Listen, O noble one, to the tale as it unfolds from the sacred verses. For the true Self, there is neither union nor separation with another—be it something that exists or does not exist. Such notions of coming together or parting arise merely from apparent connections, much like the sun and the shapes it illuminates: the sun remains unchanged, whether its light falls upon forms or not. In the same way, birth and all the transformations that follow—growth, decay, and death—belong only to the body, never to the Self at any time. Just as the waxing and waning of the moon do not touch the moon’s true substance, nor does an eclipse truly harm it, so too the Self remains untouched by the body’s changes. Consider how, in dreams, one perceives oneself and a world of objects, enjoying their pleasures and pains, though all are unreal. Similarly, the unwise enter worldly existence, mistaking the unreal for the real and becoming entangled in its illusions. Therefore, let sorrow born of ignorance—which dries up and confuses the Self—be dispelled by true knowledge. Be established in your own nature, O pure-smiling one. Thus instructed by the Lord, Rama of the slender waist let go of her distress and composed her mind with newfound understanding. Meanwhile, Rukmi, his life-breath nearly spent, his strength and brilliance broken by Krishna and Balarama, remembered his disfigured form and the vain ambitions he had conceived in his pride. He established a great city named Bhojakaṭa for his residence, resolving neither to attack the wicked Krishna nor to hinder his younger sister any further. Declaring, “I will not enter Kuṇḍina,” he remained in anger at Bhojakaṭa, defeated by the Lord and the daughter of Bhīṣmaka, along with the other kings. Krishna, following proper rites, brought Rukmini to his city, O best of the Kurus, and married her. Then, in every house of the city of the Yadus, there was a great festival, for all were devoted solely to Krishna, 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, decorated with Indra’s banners, wondrous garlands, fine garments, jeweled gateways, and auspicious arrangements at every entrance—full water pots, incense, and lamps. The streets were sprinkled with fragrant, intoxicating liquids; elephants summoned by beloved kings stood at the gates, 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. Everywhere, the story of Rukmini’s abduction was sung, astonishing kings and princesses alike. In Dvārakā, O king, immense joy arose among the citizens, seeing Krishna, the Lord of fortune, united with Rukmini and Rama. Now, hear further, O king, as Śuka continues this sacred narration. Kāma, a portion of Vāsudeva who had previously been burned by Rudra’s anger, was born again for the sake of embodiment, assuming his former form. He was born to Vaidarbhi, endowed with Krishna’s own power, and became renowned as Pradyumna, in every way not inferior to his father. Shambara, the master of illusion, recognizing the infant as his destined enemy, abducted him while he was yet helpless 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. When they discovered the child inside, they reported it to Māyāvatī. Nārada, seeing her anxious mind, revealed to her the child’s true origin and how he had come to be in the belly of the fish. Māyāvatī was none other than Rati, the famed wife of Kāma, who had been waiting faithfully for the rebirth of her husband, whose body had been burned. Assigned by Shambara to work in the kitchen, Māyāvatī recognized the child as Kāma himself and felt great affection for him. In not too long a time, the son of Krishna grew to full youth, stirring the hearts of the women who beheld him. Rati, her eyes like lotus petals and arms long, beautiful among women, approached her husband. With bashful, smiling, sidelong glances and playful, loving gestures, she revealed her feelings. Pradyumna, the son of Krishna, questioned her: “O lady, your mind 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 himself. 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 as a cow pained without her calf.” Having spoken thus, Māyāvatī, great in magic, bestowed upon 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. Enraged, Shambara stormed out, mace in hand, his eyes red with fury. He whirled his mace with great force at Pradyumna, roaring like thunder striking stone. Pradyumna, the Lord, angrily hurled his own mace, casting aside the one that was coming toward him. Relying on the illusory arts of Maya, the demon unleashed a rain of magical weapons from the sky upon Krishna’s son. Afflicted by this shower, Rukmini’s son invoked a supreme mantra of pure essence, which destroys all illusions. Shambara then employed hundreds of secret Gandharva, ghost, serpent, and rakshasa spells, but Krishna’s son dispelled them all. Raising a sharp sword, adorned with crown and earrings, Pradyumna severed Shambara’s head from his body with great force, his copper-colored beard shining. Showers of flowers and praises rained down from the gods upon Pradyumna, and his wife carried him through the sky, moving like a celestial being. Thus, the story unfolds, radiant with the glory of the Lord and his devotees.