of the glorious?” Looking at the bee, she scolded, “Why do you, six-legged one, sing here of the lord of the Yadus, the ancient master of our homes? Go sing of his victories among his friends, for he has healed the hearts of their women, granting them their desires.” She sighed, “What women, in heaven, on earth, or in the underworld, are beyond his reach? His charming smile and playful brows deceive all. We are humble, our only fortune to worship the dust of his feet. Even among the wretched, his name is heard.” “Take his foot from your head,” she said sharply to the bee, “for I know his sweet words. He sends you, skilled in persuasion, as his messenger. He abandoned his wives and children here, whom he created himself, and left without concern. What trust can be placed in him?” Her pain deepened as she recalled, “Like hunters chasing the king of monkeys, he wounded us—women unprotected and deformed by love, conquered by desire. Even the mighty Bali was bound like a bird. Enough of friendship with the dark one; yet, the stories of his deeds are impossible to abandon.” She added, “Those who once tasted the nectar of his playful acts, even hearing them just once, were freed from all dualities and abandoned their homes and families, though left destitute. Many here, like birds, wander as mendicants.” “We,” she confessed, “trusting his crooked words as nectar, ignorant as chicks listening to their mother, are Krishna’s wives, like deer. Again and again, we recall the intense pain from his touch. Tell us other news, O messenger.” Then, softening, she addressed the bee, “Dear friend, have you returned, sent by the beloved? Tell me, what do you seek? You are worthy of honor, O 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?” Her voice grew wistful, “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, the sage, then explained that Uddhava, hearing the gopīs’ words, was moved by their pure devotion and sought to comfort them with loving messages from Krishna. Uddhava spoke with reverence, “O gopīs, you are truly fulfilled and honored in the 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 sought. But by your good fortune, you have established the highest devotion to the Lord—a devotion difficult even for great sages to attain. By destiny, you have abandoned sons, husbands, bodies, relatives, and homes, and chosen that Supreme Person known as Krishna.” He continued, “Your complete absorption in the Transcendent, O greatly fortunate ones, has arisen through separation from him; by this, you have bestowed a great favor upon me. Listen now to the dear message, bringing you happiness, which I have brought in secret from your beloved husband.” Uddhava then conveyed Krishna’s own words to the gopīs: “My separation from you is never complete, for I am present in all beings, just as space, air, fire, water, and earth pervade all things. I am the foundation of mind, life-breath, elements, senses, and their qualities. By My own power, I create, sustain, and destroy Myself, as the essence of all elements, senses, and their qualities.” He explained, “The Self is pure knowledge, distinct, and not bound by qualities; yet, through illusion, it appears to move through deep sleep, dream, and waking states. By that which contemplates the objects of the senses—arising falsely like a dream—one should restrain the senses, remaining ever wakeful and self-possessed.” “This is the inner teaching,” Krishna’s message continued, “the yoga and wisdom of the wise: renunciation, austerity, self-control, and truth, flowing like rivers to the ocean. Though I, your beloved, appear to be far away, it is to draw your minds closer to Me, out of longing for constant remembrance. When the beloved is far, the mind dwells upon him; but when he is near and visible, the heart is not as absorbed. Fix your entire mind on Me, freed from all other attachments, and remembering Me always, you will soon attain Me. Even those blessed ones who could not join the dance with Me here in Vraja attained Me, for they meditated upon My deeds.” Śuka resumed, “Hearing these words from their beloved, the women of Vraja were filled with joy. They spoke to Uddhava, recalling the message he had brought.” The gopīs said, “By fortune, wicked Kaṁsa, the enemy of the Yadus, has been slain; by fortune, Acyuta is now safe, having achieved all His aims with His kin. O gentle one, does the elder brother of Gadā, honored by the loving, bashful, smiling glances of the city women, bring them joy? How could He, who knows the subtleties of love and is dear to the women of the city, not be captivated by their words and playful gestures?” They wondered, “O noble one, does Govinda ever remember us, the village women, in the midst of the city ladies, during their intimate conversations? Do you remember those nights when he delighted with his beloveds in Vrindavan, amidst the beauty of lotus, jasmine, and moonlight, enjoying the rasa dance with the tinkling of anklets, and sometimes charming us with delightful stories?” Longing filled their voices, “Will the descendant of Dasharha return here, afflicted by the sorrow caused by his own actions, and revive us with his touch, just as Indra rejuvenates the forest with rain? Why would Krishna come here, having attained his kingdom and destroyed his enemies, after marrying royal maidens and being surrounded by all his dear friends?” They reflected, “What purpose could we forest dwellers or others serve for the great soul, the Lord of Lakshmi, who has fulfilled all desires and is accomplished within himself? Indeed, supreme happiness lies in freedom from expectation, as Pingala the courtesan declared; yet, even knowing this, our hope in Krishna is difficult to abandon.” “Who could bear to give up communion with the glorified Lord, even unwillingly, when fortune never departs from his limbs? These rivers, mountains, forests, cows, and the sound of the flute—all have been traversed by Krishna, accompanied by Sankarshana. Again and again, the abodes of Lakshmi remind us of Nanda’s son; by those footprints, we are unable to forget him. With his graceful walk, noble laughter, playful glances, and sweet speech, he has captivated our minds—how could we ever forget him?” Thus, their words revealed the depth of their love and longing, their devotion unbroken by time or distance, their hearts forever tied to Krishna, the Lord of their lives.