Arriving at the sacred abode of the goddess, Rukmiṇī first washed her feet and hands, purifying herself in both body and mind. Calm and composed, she entered the presence of Ambikā, the divine mother. There, the elderly and wise wives of the brāhmaṇas, joined by Bhavānī herself, honored Rukmiṇī, the prosperous wife of Bhava, with reverence and affection. With folded hands and humility, Rukmiṇī bowed repeatedly before Ambikā, offering prayers: “O auspicious mother, surrounded by your own children, may my husband be the blessed Kṛṣṇa. May you be pleased with this, O compassionate one.” The worship was performed with fragrant offerings, unbroken rice, incense, fine garments, garlands, ornaments, a variety of gifts and foods, and rows of glowing lamps set aside for the ceremony. Together with their husbands, the brāhmaṇa women continued the worship, presenting salt, cakes, betel leaves, necklaces, fruits, and stalks of sugarcane. After the rituals, these women gave Rukmiṇī the remnants of the offerings and bestowed their heartfelt blessings upon her. Humbly, Rukmiṇī accepted these remnants, bowing before them in gratitude. Completing her vow of silence, she left Ambikā’s house, her hand adorned with a jeweled ring, gently holding her maidservant’s hand. Rukmiṇī, slender-waisted and radiant, her face framed by earrings and sparkling jewels, her dark complexion set off by a jeweled girdle at her hips, and her glances half-hidden by curling locks, appeared as enchanting as the steadfast Māyā of the gods. Her smile was pure, her lips gleamed like ripe bimba fruit, and her teeth shone like jasmine buds. As she walked with the graceful gait of a swan, the gentle music of her anklets accompanied her every step. The assembled heroes, renowned for their valor, were overwhelmed by her beauty and fainted away. The kings, their hearts stolen by her noble smile and shy glances, dropped their weapons in astonishment. Those illustrious kings, seated upon elephants, chariots, and horses, were confounded and fell to the ground, as Rukmiṇī, under the pretext of a procession, offered her own radiance to Hari. Moving slowly, her lotus-like feet shifting with each step, she looked toward the approach of the Lord. Brushing aside her hair with the fingers of her left hand, Rukmiṇī glanced modestly at the kings who had gathered, and then, with shy, sidelong glances, beheld Acyuta—Kṛṣṇa himself. As the royal maiden was about to mount the chariot, Kṛṣṇa seized her before the eyes of all his rivals. Placing her on his chariot, marked with the emblem of Garuḍa, Mādhava, disregarding the assembly of kings, departed at a measured pace, led by Rāma. He moved like a lion carrying off its prize from among bewildered 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, just as lions snatch deer from among lesser beasts!” Śuka continued: Thus enraged, all the kings mounted their vehicles, armed themselves, and, surrounded by their armies, pursued Kṛṣṇa with drawn bows. Seeing their advance, the chiefs of the Yādava army turned to face them, their bows drawn and twanging with readiness. Skilled in the art of warfare, standing atop horses, elephants, and chariots, they unleashed volleys of arrows, like rain-filled clouds pouring upon mountains. Witnessing her husband’s army covered by torrents of arrows, Rukmiṇī, slender-waisted and beautiful, cast a bashful, fearful glance at Kṛṣṇa’s face. The Lord, smiling gently, reassured her: “Do not fear, O lotus-eyed one. This hostile force will now be overcome by your own kin.” Unable to tolerate the valor of the Yādavas, Gada, Saṅkarṣaṇa, and the other heroes struck down the enemy’s horses, elephants, and chariots with iron arrows. The heads of charioteers, horsemen, and elephant riders, adorned with earrings, crowns, and turbans, fell to the earth by the thousands. Arms wielding swords, maces, and bows, along with elephants, thighs, feet, horses, mules, camels, oxen, donkeys, and the heads of men, were scattered across the battlefield. As their forces were laid low by the victorious Vṛṣṇis, the kings—led by Jarāsandha—turned back and departed in defeat. They approached Śiśupāla, who was like a man bereft after his wife had been taken, his brilliance dimmed, his enthusiasm gone, his mouth parched with sorrow. They spoke words of comfort to him: “O best of men, cast aside this grief. Among embodied beings, no one experiences happiness or distress that lasts forever. Just as a wooden puppet woman dances by the will of a magician, so too does one, under the control of the Lord, act 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 and destiny. Even now, all of us, chiefs of mighty warriors, have been defeated by the Yadus, protected by Kṛṣṇa, through their clever 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 returned to their own realms. But Rukmī, Rukmiṇī’s brother, could not endure the marriage of his sister to Kṛṣṇa, whom he regarded as a Rākṣasa for carrying her off by force. Burning with hatred for Kṛṣṇa, Rukmī set out in pursuit, powerful and surrounded by his army. Enraged and agitated, he declared before all the assembled kings, his great arms trembling as he gripped his bow: “Unless I slay Kṛṣṇa in battle and retrieve Rukmiṇī, I will not return to Kuṇḍina. This I swear to you all.” Having spoken, he swiftly mounted his chariot and commanded his charioteer, “Drive the horses! Let me confront Kṛṣṇa in battle today!” Boasting of his strength and ignorant of the Lord’s true greatness, he declared, “Today, with sharp arrows, I shall humble the pride of that wicked cowherd who has stolen my sister.” Calling out to Govinda, he challenged him, “Stop! Stop!” as he approached with his single chariot. Drawing his strong bow, Rukmī struck Kṛṣṇa with three arrows and taunted him, “Wait a moment, O disgrace of the Yadu clan! Where are you going, having stolen my sister like a jackal snatching sacrificial offerings? Today I will break your pride, you deceitful, treacherous fighter! Until you have struck me down with your arrows and made me fall, release the maiden!” Kṛṣṇa, smiling at his bravado, broke Rukmī’s bow and pierced him with six arrows, swiftly humbling his challenger.