Unable to withstand the overwhelming valor of their adversaries, Gada, Saṅkarṣaṇa, and the other mighty heroes unleashed a storm of iron arrows upon the enemy’s horses, elephants, and chariots. In the heat of battle, the heads of charioteers, horsemen, and elephant riders—adorned with earrings, crowns, and turbans—fell to the earth by the thousands, painting a grim picture of the battlefield. Amidst the chaos, severed arms clutching swords, maces, and bows lay scattered, along with the bodies of elephants, thighs, feet, horses, mules, camels, oxen, donkeys, and the heads of men. As the forces of the kings were decimated by the Vṛṣṇis, who sought victory with relentless determination, Jarāsandha and his fellow monarchs could no longer withstand the onslaught. They turned away, abandoning the field and departing in defeat. Approaching Śiśupāla, who now appeared like a man bereft after his wife had been taken—his brilliance dimmed, enthusiasm lost, and mouth parched—the defeated kings spoke words of consolation. “O best of men,” they said, “cast off this sorrow! Among all embodied beings, none experience lasting happiness or distress. Just as a wooden puppet woman dances at the will of the magician, so too, one under the control of the Lord acts in happiness and sorrow.” Jarāsandha spoke with wisdom born of experience: “For seventeen days I was defeated in battle by Śauri, but on the eighteenth day, with twenty-three armies, I gained victory over him. Yet, 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. Our enemies have prevailed, for time follows its own course; when time turns in our favor, then we shall be victorious.” Śuka then narrates that, 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 cities. However, Rukmī, unable to bear the humiliation of his sister Rukmiṇī’s marriage to Kṛṣṇa—whom he considered a Rākṣasa for having taken her by force—burned with hatred. He followed behind Kṛṣṇa, powerful and surrounded by his army. Enraged and greatly agitated, Rukmī, in the hearing of all the kings, made a solemn vow, his mighty arms trembling as he held his bow: “Unless I kill Kṛṣṇa in battle and recover Rukmiṇī, I will not enter Kuṇḍina. This I declare to you truly.” Having proclaimed his vow, Rukmī quickly mounted his chariot and commanded his charioteer, “Drive the horses! Let me face Kṛṣṇa in battle!” He boasted, “Today, with sharp arrows, I will humble the pride of that wicked cowherd who has forcibly taken my sister.” Ignorant of the Lord’s greatness, Rukmī challenged Govinda, calling out, “Stop! Stop!” as he approached with his single chariot. Drawing his powerful 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, O deceitful, treacherous fighter! Until you have struck me down with your arrows and made me fall, release the maiden!” Smiling calmly, Kṛṣṇa broke Rukmī’s bow and pierced him with six arrows. With eight arrows, he struck Rukmī’s four horses; with two he wounded the charioteer; with three he struck the banner. Undeterred, Rukmī seized another bow and wounded Kṛṣṇa with five arrows. Yet, Achyuta, assailed by those showers of arrows, cut Rukmī’s bow to pieces; again Rukmī took up another, but the imperishable Lord cut that too. Whatever weapon Rukmī grasped—mace, spear, trident, shield and sword, javelin, or tomara—Hari destroyed them all. Driven by fury, Rukmī leapt down from his chariot, sword in hand and intent on killing, rushing at Kṛṣṇa like a moth toward a flame. But as he charged, Kṛṣṇa shattered Rukmī’s sword and shield into fragments with his arrows. Then, drawing his own sharp sword, Kṛṣṇa prepared to slay Rukmī. Seeing her husband about to kill her brother, Rukmiṇī, overwhelmed by fear, fell at Kṛṣṇa’s feet and spoke 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 with grief, her throat choked, and her golden necklace slipped in her anxiety as she clasped his feet. Moved by compassion, Kṛṣṇa desisted from slaying Rukmī. Instead, he bound the wicked man with a cloth and, shaving off his hair and beard, disfigured him. Meanwhile, the Yadu heroes routed the enemy army like elephants trampling a lotus pond. Approaching Kṛṣṇa, the Yadus saw Rukmī in that 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. Even though the killing of a relative is a great sin, one should not slay a kinsman; if he is ruined by his own fault, what is the point of killing him again?” Saṅkarṣaṇa continued: “This is the law for kṣatriyas, established by the Lord of creatures: even a brother may kill his brother, and nothing is more terrible than this. For the sake of kingdom, land, wealth, women, pride, or power, blinded by arrogance, they destroy others—even their own kin. Your judgment toward all beings is harsh, O Kṛṣṇa, toward those with wicked hearts; for you always consider what is good for friends as good for all, as if they were ignorant. Delusion arises among men by the divine power of Māyā; those who identify with the body see some as friends, some as enemies, and some as neutral. There is truly only one supreme Self for all embodied beings; it is not manifold, though the deluded perceive it as such—just as light or the sky appears divided. This body, having a beginning and an end, is composed of matter, life-force, and qualities; fashioned by ignorance upon the Self, it causes the embodied one to wander in worldly existence.” Thus, the story unfolds, revealing both the valor and wisdom of the heroes, the pain of attachment, and the deeper truths of destiny and the Self.