The illustrious kings, renowned and proud, sat atop their elephants, chariots, and horses, but now they were bewildered and helpless. In the midst of the grand procession, Rukmiṇī, radiant and graceful, offered her own brilliance to Lord Hari. Moving slowly, her lotus-like feet shifting gently, she stole glances toward the approaching Lord, her heart drawn to him. As she walked, Rukmiṇī modestly brushed aside her flowing hair with the fingers of her left hand and cast shy, sideways glances at the assembled kings who had come to win her. But when her eyes met Acyuta—Krishna—her heart was certain. Just as she was about to mount the chariot, Krishna, before the eyes of all his rivals, seized her hand and lifted her onto his chariot. Seating her upon his chariot, adorned with the emblem of Garuḍa, Mādhava paid no heed to the angry assembly of kings. Led by his brother Balarāma, Krishna departed, majestic and unhurried, like a mighty lion carrying off its prize from a pack of jackals. The proud kings, unable to bear this humiliation and loss of fame—especially Jarāsandha and his allies—cried out in frustration, “Alas, shame upon us! Armed as we are, we have been robbed by cowherds, just as lions snatch deer from among lesser beasts.” Śuka continued: Enraged, all the kings mounted their vehicles and, surrounded by their armies, set out in pursuit, brandishing their bows and weapons. When the Yādava chiefs saw the enemy forces advancing, they stood firm, bows drawn and twanging in readiness. Both sides, skilled in the art of weapons, stood on their horses, elephants, and chariots, unleashing showers of arrows like rain-laden clouds pouring down upon mountains. As torrents of arrows fell upon her husband’s army, the slender-waisted Rukmiṇī gazed anxiously at Krishna’s face, her eyes wide with fear and bashfulness. Krishna, ever smiling and compassionate, reassured her: “Do not fear, O lotus-eyed one; this hostile force will soon be destroyed by your own kin.” Then, unable to tolerate the valor of their enemies, Gada, Saṅkarṣaṇa, and the other Yadu heroes struck down horses, elephants, and chariots with their iron arrows. Heads adorned with earrings, crowns, and turbans fell to the earth by the thousands—charioteers, horsemen, and elephant riders alike. Severed arms clutching swords, maces, and bows, along with the bodies of elephants, horses, mules, camels, oxen, and men, littered the battlefield. As their forces were decimated by the victorious Vṛṣṇis, the kings, led by Jarāsandha, turned away and retreated. They approached Śiśupāla, who was as one bereft, his radiance dimmed, his enthusiasm gone, his mouth parched with defeat. “O best of men,” they consoled him, “cast off this sorrow! Among all embodied beings, no one finds lasting happiness or distress. Just as a wooden puppet woman dances by the will of the magician, so too do we act in joy and sorrow, controlled by the Lord. For seventeen days I was defeated in battle by Śauri, but on the eighteenth, with twenty-three armies, I prevailed. Still, I neither grieve nor rejoice, knowing that the world is governed by time and destiny. Even now, all of us—chiefs of mighty warriors—have been defeated by the Yadus, protected by Krishna and their clever strategies. Our enemies have triumphed because time now favors them; when time swings our way, we shall be victorious.” Thus comforted by his friends, the king of Cedi, Śiśupāla, departed for his own city, and the surviving kings each returned to their homes. But Rukmī, Rukmiṇī’s brother, could not bear the thought of his sister being carried away in a marriage by force—a Rākṣasa marriage—and harbored deep hatred for Krishna. Surrounded by his army, he pursued Krishna, his heart burning with rage. In the presence of all the kings, Rukmī, trembling with fury and gripping his bow, made a solemn vow: “Unless I slay Krishna in battle and recover my sister Rukmiṇī, I will not re-enter Kuṇḍina. This I declare to you truly.” With these words, he quickly mounted his chariot and commanded his charioteer, “Drive the horses! I shall face Krishna in battle!” Boasting, he declared, “Today, with sharp arrows, I will humble the pride of that wicked cowherd who has stolen my sister.” Unaware of Krishna’s divine greatness, Rukmī challenged Govinda, calling out, “Stop! Stop!” as he approached in his chariot. Drawing his mighty bow, he struck Krishna with three arrows, taunting, “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, O deceitful, treacherous fighter! Until you have struck me down and made me fall, release the maiden!” Krishna only smiled. Effortlessly, he broke Rukmī’s bow and pierced him with six arrows. Then, with eight arrows, he struck down the four horses, with two he felled the charioteer, and with three he shattered the banner atop the chariot. Undeterred, Rukmī seized another bow and wounded Krishna with five arrows. But Achyuta, unfazed, cut Rukmī’s bow to pieces. Rukmī took up yet another, but Krishna destroyed that as well. Whatever weapon Rukmī grasped—mace, spear, trident, shield and sword, javelin, or tomara—Hari cut them all to fragments. Desperate, Rukmī leapt down from his chariot, sword in hand, intent on killing Krishna. In his fury, he rushed at Krishna like a moth drawn to a flame. But Krishna shattered Rukmī’s sword and shield with his arrows. Then, drawing his own sharp sword, Krishna prepared to slay him. Seeing her husband about to kill her brother, Rukmiṇī, overwhelmed by fear, fell at Krishna’s feet and pleaded in distress: “O Lord of yoga, immeasurable one, God of gods, Lord of the world, you should not kill my brother, O mighty-armed, bringer of good.” Trembling with fear, her face pale with grief, her throat choked, and her golden necklace slipping in her anxiety, Rukmiṇī clasped Krishna’s feet. Moved by her compassion, Krishna desisted from killing her brother. Instead, Krishna bound the wicked Rukmī with a cloth and, to disgrace him, shaved off his hair and beard, leaving him disfigured. Meanwhile, the Yadu heroes routed the enemy army, trampling them like elephants in a lotus pond. When the Yadus approached Krishna, they saw Rukmī in this pitiable state, nearly dead. Seeing him bound, the compassionate Lord Saṅkarṣaṇa released Rukmī and spoke to Krishna, thus bringing peace to the tumultuous field.