Balarama, resplendent with a garland and a single earring, appeared intoxicated and adorned with the Vaijayanti wreath. His lotus-like face shone with a gentle, smiling radiance, and beads of sweat glistened upon his brow like drops of frost. In this state, the Lord summoned the sacred Yamuna river for water games. But, overcome by intoxication, Balarama disregarded his own previous words and simply called out to Yamuna to come to him. When Yamuna did not respond to his call, Balarama became angry. With the tip of his mighty plough, he dragged the river towards himself, rebuking her: “O sinful one, you ignore my summons and wander as you please. Now I will draw you here with my plough!” Frightened by his wrath, Yamuna trembled and, falling at the feet of the son of Yadu, spoke with quivering words, “O Rama, Rama, mighty-armed one! I did not know your power, O Lord of the world, by whose single portion the earth is sustained. Forgive me, O soul of the universe, friend of devotees! I did not recognize your supreme nature. I now take refuge in you.” Appeased by her plea, Balarama released Yamuna. Then, surrounded by the women, he bathed in her waters, moving among them like a king elephant with his herd. After enjoying himself in the water, Balarama emerged and, in the open air, gifted the women splendid ornaments and a beautiful garland. Clad in blue garments and a golden garland, well-adorned and anointed, he rested, shining like Indra among elephants. Even today, it is said, the path carved by Balarama’s plough as he drew Yamuna remains visible, a lasting testament to his limitless strength. Thus, the entire night passed as Balarama delighted alone in Vraja, his heart captivated by the sweetness of the women of the land. Meanwhile, as the next chapter begins, Shuka continued: When Rama had gone to Nandavraja, the king of the Karusha, unaware that Krishna was the true Vāsudeva, sent a messenger to Krishna, claiming, “I am Vāsudeva.” The boys around Krishna addressed him, saying, “You are Vāsudeva, the Lord descended, ruler of the world!” Krishna, knowing himself as the infallible Self, smiled at their words. But the deluded king, Paundraka, acting like a child and lacking discernment, sent a messenger to Krishna, whose ways are inscrutable, just as a boy might send a message to another in Dvaraka. The messenger arrived in Dvaraka, entered the royal assembly, and addressed Krishna, the lotus-eyed Lord, conveying 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.” Hearing these boastful words of Paundraka, Ugrasena and the other members of the assembly burst into loud laughter. The Blessed Lord, amused, replied to 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 all these words to his master. Krishna then mounted his chariot and set out for Kashi. Paundraka, the mighty chariot-warrior, upon hearing of Krishna’s advance, swiftly departed the city with two divisions of troops. The king of Kashi, Paundraka’s ally, followed with three divisions, and together they beheld Paundraka, who had adorned himself with the conch, discus, mace, bow, and the mark of Srivatsa, wearing the Kaustubha gem and a garland of forest flowers. Clad in yellow silk, bearing a banner of Garuda, and adorned with a priceless crown, ornaments, and makara-shaped earrings, Paundraka presented himself as a false Vasudeva. Seeing Paundraka dressed as an imitation of himself, like an actor upon the stage, Krishna laughed heartily. The enemy kings attacked Hari with spears, maces, clubs, javelins, lances, darts, swords, sabres, and arrows. But Krishna struck fiercely at the armies of Paundraka and the king of Kashi—those with elephants, chariots, horses, and infantry—using his mace, sword, discus, and arrows, just as fire at the end of an age consumes all beings. The battlefield became a grim spectacle, strewn with the bodies of elephants, horses, camels, donkeys, and men, broken by the warriors. It shone like a cremation ground, a place of delight for the bold, and as fearsome as the playground of the Lord of beings. Then Krishna, the descendant of Shura, called out to Paundraka, “Ho, Paundraka! Since you have spoken to me through your messenger, I will now relinquish these weapons to you. I will abandon the name you have falsely assumed of me, O fool. Today I will seek refuge with you—if I do not desire battle.” Having struck Paundraka with sharp arrows and deprived him of his chariot, Krishna severed his head with a chariot wheel, just as Indra would cleave a mountain with his thunderbolt. In the same way, he cut off the head of the king of Kashi with arrows and cast it down in the city, like the wind dropping a lotus bud. Having thus slain the envious Paundraka and his ally, Krishna—Hari—entered Dvaraka, as the perfected beings sang nectar-like tales of his glory. Paundraka, who had constantly meditated upon the Blessed Lord, was freed from all bonds and, bearing the form of Hari, became absorbed in Him. In Kashi, when the people saw the severed head adorned with earrings at the royal gate, they wondered, “What is this? Whose face could this be?” Recognizing it as the head of their king, his queens, sons, relatives, and the citizens wailed, “Alas! The king is slain! Our protector is gone!” Sudakshina, the king’s son, performed the funeral rites for his father and resolved, “I will destroy my father’s killer and thus honor my father.” With this determination, and joined by his priest, Sudakshina worshipped Maheshvara—Shiva—with supreme concentration. Pleased in Avimukta, the Lord granted him a boon, and Sudakshina chose the means to slay his father’s killer.