Rukmiṇī, filled with longing and devotion, set out on foot to behold the tender feet of Bhavani. As she walked, her mind was wholly absorbed in contemplating the lotus feet of Mukunda. She was not alone; her mothers and friends surrounded her, and brave royal soldiers, clad in armor and bearing raised weapons, guarded her. The air was alive with the sounds of drums, conches, cymbals, trumpets, and kettle-drums. Thousands of noble women, richly adorned, accompanied the procession. They carried offerings—garlands, perfumes, garments, and ornaments—for the priests. Singers and musicians circled the bride, singing and praising her, while bards, genealogists, and heralds added to the grandeur. Upon arrival at the goddess’s abode, Rukmiṇī washed her feet and hands, purified herself, and entered the presence of Ambika, serene and peaceful. Elderly and wise wives of Brahmins, together with Bhavani, worshipped Rukmiṇī, honoring her as the wife of Bhava, blessed with prosperity. With reverence, Rukmiṇī bowed to Ambika, praying, “I bow to you, O Ambika, again and again, auspicious one, accompanied by your children. May my husband be the blessed Krishna; may you be pleased with this.” The worship was elaborate, with fragrant substances, unbroken rice, incense, garments, garlands, ornaments, various offerings, food, and rows of lamps. Brahmin women, alongside their husbands, offered salt, cakes, betel leaves, necklaces, fruits, and sugarcane. They gave Rukmiṇī the remnants and bestowed their blessings, which she accepted with humility, bowing to them. Her vow of silence now complete, Rukmiṇī departed from Ambika’s house, holding her maidservant’s hand, her own hand adorned with a jeweled ring. With a slender waist, her face radiant with earrings and jewels, her dark complexion glowing, a jeweled girdle on her hips, prominent breasts, and glances partially hidden by curling locks, she appeared as the enchanting Māyā of the gods. Her smile was pure, her lips shone like bimba fruit, her teeth resembled jasmine buds, and she walked with the graceful gait of a swan, accompanied by the gentle sound of tinkling anklets. As she approached, the assembled heroes, renowned and overcome with love, fainted at her sight. The kings, their minds stolen by her noble smile and bashful glances, dropped their weapons. Bewildered and illustrious, the kings seated on elephants, chariots, and horses fell to the ground. Rukmiṇī, under the pretext of a procession, offered her own splendor to Hari, moving slowly, her lotus-like feet shifting, as she looked toward the approach of the Lord. Brushing aside her hair with the fingers of her left hand, she glanced sideways, modestly looking at the kings who had come, and saw Acyuta. As the royal maiden was about to mount the chariot, Krishna seized her before the eyes of his rivals. Krishna placed her on the chariot marked with Garuḍa. Ignoring the assembly of kings, Mādhava departed slowly, led by Rāma, like a lion carrying away its prey from among jackals. The proud kings, unable to bear their defeat and loss of fame—especially Jarāsandha and his allies—cried out, “Alas, shame upon us! Armed with weapons, we have been robbed by cowherds, like lions taking deer from among other beasts.” Śuka continued: All of them, greatly enraged, mounted their vehicles, armed themselves, and surrounded by their armies, pursued Krishna with drawn bows. Seeing them advancing, the chiefs of the Yādava army stood ready, their bows stretched and resounding. Skilled in weapons, they stood on horses, elephants, and chariots, releasing showers of arrows like clouds pouring rain upon mountains. Witnessing her husband’s army covered by torrents of arrows, the slender-waisted Rukmiṇī looked at Krishna’s face with bashful, fear-stricken eyes. The Lord smiled and reassured her, “Do not fear, O lotus-eyed one; this hostile force of yours will now be destroyed by your own kin.” Unable to tolerate the valor of their enemies, Gada, Saṅkarṣaṇa, and the other heroes struck the horses, elephants, and chariots with iron arrows. Heads of charioteers, horsemen, and elephant riders, adorned with earrings, crowns, and turbans, fell to the earth by the thousands. Arms holding swords, maces, and bows, elephants, thighs, feet, horses, mules, camels, oxen, donkeys, and the heads of men lay scattered. As their forces were destroyed by the Vṛṣṇis, who sought victory, the kings, led by Jarāsandha, turned away and departed. They approached Śiśupāla, who was like a man distressed after his wife had been taken, his brilliance lost, enthusiasm gone, mouth parched, and spoke to him: “O best of men, cast off this sorrow! Among embodied beings, O king, no one sees lasting happiness or distress. Just as a wooden puppet woman dances by the will of the magician, so too, one under the control of the Lord acts in happiness and sorrow. For seventeen days I was defeated in battle by Śauri, but on the eighteenth day, with twenty-three armies, I gained victory over him. Still, I neither grieve nor rejoice at any time, knowing that the world is driven by time joined with destiny. Even now, all of us, chiefs of mighty warriors, have been defeated by the Yadus, protected by Kṛṣṇa, through their cunning strategies. Now our enemies have prevailed, for time follows its own course; when time turns in our favor, then we shall be victorious.” Śuka said: Thus consoled by his friends, the king of Cedi departed for his city with his followers, and the other surviving kings also returned to their own cities. But Rukmī, unable to bear his sister’s marriage to Krishna—whom he considered a Rākṣasa for having taken her by force—and hating Krishna, followed behind, powerful and surrounded by his army. Enraged and greatly agitated, in the hearing of all the kings, Rukmī made a vow, his great arms trembling, bow in hand: “Unless I kill Kṛṣṇa in battle and recover Rukmiṇī, I will not enter Kuṇḍina. This I declare to you truly.” Having spoken thus, he quickly mounted his chariot and commanded his charioteer, “Drive the horses! Let me face Kṛṣṇa in battle! Today, with sharp arrows, I will humble the pride of that wicked cowherd who has forcibly taken my sister.