Rati, with deep emotion, approached Pradyumna and revealed the truth of his origin. “You are the son of Nārāyaṇa,” she said, “abducted from your home by the demon Shambara. I am your rightful wife, Rati, and you, lord, are Kāma himself.” She recounted the harrowing events of his infancy: “That wicked Shambara cast you, still an infant, into the ocean. A fish swallowed you, and now, lord, you have emerged from its belly.” Rati urged Pradyumna to fulfill his destiny. “Now slay this formidable, unconquerable enemy of yours, skilled in hundreds of illusions. Use your own powers of illusion—delusion and the like—to defeat him.” She spoke of Pradyumna’s mother, Rukmini, who grieved for her lost son, overwhelmed by maternal love, helpless as a kurarī bird bereft of her young, or a cow pained without her calf. Having spoken thus, Māyāvatī—great in magic—imparted to noble Pradyumna the supreme knowledge that destroys all sorcery. Armed with this wisdom, Pradyumna approached Shambara and challenged him to battle, provoking him with taunts that could not be endured, stirring up conflict. Enraged by Pradyumna’s words, Shambara stormed out, mace in hand, his eyes red with fury—like a serpent struck by a foot. Roaring with a thunderous sound, he whirled his mace and hurled it at the great-souled Pradyumna. As the weapon descended, Pradyumna, the Lord, angrily cast aside the incoming mace and hurled his own at the enemy. Shambara, relying on his powers of illusion, unleashed a rain of magical weapons from the sky. Afflicted by this shower, Rukmini’s son, the mighty chariot-warrior, invoked a supreme mantra of pure essence, which destroys 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. With great force, he severed Shambara’s head from his body, the copper-colored beard shining as it fell. The gods, rejoicing in this victory, showered him with praises and heaps of flowers. His wife carried him through the sky, moving like a celestial being. They entered the splendid inner chambers of Dvārakā, crowded with hundreds of women. Pradyumna arrived from the sky with his wife, as lightning enters a cloud. The women beheld him—dark as a rain cloud, clad in yellow silk, with long arms, coppery eyes, a beautiful face, and a gentle smile. His lotus face was adorned, decorated with blue curling locks. Mistaking him for Krishna, the women shyly hid themselves. Gradually, with slight embarrassment, the women realized their mistake and approached joyfully, amazed at the precious jewel among them. Vaidarbhi—Rukmini—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?” She recalled her own son, lost and taken from the birthing chamber. “This one is of similar age and form—if he lives somewhere, where could it be?” She marveled at his 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.” As Vaidarbhi pondered, Krishna—the illustrious son of Devaki—arrived with Devaki and Vasudeva. Though knowing everything, Janardana, the Lord, remained silent. It was Narada who 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. Devaki and Vasudeva, along with Krishna and Balarama and their wives, embraced the couple, and Rukmini too, rejoicing. The residents of Dvārakā exclaimed in delight, “Ah! The boy has come back as if from the dead—by good fortune!” Pradyumna, whom mothers worshipped with feelings for their own lord and father, whose affection grew daily, was celebrated. Yet, it was not strange—for in the reflection of Lakshmi’s abode, in the domain of desire and love, what could others, lacking virtue, do? Thus concludes the fifty-fifth chapter, “The Account of Pradyumna’s Birth,” in the tenth book, second part, of the great Purāṇa Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the scripture of the supreme paramahaṃsa tradition. And so begins the fifty-sixth chapter. Śrī Śuka continued: Satrājit, having committed a wrong, gave his own daughter to Krishna, personally offering the Syamantaka jewel. The king asked, “What wrong did Satrājit do to Krishna, O Brāhmaṇa? From where did he get the Syamantaka? Why did he give his daughter to Hari?” Śrī Śuka explained: Satrājit was a great devotee and close friend of the sun god. Pleased with him, the sun bestowed upon Satrājit the Syamantaka jewel. Wearing the jewel on his neck, shining like the sun, Satrājit entered Dvārakā, and due to his radiance, was not recognized by the people. Seeing him from a distance, the people, dazzled by his brilliance, reported to Bhagavān, who was playing dice, suspecting he was the sun god. They said, “O Nārāyaṇa, salutations to you, bearer of conch, discus, and mace, O Dāmodara, lotus-eyed, Govinda, delight of the Yadus! Here comes the sun, O lord of the world, wishing to see you, stealing the sight of men with his fierce rays. Surely, the best of the gods search for your path throughout the three worlds; knowing you are hidden among the Yadus, today the unborn lord comes to see you.” Śrī Śuka said: Hearing the words of the children, the lotus-eyed one laughed and said, “That is not the sun god, but Satrājit, shining with the jewel.” Satrājit entered his splendid house, decorated for auspiciousness, and placed the jewel in the shrine, consecrated by the brāhmaṇas.