Surrounded by a splendid division of his army, adorned in fine garments and ornaments, and accompanied by his wife, the noble hero departed, honored by Rudra himself. Entering his royal city, which shone with flags, grand gateways, and guarded crossroads, he was welcomed with the triumphant sounds of conch shells, trumpets, and drums. Citizens, friends, and the revered twice-born gathered joyfully to greet him. It is said that whoever remembers Krishna’s victory and his battle with Shankara, rising in the morning, will never know defeat. Thus concludes the sixty-third chapter, ‘The Bringing of Aniruddha,’ from the tenth canto, second half, of the holy Bhagavata Mahapurana, the scripture of the supreme swan. Śuka continued: O best of the Kurus, Lord Balarāma, eager to see his dear friends, mounted his chariot and journeyed to Nanda’s Gokula. There, the cowherds and cowherd women, who had long yearned for him, embraced him for a long time. Rama bowed to his parents, who joyfully blessed him, lifting him onto their laps, embracing him, and bathing him with tears of love. “May you and your brother, O Lord of the universe, protect us always, O Dāśārha,” they said. Balarāma respectfully greeted the elder cowherds, each according to their age, friendship, and relationship to him, as they sat in their customary places. Then, surrounded by the cowherd men, he exchanged laughter, handshakes, and gestures of affection, sitting comfortably as they inquired after his well-being. In turn, Balarāma asked after their families, his voice choked with affection, for all their burdens had been placed in Krishna, whose eyes are like lotus petals. “O Rāma, are all your relatives well? Do you, with your wives and children, still remember us?” they asked. “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 found shelter in a stronghold.” The cowherd women, delighted to see Rāma, 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?” “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.” “What use is there for us, O cowherd women, in talking of him? Let us speak 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 persuasion, comforted them with heartfelt messages from Krishna. He remained in Gokula 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, and as she descended, her fragrance filled the entire forest. 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, in a circle adorned 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 lotus-like face embellished with drops of sweat like frost, he shone. The lord summoned the Yamuna for water games, but Bala, disregarding his own words in intoxication, 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, requested, the blessed Bala released Yamuna and bathed in her waters with the women, like a king elephant with female elephants. After enjoying himself, he emerged from the water and, in the open air, 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, a testament to the endless strength of Bala. Thus, the whole night passed as Rama enjoyed alone in Vraja, his mind captivated by the sweetness of the women of Vraja. Then begins the sixty-sixth chapter. Shuka said: When Rama had gone to Nandavraja, the king of the Karusha sent a messenger to Krishna, not knowing that he was Vāsudeva, the Lord, saying, “I am Vāsudeva.” Addressed by the boys, “You are Vāsudeva, the Lord descended, ruler of the world,” Krishna considered himself to be the infallible Self.