Let us begin with a teaching that arose in a moment of sorrow. Birth, aging, and all the changes of the body belong only to the body; the Self remains untouched, just as the waxing and waning of the moon do not alter the moon itself, nor does an eclipse truly harm it. In dreams, one experiences both oneself and various objects, enjoying their results, though all are unreal. Similarly, those lacking wisdom enter worldly existence, mistaking the unreal for real. Therefore, it was urged: dispel the grief born of ignorance, which confuses and dries up the Self, by true knowledge. Be established in your own nature, O pure-smiling one. Thus, when the Lord instructed her in this way, slender-waisted Rāma abandoned her distress and composed her mind, understanding the truth. Meanwhile, Rukmi, his life-breath nearly spent and his strength and brilliance destroyed by defeat, remembered his disfigured form and his vain 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 other kings. Kṛṣṇa brought Rukmiṇī to his city according to proper rites, O best of Kurus, and married her. Then, in every house of the Yadu city, a great festival arose among 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 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, O king, immense joy arose among the citizens, seeing Kṛṣṇa, the Lord of fortune, united with Rukmiṇī and Rāma. Now, Śuka continued: Kāma, a portion of Vāsudeva, who had previously been burned by Rudra’s anger, took birth again for the sake of embodiment, assuming that very form. Born of Vaidarbhi and endowed with Krishna’s power, he became renowned as Pradyumna, in every way not inferior to his father. Shambara, the master of illusion, abducted that infant, who could not yet be harmed, and, knowing him to be his enemy, cast him into the sea and returned home. A powerful fish swallowed him, 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. Seeing the child inside, they reported it to Māyāvatī. Nārada, perceiving her anxious mind, told her everything—about the child’s true origin and how he came 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 him. In not too long a time, Krishna’s son reached 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, 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.” She explained, “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. Pradyumna, the Lord, angrily hurled his own mace at the enemy, casting aside the mace that was coming toward him. Relying on illusion, the demon released a rain of magical weapons against Krishna’s son from the sky. Afflicted by this shower, Rukmini’s son, the great chariot-warrior, invoked a supreme mantra of pure essence, which destroys all illusions. Then the demon 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. Showered by the gods with praises and heaps of flowers, he was carried through the sky by his wife, who moved like a celestial. Entering the splendid inner chambers, crowded with hundreds of women, he arrived from the sky with his wife, like lightning in a cloud.