Viśvanātha restates L2 plainly. Taken in relation to this love, the special desire for union never — not once, not ever — stands apart from it. He stacks 'jātu,' 'kadācid,' 'api' to shut out every exception.

He glosses 'na bhidyate': it is never even experienced as separate. The desire for union is not a second thing sitting beside the love; in the gopī's own awareness the two are simply one.

Viśvanātha explains how this love shows up. Because it is self-established (svarūpa-siddha) — real by its own nature, not needing to hear Kṛṣṇa's glories first — and because it is so strong, in some Vraja girls it appears even before they reach adolescence. In others, the ones living near Nanda's town, the love is equally self-established, yet it surfaces through something extra: the deepening familiarity of playing in the dust with Kṛṣṇa as children. Two routes, one self-born love.

Once that love has arisen — even in its early, general form — the whole inner life of these women reorganizes. For those who now love Kṛṣṇa this way, every activity of every sense comes to aim at one target only: Kṛṣṇa's happiness. Not by later training — this is simply what the love does once it is present.

Then youth arrives, and with it Cupid rises: a thirst for union is born. But note the order — it is born in a mind love has already conquered. So this new thirst, too, takes on the one aim already ruling there: his happiness. And that is why the desire for union is not a rival to the love but identical with it — tādātmya, one and the same self. This is Viśvanātha unpacking the verse's 'never separated.'

From that very moment the love earns its name. What the women resolve on is producing a special happiness in Kṛṣṇa — and the means is the desire to give him the touch of their own bodies (note: to give, not to take). Because the amorous desire is turned wholly toward his pleasure, this rati is now called madhura-rati, the sweet or conjugal love. Viśvanātha derives the very name from the self-giving.

So — for exactly this reason — the thirst for union never shows up on its own. It has no independent shine; it only ever glows as part of the love. Viśvanātha thus lands back on the verse's claim that it 'is never separated.'

This, says Viśvanātha, is why the verse says 'sambhogecchā-viśeṣa,' the special desire for union. The word 'viśeṣa,' 'special,' is chosen on purpose: this is not the ordinary self-seeking desire for union but one wholly fused into love and turned toward Kṛṣṇa's joy. The diction itself carries the doctrine.

Now Viśvanātha answers L1's 'what kind of love?' Its splendor works wonder through the 'waves of play' — and what makes those waves so astonishing is that they bring Kṛṣṇa himself under the gopī's sway. That is the reason clause. Then the main clause: once this samarthā love is present, the 'effort' — meaning every activity of mind, speech, and body, whether she plans it or it just happens — is aimed solely at Kṛṣṇa's happiness. Deliberate or spontaneous, it all points one way.

And the result: by that effort Kṛṣṇa receives only happiness. The whole machinery of her senses runs for his joy, so joy is exactly what he gets from it. That, says Viśvanātha, is the meaning.

Viśvanātha clinches it with Kṛṣṇa's own confession from the rāsa-līlā: 'I cannot repay you…' He fastens on one word in it — 'niravadya,' faultless. Why is the gopīs' union with him faultless? Because they aim not the least bit at their own pleasure. Faultlessness just is that total absence of self-interest.

And so — for this very reason — Kṛṣṇa's being conquered by them is celebrated. The love that wants nothing for itself is precisely the love that brings him under its power. Viśvanātha ends where L1 began: the waves of play that astonish by subduing Kṛṣṇa.

A bare reference number marking this verse in the running count. Nothing to decode here.