With them He shared the feast of curds and rice, combining the packed lunches of all the cowherds. He gathered everything together in one place, not allowing anyone to hoard or hide anything. He would not tolerate any secret keeping; He knows the inner hearts. One must offer one's own portion honestly there. He told them to set aside their usual ways. He distributed to all with His own hands, giving each one exactly what was asked. He shared attentively, in equal measure, eating the same portion Himself. All accounts were in Govinda's hands: who was good, who was wanting, and the nature of each. He provided to each according to their faith, giving thoughtfully and justly. Such happiness is not found even among the people of Vaikuntha. This was the gift He gave to the faithful cowherds. He placed morsels into the cowherds' mouths with His own hand. He ate the morsels smeared with their saliva. He snatched morsels from their mouths and ate them with delight. The One before whose might everything bows, the cowherds would wrestle to the ground. They would lift Him on their shoulders and carry Him. They would dance in a ring, gathered together. Says Tuka, dancing in that circle, He gave them their fill. Then they rounded up the cows.

With them he makes the kala of curds and rice, mixing the lunches of all the cowherds into one. He gathers everything in one place and lets nothing be held back, before or behind. He allows no hiding; he knows each inner heart. Each must give his own portion honestly there. Set out your curds and rice in your own way and give up your private keeping. He shares it to all with his own hands, giving each one just what he asks. He shares it carefully, in equal weight, and eats his own measure too. All the weighing is in Govinda's hands: who is good, who is bad, the way of each. He keeps each one according to his own love, and gives, after thought, exactly as is fitting. Even the people of Vaikuntha have no such joy as this; he gave it to the faithful cowherds. He puts the morsel into the cowherds' mouths with his own hand. He eats the morsels smeared with their spit, eats their leavings with delight. He snatches the morsel from their mouths and eats it by force as their hands clutch at it. The one before whose strength all things are small, the cowherds wrestle to the ground. They lift him onto their shoulders and carry him, and dance gathered in a crowd. Tuka says: gathered in a crowd, he gave us our fill; then they rounded up the cows.