O Krishna, your judgment toward all beings is severe, especially toward those whose hearts are wicked. You always see what benefits your friends as good for all, as if others were ignorant of what is truly best. But, in truth, it is the divine power of Māyā that causes delusion among men. Under her influence, people identify themselves with the body and see the world as divided: some as friends, others as enemies, and some as neutral. Yet, there is only one supreme Self that dwells within all embodied beings. Though the deluded perceive many separate selves, in reality, it is not manifold—just as the light or the sky appears to be divided but is not truly so. This body, with its beginning and end, is made of matter, life-force, and qualities. It is shaped by ignorance upon the true Self, causing the soul to wander through worldly existence. For the true Self, there is neither union nor separation with another, whether that other exists or not. These notions arise only from apparent connections, much like the sun seems to be joined with the forms it illuminates. The changes of birth, growth, and decay belong to the body, never to the Self—just as the phases or even an eclipse do not truly affect the moon itself. Just as one experiences oneself and objects in a dream, enjoying their results though they are unreal, so too does the unwise person enter worldly existence, mistaking the unreal for the real. Therefore, let go of 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, slender-waisted Rāma abandoned her distress and composed her mind with understanding. Meanwhile, the one whose life-breath was nearly spent, whose strength and brilliance had been destroyed by the two, remembered his disfigured form and the ambitions he had conceived in vain. He established a great city named Bhojakaṭa for his residence, neither attacking wicked Kṛṣṇa nor hindering his younger sister further. 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 brought Rukmiṇī to the city according to proper rites, O best of Kurus, and married her. Then, 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 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. The 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, O king, 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 was previously burned by Rudra's anger, was born again to assume a body, taking on that very form. He was born of Vaidarbhi and endowed with Krishna’s power, becoming renowned as Pradyumna, in every way not inferior to his father. But Shambara, master of illusion, knowing this infant to be his destined enemy, abducted him and cast him into the sea, then returned 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. When they found the child inside, they reported it to Māyāvatī. Nārada, seeing her anxious, revealed everything—how the child had come to be in the fish’s belly and his true origin. Māyāvatī was none other than Rati, the famed wife of Kāma, who had been waiting for her husband’s rebirth after his body was burned. Assigned by Shambara to work in the kitchen, Māyāvatī recognized the child as Kāma himself and felt deep affection for him. In not too long a time, Krishna’s son reached full youth, stirring the hearts of all the women who gazed upon him. Then Rati, beautiful among women, approached her husband with eyes like lotus petals, her arms long, casting a bashful, smiling, sidelong glance, her eyebrows raised in love-play. Pradyumna, the son of Krishna, said to her, "O lady, your mind is not that of a mother; 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. Armed with this wisdom, he approached Shambara and challenged him to battle, provoking him with taunts that could not be endured. Assailed with harsh words, like a serpent struck by a foot, Shambara stormed out, mace in hand, his eyes red with rage. He whirled his mace with force at the great-souled Pradyumna, hurling it with a roar as harsh as thunder striking stone. As it descended, Pradyumna, the Lord, angrily hurled his own mace at the enemy, casting aside the mace that was coming toward him. Relying on the illusion shown by Māyā, the demon unleashed a rain of magical weapons from the sky against the son of Krishna.