As Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa journeyed onward, they were confronted by a vast and terrible darkness, dense and impenetrable. Beholding this, the Blessed Lord Kṛṣṇa, master of all yogic powers, sent forth His own divine discus, Sudarśana, blazing with the radiance of a thousand suns. Swift as thought itself, Sudarśana entered that formidable gloom, sundering it with its fierce brilliance just as Rāma’s arrow would cleave through an army, stripping it of all resistance. Following the path carved by the discus, Arjuna gazed ahead and beheld a supreme, boundless light shining beyond the darkness. Its dazzling brilliance struck his eyes so intensely that he was compelled to close them. Then, borne upon the wind, Arjuna descended into the waters, which were adorned with great waves. There, within those depths, he saw a wondrous palace, radiant and astonishing, its thousands of pillars constructed from gleaming jewels. Within that palace, Arjuna beheld a most marvelous sight: the infinite, mighty serpent Ananta, whose thousand hoods were adorned with luminous gems. The serpent shone with a white brilliance like a mountain, its fierce eyes blazing, and its tongue dark as a storm cloud. Upon the comfortable seat formed by this great serpent, Arjuna saw the Supreme Lord Himself—pervader of all, highest among persons, His complexion deep as a rain-laden cloud, clothed in yellow garments, serene-faced, with large, beautiful eyes. The Lord was adorned with a crown and earrings of splendid jewels. His curling locks, numbering a thousand, were encircled by a radiant aura. Eight long and graceful arms extended from His form, bearing the resplendent Kaustubha gem, the Śrīvatsa mark upon His chest, and a garland of forest flowers draped around Him. Overwhelmed by awe, Arjuna bowed low, and Kṛṣṇa, the infallible one, also offered reverence to the infinite Self. Then, the Supreme Lord, with joined palms and a smile, addressed them in a voice both powerful and gentle. He said, “Desiring to see you both, I brought the brāhmaṇa’s sons here to preserve righteousness on earth. You, who are incarnations of My own portion, must quickly return after destroying the burden of evil in the world. Though your desires are fulfilled, you two—Nara and Nārāyaṇa, foremost of sages—continue to practice righteousness for the world’s stability and the welfare of all beings.” Thus instructed by the Supreme Lord, Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna, bowing with the sacred utterance “Om,” took the brāhmaṇa’s sons and departed with the great Lord. Filled with joy, they returned to their own abode as before, and restored the sons to the brāhmaṇa, each according to his proper form and age. Hearing of that divine, Vaiṣṇava realm, Arjuna was utterly amazed, realizing that all power possessed by men was but a gift of Kṛṣṇa’s compassion. Kṛṣṇa, in this way, performed many wondrous deeds, enjoying worldly pleasures and conducting sacrifices that surpassed all others. At the proper times, He bestowed every blessing upon brāhmaṇas and all people, just as Indra, supreme among the gods, showers rain upon the earth. Having vanquished the unrighteous kings and caused their downfall through Arjuna and others, Kṛṣṇa swiftly established dharma, installing the sons of Dharma and their kin as rulers. Śuka then described how the Lord of fortune, Kṛṣṇa, dwelt happily in His own city, Dvārakā—a place of boundless prosperity, where He was ever surrounded by the foremost of the Vṛṣṇis. The city was alive with women adorned in splendid attire, radiant with youthful beauty, playing with balls and other games in palaces that flashed like lightning. The bustling streets teemed with intoxicated elephants, warriors, horses, and golden chariots, all lavishly decorated. In the gardens and groves, rows of blossoming trees filled the air with the songs of bees and birds. Kṛṣṇa delighted as the sole beloved of sixteen thousand wives, each residing in magnificent homes and displaying wondrous forms. He sported in pure, fragrant waters, scented by the pollen of lotuses, lilies, and blue water-lilies, among the calls of many birds. Entering the lakes, His body was anointed with saffron from the embraces of His beloveds, who held Him close. The Gandharvas sang joyfully, accompanied by the music of drums, cymbals, and kettledrums, while bards, genealogists, and singers played the lute. Acyuta laughed and played as His wives sprinkled Him with water, sporting like the lord of the Yakṣas among Yakṣīs. Their garments wet, their broad chests exposed, the women flung handfuls of flowers at Him, embraced Him with playful intent, their faces glowing with the joy of awakened longing. Kṛṣṇa, His chest adorned with garlands streaked with saffron, His hair loosened from the playful sport and embraces, delighted as He was sprinkled again and again by the young women, surrounded as an elephant is by cow-elephants. He gave ornaments and garments for play to the dancers, singers, musicians, and to the women themselves. As He enjoyed these pleasures—with smiles, glances, playful words, and embraces—the minds of the women were utterly captivated. Their hearts fixed solely on Mukunda, the queens spoke in words that were incoherent, like those of the intoxicated or dull-witted, thinking always of the lotus-eyed Lord. Hear now the words they uttered: “O kurarī bird, you lament sleepless through the night, while the Lord of the world sleeps, hidden from our sight. Are you, like us, pierced in the heart by the generous glances and smiles of the lotus-eyed one? O cakravākī, you close your eyes at night, unseen by your companion, crying plaintively. We too serve at Acyuta’s feet; or do you long for a garland for your hair? You, who groan by the waters, sleepless and awake through the night—has Mukunda taken the mark of your soul, so that you too are afflicted as we are? O Moon, you seem consumed by sorrow; your light wanes and you cannot dispel the darkness. Like us, bewildered and speaking in broken words, have you forgotten Him, and now remain silent, unnoticed? O wind from the Malaya mountains, have we offended you? For, pierced by Govinda’s sidelong glances, you stir longing in our hearts. O splendid cloud, you must be dear to the chief of the Yadus, for you are bound by love, ever meditating on Him who bears the Śrīvatsa mark. Overwhelmed with longing, your heart agitated like ours, you shed streams of tears, remembering Him. O cuckoo, with your trembling throat, you utter words so sweet they revive the dead. Tell us, dear one, what can we do for you? You seem to call out the beloved’s name. O mountain, wise one, you do not move or speak, as if contemplating some great purpose. Surely, like us, you long to embrace the feet of Vasudeva’s son. Alas, the wives of the ocean, their lakes dried and hands parched, have lost the beauty of their lotuses, deprived of their beloved. Just as we, tormented and hearts seized by longing, suffer without the loving glance of the Lord of the bees.” Thus did the queens of Kṛṣṇa, their hearts overflowing with love and longing, express their devotion, their every thought and word fixed upon the lotus-eyed Lord.