As Rukmini watched her husband Krishna preparing to slay her brother Rukmi, fear overwhelmed her. Distressed, she fell at Krishna’s feet, pleading with him. “O Lord of yoga, immeasurable one, God of gods, Lord of the world,” she cried, “please, you should not kill my brother. O mighty-armed, bringer of good, spare him!” Her body trembled with fear, her face was parched with grief, and her throat choked. In her anxiety, her golden necklace slipped as she clasped Krishna’s feet. Seeing her so distraught, Krishna was moved by compassion and refrained from killing Rukmi. Instead, Krishna bound the wicked Rukmi with a cloth and, shaving off his hair and beard, disfigured him. Meanwhile, the Yadu warriors routed the enemy army, trampling them like elephants in a lotus pond. The Yadu heroes then approached Krishna and saw Rukmi in this pitiable state—bound, nearly dead. Lord Sankarṣaṇa, full of compassion, released Rukmi and spoke to Krishna, “What you have done, Krishna, is improper and shameful for us: shaving off the hair and beard, disfiguring, or killing a friend.” He continued, “Let not this virtuous lady blame us out of concern for her brother’s disfigurement. 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?” Sankarṣaṇa explained, “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.” He addressed Krishna, “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.” Sankarṣaṇa continued, “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.” He advised, “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.” Hearing these words from Lord Sankarṣaṇa, Rukmini, slender-waisted and noble, abandoned her distress and composed her mind with understanding. Meanwhile, Rukmi, his life-breath nearly spent, his strength and brilliance destroyed by Krishna and Sankarṣaṇa, remembered his disfigured form and his vain ambitions. He established a great city named Bhojakaṭa for his residence, choosing not to attack Krishna or hinder his younger sister. He declared, “I will not enter Kuṇḍina,” and remained in anger, defeated by the Lord and the daughter of Bhīṣmaka, along with the other kings. Krishna brought Rukmini to the city according to proper rites, and married her. In every house of the Yadu city, a great festival was celebrated 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, elephants summoned by beloved kings stood, and the city was beautified by rows of plantain and areca trees. The Kurus, Sṛñjayas, Kaikeyas, Vidarbhas, Yadus, and Kuntis all rejoiced together, mingling in excitement as they hurried about. Hearing the story of Rukmini’s abduction sung everywhere, the kings and princesses were greatly astonished. In Dvārakā, immense joy arose among the citizens, seeing Krishna, the Lord of fortune, united with Rukmini and Rāma. Śuka then spoke: 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 to Vaidarbhi and endowed with Krishna’s power, he became renowned as Pradyumna, in every way not inferior to his father. Shambara, master of illusion, abducted the infant Pradyumna, knowing him to be his enemy, and cast him into the sea before returning home. A powerful fish swallowed the child, and 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. Upon discovering the child inside, they reported it to Māyāvatī. Nārada, seeing her anxious, told her everything—about the child’s true origin and how he had come to be in the fish’s belly. She was Rati, the famed wife of Kāma, waiting for the rebirth of her husband, whose body had been burned. Assigned by Shambara to the kitchen, Māyāvatī recognized the child as Kāma himself and felt affection for the boy. Before long, Krishna’s son grew to full youth, stirring the hearts of the women who gazed upon him. Rati approached him—her husband—with eyes like lotus petals, arms long, beautiful among men, casting a bashful, smiling, sidelong glance, her eyebrows raised in love-play. Pradyumna, son of Krishna, said to her, “Your mind, O lady, is not as a mother’s; you behave toward me as a lover, not as a mother.