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It was early afternoon on a beautiful monsoon day. The clouds were Syama-colored and rumbled gently, but no rain came. They simply shaded Rupa Gosvami from the heat of the sun and encouraged the limitless peacocks on the banks of Radha-kunda to dance exuberantly and call out loudly for the rain to fall. Despite this cacophony of sound, his heart was absorbed only in the beautiful, all attractive syllables of Harinama. In ecstasy, he thought:
“I do not know how much nectar the two syllables “Krs

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