Śauri, mounting his chariot, seated the brāhmaṇa beside him and, harnessing swift horses, sped from Ānarta to Vidarbha in a single night. Meanwhile, in the city of Kuṇḍina, the king, moved by deep affection for his son, began the grand preparations to wed his daughter to Śiśupāla. The city was transformed: its roads, streets, and crossroads were swept clean and sprinkled with water, then adorned with vibrant flags, banners, and splendid arches. Men and women, dressed in immaculate garments, bedecked themselves with garlands, fragrant flowers, and glittering ornaments. The houses themselves glowed with beauty, their air perfumed with aguru incense. According to sacred custom, the king worshipped the ancestors, the gods, and the brāhmaṇas, offering them food and arranging for auspicious rites to be recited. The princess herself, radiant and freshly bathed, was adorned for the wedding ceremony in fine garments and the most exquisite ornaments. The foremost brāhmaṇas performed protective rituals for the bride, chanting hymns from the Sama, Rig, and Yajur Vedas, while the chief priest, learned in the Atharva Veda, offered oblations to pacify the planets. The king, ever attentive to proper rites, gave gifts of gold, silver, garments, sesame mixed with jaggery, and cows to the brāhmaṇas. King Damaghosha, lord of Cedi, left nothing undone for his son’s prosperity, employing experts in mantras. With intoxicated elephants, chariots gleaming with gold, and armies teeming with infantry and horses, he set out for Kuṇḍina. The king of Vidarbha welcomed him with honor and joy, settling him in accommodations prepared for the occasion. Soon, other mighty kings arrived: Shalva, Jarasandha, Dantavaktra, Viduratha, and a multitude of allies from Chedi and Paundra. These were enemies of Krishna and Balarama, resolved that the Chedi prince would claim the maiden, and prepared for battle should Krishna and the Yadus attempt to take her. Thus, all these kings, with their full armies and vehicles, gathered, their minds fixed on conflict. Hearing of this formidable assembly, Lord Balarama, fearing a great clash, discovered that Krishna had already gone alone to take the princess. Filled with affection for his brother, Balarama swiftly set out for Kuṇḍina, leading a great force of elephants, horses, chariots, and infantry. Within the palace, the princess of Bhishmaka, noble and beautiful, yearned for Hari’s arrival. Seeing no sign of him, she pondered the words of the brāhmaṇa messenger: “Alas, three nights have passed since my wedding was set, and though I am blameless, the lotus-eyed one has not come. I do not know the reason, and the brāhmaṇa who bore my message has not returned.” She wondered, “Perhaps the faultless one perceives some flaw in me and now hesitates to take my hand, despite his resolve. My fate is ill-starred; neither the creator, nor the great lord Shiva, nor goddess Gauri, Rudrani, Girija, or Sati favor me.” Thus, her mind wholly captivated by Govinda, reflecting on the passing of time, the young maiden closed her tear-filled eyes. As she awaited Govinda’s arrival, her left thigh, arm, and eye—limbs beloved for their auspicious omens—began to tremble. At that moment, as Krishna had instructed, the foremost brāhmaṇa entered the inner chambers and beheld the princess. Seeing him, she greeted him with delight and composure, her smile radiant, for she was skilled in reading signs. The brāhmaṇa conveyed Krishna’s message: the son of the Yadu dynasty had arrived, and the words spoken regarding her self-marriage were true. Hearing this, the princess’s heart overflowed with joy, and though she did not look directly at the brāhmaṇa, she held him dear in another way. Soon, Rama and Krishna, eager to witness the wedding, entered the city with great musical fanfare and were honored with all due rites. The king presented them with honey, milk, pure garments, and the finest gifts, worshipping them as tradition prescribed. He prepared a splendid residence for them, their armies, and their attendants, offering every hospitality. In the same way, he honored all the assembled kings, according to their valor, age, strength, and wealth, bestowing upon them whatever they desired. When news spread that Krishna had arrived, the people of Vidarbha flocked to see him, gazing upon his lotus-like face with hands respectfully raised to their eyes. They whispered among themselves, “Only Rukmini is fit to be his wife, and he, flawless in all ways, is the proper husband for Bhishmaka’s daughter. Whatever small merit we possess, by that the creator of the worlds is pleased; may Achyuta accept the hand of the Vidarbha princess.” Thus, bound by the thread of love, the townspeople spoke. Meanwhile, the maiden left the inner chambers for the temple of Ambika, guarded by soldiers. She walked on foot, eager to behold the tender feet of Bhavani, yet her mind was wholly absorbed in the lotus feet of Mukunda. She was surrounded by her mothers and friends, protected by brave royal soldiers clad in armor and bearing raised weapons. The air resounded with the music of drums, conches, cymbals, trumpets, and kettle-drums. Thousands of noble women, richly adorned, brought offerings, garlands, perfumes, garments, and ornaments for the priests. Singers and musicians sang her praises, while bards, genealogists, and heralds surrounded her in procession. Arriving at the goddess’s abode, she washed her feet and hands, purified herself, and entered the presence of Ambika, serene and peaceful. There, the elderly and learned wives of the brāhmaṇas, together with Bhavani, worshipped her—Ambika, the wife of Bhava—bestowing blessings of prosperity and fortune.