When Pradyumna was still an infant, the demon Shambara hurled him into the ocean. There, a great fish swallowed the child, and from within its belly, Pradyumna, lordly in his presence, eventually emerged and came to his destined place. Māyāvatī, who had witnessed his trials, now urged Pradyumna: “Slay this formidable and unconquerable enemy, Shambara, who is skilled in hundreds of illusions. Use your own powers of illusion—delusion and the like—to defeat him.” She spoke of Rukmini, Pradyumna’s mother, who grieved for her lost son like a kurarī bird bereft of her young, overwhelmed by maternal love and helpless, like a cow suffering without her calf. Having spoken thus, Māyāvatī, herself great in magical arts, bestowed upon the 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, thus stirring up fierce conflict. Assailed by these harsh words, Shambara, like a serpent struck by a foot, stormed out with his mace in hand, his eyes burning red with rage. He whirled his mace and hurled it at Pradyumna, roaring with a sound as harsh as thunder striking stone. In turn, Pradyumna, the Lord, angrily threw his own mace at the enemy, casting aside Shambara’s weapon as it approached. Relying on his own powers of illusion, Shambara unleashed a rain of magical weapons from the sky upon Krishna’s son. Afflicted by this shower, Pradyumna, a mighty chariot-warrior and Rukmini’s son, invoked a supreme mantra of pure essence, one that destroys all illusions. Shambara then employed hundreds of secret Gandharva, ghost, serpent, and rakshasa spells, but Krishna’s son dispelled them all. Finally, Pradyumna raised a sharp sword, his crown and earrings gleaming, and with great force, he severed Shambara’s head from his body, the demon’s copper-colored beard shining as he fell. The gods showered Pradyumna with praises and heaps of flowers, and he was carried through the sky by his wife, Māyāvatī, who moved like a celestial being. They entered the splendid inner chambers, crowded with hundreds of women, arriving from the sky like lightning in a cloud. Seeing Pradyumna—dark as a rain cloud, clad in yellow silk, with long arms, coppery eyes, a beautiful face, and a gentle smile—the women, beholding his lotus-like face adorned with blue curling locks, mistook him for Krishna and shyly hid themselves here and there. Gradually, with slight embarrassment, the women discerned the truth and approached joyfully, amazed at the precious jewel among them. Then Vaidarbhi, Rukmini herself, 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, taken from the birthing chamber, noting that this youth was of similar age and form. “If he lives somewhere, where could it be?” she pondered. She marveled at his resemblance to Krishna, the wielder of the Sharnga bow—in form, limbs, gait, voice, smile, and glance. Surely, she thought, he must be the very child she carried in her womb, for her left arm trembled with affection and her love for him grew stronger. While Rukmini was thus pondering, 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 Pradyumna, who had been lost for many years, as if returned from the dead. Devaki and Vasudeva, along with Krishna, Balarama, and their wives, embraced Pradyumna and Māyāvatī, and Rukmini too, rejoicing in their reunion. News spread throughout Dvārakā, and its residents exclaimed, “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 cherished. 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. Now begins the fifty-sixth chapter. Śrī Śuka spoke: Satrājit, having committed a wrong, gave his own daughter to Krishna, personally offering the Syamantaka jewel. The king inquired: “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 replied: Satrājit was a great devotee and close friend of the sun god. Pleased with him, the sun gave Satrājit the Syamantaka jewel. Wearing this radiant jewel on his neck, Satrājit entered Dvārakā, shining so brightly that the people could not recognize him. Seeing him from a distance, the dazzled citizens reported to Bhagavān, who was playing dice at the time, suspecting that the sun god himself had arrived. They offered salutations to Nārāyaṇa, bearer of conch, discus, and mace—Dāmodara, lotus-eyed, Govinda, delight of the Yadus—saying, “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.” Hearing the words of the children, the lotus-eyed Krishna 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. Day by day, the jewel produced eight loads of gold; famine, calamities, snake afflictions, diseases, and misfortune did not occur where the jewel was worshipped.