Some of the women of Vraja, so absorbed in thoughts of Krishna that they became oblivious to everything else, ceased their daily tasks entirely. Lost in contemplation, they seemed to have withdrawn from the world, as if they had entered the depths of their own hearts. Others among them, recalling Śauri’s loving smiles and gentle words, were overcome with emotion. The sweet, charming phrases he had spoken lingered in their minds, leaving them bewildered and unable to compose themselves. Memories of Krishna’s graceful walk, his expressive gestures, his affectionate smiles and glances, and his playful jokes that dispelled all sorrow flooded their hearts. They remembered, too, his delightful pastimes and the joy he brought to their lives. Overwhelmed by fear and distress at the thought of being separated from Mukunda, the women gathered together in small groups. Tears streamed down their faces as they spoke among themselves, their hearts wholly fixed on Acyuta. In their grief, the gopīs cried out, “O Creator, how merciless you are! You bring embodied souls together in friendship and love, only to tear them apart before their desires are fulfilled—just as a child’s playthings are snatched away before the game is done. You showed us Mukunda’s face, framed by dark curls, with lovely cheeks and a raised nose, radiant with a gentle smile that dispels all sorrow. And now you send him far from us—this is not right. “You truly deserve the name Akrūra, for you are so cruel! You gave us eyes, yet now you rob us of their use, like a tyrant, for through you we beheld the beauty of the enemy of Madhu, the perfection of all creation, gathered in one place. The son of Nanda, whose affection is fleeting, no longer looks upon us. Tormented by our own actions, we left our homes, families, and husbands to serve him—but now he has found new beloveds. “Surely, the women of that city will spend the night in happiness, their wishes fulfilled, for they will drink in the sight of the Lord of Vraja as he enters, delighting in the nectar of his sidelong, smiling glances. Mukunda, captivated by their sweet, honeyed words, is now under their control, though he is strong-willed. How will he ever return to us, simple village girls, bashful and lost in love? “Today there will be a great festival for the Daśārhas, Bhojas, Andhakas, Vṛṣṇis, and Sātvatas. Even travelers on the road will see the beautiful Lord, the abode of all virtues, the son of Devakī. Let the name Akrūra be reserved for one so pitiless! Without comforting us in our deep sorrow, he will take our dearest friend far away. “He, with an unfeeling heart, has mounted the chariot, and the reckless urge him on. The cowherds, neglected by their elders, follow with their carts, while fate itself turns against us today. Let us go and stop Mādhava! What can our elders and relatives do for us, when fate has shattered our hearts—hearts that cannot bear even a half-blink’s separation from Mukunda? “We gopīs, whose hearts were stolen by his loving smiles, enchanting words, playful glances, embraces, and the joys of the rāsa dance—how can we cross this endless darkness of separation, even for a moment, without him? When, at day’s end, the friend of Ananta returns to Vraja, surrounded by cowherds, his hair dusted by their hooves, playing his flute, glancing with smiling eyes—how could we live if we were deprived of him?” Thus, Śuka said, the women of Vraja, their minds wholly absorbed in Krishna and tormented by separation, cast aside their shyness and wept aloud, crying out, “Govinda! Dāmodara! Mādhava!” As they lamented and the sun rose, Akrūra, having fulfilled his friendly duties, urged the chariot onward. The cowherds, led by Nanda and others, followed with their carts, bringing many gifts—jars filled with the products of their cows. The cowherd women, their hearts enchanted by their beloved Krishna, trailed after him, longing for just a sign from the Lord, and stood waiting, their eyes fixed on him. Seeing them so afflicted as he departed, Krishna, the foremost of the Yadus, comforted them with loving words, sending messages to assure them, “I will return.” For as long as the chariot’s banner was visible and the dust cloud could be seen, the women continued to follow, their hearts drawn to him as if by painted images. When all hope of Govinda’s return faded, they turned back. Free from sorrow, they spent their days singing of their beloved’s deeds, keeping his memory alive within their hearts. Meanwhile, O King, the Lord arrived, accompanied by Rama and Akrūra, riding swiftly in the chariot to the purifying waters of the Yamuna river. There, after rinsing his mouth and drinking the clear, jewel-like water, Krishna entered a grove of trees with Rama and returned to the chariot. Akrūra, having taken leave of them, seated himself atop the chariot and went to the Yamuna’s pool to perform his ritual bath. Immersing himself in those waters and reciting the eternal Brahman, Akrūra suddenly beheld Rama and Krishna together in the water. Amazed, he wondered, “How are the sons of Devaki here in the water, when they should be on the chariot?” Rising up, he looked toward the chariot and saw them seated as before. Doubting his vision, he submerged himself again, questioning whether what he had seen was real or an illusion. But once more, he beheld a wondrous sight: the great Lord being praised by Siddhas, Charanas, Gandharvas, and Asuras, all with bowed heads and musical instruments. He saw the divine one with a thousand heads, crowned with a thousand serpent hoods, clad in blue garments, shining white like snowy peaks. Upon his lap rested a dark, cloud-hued person, dressed in yellow silk, four-armed, peaceful, with lotus-petal reddish eyes. His face was beautiful and serene, adorned with a charming smile; his brows, nose, ears, cheeks, and lips were all lovely and reddish. His arms were long and full, his chest broad and splendid, his neck like a conch, his navel deep, his abdomen marked with gentle folds like tender leaves. His hips and thighs were large, his hands and knees well-formed, his legs graceful and beautifully shaped. His ankles were high, his nails reddish and shining with rays; his feet, adorned with nine toes and thumb-like digits, gleamed like lotus flowers. He was adorned with priceless jewels: a crown, bracelets, armlets, sacred thread, waistband, garlands, anklets, and earrings. His lotus hands shone, holding conch, discus, and mace; his chest bore the mark of Srivatsa, the radiant Kaustubha gem, and a garland of forest flowers. He was attended by Sunanda, Nanda, and other associates, by the Sanaka sages, by the lords of the gods such as Brahma and Rudra, and by nine foremost twice-born sages. Prahlada, Narada, Vasu, and other great devotees praised him with words, each from their own perspective, their hearts pure and spotless. He was served by Sri (fortune), Pushti (nourishment), speech, brilliance, fame, satisfaction, dissolution, victory, knowledge, ignorance, power, and illusion—all personified, attending upon him. Thus did Akrūra witness the supreme, wondrous revelation of the Lord, even as Krishna journeyed onward from Vraja, leaving behind hearts forever devoted to him.