Manasa-ganga, at the water's edge. Krishna brings his boat to the bank and calls: "O young girl, step into my boat." But he picks a slippery word: it can mean "boat" or it can mean "tree." And Radhika, craftier than crafty, deliberately takes the wrong sense: "I'm only a weak girl — where would I find the strength to climb a tree?" "No, not a tree! — says Krishna. — Mama tarani, get into my boat, tarani." Only "tarani" means both a boat and the name of the sun-god. "And what have I to do with the sun-god?" she answers. "No, no, no, — he hurries, — prasanga, here is another word for boat!" But "prasanga" breaks apart into "pra", the most excellent, and "sanga", intimate union, that is, an amorous tryst. And now the all-powerful, all-knowing prince of Vraja, master of every word, falls silent. He has no answer. At every step she cuts his speech and wins — while the sakhis, watching, burst out clapping their hands.