Everywhere, the tale of Rukmiṇī’s dramatic abduction by Krishna was sung and retold, filling the hearts of kings and princesses with wonder and astonishment. In Dvārakā, O king, immense joy arose among the citizens as they beheld Krishna, the Lord of fortune, united with Rukmiṇī and Balarama. The city was alive with happiness, celebrating this union. Śuka then spoke: Kāma, the god of love—a portion of Vāsudeva—who had once been burned by the wrath of Rudra, was destined to take birth again for the sake of embodiment. He assumed the very same form as before. Born to Rukmiṇī, Vaidarbhi, and endowed with Krishna's divine power, he became renowned as Pradyumna, and in every way, he was not inferior to his illustrious father. But danger lurked. Shambara, a master of illusion, recognized the infant Pradyumna as his future enemy. He abducted the helpless child and, with malicious intent, cast him into the sea before returning home. There, a powerful fish swallowed the baby, and later, fishermen caught this fish in a great net, along with many others. The fishermen brought the fish as a gift to Shambara. The cooks, unaware of its secret, took it to the kitchen, intending to cut it open. But when they saw the child inside, they reported this wonder to Māyāvatī. Nārada, sensing her anxiety, explained everything: the child’s true origin and how he came to be in the belly of a fish. Māyāvatī was none other than Rati, the famed wife of Kāma, who had been waiting for her husband’s rebirth since his body was burned. Assigned by Shambara to the kitchen, Māyāvatī recognized the child as Kāma himself and felt deep affection for him. In due time, Krishna’s son grew into full youth, stirring the hearts of the women who gazed upon him. Rati, now Māyāvatī, approached her husband with lotus-like eyes, long arms, and beauty among men, casting a bashful, smiling, sidelong glance, her eyebrows raised in playful love. Pradyumna, the son of Krishna, sensed her feelings and said, “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 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 magical arts, gave to the noble 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. Struck by harsh words, like a serpent stepped upon, Shambara stormed out, mace in hand, his eyes red with rage. He whirled his mace and hurled it at the great-souled Pradyumna, roaring like thunder striking stone. As the mace descended, Pradyumna angrily hurled his own mace, casting aside the incoming weapon. Relying on illusion, Shambara unleashed a rain of magical weapons from the sky against Krishna’s son. Afflicted by this shower, Rukmiṇī's son, a great chariot-warrior, invoked a supreme mantra of pure essence, destroying all illusions. The demon 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. Carried through the sky by his wife, who moved like a celestial, Pradyumna entered the splendid inner chambers crowded with hundreds of women, arriving from the sky with Māyāvatī like lightning in a cloud. The women, seeing him—dark as a rain cloud, clad in yellow silk, with long arms, coppery eyes, a beautiful face, and gentle smile—his lotus face adorned and decorated with blue curling locks—mistook him for Krishna and shyly hid themselves here and there. Gradually, discerning with slight embarrassment, they 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 son of Devaki, the illustrious Krishna, arrived with Devaki and Vasudeva. Though knowing everything, Janardana, the Lord, remained silent. Nārada narrated the entire story, including the slaying of Shambara. Hearing this wondrous tale, the women of Krishna’s inner chambers rejoiced, welcoming the one who had been lost for many years, as if returned from the dead. Devakī and Vasudeva, along with Krishna and Balarama and their wives, embraced the couple, and Rukmiṇī too, rejoicing in the miraculous reunion.