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Begin with a small brush, a little cup of red lac, and the most astonishing pair of hands in all creation bending to a humble task. Picture it: Hari, who holds the worlds, kneels now over a pair of feet, dips the brush, and begins to draw. The verse fixes one word at the door, kāmam: as much as He pleases. And how much does He please? Endlessly. He paints slowly, then more slowly, dipping the brush again when the design is already done, because the work is sweetness itself and He cannot bear for it to end. This is the same Hari who, in the verse before, drew musk-pictures of leaves upon Rādhikā's breasts; here that same submissive devotion travels down to Her soles, and the Rasika-maṇi, the jewel of all who relish rasa, gathers Her lotus-feet against His own chest to steady them while He works.

And then the great undoing. He bends to the fragrance of these feet and the body of bliss itself begins to tremble. The hairs of Kṛṣṇa stand on end, pulaka; His limbs shiver, kampa; the One who is ānanda personified is overcome by the sweetness rising from Rādhā's soles. So lost is He that He forgets where He has set Priyājī's feet, and a young maidservant, watching from the edge, lifts the corner of her veil to her mouth and giggles at the sight, the all-conquering Śyāma conquered by a pair of feet. Rādhā Herself, half-laughing, half-anxious, presses Him: "What are You doing? Quickly, put the lac on. My girlfriends will be here any moment, and if they find Me like this they will tease Me without mercy." Nāgara hears every word. He does not listen. He stays in that trance of greed, drinking the beauty of these feet, deaf to everything but their sweetness.

Listen to how the Mahājanas sing it, in the voice of Kṛṣṇa Himself: ghasiyā ghasiyā pāya, āltā lāgāya tāya, nirakhi nirakhi avirāma: "I rub and rub the lac upon these feet, gazing and gazing without rest, making them wondrous"; and then, caraṇa hṛdoye dhari, tale lekhe āpanāra nāma: "holding these feet to My heart, I write My own name upon their soles." See the reversal whole. The Lord who steals every heart with His unlimited sweetness is here the one whose heart is stolen clean away. Power has bent low and become service. And the maidservant who watches swells with quiet pride, for it is her mistress's love, Rādhā's own great love, that has fashioned a beauty able to plunder even the plunderer of all hearts.

These feet are not adored by Kṛṣṇa alone. The whole circle of Vraja's cowherd women, clever and practiced in every art of love-play, bow before them and praise them, for these feet are their very life. Raghunātha dāsa Gosvāmī fixes it in his Viśākhānanda-stotram, that song which delights Viśākhā: viśākhā prāṇa dīpālī nirmañcha nakha candrikā, "the moonlight of Rādhikā's toenails is worshiped with the lamp that is Viśākhā's very life." So the sakhīs offer their own life-breath as the flame of the ārati waved before the cool radiance of Her toenails. This is the worship love performs.

Now turn to the strange and tender secret the verse keeps last. These same feet, says Śrīpāda, shine concealed in the very heart of the Upaniṣads: yā saṅguptatayā tathopaniṣadāṁ hṛdyeva vidyotate. The crest of the Vedas does point to the highest truth, but it speaks of Rādhā's feet only in a veiled, hidden way, folded so deep that the plain reader walks straight past them. The truth about these feet is difficult to find by reading the Upaniṣads, for there it is described in concealment. What the scriptures keep covered, love uncovers. The hidden glory the books fold away is known fully not by study but by service, the way the sakhīs know it, the way the laughing maidservant knows it.

And these feet are lāsyaika-līlāmayī, made wholly of dancing play. In Vraja even ordinary walking is already dance; the Brahma-saṁhitā sings gamanaṁ nṛtyam, that there the very gait is dancing. If every Vrajavāsī's step is sweet dance, then Rādhā's steps, carried by the supreme and sweetest of all loves, are the sweetest and most astonishing of all. What to speak of seeing them: even to remember these dancing feet sets the devotee's heart and mind dancing in joy. And so, with the brush still in Hari's hand and the sakhīs still bowing and the Upaniṣads still keeping their secret, Śrīpāda plants his whole life in one place and says, simply, that this pair of Rādhā's feet is his only shelter.