Canto Ten - Chapter 35

Śrī Śuka said: Whenever Kṛṣṇa went to the forest, the gopīs' hearts followed after Him. Singing together of Kṛṣṇa's pastimes, they passed the days with great difficulty.

The gopīs said: Mukunda rests His left cheek upon His left arm, playfully arches His brows, places the flute at His lips, and sets His tender fingers upon its holes.

Hearing that music, the women traveling through the sky with the Siddhas are struck with wonder and become shy. Their hearts pierced by Love's arrows, they grow faint and forget that the knots of their garments have loosened.

Friends, listen to this wonder! The son of Nanda, with a pearl necklace shining upon His chest like motionless lightning and His flute sweetly sounding, now brings delight to all who suffer.

The bulls, deer, and cows of Vraja gather in herds some distance away, their minds stolen by the music of His flute. With mouthfuls of grass held between their teeth and ears standing still, they appear asleep, like figures painted in a picture.

Dear friend, at times Mukunda and Balarāma adorn Themselves like champion wrestlers with peacock-feather clusters, colored minerals, leaves, and shoots. Surrounded by the cowherd boys, Mukunda then calls the cows together.

At that moment the rivers halt their courses. Like us, they possess little merit and yearn for the dust of His lotus feet carried by the wind. Their arms of waves tremble with love, and their waters grow still.

As He roams the forest and wanders over the mountain slopes, His companions sing of His heroic deeds. Like the Original Person attended by His divine opulences, He calls the grazing cows with His flute.

The forest vines and trees, heavy with abundant flowers and fruits and bowing beneath their burden, seem to reveal Viṣṇu dwelling within them. Their bodies thrill with love, and they pour forth streams of honey.

When Kṛṣṇa, whose tilaka is beautiful to behold, raises His flute to His lips, swarms of bees intoxicated by the nectar of the divinely fragrant tulasī in His forest garland sing loudly to Him. He graciously acknowledges their cherished song.

The cranes, swans, and other birds of the lake are captivated by His beautiful music. They approach Hari and worship Him with concentrated minds, closing their eyes and observing silence.

O goddesses of Vraja, when Kṛṣṇa, delighting in garlands and floral ear ornaments, stands with Balarāma upon the mountain peaks and joyfully sounds His flute, He fills the entire universe with delight.

Fearing that it might offend an exalted person, the cloud rumbles very gently in accompaniment. As Kṛṣṇa's friend, it showers Him with flowers and extends its shade above Him like a parasol.

O virtuous lady, your son is expert in the many arts of tending the cows. When He places His flute upon His bimba-red lips, He unfolds the many families of notes that He Himself has taught.

Hearing this music each day, the lords of heaven, led by Indra, Śiva, and Brahmā, bow their heads and minds. Though learned, they become bewildered, unable to determine its true nature.

With the petals of His lotus feet, wonderfully marked by the flag, thunderbolt, lotus, and goad, He soothes the pain the earth of Vraja suffers from the cows' hooves. His gait is that of the finest of embodied beings, and His flute is praised by all.

When He walks by, His playful glances cast upon us awaken the full force of love. We become rooted in place like trees and, overwhelmed by ecstasy, no longer know what has happened to our hair or our clothing.

Sometimes He counts the cows with a string of gems while wearing a garland of His beloved fragrant tulasī. Placing His arm upon the shoulder of an affectionate companion, He sings as He goes.

The wives of the black deer, their minds deceived and stolen by the sound of His flute, follow Kṛṣṇa, the ocean of all virtues. Like the gopīs, they abandon every hope of home.

Sinless mother, your son, Nanda's child, dresses Himself playfully with a garland of jasmine. Surrounded by the cowherd boys and the herds, He sports beside the Yamunā, bringing joy to those who love Him.

A gentle and favorable breeze honors Him with its sandalwood touch. Hosts of minor deities surround Him as bards, presenting instrumental music, song, and offerings.

Full of affection for the cows of Vraja, He is the lifter of the mountain. At day's end He gathers the entire herd and returns along the path, playing His flute while His companions sing His glory and the elders worship His feet.

His garland powdered by dust raised from the cows' hooves, He approaches to receive the blessings of His friends and relatives. This moon arisen from Devakī's womb creates a festival for our eyes even through the beauty of His weariness.

His eyes roll slightly as if from intoxication, yet He bestows honor upon His friends. The forest-garlanded Lord's pale, delicate face and soft cheeks are adorned by the splendor of golden earrings.

The Lord of the Yadus approaches at day's end with the gait of a king of elephants, His face radiant with joy. Like the moon, lord of the night, He relieves the cows of Vraja from the day's unrelenting heat.

Śrī Śuka said: O King, in this way the noble women of Vraja, their hearts and minds absorbed in Kṛṣṇa, found delight during the daytime by continually singing of His pastimes.