For seventeen days, I faced defeat in battle at the hands of Śauri—Kṛṣṇa—but on the eighteenth day, commanding twenty-three armies, I finally gained victory over him. Yet, I do not allow myself to grieve or rejoice at any outcome, for I understand that all things in this world move under the sway of time and destiny. Even now, we, the foremost warriors, have been overcome by the Yadus, who are protected by Kṛṣṇa and who outwitted us with their clever strategies. Our enemies have prevailed today simply because time favors them; when time turns to our side, then victory will be ours. Thus, comforted by his friends, the king of Cedi departed with his followers for his own city, and the other surviving kings also returned to their respective homes. But Rukmī, unable to bear that his sister had been married by force—a Rākṣasa marriage—and harboring deep hatred for Kṛṣṇa, set out in pursuit, his army at his side. Rukmī, his mind inflamed and his body trembling with anger, declared before all the assembled kings, his bow in hand, “Unless I slay Kṛṣṇa in battle and bring Rukmiṇī back, I will not enter Kuṇḍina. This I swear to you all.” With these words, he swiftly mounted his chariot and commanded his charioteer, “Drive the horses! Let me confront Kṛṣṇa in battle!” He boasted, “Today, with sharp arrows, I will break the pride of that wicked cowherd who has stolen my sister by force.” Ignorant of Kṛṣṇa’s true 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, “Wait a moment, O disgrace of the Yadu clan! Where are you going, having stolen my sister like a jackal snatching offerings from a sacrifice? Today I will humble your pride, you deceitful and treacherous fighter! Until you have struck me down with your arrows 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 arrows the charioteer, and with three arrows the banner. Rukmī, undaunted, seized another bow and wounded Kṛṣṇa with five arrows. But as Rukmī showered arrows upon him, Achyuta—Kṛṣṇa—cut Rukmī’s bow to pieces. Each time Rukmī took up a new weapon—a mace, spear, trident, shield and sword, javelin, or tomara—Hari destroyed them all. Finally, Rukmī leapt from his chariot, sword in hand, intent on killing Kṛṣṇa, charging like a moth rushing into a flame. As he advanced, Kṛṣṇa shattered Rukmī’s sword and shield with his arrows. Then, drawing his own sharp sword, Kṛṣṇa prepared to kill Rukmī. Seeing her husband about to slay her brother, Rukmiṇī, overcome with fear, fell at Kṛṣṇa’s feet and, her voice trembling, pleaded in distress, “O Lord of yoga, immeasurable one, God of gods, Lord of the world, you must not kill my brother. O mighty-armed one, bringer of good, please spare him.” Rukmiṇī’s body shook with fear, her face parched with grief, her throat choked with emotion, and her golden necklace slipped in her anxiety as she clasped Kṛṣṇa’s feet. Moved by compassion, Kṛṣṇa desisted from killing Rukmī. Instead, he bound the wicked Rukmī with a cloth and, to disfigure him, shaved off his hair and beard. Meanwhile, the Yadu heroes routed the enemy army, trampling them like elephants in a lotus pond. When the Yadus approached Kṛṣṇa, they found Rukmī bound and nearly dead. Lord Sankarṣaṇa, filled with compassion, 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 for her brother’s disfigurement, for happiness and sorrow come only from one’s own actions. Even though killing a relative is a great sin, one should not slay a kinsman; if he has already ruined himself by his own faults, what is gained by killing him again? This is the law for kṣatriyas, established by the Lord of creatures: even brothers may fight and kill each other, and nothing is more terrible than this. For the sake of kingdom, land, wealth, women, pride, or power, blinded by arrogance, kṣatriyas destroy others—even their own kin.” Sankarṣaṇa continued, “Your judgment, O Kṛṣṇa, is harsh toward all beings, especially toward those with wicked hearts. You always consider what is good for your friends to be good for all, as if others were ignorant. But delusion arises among men by the power of Māyā; those who identify with the body see some as friends, some as enemies, and some as neutral. In truth, there is only one supreme Self in all beings—it is not many, though the deluded see it as such, just as light or the sky appears divided. This body, with its beginning and end, is made of matter, life-force, and qualities; fashioned by ignorance upon the Self, it causes the embodied soul to wander in worldly existence. For the true Self, there is neither union nor separation with another, whether existent or non-existent; such ideas arise from apparent connection, like the sun and the forms it illuminates. Birth and other changes belong to the body, not to the Self, just as the phases of the moon do not affect the moon itself, nor does an eclipse truly harm it. Just as one experiences oneself and objects in dreams, enjoying their results though they are unreal, so too does the unwise person enter worldly existence, mistaking the unreal for real. Therefore, dispel the sorrow born of ignorance, which dries up and confuses the Self, by true knowledge—be established in your own nature, O pure-smiling one.” Thus instructed by the Lord, the slender-waisted Rukmiṇī let go of her distress and regained her composure with understanding. As for Rukmī, his life-breath nearly spent, his strength and brilliance destroyed by Kṛṣṇa and Balarāma, he remembered his disfigured form and his vain ambitions. He established a great city named Bhojakaṭa for his residence, never again attacking wicked Kṛṣṇa or interfering with his younger sister.