Having placed Rukmiṇī upon the chariot adorned with the emblem of Garuḍa, Mādhava—Kṛṣṇa—departed slowly from the assembly of kings, heedless of their presence. Led by Rāma, he moved with majestic assurance, like a lion carrying away its prey from a pack of jackals. The assembled kings, proud and unable to bear their defeat and loss of honor—especially Jarāsandha and his allies—cried out in anguish, lamenting, “Alas! Shame upon us! Though armed, we have been robbed by cowherds, just as lions snatch deer from lesser beasts.” Śuka continued: Enraged and humiliated, the kings mounted their vehicles, armed themselves, and, surrounded by their armies, pursued Kṛṣṇa and his party with bows drawn. Seeing the advancing host, the chiefs of the Yādava army stood ready, bows stretched and resounding, prepared to face their challengers. Skilled in weaponry, standing atop horses, elephants, and chariots, the Yādavas unleashed torrents of arrows, as clouds pour rain upon mountains. Witnessing the army of her husband beset by showers of arrows, the slender-waisted Rukmiṇī gazed at Kṛṣṇa’s face with bashful, fear-stricken eyes. Smiling gently, the Lord reassured her, “Do not fear, O lotus-eyed one. This hostile force will now be destroyed by your own kin.” Unable to withstand the valor of the Yādavas, Gada, Saṅkarṣaṇa, and other heroes struck 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—all lay scattered. As their forces were routed by the victorious Vṛṣṇis, the kings, led by Jarāsandha, turned away and departed. They approached Śiśupāla, who appeared as one bereft after his wife had been taken: his brilliance faded, enthusiasm lost, mouth parched. They consoled him, saying, “O best of men, cast off this sorrow! Among embodied beings, no happiness or distress is everlasting. Just as a puppet woman dances at the will of the magician, so too do all act in joy and sorrow under the Lord’s control. “For seventeen days I was defeated by Śauri, but on the eighteenth, with twenty-three armies, I gained victory. Yet I neither grieve nor rejoice, knowing 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’s cunning. Our enemies have prevailed, for time follows its own course; when time turns in our favor, we will be victorious.” Śuka said: Thus comforted by his friends, the king of Cedi departed for his city with his followers, and the surviving kings returned to their own lands. But Rukmī, unable to bear his sister’s marriage by force—a Rākṣasa wedding—and harboring hatred for Kṛṣṇa, followed behind, powerful and surrounded by his army. Enraged and agitated, Rukmī made a vow before all the assembled kings, his great arms trembling, bow in hand: “Unless I slay Kṛṣṇa in battle and recover Rukmiṇī, I will not enter Kuṇḍina. This I declare truly.” Having spoken, 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 stolen my sister.” Thus boasting, ignorant of the Lord’s greatness, he challenged Govinda, calling out, “Stop! Stop!” as he approached with his single chariot. Drawing his strong bow, Rukmī struck Kṛṣṇa with three arrows and taunted, “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!” Smiling, Kṛṣṇa broke Rukmī’s bow and pierced him with six arrows. With eight arrows he struck the four horses, with two the charioteer, and with three the banner. Rukmī, taking up another bow, wounded Kṛṣṇa with five arrows. Assailed by these showers of arrows, Achyuta cut Rukmī’s bow to pieces; Rukmī seized yet another, but the imperishable Lord destroyed that too. Whatever weapon Rukmī grabbed—mace, spear, trident, shield and sword, javelin, or tomara—Hari cut them all to pieces. Then, leaping down from his chariot, sword in hand and intent on killing, Rukmī rushed at Kṛṣṇa in anger, like a moth toward a flame. As he charged, Kṛṣṇa shattered his sword and shield with arrows; then, drawing his own sharp sword, Kṛṣṇa prepared to slay Rukmī. Seeing her husband about to kill her brother, Rukmiṇī, overwhelmed with fear, fell at Kṛṣṇa’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.” Her body trembled with fear, her face dried by grief, her throat choked, her golden necklace slipping in her anxiety as she clasped his feet. Moved by compassion, Kṛṣṇa desisted. Instead, he bound the wicked Rukmī with a cloth and shaved off his hair and beard, disfiguring him. Meanwhile, the Yadu heroes routed the enemy army like elephants trampling a lotus pond. Approaching Kṛṣṇa, the Yadus saw Rukmī in this pitiable condition, nearly dead. Seeing him bound, the compassionate Lord Saṅkarṣaṇa released him and spoke to Kṛṣṇa, “What you have done, Kṛṣṇa, is improper and shameful for us: shaving off the hair and beard, disfiguring, or killing a friend. Let not this virtuous lady blame us out of concern for her brother’s disfigurement; for no one else gives happiness or sorrow—each person reaps the fruits of their own actions.