At the request of those assembled, the blessed Balarāma released the Yamunā River from his grasp. Then, accompanied by the women, he entered the waters and bathed joyfully, moving among them like a mighty king elephant amidst his beloved herd. After delighting himself in the river’s refreshing embrace, Balarāma emerged, and, standing in the open air, adorned the women with splendid ornaments and a beautiful garland, gifts of his affection. Clad in blue garments and wearing a golden garland, Balarāma rested, his body well adorned and anointed, shining with the majesty of Indra among elephants. Even today, O King, the path where Balarāma dragged the Yamunā is visible, a living testament to his boundless strength. Thus, the night passed as Balarāma enjoyed the sweet company of the women of Vraja, his heart captivated by their charm. Meanwhile, when Balarāma had gone to Nandavraja, a curious event unfolded. The king of the Karūṣas, ignorant of Krishna’s true divine nature, sent a messenger to Krishna, declaring, “I am Vāsudeva.” The boys around Krishna praised him, saying, “You are Vāsudeva, the Lord descended, ruler of the world!” Krishna, ever aware of his own infallible Self, listened. Yet the deluded king, acting like a child and lacking wisdom, sent his messenger to Krishna in Dvārakā, as if sending a simple message to a peer. 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.” Hearing these boastful and foolish words from Pauṇḍraka, the assembly—Ugrasena and the others—burst into laughter. Krishna, smiling at the jest, replied to the messenger, “Fool, I will indeed relinquish the emblems by which you boast in this way. You will lie 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 Pauṇḍraka. Without delay, Krishna mounted his chariot and set out for Kāśī. Learning of Krishna’s advance, Pauṇḍraka, a mighty chariot-warrior, swiftly left the city with two divisions of troops. The king of Kāśī, Pauṇḍraka’s ally, followed with three divisions, and together they beheld Pauṇḍraka, dressed in a striking imitation of Krishna’s own form—conch, discus, mace, bow, the Śrīvatsa mark, the Kaustubha gem, and a garland of forest flowers. He wore yellow silk, bore the Garuḍa banner, and was adorned with a priceless crown, ornaments, makara-shaped earrings—all as if he were the Lord himself. Seeing Pauṇḍraka thus arrayed, like an actor on stage, Krishna laughed heartily. Then the enemy kings attacked Krishna with their weapons—spears, maces, clubs, javelins, lances, darts, swords, sabres, and arrows. But Krishna struck back at the forces of Pauṇḍraka and the king of Kāśī—chariots, elephants, horses, and infantry—with his own mace, sword, discus, and arrows, devastating them like fire at the end of an age consumes all beings. The battlefield became a dreadful sight, strewn with the bodies of elephants, horses, camels, donkeys, and men, broken by the warriors’ might. It shone like a cremation ground, a place both terrifying and exhilarating, fit for the Lord of beings. Then Krishna called out to Pauṇḍraka, “Ho, Pauṇḍraka! 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.” With sharp arrows, Krishna struck down Pauṇḍraka, destroying his chariot and severing his head with a chariot wheel, as Indra would split a mountain with his thunderbolt. In the same way, Krishna cut off the head of the king of Kāśī and cast it into the city, as the wind drops a lotus bud. Having slain the envious Pauṇḍraka and his ally, Krishna returned to Dvārakā, greeted by the songs of perfected beings who celebrated his deeds. Pauṇḍraka, who had constantly meditated on Krishna, was freed from all bonds and, bearing the form of Hari, became absorbed in him. Back in Kāśī, the people saw the severed head of their king, adorned with earrings, at the royal gate, and wondered in shock, “What is this? Whose face could this be?” When they recognized it as their king’s head, his queens, sons, relatives, and citizens wailed in grief, “Alas, the king is slain! Our protector is gone!” Sudakṣiṇa, the king’s son, performed the funeral rites and resolved, “I will destroy my father’s killer and thus honor my father.” With his priest, Sudakṣiṇa worshipped Maheshvara, Lord Shiva, with supreme concentration. Pleased in Avimukta, Shiva appeared and granted him a boon. Sudakṣiṇa asked for the means to slay his father’s killer. Shiva instructed him, “Worship the southern fire together with Brahmins and the officiating priest, performing the ritual of sorcery; that fire, surrounded by spirits—when employed against one who is unrighteous, will accomplish your intent.” Thus instructed, Sudakṣiṇa performed the sorcery rite against Krishna, observing the proper vows. From the fire-pit arose a terrifying embodied fire, with blazing copper-red hair and beard, eyes emitting streams of flames, fierce fangs, a dreadful brow, and a harsh mouth. Licking his lips, naked, shaking a blazing trident, and making a rattling sound, the fiery being’s feet were as large as palm trees, shaking the earth as he advanced. Surrounded by spirits, he burned all directions as he made his way toward Dvārakā. Seeing this sorcerous fire approaching, the people of Dvārakā were seized with terror, like deer caught in a forest fire.