Carried by the wind, he entered the waters adorned with mighty waves. There, before him, arose a wondrous palace, radiant beyond measure, shining with thousands of columns fashioned from brilliant gems. Within its gleaming halls, he beheld a marvel: the infinite, great serpent, its thousand heads crowned with luminous jewels, each hood shining brilliantly. Fierce eyes glared from its white, mountain-like form, and its tongue was blue-black. Upon the serpent’s comfortable seat rested the all-pervading Lord, supreme among all beings. His form was dark as a dense raincloud, clad in yellow garments, his face serene, his eyes wide and beautiful. A crown and earrings of precious jewels adorned him, his curling locks encircled by a radiant aura. Eight graceful arms extended from his body, bearing the Kaustubha gem, marked with Śrīvatsa, and he wore a garland of forest flowers. Acyuta bowed reverently to the infinite Self, and Arjuna, awestruck by the vision, followed suit. The Lord of great lords, with palms joined and a smiling, powerful voice, addressed them: “Desiring to see you both, I brought the brāhmaṇa’s sons here to uphold righteousness on earth. You, incarnations of My portion, should quickly return after destroying the burden of evil here. Though your desires are fulfilled, you two—Nara and Nārāyaṇa, foremost of sages—practice righteousness for the stability of the world and the welfare of its people.” Thus instructed by the Supreme Lord, the two Kṛṣṇas bowed, uttering ‘Om,’ and departed, taking the brāhmaṇa boys and the great Lord with them. Filled with joy, they returned to their abode as before, restoring the sons to the brāhmaṇa, each according to his form and age. Hearing of that Vaiṣṇava realm, Pārtha was utterly amazed and understood that all human prowess flows from Kṛṣṇa’s compassion. Displaying many such wondrous deeds, he enjoyed worldly pleasures and performed sacrifices surpassing all others. He bestowed blessings upon brāhmaṇas and others at proper times, just as Indra showers rain after attaining supremacy. Having slain the unrighteous kings and brought their destruction through Arjuna and others, he promptly established dharma by means of the sons of Dharma and others. Śuka continued: Dwelling happily in his own city, Dvārakā, the Lord of fortune enjoyed a place overflowing with prosperity, surrounded by the foremost of the Vṛṣṇis. Women adorned in splendid attire, radiant with youthful beauty, played with balls and other games in the palaces, shining like flashes of lightning. The streets bustled always, filled with intoxicated elephants, warriors, horses, and chariots gleaming with gold, all splendidly decorated. Gardens and groves flourished with blossoming rows of trees, resounding everywhere with the songs of bees and birds. There, Kṛṣṇa enjoyed himself as the sole beloved of sixteen thousand wives, each in her magnificent home, each displaying wondrous forms. In pure waters scented by the pollen of fully bloomed lotuses, lilies, and blue water-lilies, and among the chirping flocks of birds, he sported, entering the lakes, his body smeared with saffron from their breasts, embraced by his wives. Gandharvas sang joyfully, accompanied by drums, cymbals, and kettledrums, while bards, genealogists, and singers played the lute. Acyuta was sprinkled by his laughing wives, who sported with him playfully, like the lord of the Yakṣas among Yakṣīs. Their garments soaked, broad breasts exposed, they sprinkled him with handfuls of flowers, embracing their beloved with playful intent, faces radiant with smiles born of awakened longing. Kṛṣṇa’s chest was adorned by garlands smeared with saffron, his hair loosened from play and embraces, and he enjoyed himself, repeatedly sprinkled by the young women, surrounded like an elephant by female elephants. He gave ornaments and garments for play to the dancers, dancing women, singers, and musicians, as well as to his wives. As Kṛṣṇa enjoyed thus, with smiles and glances responding to their movements, with playful jokes and embraces, the minds of the women were utterly captivated. Their thoughts fixed solely on Mukunda, they spoke words incoherent like those of the intoxicated or dull-witted, thinking only of the lotus-eyed one. Listen to their heartfelt utterances. The queens said: “O kurarī, you lament, sleepless, not resting; the Lord of the world sleeps at night, hidden from our awareness. Are you, like us, pierced deeply in heart by the generous glances and smiles of the lotus-eyed one? You close your eyes at night, unseen by your companion, and cry out plaintively, O cakravākī. We, too, have attained servitude at Acyuta’s feet; or do you long for a garland to wear in your hair? You always groan by the waters, sleepless and awake through the night; is it because Mukunda has taken away the mark of your soul, that you, too, have reached this state, so difficult to endure? O Moon, you have been seized by a powerful consumption; your light is waning and you cannot dispel the darkness with your own rays. Like us, bewildered and speaking in broken words, have you too forgotten, and thus remain silent, unnoticed by us? O wind from the Malaya mountains, have we displeased you? For, pierced by the sidelong glances of Govinda, you stir in our hearts the pain of longing. O splendid cloud, you must surely be dear to the chief of the Yadus; like us, you are bound by love, constantly meditating on him who bears the Śrīvatsa mark. Overwhelmed with longing, your heart agitated like ours, you shed streams of tears again and again, remembering him—such is the pain of his association. O cuckoo, with your trembling throat, your sweet words revive the dead. Tell me, what can I do for you today, dear one? Speak, for you seem to call out the beloved’s name. O mountain, wise one, you do not move or speak; you seem to contemplate some great purpose. Surely, like us, you long to embrace the feet of Vasudeva’s son, holding him to your breast. Alas, the wives of the ocean, their lakes dried up and hands parched, have now 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. O swan, welcome! Sit and drink this water. Tell us, dear one, news of Śauri. Are you his messenger? Is the unconquered one well, as he said before? Or has his affection for us wavered? Why should we serve him if he forgets us? Speak sweetly, for apart from his grace, there is no other refuge for women.” Śuka concluded: In this way, with such feelings toward Kṛṣṇa, the Lord of yogis, the women of Mādhava attained the highest state. He, whose fame is sung in great songs, even when merely heard of, forcibly attracts the minds of women—what then of those who see him directly?