Krishna feels at his waist — the flute is gone! He runs to Lalita: "Lalita, stop joking, where is my flute?" — "How would I know?" — "Lalita, did Radhika steal it?" — "I swear I haven't taken it and don't know where it is." So he goes round asking everyone: "Was it you who took it while we were swinging?" — "No." — "While we splashed in the water?" — "No." — "While we drank honey-wine?" — "No." They deny it all and keep laughing at him. "Radhika, just give it back, don't delay, don't delay! This flute is my very breath, my whole life. Without it, how will I sing, how will I play, how will I gather my cows?" — Krishna pleads, and the gopis only laugh the harder. Then one sakhi, with mock gravity, advises: "Don't fret, Krishna. You can sing with your mouth, make music by clapping, and herd the cows with your lakuti stick. Why so beside yourself over a plain little reed? You're the prince, the maharaja's son — undone by a piece of bamboo?"