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Picture the hour. The long day's separation is ending. In the verse just before this one, the cowherd boys had stood helpless around their friend Kṛṣṇa, unable to console Him as He pined for Rādhā through the daylight hours. Now, at last, He comes back to Himself, and Subala and the others gather Him up and turn His steps toward home. This is the uttara-goṣṭha, the homecoming, and Śrīpāda Prabodhānanda, the tradition holds, sees it with the clarity of one who is standing inside it.

And on Her side of Vraja, O Rādhe, You have been suffering just as much. Worry for Him has unstrung You. Bewildered, almost fainting, You sink into Your sakhīs' lap, and they bend close and pour comfort over You: He is better now, Prāṇeśvarī, He has come to His senses, He is coming home. Yet even as they soothe You, the love will not be stilled. You keep drawing those deep, heavy breaths, and with each one the little pearl tied to its golden string sways and trembles beneath Your nose. So when the maidservant asks You to "wear the new pearl," understand that this is no errand of vanity. The trembling pearl is simply the visible motion of a heart that cannot stop loving.

The whole tradition lingers over that one small pearl, and over the golden string that holds it. There must be gold beneath Your nose, O Rādhe, for gold there is an auspicious omen for Your beloved; were there no gold, it could be inauspicious for Him, and nothing about You is ever permitted to be careless toward Him. So that golden thread is dear above its weight to Svāminī, and it shines lovely, suruci, to You and to every maidservant who tends You. They say more: that the pearl itself has become a thing of mahābhāva, for it has touched the mahābhāva-touchstone, which is Your own person; pressed against You, even a bead of pearl is transmuted into the supreme love it rests upon.

And here the old teachers cannot help but quote an older song. Rūpa's nephew Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja fixes it in the Govinda-Līlāmṛta, in the eleventh canto, asking: how has the pearl upon Rādhā's nose turned dark and red, like guñjā-beads? Ignorant poets, the song answers, imagine it is only a reflection, the black of Her eyeliner thrown down from above, the red of Her lips shining up from below. But that is not my view, the singer answers. The red is Her own burning, passionate love for Kṛṣṇa, and the black is Kṛṣṇa Himself, and these two colors come forth in the very breath She exhales through Her nose, and that breath, carrying nothing but Him, dyes the pearl through and through. This, O Rādhe, is why the pearl looks so unbearably beautiful to the sakhīs and mañjarīs. Every ornament You wear, every wave of gesture Your body floats upon, exists for one purpose only: that Kṛṣṇa may taste the fullest sweetness of love. Your whole form rides on waves of amorous grace, and all of it is offered, not for Yourself, but to delight Him.

But even as the comfort takes hold, a fresh sorrow gathers, for Kṛṣṇa is moving homeward now and the coming parting already presses on You. So the maidservant, who will not let the two she serves be torn apart, leans in with her counsel. Hey Rādhe, she says, make Your lover, the jewel of Vraja, eager for You. Show Him the beauty of Your breasts, veiled beneath the bodice that is embroidered with shining jewels and pictured all across its top, citra-udañcita, ratna-cchaṭā. She knows, this expert servant, exactly how that sight works upon Vrajamaṇi; she knows He will not be able to lift His eyes away, will not be able to leave You.

And mark why she calls Him Vrajamaṇi, the jewel of Vraja. By that name she means: Kṛṣṇa is the longed-for treasure of every soul in this land; the delectable sweetness of His names, His forms, His qualities steals the heart of all who behold Him. Yet, she says, Rādhikā's beauty will make even that universal jewel forget everything and everyone, the whole world emptied from His mind, so that there is only You. Thus the maidservant labors at nothing but Your happiness, arranging each pearl and gesture so that the two of You are bound close and made glad. The tradition cannot keep silent before her: blessed is this maidservant, it cries, and blessed is her expertise in loving service.

Prabodhānanda himself takes up the song to praise You. O Princess Rādhe, he sings, daughter of the king of Vraja; O goddess of bright gold, made lovely by the pearl upon the tip of Your nose; O You who raise lovely waves of amorous play, who set wave after wave of varied gesture rolling upon the very river of Your pastimes. And then the prayer beneath the praise: by showing Him those breasts veiled in the jewel-bright, picture-woven bodice, O Rādhe, make Vrajamaṇi desire You, and keep Him.