As the radiant princess Rukmiṇī entered the assembly, the gathered heroes—famed throughout the lands—were so overwhelmed by her beauty and grace that they fainted away, their hearts overcome with love. The assembled kings, their minds utterly captivated by her noble smile and bashful glances, let their weapons slip from their hands, unable to maintain composure in her presence. These bewildered and illustrious kings, seated proudly atop elephants, chariots, and horses, lost all strength and tumbled to the ground. Rukmiṇī, under the pretext of a ceremonial procession, offered her own splendor to Hari, the Supreme Lord. Moving slowly, her lotus-like feet shifting delicately, she cast her gaze toward the approaching Lord. With graceful modesty, she brushed aside her hair with the fingers of her left hand, glancing sideways at the kings who had gathered. Then, seeing Acyuta—Krishna—she approached to mount the chariot. In that very moment, before the eyes of his astonished rivals, Krishna seized the royal maiden and lifted her onto his chariot. Placing Rukmiṇī upon the chariot adorned with the emblem of Garuḍa, Mādhava, paying no heed to the assembly of kings, departed at a measured pace, led by Balarāma. It was as if a mighty lion was carrying away its prize from among a pack of jackals. The proud kings, unable to endure their humiliation and the loss of their renown—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 take deer from among other beasts.” Śuka then narrated: The kings, their anger inflamed, quickly mounted their vehicles, armed themselves, and, surrounded by their armies, gave chase with drawn bows. Seeing the enemy advancing, the chiefs of the Yādava army stood ready, their bows stretched and twanging in response. Expert in the use of weapons, these warriors, stationed on horses, elephants, and chariots, unleashed showers of arrows, like rain-laden clouds pouring torrents upon mountains. Witnessing her husband’s army enveloped by a storm of arrows, the slender-waisted Rukmiṇī looked at Krishna’s face with bashful, fear-stricken eyes. The Lord, smiling gently, reassured her: “Do not fear, O lotus-eyed one. This hostile force of yours will now be destroyed by your own kin.” Gada, Saṅkarṣaṇa, and the other Yādava heroes, unable to tolerate the enemy’s valor, struck down horses, elephants, and chariots with their iron arrows. 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; elephants, thighs, feet, horses, mules, camels, oxen, donkeys, and the heads of men—all fell in the tumult of battle. As their forces were decimated by the victorious Vṛṣṇis, the kings, led by Jarāsandha, turned away and fled. They approached Śiśupāla, who looked as one bereft after the loss of his wife—his brilliance faded, his enthusiasm gone, his mouth parched with grief—and spoke words of consolation. “O best of men,” they said, “cast off this sorrow! Among all embodied beings, O king, none experiences unbroken happiness or distress. Just as a wooden puppet woman dances by the will of the puppeteer, so too do we act in joy and sorrow, controlled by the Lord’s will. For seventeen days I was defeated in battle by Śauri (Krishna), but on the eighteenth day, with twenty-three armies, I gained victory over him. Yet I neither grieve nor rejoice, knowing that the world is driven by time and destiny. Even now, all of us, chiefs among warriors, have been defeated by the Yadus, protected by Krishna, through their clever strategies. Today our enemies have prevailed, for time follows its own course. When time turns in our favor, victory will be ours.” Śuka continued: Thus consoled by his friends, the king of Cedi, Śiśupāla, departed for his city with his followers, and the other surviving kings returned each to their own lands. But Rukmī, Rukmiṇī’s brother, unable to bear his sister’s marriage by force and harboring deep hatred for Krishna, set out in pursuit, surrounded by his army. Enraged and greatly agitated, Rukmī declared before all the kings, his powerful arms trembling as he grasped his bow, “Unless I kill Krishna in battle and recover Rukmiṇī, I will not enter Kuṇḍina. This I swear to you truly.” Having spoken, he quickly mounted his chariot and ordered his charioteer, “Drive the horses! Let me confront Krishna in battle!” He boasted fiercely, “Today, with sharp arrows, I will humble the pride of that wicked cowherd who has taken my sister by force.” Unaware of the Lord’s greatness, he challenged Govinda, calling out, “Stop! Stop!” as he approached with his single chariot. Drawing his powerful bow, Rukmī struck Krishna with three arrows, crying, “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 shall break your pride, O deceitful, treacherous fighter! Until you have struck me down with your arrows and made me fall, release the maiden!” Krishna, smiling, broke Rukmī’s bow and pierced him with six arrows. With eight arrows, Krishna struck Rukmī’s four horses; with two, he felled the charioteer; with three, he destroyed the banner. Rukmī, undaunted, seized another bow and wounded Krishna with five arrows. Assailed by this rain of arrows, Achyuta cut Rukmī’s bow to pieces. Rukmī snatched up yet another weapon, but the imperishable Lord destroyed it as well. Whatever weapon Rukmī grasped—mace, spear, trident, shield and sword, javelin, or tomara—Hari effortlessly cut them all to pieces. Finally, Rukmī leapt from his chariot, sword in hand and intent on killing Krishna, rushing at him in anger like a moth drawn to a flame. But as he charged, Krishna shattered his sword and shield with arrows, then drew his own sharp sword, prepared to slay Rukmī. Seeing her husband about to kill her brother, Rukmiṇī, overwhelmed with fear, fell at Krishna’s feet, her voice choked with distress. She pleaded, “O Lord of yoga, immeasurable one, God of gods, Lord of the world, you should not kill my brother, O mighty-armed one, bringer of good.” Her body trembled with fear, her face dried with grief, her throat constricted, and her golden necklace slipped from her neck in her anxiety as she clung to Krishna’s feet. Moved by compassion for her, Krishna desisted from killing Rukmī. Instead, Krishna bound the wicked Rukmī with a cloth and, to disgrace him, shaved off his hair and beard, disfiguring him before all. Meanwhile, the heroic Yadus routed the enemy army, scattering them like elephants trampling a pond of lotuses.