The city was alive with celebration. Its streets had been sprinkled with fragrant, intoxicating liquids, filling the air with delightful scents. At the gates, mighty elephants summoned by beloved kings stood as sentinels, and rows of plantain and areca trees beautified the city’s avenues. Within this festive atmosphere, the great families—the Kurus, Sṛñjayas, Kaikeyas, Vidarbhas, Yadus, and Kuntis—mingled joyfully. Excitement and happiness overflowed as they hurried about, sharing in the marvel of the occasion. Everywhere, the tale of Rukmiṇī’s abduction was sung, astonishing both kings and princesses alike. In the city of Dvārakā, immense joy swept through the citizens. They beheld Kṛṣṇa, the Lord of fortune, united with Rukmiṇī and Rāma, and their hearts rejoiced. Śuka then spoke: Kāma, a portion of Vāsudeva, who had once been burned by Rudra’s wrath, took birth again for the sake of embodiment, assuming his previous form. Born to Vaidarbhi, endowed with the power of Kṛṣṇa, he became renowned as Pradyumna, and in every way was not inferior to his illustrious father. But fate intervened. Shambara, a master of illusion, abducted the infant Pradyumna, recognizing him as his destined enemy. Shambara cast the helpless child into the sea and returned home. There, a powerful fish swallowed the infant. Eventually, fishermen caught this fish in a great net and brought it as a gift to Shambara. The cooks, preparing to cut it open, discovered the child inside and reported this marvel to Māyāvatī. Māyāvatī’s mind was anxious, and Nārada arrived to reveal the truth: the child’s origin, his journey in the fish’s belly, and his identity. Māyāvatī was none other than Rati, the famed wife of Kāma, who had been waiting for her husband’s rebirth after his body was burned. Assigned to the kitchen by Shambara, Māyāvatī recognized the child as Kāma himself and felt deep affection for him. In time, Pradyumna grew to full youth, stirring the hearts of the women who gazed upon him. Rati, with lotus-like eyes and long arms, beautiful among men, approached her husband with a bashful, smiling, sidelong glance, her eyebrows raised in loving play. Pradyumna, son of Kṛṣṇa, 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, 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—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, imparted 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. Shambara, enraged like a serpent struck by a foot, stormed out with mace in hand, his eyes blazing red. He whirled his mace with force at Pradyumna, roaring with a sound as harsh as thunder striking stone. Pradyumna, undaunted, hurled his own mace, casting aside Shambara’s weapon. Shambara, relying on the illusion shown by Maya, unleashed a rain of magical weapons from the sky against Kṛṣṇa’s son. Afflicted by this shower, Pradyumna invoked a supreme mantra of pure essence, which destroys all illusions. Shambara then employed hundreds of secret Gandharva, ghost, serpent, and rakshasa spells, but Pradyumna dispelled them all. Finally, raising a sharp sword, adorned with crown and earrings, Pradyumna severed Shambara’s head from his body with great force, his copper-colored beard gleaming. The gods showered him with praises and heaps of flowers, and his wife carried him through the sky, moving like a celestial. They entered the splendid inner chambers, crowded with hundreds of women, arriving from the sky 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, thinking him to be Kṛṣṇa, shyly hid themselves here and there. Gradually, with slight embarrassment, the women recognized him 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 the 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 was thus pondering, the illustrious Krishna, son of Devaki, arrived with Devaki and Vasudeva. Though knowing everything, Janardana, the Lord, remained silent. Nārada then narrated the entire story, including the slaying of Shambara, bringing clarity and joy to all.