Hearing of Krishna’s actions—how he had shaved off the hair and beard and disfigured or killed a friend—some among the assembly spoke with sorrow and reproach. “What you have done, Krishna, is improper and shameful for us,” they said. “Let not this virtuous lady blame us for her brother’s disfigurement. Each person reaps the fruits of their own actions; no one else is truly the giver of happiness or sorrow.” They continued, “Even though the killing of a relative is a great sin, it is not right to slay a kinsman. If he is already 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, kṣatriyas destroy others—even their own kin.” They addressed Krishna, saying, “Your judgment toward all beings is harsh, Krishna, especially toward those with wicked hearts. 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. But in truth, there is 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.” They spoke further: “This body, with its beginning and 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.” They concluded, “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.” Śuka then said: Thus instructed by the Lord, the slender-waisted Rāma—Rukmiṇī—abandoned her distress and composed her mind with understanding. Meanwhile, Rukmi, whose life-breath was nearly spent and whose strength and brilliance had been destroyed by Krishna and Balarāma, remembered his disfigured form and the vain ambitions he had held. Without attacking Krishna or hindering his younger sister, he established a great city named Bhojakaṭa for his residence. Declaring, “I will not enter Kuṇḍina,” he remained there in anger, defeated by the Lord and the daughter of Bhīṣmaka, along with the other kings. Krishna, bringing Rukmiṇī to his own city according to proper rites, married her. In every house of the Yadu city, there was a great festival among those devoted solely to Krishna, the Lord of the Yadus. Men and women, delighted and adorned with polished jeweled earrings, brought gifts for the couple, both splendidly attired. 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 Rukmiṇī’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 Rukmiṇī and Rāma. Śuka continued: Kāma, a portion of Vāsudeva who had previously been burned by Rudra’s anger, again took birth for the sake of embodiment, assuming that very form. He was born of Vaidarbhi, Rukmiṇī, and endowed with Krishna’s own power, becoming renowned as Pradyumna, in every way not inferior to his father. But Shambara, the 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. A powerful fish swallowed the child, and that fish, together with others, was caught in a great net by fishermen. The fishermen brought that fish as a gift to Shambara; the cooks took it to the kitchen, intending to cut it open with their knives. Seeing the child inside, they reported it to Māyāvatī. Nārada, perceiving Māyāvatī’s anxious mind, told her everything—about the child’s true origin and how he came to be in the fish’s belly. Māyāvatī was Rati, the famed wife of Kāma, who had been waiting for the rebirth of her husband, whose body had been burned. Assigned by Shambara to the kitchen, Māyāvatī, recognizing the child as Kāma himself, felt deep affection for the boy. In not too long a time, Krishna’s son reached full youth, stirring the hearts of the women who gazed upon him. Rati, now Māyāvatī, approached him—her husband—with eyes like lotus petals, her arms long, beautiful among men, casting a bashful, smiling, sidelong glance, her eyebrows raised in love-play. Pradyumna, the 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.” Rati replied, “You are the son of Nārāyaṇa, abducted from your home by Shambara; I am your rightful wife, Rati, and you, lord, are Kāma. That demon Shambara cast you, an infant, into the ocean; a fish swallowed you, and from its belly, lord, you have come here. Now slay this formidable, unconquerable enemy of yours, skilled in hundreds of illusions, by your own powers of illusion—delusion and the like. Your mother grieves for you like a kurarī bird bereft of her young, overwhelmed by maternal love, helpless, like a cow pained without her calf.” Having spoken thus, Māyāvatī, great in magic, gave to the noble Pradyumna the supreme knowledge that destroys all sorcery.