For the joy of a single morsel, the Supreme Brahman itself has become a cowherd boy. He eats with both hands from his mouth 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 plays, he wrestles, he blows the flute and dances to its 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 drawn along in His company.