As the season of autumn unfolded, the world underwent a gentle transformation. The plants, once weighed down by mud and parched by the summer’s heat, gradually shed their burdens, much like wise souls slowly let go of the notions of ‘I’ and ‘mine’ that bind them to the body and to things that are not truly the self. The vast ocean, too, became calm and silent with the arrival of autumn, mirroring the peace of a sage who, when all outward movements cease, becomes wholly absorbed in the inner self. Farmers, taking advantage of the season, drew water from their fields, protected by sturdy embankments. In the same way, yogis, by channeling their vital energies, skillfully restrain the flow of their thoughts and senses. The moon rose, soothing the heat left by the autumn sun from all living beings, just as Mukunda, the Lord, dispelled the sorrows that came from bodily identification in the hearts of the women of Vraja. The autumn sky appeared spotless, adorned with pure, shining stars, just as a mind full of goodness perceives the true meaning of the sound of Brahman. The moon, surrounded by its retinue of stars, shone in the sky with an unbroken orb of light, just as Krishna, surrounded by the Vṛṣṇi clan, shone on earth. The people, embracing the forest breeze—cool yet warm, fragrant with blossoms—found relief from their suffering, but the gopīs, whose hearts had been stolen by Krishna, could find no such comfort. Everywhere, cows, deer, birds, women, and flowering plants flourished in autumn, each sought out by their own kind, just as fruits are produced by the actions of the Lord. At sunrise, the lotuses rejoiced and bloomed, except for the lilies that open by night; just as people feel secure and fearless under a good king, but not in the presence of robbers. In towns and villages, the earth shone with festivals and delighted senses, rich with the bounty of ripe harvests, especially due to the playful arts of Hari. Merchants, sages, and kings, having bathed, set out to fulfill their purposes, just as perfected beings, after being restrained by the rains, seek their own bodies when the time comes. He, the self-possessed one, created his own city and people for their sake; and those who had been created before, seeing this, praised the Lord of creatures, exclaiming, “O creator of the world, how excellent is your deed! In you, all rituals are established—let us partake of food together.” Endowed with austerity, knowledge, and yoga in deep concentration, Hṛṣīkeśa, the sage of sages, created the beings as desired. To each, the unborn one gave a portion of his own body—prosperity born of meditation and yoga, austerity, knowledge, and detachment. Śuka continued: In this way, during autumn, when the waters were clear and the fragrance of blooming lotuses filled the air, Acyuta—Krishna—entered the forest cooled by gentle breezes, accompanied by the cowherd boys and cows. The forests were alive with blossoming trees, the hum of swarming bees, and the calls of birds resounding over lakes and rivers. Krishna, the lord of the bees, herded the cows with his companions and played his flute. When the women of Vraja heard the song of Krishna’s flute—a melody that awakens love—some, unseen by Krishna, began to describe it to their friends. As they spoke, remembering Krishna’s deeds, their minds were overwhelmed by the force of love; they became so absorbed that they could not continue. Krishna, adorned with a peacock feather, the form of the best of dancers, karṇikāra flowers at his ears, garments yellow as gold, and a garland of forest flowers, filled the holes of his flute with the nectar of his lips. Surrounded by his cowherd friends, he entered the forest of Vṛndā, making it delightful with his footprints and famed by his song. The sound of Krishna’s flute, enchanting all beings, was heard by all the women of Vraja. As they described it amongst themselves, they became completely absorbed in it. The gopīs said, “O friends, there is no greater blessing for the eyes than this—seeing the two sons of the lord of Vraja herding the cows with their companions, their faces adorned by the flute, and receiving their loving glances.” Adorned with mango shoots, tender leaves, peacock feathers, and garlands of lotuses and lilies, dressed in garments decorated with forest flowers, Krishna and Balarama shone brilliantly among the cowherd community, like expert dancers on a stage, singing. The gopīs marveled, “What great fortune this flute must have, O friends, for it alone enjoys the nectar of Dāmodara’s lips, which even we desire. The rivers, tasting its leftover sweetness, rejoice; their waters tremble, and the trees shed tears like loving elders.” “O friend, Vṛndāvana spreads its fame throughout the earth, for it has been graced by the water from Devakī’s son’s feet. Seeing Govinda playing the flute, intoxicated peacocks dance, and all creatures on the mountain slopes become still.” “Blessed indeed are even the simple-minded deer, who, seeing Nanda’s son in his wondrous attire and hearing the sound of his flute with their black-buck mates, offer worship with loving glances.” “Seeing Krishna, whose form and conduct are a festival for the eyes, and hearing his sweet, secluded flute song, the goddesses in their celestial chariots, their minds disturbed by love, faint, their flower garlands slipping and their garments loosening.” The cows, drinking in the nectar of Krishna’s flute song with ears raised, stood still, their calves pausing with milk in their mouths, tears welling in their eyes as they gazed at Govinda, as if embracing him in their hearts. “Surely, mother, even the birds in this forest are blessed sages; climbing the branches of beautiful trees, they listen with closed eyes to Krishna’s flute song, forgetting all else.” The rivers, hearing Mukunda’s song, their currents marked by circles, their passion subdued, embrace Murāri with their wave-arms, offering lotuses at his feet. Seeing the cows of Vraja grazing in the sun with Rama and the cowherd boys, Krishna playing the flute, the trees, filled with love, raised their blossoming branches and spread their own bodies as umbrellas to shade their friend. The Pulinda women, their faces and breasts smeared with the vermilion from the lotus feet of the great singer—left on the grass after adorning their beloveds’ breasts—applied it to themselves, relieving the pain of love awakened by seeing him. “Behold this hill, the best among the servants of Hari, who, delighted by the touch of Rama and Krishna’s feet, offers respect to Them and Their cows and companions with water, tender grass, and roots from its slopes.” As Rama and Krishna led the cows through the forest, accompanied by the cowherd boys, the sweet notes of Their flutes enchanted all living beings; even those that moved became still, the trees were thrilled, and the marks of their bonds fell away in wonder. In this way, as they described the pastimes of the Lord who wanders in Vrindavana, the gopīs, speaking among themselves, became wholly absorbed in His play. Thus ends the twenty-first chapter of the first half of the Tenth Canto in the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for the paramahaṃsas. One who is absorbed in sense objects does not know himself or anything higher; living only for the sake of the body, like a bellows that merely breathes, his life is wasted. Such fruitive results are not the highest good for people, but are described to attract them, just as medicine is sweetened to encourage its use. From birth, mortals are attached in mind to desires, to life, and to their own people, though these very attachments are the source of their suffering. Those who do not know their true interest wander lost on the path of misery; how, then, could a wise person again engage them in those same darkness-bound pursuits?