After the dramatic events surrounding Rukmiṇī’s abduction, her brother Rukmī, though humiliated, did not attack the mighty Kṛṣṇa nor hinder his own younger sister. Instead, he established a grand city named Bhojakaṭa for his own residence. In his anger and defeat—brought about by the Lord and the daughter of Bhīṣmaka, with the support of other kings—Rukmī declared, “I will not enter Kuṇḍina,” and remained apart. Meanwhile, Kṛṣṇa, having won Rukmiṇī, brought her to his city with all proper rites, O best of the Kurus, and married her. 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 gleaming jeweled earrings, brought splendid gifts for the newlyweds, both of whom shone in their finery. The city of the Vṛṣṇis was transformed: banners of Indra fluttered above, wondrous garlands and colorful garments hung everywhere, jeweled gateways gleamed, and auspicious arrangements—full water pots, fragrant incense, and glowing lamps—adorned every entrance. The streets were sprinkled with intoxicating, fragrant liquids, while at the gates, mighty elephants summoned by beloved kings stood in majesty. Rows of plantain and areca trees beautified the city further. People from every direction—Kurus, Sṛñjayas, Kaikeyas, Vidarbhas, Yadus, and Kuntis—all mingled, rejoicing together and hurrying about in excitement. Everywhere, the tale of Rukmiṇī’s abduction was sung, and the assembled kings and princesses marveled at the astonishing feat. In Dvārakā, O King, immense joy filled the hearts of the citizens as they beheld Kṛṣṇa, the Lord of fortune, united with Rukmiṇī and Rāma. Śuka then continued: Kāma, a portion of Vāsudeva, who had once been burned by Rudra’s wrath, was born anew for the sake of embodiment, assuming his previous form. This divine being, born to Vaidarbhī Rukmiṇī and endowed with Kṛṣṇa’s own power, became renowned as Pradyumna—a son in no way inferior to his father. But fate intervened. Shambara, a master of illusion and sworn enemy, abducted the infant Pradyumna, who was still too young to defend himself. Knowing the child would become his destroyer, Shambara cast him into the sea and returned to his abode. There, a powerful fish swallowed the baby. Later, fishermen caught this very fish in their nets and, as a gift, brought it to Shambara. The cooks, intending to prepare it, cut open the fish and, to their amazement, found the living child inside. They reported this wonder to Māyāvatī, the head of the kitchen. Māyāvatī’s heart was anxious. The sage Nārada appeared and revealed everything: the child’s divine origin, his abduction, and how he came to be in the fish’s belly. Māyāvatī herself was Rati, the famed wife of Kāma, who had been waiting faithfully for her husband’s rebirth after his previous form was burned away. Assigned by Shambara to the kitchen, Māyāvatī recognized the child as Kāma himself and felt deep affection for him. In time, Kṛṣṇa’s son grew to full youth—his beauty stirring the hearts of all who beheld him, especially the women of the household. One day, Rati herself approached him—her true husband—her eyes like lotus petals, arms graceful and long, her beauty radiant, casting a bashful, smiling, sidelong glance, her eyebrows raised in playful affection. Pradyumna, son of Kṛṣṇa, noticed her manner and spoke: “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, my lord, are Kāma. That demon Shambara cast you, an infant, into the ocean; a fish swallowed you, and from its belly, my lord, you have come here. Now, it is time to slay this formidable, unconquerable enemy of yours, skilled in hundreds of illusions, by your own power 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. Armed with this wisdom, Pradyumna approached Shambara and challenged him, provoking him with words that could not be endured. Incensed, Shambara stormed out, mace in hand, his eyes red with rage. He hurled his massive mace at Pradyumna with a roar as thunderous as a boulder struck by lightning. Pradyumna, undaunted, cast aside the oncoming mace with his own. Shambara, relying on his mastery of illusion, unleashed a rain of magical weapons from the sky. Afflicted by this onslaught, Rukmiṇī’s son invoked a supreme mantra of pure essence, dispelling all illusions. The demon then employed hundreds of secret spells—Gandharva, ghost, serpent, and rakshasa magics—but Pradyumna, Kṛṣṇa’s son, dispelled them all. At last, raising a sharp sword, his crown and earrings gleaming, Pradyumna struck and severed Shambara’s head with great force, his copper-colored beard shining in death. The gods showered him with praises and heaps of flowers. Then, with Māyāvatī, who moved like a celestial, he soared through the sky. They entered the splendid inner chambers of Dvārakā, crowded with hundreds of women, arriving as if lightning flashed within a cloud. Seeing him—dark as a rain cloud, clad in yellow silk, with long arms, coppery eyes, a beautiful face, and a gentle smile—the women, thinking him to be Kṛṣṇa himself, shyly hid themselves here and there. Gradually discerning the truth, with some embarrassment, the women approached joyfully, marveling at the precious jewel among them. Rukmiṇī herself, dark-eyed and sweet-spoken, remembered her lost son, her motherly affection overflowing. The women wondered among themselves, “Who is this jewel among men, lotus-eyed? Whose son is he? By whom was he carried in the womb? Who is this woman who has gained him, or by whom was he obtained?” And thus, the miraculous story of Pradyumna’s return began to unfold.