In the radiant city of the Vṛṣṇis, banners of Indra fluttered above streets adorned with wondrous garlands and fine garments. Jeweled gateways gleamed at every entrance, where auspicious arrangements—full water pots, fragrant incense, and glowing lamps—welcomed all. The city shone brilliantly, its streets sprinkled with intoxicating, aromatic liquids. At the gates, majestic elephants summoned by beloved kings stood in stately rows, while plantain and areca trees lined the ways, enhancing the city’s beauty. Within this festive atmosphere, the Kurus, Sṛñjayas, Kaikeyas, Vidarbhas, Yadus, and Kuntis mingled joyfully, their excitement palpable as they hurried about. Everywhere, the tale of Rukmiṇī’s abduction was sung, astonishing kings and princesses alike. In Dvārakā, immense joy arose among the citizens, for they beheld Kṛṣṇa, the Lord of fortune, united with Rukmiṇī and Rāma. Śuka then spoke: Kāma, a portion of Vāsudeva, who had once been burned by Rudra’s wrath, took birth again to assume a bodily form. Born to Vaidarbhi and endowed with Kṛṣṇa’s power, he became known as Pradyumna, in every way the equal of his illustrious father. Yet, as an infant, Pradyumna was abducted by Shambara, a master of illusion who knew him to be his destined enemy. Unable to harm the child, Shambara cast him into the sea and returned home. A powerful fish swallowed the infant, and, in time, fishermen caught that fish in a great net. They brought it as a gift to Shambara; the cooks, preparing to cut it open, discovered the child within and reported their find to Māyāvatī. Nārada, seeing Māyāvatī’s anxious mind, revealed everything: the child’s true origin and how he came to be inside the fish’s belly. Māyāvatī was in truth Rati, the famed wife of Kāma, who had waited for her husband’s rebirth after his body was burned. Assigned by Shambara to the kitchen, Māyāvatī recognized the child as Kāma himself and felt deep affection for him. In a short time, Krishna’s son grew to full youth, stirring the hearts of the women who gazed upon him. Rati, beautiful and lotus-eyed, approached her husband, casting a bashful, smiling, sidelong glance, her eyebrows raised in loving play. Pradyumna, the son of Krishna, spoke to 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, my lord, are Kāma. That demon 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, who is 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 Pradyumna the supreme knowledge that destroys all sorcery. Empowered, Pradyumna approached Shambara and challenged him to battle, provoking him with taunts that could not be endured. Shambara, enraged like a serpent struck by a foot, stormed out with mace in hand, his eyes red with fury. Whirling his mace, he hurled it at Pradyumna with a thunderous roar. Pradyumna, undaunted, angrily hurled his own mace, casting aside the weapon that came toward him. Shambara, relying on his magical illusions, unleashed a rain of enchanted weapons from the sky. Afflicted by this shower, Rukmiṇī’s son invoked a supreme mantra, pure in essence, which destroys all illusions. Shambara then employed hundreds of secret Gandharva, ghost, serpent, and rakshasa spells, but Krishna’s son dispelled them all. Finally, Pradyumna, adorned with crown and earrings, raised a sharp sword and, with great force, severed Shambara’s head from his body, his copper-colored beard shining. The gods showered him with praises and heaps of flowers, and his wife carried him through the sky, moving like a celestial. Entering the splendid inner chambers crowded with hundreds of women, Pradyumna arrived from the heavens with his wife, like lightning in a cloud. Seeing him—dark as a rain cloud, clad in yellow silk, with long arms, coppery eyes, a beautiful face, and gentle smile—the women, their lotus faces adorned with blue curling locks, mistook him for Krishna and shyly hid themselves. Gradually, with slight embarrassment, the women discerned his true identity and approached joyfully, amazed at the precious jewel among them. Vaidarbhi, dark-eyed and sweet-spoken, remembered her lost son, her breasts moist with affection. She wondered, “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? My own son was lost, taken from the birthing chamber. This one is of similar age and form—if he lives somewhere, where could it be? How has he attained such resemblance to the wielder of the Sharnga bow—in form, limbs, gait, voice, smile, and glance? Surely, he must be the very child I carried in my womb. My left arm trembles with affection, and my love for him grows stronger.” While Vaidarbhi pondered thus, the illustrious Krishna, son of Devaki, arrived with Devaki and Vasudeva, completing the circle of love and reunion.