For the joy of a single morsel, the Supreme Brahman itself became a cowherd boy. He eats with both hands and tucks a bit of pickle between his fingers. Who can know what gain is found there, a thing unattainable even to Brahma and the gods? He wrestles, he plays, he blows the flute and the shehnai and dances to their rhythm. In circles of cowherd boys, Hari dances to their beat. What was lacking in that house that He had to sneak in and steal the butter? Says Tuka, we too have been enticed and swept along in His company.