After Krishna's glorious victory and his battle with Shankara, he entered his royal city. The streets shone with flags fluttering atop gateways, and the crossroads were well-guarded. As he passed, the air resounded with the triumphant blasts of conch shells, trumpets, and drums. The citizens, his friends, and the revered twice-born welcomed him with joy and reverence. It is said that anyone who remembers Krishna's victory and his battle with Shankara each morning will never know defeat. Thus concludes the sixty-third chapter, 'The Bringing of Aniruddha,' in the sacred Bhagavata Mahapurana, the scripture of the supreme swan. Some time later, Śrī Śuka continued his narration to the best of the Kurus. Lord Balarāma, longing to see his beloved friends, mounted his chariot and journeyed to Nanda's Gokula. When he arrived, the cowherds and cowherd women, who had missed him dearly, embraced him for a long time. Rama bowed to his parents, and they blessed him joyfully, lifting him onto their laps, embracing him, and bathing him with tears of affection. They prayed, “May you and your brother, O Lord of the universe, always protect us, O Dāśārha.” Balarāma then paid his respects to the elder cowherds, who were seated according to custom, honoring each by their age, friendship, and relationship to him. The cowherd men gathered around him, greeting him with laughter, handshakes, and warm gestures, and as Rama sat comfortably among them, they began to ask about his well-being. In turn, Rama inquired about 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 Rama, 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 at seeing Rama, 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. 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, as they remembered Krishna’s playful words, his lovely glances, his movements, and his loving embraces, the women wept. Lord Saṅkarṣaṇa, skilled in comforting, soothed them with heartfelt messages from Krishna. Rama 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, he 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, together with the women, drank it, using his tongue. As Gandharvas sang, Rama, encircled by beautiful women, 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. The women sang of his exploits, and Halayudha wandered through the forests, intoxicated, his eyes unsteady from delight. Adorned with a garland, a single earring, intoxicated, wearing the Vaijayanti wreath, and displaying a smiling lotus-like face embellished with drops of sweat like frost, Rama shone brilliantly. Desiring water games, Rama summoned the Yamuna, but intoxicated, he disregarded his own words and called out to the river. When Yamuna did not come, angered, he dragged her with the tip of his plough, declaring, “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.” Frightened by his rebuke, 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.” At her request, the blessed Bala released Yamuna and bathed in her waters with the women, like a king elephant with his herd. After enjoying himself, he emerged from the river and, in the open air, gave the women splendid ornaments and a beautiful garland. Clad in blue garments and adorned with a golden garland, he rested, well anointed and decorated, like Indra among elephants. Even today, the path drawn by Bala’s dragging of the Yamuna is visible, a testament to his endless strength. Thus, the whole night passed as Rama enjoyed himself in Vraja, his mind captivated by the sweetness of the women of Vraja. As the sixty-sixth chapter begins, Śuka spoke: When Rama had gone to Nandavraja, the king of the Karusha sent a messenger to Krishna, not knowing that Krishna was Vāsudeva, the Lord, and claimed, “I am Vāsudeva.” The boys addressed Krishna, saying, “You are Vāsudeva, the Lord descended, ruler of the world.” Krishna considered himself to be the infallible Self. The deluded king, acting like a child and lacking understanding, sent a messenger to Krishna, whose actions are inscrutable, just as a boy might send one to another in Dvaraka.