One among the gopīs gazed upon Krishna’s lotus-like face with unblinking eyes, drinking in his beauty endlessly, yet never finding herself satisfied, just as the wise are never satiated by the sight of his holy feet. Another, closing her eyes, drew Krishna into her heart through the windows of her eyes and embraced him within, her body covered in goosebumps, immersed in the bliss known only to yogis. All the gopīs, delighted by the sight of Keśava, experienced a supreme festival of joy. In his presence, the pain of separation vanished, just as sorrow disappears when wisdom dawns. Surrounded by these women, now freed from all sorrow, the Lord, Acyuta, shone even more brilliantly, like a person radiant with all his energies. Taking them with him, Krishna led the gopīs to the sandy banks of the Yamunā River. The riverbank was blooming with jasmine and mandāra flowers, filled with fragrant breezes and the gentle hum of bees. The place was auspicious, its darkness dispelled by the shining beams of the autumn moon, the sand soft and bright beneath Krishna’s restless hand. With their hearts relieved of all pain by the joy of seeing him—as the Vedas find fulfillment in their goal—the gopīs prepared a seat for their beloved, spreading their upper garments upon the sand, each cloth marked with the red hue of their own breasts. There, seated among them, the Lord, the master, took his place both on the sandy bank and within the hearts of the yogis. Surrounded by the assembly of gopīs, he shone forth, worshipped by all, bearing a form that was the sole abode of the fortune of the three worlds. Honoring Krishna, who kindled their every desire, the gopīs offered him laughter, playful glances, and expressive movements of their brows. With hands placed upon his lap, they touched his feet and, with words of gentle, feigned anger, began to speak: “One who loves is loved in return by some; another does the opposite; some do not love at all. Please tell us, O noble one, which is the right way?” The Blessed Lord replied, “Those who love each other for their own benefit are merely friends; there is no true affection or righteousness there, for their love is only for self-interest. Those who love even those who do not love them, like compassionate parents, act faultlessly—here, affection and virtue are at their best. Some do not love even those who love them, let alone those who do not; such people are self-satisfied, fulfilled in themselves, ungrateful, and disrespectful to their elders. “But I, O friends, do not love even those who love me, for their devotion, just as a poor man who gains and then loses wealth can think of nothing else but that lost treasure. In this way, you, gentle ones, have abandoned worldly and scriptural duties for my sake, to serve me. Though you worship me directly, I sometimes hide myself, so you would not become proud or resentful, O beloveds. “I am unable to repay your flawless devotion, even with the lifespan of the gods. Those who have loved me, breaking the hard chains of home and duty, let their own virtuous deeds be your reward.” Thus concludes the thirty-second chapter, named “The Consolation of the Gopīs,” in the first half of the tenth book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa, scripture of the supreme swan. When devotion in the form of yoga is directed toward Bhagavan Vāsudeva, it quickly gives rise to detachment and knowledge that leads to realization of Brahman. When a person’s mind, through the senses, ceases to distinguish between pleasant and unpleasant objects, then, at that very moment, he perceives himself as unattached, seeing all equally, free from acceptance and rejection, established in the supreme state. Pure knowledge alone is the supreme Brahman, the Supreme Self, the Lord, the Person. Bhagavan is perceived as one, though he appears as many through the diversity of objects. Only to this extent, through complete yoga, does the yogi attain the desired goal here: total detachment from all things. The one knowledge, when reflected through the outward-turned senses, seems—through illusion—to take the form of objects, as Brahman without qualities appears to have qualities like sound and so forth. Just as the great principle, in the form of ego, becomes threefold and fivefold, self-ruling, and its elevenfold form is the cosmic egg from which the world arises, so too is this seen by one who, with faith and devotion, practices yoga constantly, whose mind is collected, who is unattached, and who sees with detachment. Thus has been spoken this profound knowledge, which is the vision of Brahman, by which one discerns the reality of both prakriti and purusha. Just as an object, though possessing many qualities, is not divided because it is perceived through the separate gates of the senses, so too is Bhagavan, though approached by various scriptural paths. By action, by sacrifices, by gifts, by austerity, by study, by self-restraint, by mastery over the senses and mind, and by renunciation of actions; by yoga with its various limbs, and indeed by the yoga of devotion; by dharma marked by both activity and renunciation—one who is engaged in both; through realization of the truth of the self and by firm detachment—by all these means, Bhagavan is attained, both with qualities and without, by one who sees with his own self. I have described to you the fourfold nature of bhakti-yoga, and also that which, when time has entered the unmanifest, disappears among living beings. The many cycles of transmigration of the living being, created by ignorance and action, into which the self enters, yet does not know its own path. This knowledge should never be taught to the wicked, nor to the undisciplined, nor to the arrogant, nor to the hostile, nor to those who are only outwardly religious. It should not be given to the greedy, nor to one whose mind is absorbed in household life, nor ever to one who is not devoted to me, nor even to those who hate my devotees. But to one who is faithful, devoted, disciplined, free from envy, friendly to all beings, and eager to serve—let this be given. Also, to one who is outwardly detached, whose mind is peaceful, who is free from envy, pure, and for whom I am the dearest among the dear. O mother, any person who even once hears this with faith, or who recites it with mind fixed on me, surely attains my path. Śrī Śuka then said: Thus, having heard the most beautiful words of the Lord, the cowherd women let go of the pain born of separation, their desires fulfilled by his presence. There, Govinda began the rāsa play, surrounded by these devoted and joyful women, the finest among all, their arms entwined with one another. The festival of rāsa commenced, adorned by the circle of gopīs, with Krishna, the lord of yogis, standing between each pair among them.