There is a holy place, blessed above all other sacred sites, adorned with every virtue—a great and divine abode of the Lord Himself. Among all the tirthas of earth and heaven, it is renowned as the highest, known by the names Gopīmaṇthana and Bālavatsaraveṇa. In this sacred place, the lowing of cows echoes constantly, driving away misfortune. Calves, longing for their mothers, call out plaintively, filling the air with their cries. Valiant cowherds protect the place, their arms weary from wrestling. The atmosphere resounds with singing, dancing, lively conversation, and the joyful clapping of hands. Calves stand here and there, their lowing surrounding the cow-pen, which shines like a lake blooming with moving lotuses. To behold this gentle abode of Śrī, crowded with joyful and healthy people, is to see a vision of Goloka itself. Having seen such a place, how could anyone wish to leave? Yet, in this very place, a grave situation unfolds. The tiger, lord of beasts, speaks with stern resolve: “Let the five elements drink your blood, O blessed one; I do not let the elements go unsatisfied merely with words.” Nanda, the cow, replies humbly, “O lord of beasts, listen to me. Let me see my friends, my young son, and the cowherds who guard him. Let me take leave of the cowherd women, and especially my mother. I will return, swearing oaths—if you believe me, please release me.” To convince the tiger, Nanda swears: “If I do not return, may I be stained by the gravest sins: the sin of killing a Brahmin, of slaying my mother or father; the sins of hunters, outcastes, or poisoners; the sin of harming cows or beating those who sleep; the sin of giving a girl in marriage and then giving her again to another; the sin of making unfit bullocks pull a load, or causing an obstacle during the telling of a story; the sin of disappointing a guest who comes to one’s house. By all these terrible sins, I swear, I will return.” Hearing this solemn assurance, the tiger responds, “By these oaths, Dhenuka, we trust you. Yet, if you go and do not return, some may say there is no sin in breaking an oath. In matters of women, marriages, the release of cows, or at the time of death, trust is never certain. In this world, there are atheists and fools who claim wisdom, who can confound your mind in an instant with false logic and stories, their minds clouded by ignorance. These petty men, unskilled in the scriptures, lead others astray. Clever people can make the false appear true, just as an artist can make a flat surface seem raised or lowered. “Generally, once people have achieved their aim, they forget their benefactor—just as a calf, having drunk all the milk, abandons its mother. I do not see anyone in this world who truly repays a favor; when a person gets what he wants, his mind turns elsewhere. Oaths were once made by sages, gods, demons, and men to achieve their aims, but now we give them little regard. Even if someone swears truthfully before gods, fire, or a guru, King Yama takes away half his merit. Let your mind not be deceived by such oaths; you have shown your intentions—now act as you wish.” Nanda bows her head and replies, “So it is, O great sage! Who can deceive you? Whoever tries to deceive another only deceives himself.” Then the tiger says, “Go, O cow, and see your calf, you who love your child. Let him suckle your milk and lick him on the head. See your mother, brother, friends, and relatives, and, keeping truth foremost, return quickly.” Thus, having sworn her oaths, the truthful cow was permitted by the lord of beasts to go. Full of love for her calf, she departed, her face streaming with tears, trembling, and deeply distressed. She let out a deep, sorrowful lowing, as if she had fallen into an ocean of grief. Like an elephant seized by the foot in a muddy pit, unable to save herself, she lamented again and again. At last, she reached the cow-pen on the bank of the golden river. Hearing her calf’s plaintive cries, she ran straight to him. The calf, with tears in his eyes, saw his mother and anxiously questioned her, “I do not see you at ease, Mother, nor do I see your usual steadiness. Your eyes are anxious, and you appear so frightened.” Nanda replied, her heart heavy, “Drink, my son, drink the nourishing milk. If you ask the reason for my sorrow, I cannot tell you. Satisfy yourself as you wish. But know, my son, that this is your last and rare chance to see your mother. After today, in the morning, whose milk will you drink? I must leave you, for I am bound by my oaths. I must give my life to the hungry and thirsty tiger.” Hearing these words, the calf spoke with resolve: “Mother, wherever you go, I will go with you.