Thus, when Yamuna was rebuked by Balarama, she became frightened and, trembling, fell at his feet, speaking in a quivering voice. “O Rama, O mighty-armed one,” she pleaded, “I did not know your greatness, O lord of the world, whose very portion upholds the earth. Forgive me, O soul of the universe, friend of your devotees! I did not know your supreme nature. Now, I have taken refuge in you.” Hearing her words and seeing her submission, the blessed Balarama released Yamuna from his grasp. Then, accompanied by the women, he bathed joyfully in her waters, just as a king elephant delights with his herd. After enjoying the refreshing bath, Balarama emerged from the river and, in the open air, bestowed splendid ornaments and beautiful garlands upon the women. Adorned in blue garments and a golden garland, his body anointed and decorated, he shone resplendent, like Indra among elephants. To this day, the path that Balarama drew as he dragged the Yamuna remains visible, a testament to his boundless strength. That entire night, Balarama remained in Vraja, his mind enraptured by the sweet company of the women of Vraja, reveling in their presence. Meanwhile, as a new chapter began, the sage Shuka continued the narration. When Balarama had gone to Nandavraja, the king of the Karushas, unaware that Krishna was the Supreme Lord Vasudeva himself, sent a messenger to Krishna, boldly declaring, “I am Vasudeva.” The boys around Krishna addressed him as Vasudeva, the Lord descended, ruler of the world, and Krishna, knowing himself to be the infallible Self, listened. But the deluded king, childish and lacking in understanding, sent his messenger to Krishna, whose ways are inscrutable, as if a boy were sending a message to another in Dvaraka. The messenger entered the assembly in Dvaraka 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 all beings, I have descended. Abandon your false claim! The emblems you bear, which are rightfully mine, you wear out of ignorance, O Sātvata. Give them up and take refuge in me—or else, grant me battle!” When Paundraka’s boastful words were heard, the assembly, led by Ugrasena, burst into laughter, for Paundraka’s lack of intelligence was obvious to all. Then Krishna, the Blessed Lord, responded to the messenger with gentle jest: “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 Krishna’s words to his master. Krishna, mounting his chariot, set out for Kashi. Paundraka, a mighty chariot-warrior, learned of Krishna’s advance and swiftly departed the city, leading two divisions of troops. The king of Kashi, Paundraka’s ally, followed with three more divisions, and together they beheld Paundraka arrayed in full regalia. Paundraka had adorned himself with the conch, discus, mace, bow, and the Srivatsa mark, the Kaustubha gem, and a garland of forest flowers. Clad in yellow silk, bearing the Garuda banner, crowned and ornamented, and wearing makara-shaped earrings, he presented himself as a copy of Krishna. Seeing this imitation, Krishna laughed heartily, for Paundraka looked like an actor on a stage, mimicking the Lord. The enemy kings attacked Krishna with a rain of weapons—spears, maces, clubs, javelins, lances, darts, swords, sabres, and arrows. But Krishna struck back fiercely at the armies of Paundraka and the king of Kashi, destroying elephants, chariots, horses, and infantry with his mace, sword, discus, and arrows, 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 dreadful place, a playground of the Lord of beings. Then Krishna, also called Śauri, addressed Paundraka: “Ho, Paundraka! Since you have sent me this message, 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.” With a hail of sharp arrows, Krishna struck Paundraka, destroyed his chariot, and then, seizing a chariot wheel, severed Paundraka’s head, just as Indra would cleave a mountain with his thunderbolt. In the same way, Krishna cut off the head of the king of Kashi and cast it down in the city, as the wind drops a lotus bud. Having slain the envious Paundraka and his ally, Krishna, Hari, returned to Dvaraka, as the perfected beings sang nectar-like tales of his glory. Paundraka, who had constantly meditated on Krishna, was freed from all bonds at death, and, assuming a form like Hari’s, became absorbed in him. When the severed head of the king of Kashi, adorned with earrings, was found at the royal gate, the people wondered, “What is this? Whose face could this be?” Recognizing it as their king’s, his queens, sons, relatives, and the citizens wailed in grief, crying, “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, Sudakshina, along with his priest, worshipped Maheshvara—Lord Shiva—with utmost concentration. Pleased, Lord Shiva appeared in Avimukta and granted Sudakshina a boon. Sudakshina asked for the means to slay his father’s killer. Shiva instructed him: “Worship the southern fire together with Brahmins and the officiating priest, and perform the ritual of sorcery. That fire, surrounded by spirits, when employed against one who is unrighteous, will accomplish your intent.” Thus instructed, Sudakshina performed the sorcery ritual against Krishna, observing the proper vows. From the fire-pit arose a terrifying embodied fire, with blazing copper-red hair and beard, and eyes that streamed forth flames.