Delusion arises among people through the divine power of Māyā. When one identifies with the body, distinctions appear—some are seen as friends, others as enemies, and some as neutral. But in truth, there is only one supreme Self for all embodied beings; though it seems manifold to those who are deluded, it is indivisible, much like light or the sky that appears split but is truly whole. This body, with its beginning and end, is made of matter, life-force, and qualities. It is fashioned by ignorance upon the true Self, causing the embodied soul to wander through worldly existence. Yet, for the Self, there is neither union nor separation with another, whether existent or non-existent; such notions arise only from apparent connections, just as the sun appears to unite with or separate from the forms it illuminates. Birth and other transformations are attributes of the body, never of the Self. The Self remains untouched, just as the phases of the moon do not alter the moon itself, nor does an eclipse truly harm it. Just as in dreams one experiences oneself and objects, enjoying their results though they are unreal, so too does the unwise soul enter worldly existence, mistaking the unreal for real. Therefore, sorrow born of ignorance—which dries up and confuses the Self—should be dispelled by true knowledge. One must be established in one’s own nature, O pure-smiling one. Thus, after being instructed by the Lord, slender-waisted Rāma abandoned her distress and composed her mind with understanding. Meanwhile, Rukmi, his life-breath nearly spent, his strength and brilliance destroyed by the two, remembered his disfigured form and his vain, self-conceived ambitions. He established a great city named Bhojakaṭa for his residence, choosing not to attack wicked Kṛṣṇa or hinder his younger sister. 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. Kṛṣṇa brought Rukmiṇī to the city according to proper rites, O best of Kurus, and married her. Then, in every house of the Yadu city, a great festival was celebrated by those devoted solely to Kṛṣṇa, 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 was adorned with Indra's banners, wondrous garlands, garments, jeweled gateways, and auspicious arrangements at every gate—full water pots, incense, lamps—all shining brilliantly. 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, O king, immense joy arose among the citizens, seeing Kṛṣṇa, 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, took birth once more for the sake of embodiment, assuming that very form. Born of Vaidarbhi and endowed with Kṛṣṇa’s power, he became renowned as Pradyumna, in every way not inferior to his father. Shambara, the master of illusion, abducted that infant, knowing him to be his enemy, and cast him into the sea before returning home. A powerful fish swallowed Pradyumna, 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. Seeing the child inside, they reported it to Māyāvatī. Nārada, perceiving her anxiety, told her everything—about the child’s true origin and how he had come to be in the fish’s belly. Māyāvatī 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 him. In not too long a time, the son of Kṛṣṇa reached full youth, stirring the hearts of 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, the son of Kṛṣṇa, 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 noble Pradyumna the supreme knowledge that destroys all sorcery. Pradyumna then approached Shambara and challenged him to battle, provoking him with taunts that could not be endured, stirring up conflict. Assailed with harsh words, like a serpent struck by a foot, Shambara stormed out, mace in hand, his eyes red with rage. Whirling his mace with force at the great-souled Pradyumna, he hurled it, roaring with a sound as harsh as thunder striking stone. As the mace 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 released a rain of magical weapons against the son of Kṛṣṇa from the sky. Afflicted by the shower of weapons, Rukmiṇī’s son, the great chariot-warrior, invoked a supreme mantra of pure essence, which destroys all illusions.