Akrura’s heart overflowed as he arrived in Vraja and beheld a sight of divine beauty: Krishna and Balarama returning from the cow-milking. Krishna was robed in radiant yellow, Balarama in deep blue, and their eyes shone like autumn lotuses, clear and gentle. The two brothers were in the full bloom of youth—Krishna, dark as a raincloud, and Balarama, fair as the moon—each an embodiment of beauty and strength. Their broad arms, handsome faces, and splendid forms moved with the majestic gait of young elephants, filling all of Vraja with grace. Their lotus-like feet bore auspicious marks—banners, thunderbolts, goads, and lotuses—sanctifying the earth with every step. As they walked, their glances, full of compassion and playful smiles, brought joy to all. Adorned with garlands and forest wreaths, their bodies fragrant with sacred unguents and clad in spotless garments, they seemed the very essence of charm and nobility. These two, the ancient Purushas, the primordial causes and lords of the universe, had descended to earth as Balarama and Keshava for the world’s sake, each manifesting a portion of their divine selves. Their very presence dispelled the darkness in every direction, shining like an emerald and a silver mountain, each adorned with gold. Overcome with devotion, Akrura sprang from his chariot and fell prostrate at their feet. Tears streamed from his eyes and his body shivered with ecstasy; so deep was his joy that he could not even utter his own name. Krishna, whose hand bore the mark of the chariot wheel, approached and embraced him with affection, for he is ever fond of those who bow before him. Balarama, of noble mind, also embraced Akrura, took his hand, and, together with Krishna, led him into their home. There, they offered him a seat of honor, washed his feet in reverence, and presented the traditional honeyed welcome. A cow was given to him as a guest-gift, and his tired limbs were gently massaged. With deep devotion, Krishna offered him abundant, pure food. When he had eaten, Balarama, the knower of dharma, honored him further with fragrant scents and garlands used in sacred rites. Nanda, the chief of the cowherds, then addressed Akrura with concern: “How are you faring in that place where kindness is scarce and Kamsa still reigns, O Dāśārha? Are we not like cowherds under the yoke of a cruel master? That wicked one killed his own nephews as their mothers wept—how can there be well-being for you and your people?” Thus honored and kindly questioned by Nanda, Akrura felt his weariness melt away. Śuka now tells us: Comfortably seated on a couch, cherished by Rama and Krishna, Akrura experienced the fulfillment of every wish he had held on his journey. For when the Lord, the very abode of fortune, is pleased, what cannot be attained? Yet, those devoted to him seek nothing for themselves. After the evening meal, Krishna, the blessed son of Devaki, inquired among his friends about Kamsa’s actions and his latest intentions. He greeted Akrura warmly: “Dear Akrura, welcome! May all be well with you. Is everything free from illness and misfortune among your kin?” “How can I ask about our own welfare,” Krishna continued, “when our family suffers under Kamsa’s rule? So much pain has befallen my noble parents because of us—their sons were slain, and they themselves imprisoned. Yet, by good fortune, today I see my own people, as I longed. Tell me, dear Akrura, what brings you here?” Thus prompted, Akrura explained everything—the enmity among the Yadus, Kamsa’s plot against Vasudeva, and the message he bore, as well as what Narada had revealed to Kamsa about the birth of Anakadundubhi’s son. Hearing Akrura’s words, Krishna and Balarama, destroyers of enemy heroes, smiled and informed Nanda of the king’s command. Nanda gathered the cowherds: “Collect all the milk and dairy products, gather gifts, and yoke the wagons. Tomorrow we will go to Mathura, offer our produce to the king, and witness the great festival, for the people of the countryside are said to be going.” Thus he announced the plan throughout the settlement. When the cowherd women heard this, their hearts were seized with distress, for they understood that Akrura had come to take Rama and Krishna away from Vraja. Some, afflicted, grew pale and sighed deeply; others let their garments, bangles, and hair-braids slip loose in their sorrow. Many, lost in thoughts of Krishna, ceased all their usual activities, oblivious to the world around them, as if withdrawn into their own hearts. Some, recalling Krishna’s loving smiles and sweet words, were overwhelmed; his charming phrases lingered in their minds, leaving them bewildered. They remembered his graceful walk, his gestures, his affectionate glances and smiles, his jokes that dispelled all sorrow, and his playful deeds. Thinking of Mukunda, fearful and distressed by the pain of impending separation, the gopīs gathered together, their faces wet with tears, and spoke, their hearts fixed on Acyuta. “O Creator,” they cried, “how merciless you are! After uniting embodied beings in love and friendship, you separate them before their desires are fulfilled, just as a child’s playthings are snatched away. You showed us Mukunda’s face, framed with dark curls, his lovely cheeks and noble nose, beautiful with a gentle smile that dispels all sorrow—then you make him distant from us; this is not right. “You are cruel, truly deserving of your name, Akrura! You gave us sight only to take it away, for through you we beheld the beauty of the enemy of Madhu, the perfection of creation, gathered in one form. The son of Nanda, whose affection is so fleeting, no longer looks upon us, though we are tormented by our own actions. Having left home, family, and husbands, we came to serve him, but now he has found new beloveds. “Surely, for the women of that city, the night will pass happily and their wishes will be fulfilled, for they will gaze upon the face of the Lord of Vraja as he enters, drinking the nectar of his sidelong, smiling glances. Mukunda, captivated by their sweet, honeyed words, is now under their sway, though he is strong-willed. How will he ever return to us village women, who are bashful and bewildered by love?” Thus, the hearts of the gopīs overflowed with longing and sorrow, as the whole of Vraja prepared for the journey that would take Krishna and Balarama away.