Rukmi, burning with anger and pride, confronted Krishna on the battlefield. He declared, “Release the maiden! Until you have struck me down with your arrows and made me fall, do not take her!” Krishna, smiling gently, broke Rukmi’s bow and swiftly pierced him with six sharp arrows. Undeterred, Krishna then struck Rukmi’s four horses with eight arrows, the charioteer with two, and the banner with three, displaying his unmatched skill. Rukmi, however, seized another bow and wounded Krishna with five arrows. Achyuta, assailed by this shower of arrows, calmly cut Rukmi’s bow to pieces. Rukmi snatched up yet another, but the imperishable Lord destroyed that weapon as well. Desperate, Rukmi reached for every weapon he could find—mace, spear, trident, shield and sword, javelin, and tomara—but Hari, with divine ease, shattered them all. Enraged and humiliated, Rukmi leapt from his chariot, sword in hand, intent on killing Krishna. He rushed forward like a moth drawn to a blazing flame. As Rukmi charged, Krishna shattered his sword and shield with a volley of arrows. Krishna then drew his own sharp sword and prepared to slay Rukmi. At that moment, Rukmini, overwhelmed with fear for her brother’s life, fell at her husband’s feet. Her voice trembled with distress as she pleaded, “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 whole body trembled with fear, her face was pale with grief, her throat choked, and her golden necklace slipped from her neck in her anxiety. Clasping Krishna’s feet, she begged for mercy. Moved by her compassion, Krishna desisted from killing Rukmi. Instead, Krishna bound the wicked Rukmi with a cloth and shaved off his hair and beard, disfiguring him. Meanwhile, the Yadu heroes routed the enemy army, scattering them like elephants trampling a lotus pond. When the Yadus approached Krishna, they saw Rukmi in this pitiful condition, nearly dead. Lord Sankarṣaṇa, full of compassion, released Rukmi and spoke to Krishna. He said, “What you have done, Krishna, is improper and shameful for us: to shave the hair and beard, to disfigure, or to kill 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? 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 Krishna, 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. For the true Self, there is neither union nor separation with another, whether existent or non-existent; such notions arise from their apparent connection, like the sun and the forms it illuminates. Birth and other transformations belong to the body, never to the Self at any time—just as the phases of the moon do not affect the moon itself, nor does the 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 Lord Sankarṣaṇa, Rukmini, slender-waisted and noble, abandoned her distress and composed her mind with understanding. Rukmi, his life-breath nearly spent, his strength and brilliance destroyed by Krishna and Balarama, remembered his disfigured state and his vain ambitions. He established a great city named Bhojakaṭa for his residence, refusing to attack Krishna or hinder his younger sister further. He declared, “I will not enter Kuṇḍina,” and remained there in anger, having been defeated by the Lord and the daughter of Bhīṣmaka, along with the other kings. Krishna brought Rukmini to Dvārakā according to proper rites, and there he married her, O best of Kurus. In every house of the Yadu city, a great festival was held by those devoted solely to Krishna, the Lord of the Yadus. Men and women, delighted and adorned with polished jeweled earrings, brought gifts for the splendidly attired couple. The city of the Vṛṣṇis shone brilliantly, adorned with Indra’s banners, wondrous garlands, garments, jeweled gateways, and auspicious arrangements at every gate—full water pots, incense, and lamps. Its streets were sprinkled with fragrant, intoxicating liquids; at the gates stood elephants summoned by beloved kings, and the city was beautified by rows of plantain and areca trees. The Kurus, Sṛñjayas, Kaikeyas, Vidarbhas, Yadus, and Kuntis all mingled in joy and excitement. Everywhere, the story of Rukmini’s abduction was sung, astonishing kings and princesses alike. In Dvārakā, immense joy arose among the citizens, seeing Krishna, the Lord of fortune, united with Rukmini and Balarama. Meanwhile, Kāma, a portion of Vāsudeva, who had previously been burned by Rudra’s anger, took birth again for the sake of embodiment, assuming his former form. Born of Vaidarbhi and endowed with Krishna’s power, he became renowned as Pradyumna, in every way not inferior to his father. But Shambara, master of illusion, knowing the child to be his enemy, abducted the infant Pradyumna, who could not yet be harmed, and cast him into the sea before returning home. There, a powerful fish swallowed the child. That fish, along with others, was caught in a great net by fishermen. The fishermen brought the fish as a gift to Shambara; the cooks took it to the kitchen, intending to cut it open with their knives.