Stones would crack at the sight of that grief. The milkmaids and all the people lamented. 'What terrible sin must we have committed?' they asked one another. Some wept openly, tears streaming; inwardly they burned. Others burned both inside and out, throwing their children from their arms. Some stood still and silent, as if their jivas had departed. Every soul among them had risen to the brink, all except the cowherds who had been with Him. Life itself now seemed false in this world, for without meeting Hari, what was the use of living? Taking the cowherds with them, everyone set out: men, women, children, all. The word 'human' no longer applied; the whole village of Gokul was abandoned. They left behind food, wealth, and everything, holding only the image of that cowherd-boy in their chitta. The cows stood at the water's edge with lowered heads, staring silently into the pool of the Yamuna. The trees, plants, and creepers along the Yamuna had wilted with grief for Krishna. The sorrow of all became one on that bank. Then the parents began to wail. Says Tuka, the parents and siblings, they had been untroubled until they reached the water's edge.

Stones would split at the sight of that grief, as the milkmaids and the people wail. What sin was in us, they say to one another, each to each. In the eyes of some there are outward tears; those without them burn inside. Some burn within and without and throw their children down from their arms. Some stay quite still, settled, their jivas neither inside nor out. The very souls of them all rise to the brink, all but those cowherds who had been with Him. To live on now is false in this world, if there is to be no meeting with Hari. Taking the cowherds with them, they all set out, children, men, women, all. They are men and women in name no longer; the village of Gokul is abandoned. They leave behind food and all their wealth, holding only that cowherd in their hearts as they go. The cows stand at the bank with lowered necks, motionless at the pool of the Yamuna. On the Yamuna's bank the trees and plants and creepers have withered with grief for Krishna. The grief of these and those becomes one at the bank, and then the parents wail. Tuka says: the parents and the kin, only until they had not yet reached the bank.