To humble his pride, Krishna broke the arms of the asura, and the vast army that burdened the earth was destroyed by him. Yet, four of the asura’s arms remained, and Krishna granted him agelessness and immortality, making him chief among Rudra’s attendants. “O asura,” Krishna declared, “you shall have no fear from anywhere.” Receiving this gift of fearlessness, the asura bowed his head to Krishna in gratitude. He then placed Pradyumna, accompanied by his wife, upon the chariot and brought him forward. Surrounded by a division of his army, adorned in fine garments and ornaments, and with his wife beside him, the asura departed, honored by Rudra. He entered his royal city, which was splendid with fluttering flags, grand gateways, and guarded crossroads. The air resounded with the sounds of conch shells, trumpets, and drums, as he was welcomed by citizens, friends, and the twice-born. It is said that whoever remembers Krishna’s victory and his battle with Shankara, rising in the morning, will never suffer defeat. Thus concludes the sixty-third chapter, entitled “The Bringing of Aniruddha,” in the tenth canto, second half, of the holy Bhagavata Mahapurana, the scripture of the supreme swan. Some time later, Śrī Śuka narrated to the best of the Kurus how Lord Balarāma, eager to see his dear friends, mounted his chariot and traveled to Nanda’s Gokula. Upon arrival, the cowherds and cowherd women, who had long yearned for him, embraced him for a long time. Balarāma bowed to his parents, who joyfully blessed him, lifting him onto their laps, embracing him, and bathing him with tears of happiness. “May you and your brother, O Lord of the universe, protect us always, O Dāśārha,” they said. Balarāma then respectfully greeted the elder cowherds, each seated according to their age, friendship, and relationship to him. Approaching the cowherd men, he was welcomed with laughter, handshakes, and other gestures. Those gathered around him asked after his well-being as he sat comfortably among them. Balarāma, in turn, inquired about their welfare and that of their families, his voice choked with affection, for all their burdens had been placed in Krishna, whose eyes are like lotus petals. They asked, “O Rāma, are all your relatives well? Do you, with your wives and children, still remember us? By good fortune, the wicked Kaṃsa has been slain; by good fortune, your friends have been freed; by good fortune, having defeated your enemies, you have taken shelter in a stronghold.” The cowherd women, delighted by the sight of Balarāma, laughed and asked, “Is Krishna, beloved of the city women, living happily? Does he remember his relatives, his father and mother? Will he ever come, even once, to see his mother? Or does that mighty-armed one remember our service to him? For whose sake, O Dāśārha, did you, O Lord, abandon your mother, father, brothers, husbands, sons, and even sisters—your dearest kin?” They lamented, “He left us suddenly, severing our bonds of affection. How, then, could such a one be trusted by women to keep his word? How could the women of the city, wise as they are, accept the words of one so inconstant and ungrateful? Yet, enchanted by his charming stories, smiles, glances, and sighs, they do accept him, lovesick as they are.” “Of what use is it for us, O cowherd women, to speak of him? Let us talk of other things. Time passes for us in his absence, if it passes for him as it does for us.” Yet, remembering Krishna’s playful words, lovely glances, movements, and loving embraces, the women wept. Lord Saṅkarṣaṇa, skilled in many ways of persuasion, comforted them with heartfelt messages from Krishna. Balarāma stayed for two months—Madhu and Mādhava—bringing delight to the gopīs during the nights. Bathed in the light of the full moon, with the fragrance of night-blooming lotuses carried by the breeze, Balarāma enjoyed himself in the groves by the Yamunā, surrounded by groups of women who served him. Sent by Varuna, the goddess Varuni emerged from the hollow of a tree, her fragrance filling the entire forest as she descended. Bala inhaled the scent of the honey-stream carried by the wind and approached, drinking together with the women, using his tongue. As Gandharvas sang, and surrounded by beautiful women, the lord of the elephant herd enjoyed himself, like Indra among elephants. Drums resounded in the sky, flowers rained down in joy, and Gandharvas and sages praised Rama for his deeds. His exploits were sung by the women, and Halayudha wandered through the forests, intoxicated, his eyes unsteady from delight. Adorned with a garland, a single earring, intoxicated, wearing the Vaijayanti wreath, his smiling face was like a lotus and embellished with drops of sweat like frost. The lord summoned the Yamuna for water games, but Bala, intoxicated and disregarding his own words, called out to the river. When she did not come, angered, he dragged her with the tip of his plough, saying, “O sinful one, you have disregarded me though I called you; I will lead you with the tip of my plough, you who wander as you please.” Thus rebuked, frightened, Yamuna spoke trembling words to the son of Yadu, falling at his feet, “O Rama, Rama, mighty-armed, I do not know your prowess, O lord of the world, by whose single portion the earth is sustained. O Lord, you should forgive me, who did not know your supreme nature; O soul of the universe, friend of devotees, I have taken refuge in you.” Then, at her request, the blessed Bala released Yamuna, and bathed in the water with the women, like a king elephant with female elephants. After enjoying himself, he emerged from the water, and in the open air, he gave the women splendid ornaments and a beautiful garland. Having put on blue garments and a golden garland, he rested, well adorned and anointed, like Indra among elephants. Even today, O King, the path drawn by Bala’s dragging of Yamuna is visible, as if indicating the endless strength of Bala.