As Lord Balarāma and his brother Kṛṣṇa returned to Vraja, the cowherds gathered around them with hearts overflowing. “May you and your brother, O Lord of the universe, protect us always, O Dāśārha,” they said, lifting Balarāma onto their laps, embracing him tightly, their tears bathing him as they wept with joy and relief. Balarāma, ever respectful, greeted the elder cowherds who sat in their customary places, each according to age, friendship, and kinship. Then, as he approached the cowherd men, laughter and warm handshakes filled the air; those gathered around asked him questions, their faces lit with ease and affection. Balarāma, in turn, inquired tenderly about their well-being and that of their families. His voice trembled with emotion, for all their burdens had been placed in Kṛṣṇa, whose eyes shone like lotus petals. The cowherds, feeling safe in his presence, asked, “O Rāma, are all your relatives well? Do you, with your wives and children, still remember us?” They rejoiced, “By good fortune, 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 the sight of Rāma, laughed and asked, “Is Kṛṣṇa, 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?” Their longing poured forth: “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?” They wondered, “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.” Then, with a sigh, they said, “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.” Still, remembering Kṛṣṇa’s playful words, lovely glances, movements, and loving embraces, the women wept. Lord Saṅkarṣaṇa, skilled in comforting, soothed them with heartfelt messages from Kṛṣṇa. Rāma stayed for two months—the months of Madhu and Mādhava—bringing delight to the gopīs during the nights. Bathed in the moon’s glow, with the fragrance of night-blooming lotuses wafting on the breeze, Balarāma enjoyed himself in the groves by the Yamunā, surrounded by groups of women who served him. Then, sent by Varuna, the goddess Varuni emerged from the hollow of a tree, her fragrance filling the entire forest as she descended. Bala, inhaling the honey-scented breeze, approached and drank with the women, using his tongue. As Gandharvas sang, 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. 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, his face smiled like a lotus, embellished with drops of sweat glistening like frost. The lord summoned the Yamuna for water games, but Bala, intoxicated and heedless of his own words, called out to the river. When she did not come, angered, he dragged her with the tip of his plough, rebuking her: “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 and rebuked, 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, gave the women splendid ornaments and a beautiful garland. Clad in 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 lasting mark of his endless strength. Thus, the whole night passed as Rama enjoyed alone in Vraja, his mind captivated by the sweetness of the women of Vraja. Meanwhile, Shuka continued: When Rama had gone to Nandavraja, the king of the Karusha sent a messenger to Kṛṣṇa, not knowing Kṛṣṇa was Vāsudeva, the Lord, but claiming, “I am Vāsudeva.” Addressed by the boys as “You are Vāsudeva, the Lord descended, ruler of the world,” Kṛṣṇa considered himself to be the infallible Self. The deluded king, acting like a child and lacking understanding, sent a messenger to Kṛṣṇa, whose actions are inscrutable, just as a boy might send one to another in Dvārakā. The messenger arrived in Dvārakā, entered the assembly, and addressed Kṛṣṇa, the lotus-eyed Lord, delivering the royal message: “I alone am Vasudeva incarnate; there is no other. Out of compassion for beings I have descended. You should abandon your false claim.” “The emblems you bear, which are mine, you wear out of ignorance, O Sātvata. Give them up and take refuge in me, or else, grant me battle.” Hearing the boastful words of Paundraka, who lacked intelligence, Ugrasena and the other members of the assembly burst into loud laughter. The Blessed Lord, following words of jest, said to the messenger, “Fool, I will indeed relinquish the emblems by which you boast in this way.