All the assembled kings, accompanied by their full armies and splendid vehicles, gathered together with their minds firmly set on confronting Krishna in battle. Hearing of this formidable alliance and their preparations, Lord Balarama, apprehensive about the looming conflict, learned that Krishna had gone alone to claim the maiden Rukmini. Filled with deep affection for his younger brother, Balarama swiftly set out for Kundina, commanding a mighty force of elephants, horses, chariots, and infantry. Meanwhile, the princess of Bhishmaka, noble in form and heart, was restlessly awaiting Hari’s arrival. She saw no sign of him and pondered the words of the Brahmin messenger. “Alas,” she thought, “three nights have passed since my wedding was arranged, yet I am blameless. The lotus-eyed one does not come, and I know not the reason. Even the Brahmin who carried my message has not returned today. Perhaps, finding some fault in me, the faultless one now hesitates to take my hand, though he had resolved to do so. My fate is unfortunate indeed; the creator does not favor me, nor do the great lord Shiva, goddess Gauri, Rudrani, Girija, or Sati.” Thus, her mind captivated by thoughts of Govinda and reflecting on the passage of time, the young maiden closed her tear-filled eyes. As she awaited Govinda’s arrival, her left thigh, arm, and eye—parts beloved for their auspiciousness—began to tremble, signaling hope. At that moment, as Krishna had instructed, the foremost Brahmin entered the inner chambers and saw the princess. Seeing him, her face lit with delight and her mind steady, she—skilled in reading signs—questioned him, her smile pure and radiant. The Brahmin brought joyful news: the son of the Yadu dynasty had arrived, and he conveyed Krishna’s truthful words regarding the svayamvara, the self-choice marriage. Hearing this, the princess of Vidarbha was filled with joy; her heart soared, and she shyly averted her gaze from the Brahmin, for he was dear to her in another way. Soon, news of Krishna’s arrival reached the city. Eager to witness his daughter’s wedding, King Bhishmaka welcomed Rama and Krishna with sounding musical instruments and bestowed upon them proper honors. He brought honey and milk, pure garments, and many desired gifts, worshipping them according to the sacred rites. The wise king then prepared a splendid residence for the two brothers, along with their armies and attendants, offering them every hospitality. Not only Krishna and Balarama, but all the assembled kings were honored according to their valor, age, strength, and wealth, with gifts and offerings as befitted each. When the people of Vidarbha heard that Krishna had come, they flocked to see him, drinking in the vision of his lotus-like face, their hands respectfully joined at their eyes. They whispered among themselves, “Only Rukmini is fit to be his wife, not any other. And he, flawless in nature, is the true husband for Bhishma’s daughter. Whatever little good we have done, by that the creator of the worlds is pleased—may Achyuta accept, accept the hand of our princess.” Bound by the thread of love, the townspeople spoke thus. Meanwhile, the maiden left her inner chambers, making her way to the temple of Ambika, closely guarded by soldiers. She went on foot, longing to behold the tender feet of Bhavani, yet her heart fully absorbed in contemplation of the lotus feet of Mukunda. Surrounded by her mothers and friends, and guarded by brave royal soldiers clad in armor and bearing raised weapons, she proceeded, accompanied by the resounding music of drums, conches, cymbals, trumpets, and kettle-drums. Thousands of noble women, richly adorned, followed, bringing offerings, garlands, perfumes, garments, and ornaments for the priests. Singers and musicians praised her, joined by bards, genealogists, and heralds, filling the air with auspicious sounds. Arriving at the goddess’s abode, Rukmini washed her feet and hands, purified herself, and entered the presence of Ambika with a peaceful mind. The elder and learned wives of Brahmins, together with Bhavani, worshipped Ambika, the prosperous wife of Bhava. Rukmini bowed reverently and prayed, “I bow to you, O Ambika, again and again, O auspicious one, accompanied by your own children. May Krishna, the blessed one, be my husband—may you be pleased with this prayer.” The Brahmin women, together with their husbands, worshipped the goddess with fragrant offerings, unbroken rice, incense, garments, garlands, ornaments, various foods, and rows of lamps. They also offered salt, cakes, betel leaves, necklaces, fruits, and sugarcane. The women then gave Rukmini the remnants of the worship and bestowed their blessings upon her. She bowed before them and accepted the offerings. Having completed her worship, Rukmini, abandoning her vow of silence, departed from Ambika’s house, holding her maidservant’s hand, her own hand adorned with a jeweled ring. Slender-waisted, her face radiant with earrings and jewels, her dark complexion set off by a jeweled girdle on her hips, her breasts prominent, her glances hidden by curling locks—she appeared like the enchanting, steadfast Māyā of the gods. Her pure smile, lips shining like bimba fruit, teeth like jasmine buds, and graceful, swan-like gait, together with the gentle sound of her tinkling anklets, made her shine with beauty. The assembled heroes, renowned and overcome with love for her, fainted at the sight. The kings, their minds stolen by her noble smile and bashful glances, dropped their weapons, utterly spellbound. Those illustrious kings, seated on elephants, chariots, and horses, were so bewildered that they fell to the ground. Rukmini, under the pretext of a bridal procession, offered her own splendor to Hari, moving slowly, her lotus-like feet shifting, her gaze searching for the Lord’s approach. As she walked, she brushed aside her hair with her left hand, and with a modest sideways glance, she looked at the assembled kings—then saw Acyuta. As the royal maiden was about to mount the chariot, Krishna seized her before the eyes of all his rivals. Placing her on his chariot, which bore the emblem of Garuḍa, Mādhava, heedless of the assembly of kings, departed slowly, led by Balarama—like a lion taking away its prey from among jackals. The proud kings, unable to bear their defeat and the loss of their fame—especially Jarāsandha and his allies—cried out in anguish, “Alas, shame upon us! Armed with weapons, we have been robbed by cowherds, like lions taking deer from among other beasts.” Śuka continued: Thus, all the kings, greatly enraged, mounted their vehicles, armed themselves, and, surrounded by their armies, pursued Krishna and Balarama with drawn bows.