As Uddhava stood before the gopīs of Vraja, one of them, her heart aching with longing, spoke with a mixture of pain and wisdom. “Take his foot from your head,” she said, her voice trembling. “I know the sweetness of his words. He sends you, so skilled in persuasion, as his messenger. Yet, he has left behind his wives and children—those he himself created—and departed without a care. How can we trust such a one?” Her words grew sharper, echoing the wounds of love. “Like hunters chasing the king of monkeys, he has hurt women who were left unprotected, their hearts twisted by love, conquered by desire. Even mighty Bali was bound by him, like a bird caught in a snare. Enough of this friendship with the dark one—Krishna! Still, the stories of his deeds are impossible to abandon.” She looked around at her companions, drawing strength from their shared suffering. “Those who have tasted even a drop of the nectar of his playful acts, just by hearing them once, are freed from all dualities. They abandon their homes and families, though left destitute, wandering like birds as mendicants. Many here are like that, drawn away from everything by him.” A note of sorrow crept into her voice. “We, foolish as chicks who trust their mother’s call, believed in his crooked words, thinking them nectar. We are Krishna’s wives, like deer ensnared. Again and again, we remember the pain left by the touch of his nails. Messenger, tell us other news; enough of this torment.” Yet, as Uddhava listened, their tone softened with hope and respect. “Dear friend, have you returned, sent by our beloved? What do you seek here? You are worthy of honor, gentle one. But how will you bring us to the side of the one who cannot be abandoned, when Lakshmi herself always dwells on his chest?” Their longing poured forth. “Is the noble son of Vasudeva in Mathurā now? 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 again?” Śuka, the sage narrator, tells us: Hearing their deep yearning for Krishna, Uddhava, filled with compassion, sought to comfort the gopīs with loving words and began to speak. Uddhava said, “O blessed ones, you are truly fulfilled and honored in this world, for you have devoted your minds entirely to Vāsudeva, the Lord. Through vows, austerity, sacrifice, recitation, study, self-restraint, and countless other means, people strive for the devotion you possess for Krishna.” He gazed at them with admiration. “By your great fortune, you have established supreme devotion to the Lord of exalted fame—a devotion difficult even for the sages to attain. By destiny, you have abandoned sons, husbands, bodies, relatives, and homes, and chosen that Supreme Person known as Krishna.” Uddhava’s voice grew gentle. “This 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.” He then delivered Krishna’s own message, bringing solace to their hearts. “Listen to the dear message I have brought in secret from your beloved husband, words meant to make you happy.” Krishna’s message was profound: “My separation from you is never complete, for I am present in all beings, just as space, air, fire, water, and earth are present in all things. I am the foundation of mind, life-breath, the elements, the senses, and their qualities. By Myself, within Myself, I create, destroy, and sustain all things, through My own power, as the essence of everything.” He continued, “The Self is made of knowledge, pure and distinct, not bound by qualities. Yet, through the workings of illusion, it appears to move through deep sleep, dream, and waking states. The mind contemplates sense objects, which arise falsely like dreams—so let one restrain the senses, remaining ever wakeful and self-possessed.” “These are the inner teachings—the yoga and wisdom of the wise: renunciation, austerity, self-control, and truth, flowing together like rivers to the ocean. Though I, your beloved, seem far away, it is only to draw your minds ever closer to Me, out of your longing for constant remembrance. When the beloved is far away, the mind dwells on him more; when near, the heart is less absorbed. By fixing your entire mind on Me, freed from all other attachments, and remembering Me always, you will soon attain Me.” Krishna reassured them, “Even those who could not join My dance in the forest at night did not fail to attain Me, for they meditated on My heroic deeds.” Śuka tells us: Hearing these words from their beloved, the women of Vraja were filled with joy, and they spoke to Uddhava, recalling Krishna’s message. The gopīs said, “By fortune, the wicked Kaṁsa, enemy of the Yadus, has been slain. By fortune, Acyuta is now safe, having achieved all His aims with His kin.” They wondered about Krishna’s life in the city. “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?” Their voices trembled with hope and longing. “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? How he enjoyed the rasa dance with the tinkling of anklets, and sometimes charmed us with delightful stories?” Their yearning grew. “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?” But doubt crept in. “Why would Krishna come here, having gained his kingdom and destroyed his enemies, after marrying royal maidens and being surrounded by all his dear friends? 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?” Resigned, they reflected, “Indeed, supreme happiness lies in freedom from expectation, as Pingala the courtesan declared; yet, even knowing this, our hope in Krishna is impossible to abandon. Who could bear to give up communion with the glorified Lord, even unwillingly, when fortune never departs from his limbs?” Their love was woven into the very land. “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?” Their voices became a prayer. “O Lord, O consort of Lakshmi, O master of Vraja, destroyer of distress, lift up Gokula, O Govinda, from the ocean of suffering in which it is submerged.” Śuka concludes: Thus, relieved of the fever of separation by Krishna’s messages, the gopīs honored Uddhava, recognizing him as a manifestation of the Lord himself. Uddhava remained in Vraja for several months, dispelling the grief of the gopīs, narrating stories of Krishna’s pastimes, and delighting all of Gokula. For as many days as Uddhava stayed in Nanda’s Vraja, the moments passed swiftly for the residents, their hearts absorbed in the sweet news of Krishna.