The women of Vraja, hearts aching in separation, gathered and spoke among themselves of Krishna. “Does he remember his relatives, his father and mother?” one asked, her voice trembling with longing. “Will he ever come, even once, to see his mother? Or does that mighty-armed one remember our service to him?” Another added, “For whose sake, O Dāśārha, did you, O Lord, abandon your mother, father, brothers, husbands, sons, and even sisters—your dearest kin?” Their sorrow deepened as they recalled how Krishna had departed so suddenly, breaking the bonds of affection that tied him to them. “How could such a one be trusted by women to keep his word?” they lamented. The women wondered aloud how the city’s wise ladies could accept the words of one who seemed so inconstant and ungrateful. Yet, they admitted, enchanted by Krishna’s charming stories, his gentle smiles, glances, and sighs, these women too had surrendered to him, lovesick and helpless. “What use is there for us, O cowherd women, in talking of him?” one sighed. “Let us speak of other things. Time passes for us in his absence, if it passes for him as it does for us.” But as they tried to turn their minds away, memories overwhelmed them. They recalled Krishna’s playful words, his lovely glances, the graceful movements of his form, and the warmth of his loving embraces. Overcome, the women wept together for Śauri. It was then that Lord Saṅkarṣaṇa, Balarāma, skilled in the arts of comfort and persuasion, soothed their hearts with heartfelt messages from Krishna himself. He remained in Vraja for two months—during the months of Madhu and Mādhava—bringing delight to the gopīs, especially in the enchanting nights. Bathed in the radiance of the full moon, with the sweet fragrance of night-blooming lotuses drifting on the breeze, Balarāma enjoyed the groves along the Yamunā, surrounded by groups of devoted women who served him with love. At that time, sent by Varuna, the goddess Varuni emerged from the hollow of a tree, her divine fragrance filling the entire forest as she descended. Balarāma, inhaling the scent of her honey-like essence carried by the wind, approached and drank together with the women, using his tongue. As Gandharvas sang celestial melodies, Balarāma, encircled by beautiful women, reveled like Indra amidst a herd of elephants. Drums resounded from the heavens, flowers rained down in joy, and Gandharvas and sages praised Balarāma for his wondrous deeds. The women sang of his exploits as Halayudha wandered the forests, intoxicated, his eyes unsteady from delight. He was adorned with a garland and a single earring, intoxicated, wearing the Vaijayanti wreath. His lotus-like face smiled, shining with drops of sweat that gleamed like frost. Desiring to play water games, Balarāma called out to the Yamunā, but intoxicated, he disregarded his own earlier words and summoned the river. When Yamunā did not come, angered, he dragged her to him 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, Yamunā approached, trembling, and fell at his feet. She pleaded, “O Rama, Rama, mighty-armed, I did not know your prowess, O lord of the world, by whose single portion the earth is sustained. O Lord, please forgive me, who did not know your supreme nature. O soul of the universe, friend of devotees, I have taken refuge in you.” Appeased by her surrender, the blessed Balarāma released Yamunā and, with the women, bathed joyfully in her waters like a king elephant with his herd. Afterward, he emerged from the river and, in the open air, bestowed splendid ornaments and beautiful garlands upon the women. Clad in blue garments and a golden garland, anointed and resplendent, he rested, shining like Indra among elephants. Even today, the path carved by Balarāma’s dragging of the Yamunā can still be seen, a visible testament to his endless strength. Thus, the entire night passed as Balarāma enjoyed in Vraja, his mind captivated by the sweetness of the women of Vraja. Meanwhile, as the sixty-sixth chapter begins, Śuka continued: When Balarāma had gone to Nandavraja, the king of the Karusha, unaware of Krishna’s true nature as Vāsudeva, sent a messenger to Krishna, boldly proclaiming, “I am Vāsudeva.” The boys addressed Krishna, saying, “You are Vāsudeva, the Lord descended, ruler of the world.” Krishna, knowing himself to be the infallible Self, remained composed. Yet, the deluded king, acting childishly and lacking understanding, sent his messenger to Krishna—whose actions are inscrutable—just as one boy might send a message to another in Dvaraka. Arriving in Dvaraka, the messenger entered the royal assembly and addressed Krishna, the lotus-eyed Lord, delivering the king’s 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.” Śrī Śuka said: Hearing the boastful words of Paundraka, who lacked intelligence, Ugrasena and the other members of the assembly burst into loud laughter. Krishna, the Blessed Lord, responded with words laced with jest, telling the messenger, “Fool, I will indeed relinquish the emblems by which you boast in this way. You will lie there slain, your face covered, surrounded by vultures, crows, and jackals; then, your refuge will be among the dogs.” The messenger returned and reported these words to his master. Krishna, mounting his chariot, set out for Kashi. Paundraka, the mighty chariot-warrior, learning of Krishna’s advance, swiftly departed the city, accompanied by two divisions of troops. The king of Kashi, Paundraka’s ally, followed him with three divisions of troops, and together they beheld Paundraka. Paundraka had arrayed himself in imitation of Krishna: he wore the conch, discus, mace, bow, and the mark of Śrīvatsa, adorned with the Kaustubha gem and a garland of forest flowers. He was clad in yellow silk, bearing the banner of Garuda, crowned and ornamented with priceless jewels, shining with makara-shaped earrings. Seeing him thus dressed, like an actor mimicking his own appearance, Hari, Krishna, laughed heartily.