As the women beheld the young man before them, they saw someone of striking beauty—his complexion dark as a rain-laden cloud, draped in radiant yellow silk. His arms were long and graceful, his eyes coppery and expressive, his face radiant and gentle, adorned with a soft smile. The lotus-like countenance, framed by curling blue-black locks, captivated the women. Mistaking him for Krishna himself, they bashfully withdrew, hiding themselves here and there, overcome with shyness. Yet, as they looked again, realization dawned—though tinged with embarrassment, their hearts filled with joy and wonder. They gathered around, marveling at this precious jewel who now stood among them. Vaidarbhi, sweet of speech and dark-eyed, was overcome by memories of her lost son; her motherly affection welled up within her, her heart and body responding with tender longing. She gazed at the youth, her thoughts racing: “Who is this jewel among men, with eyes like lotuses? Whose child is he? Who bore him in her womb? What woman has been blessed to call him her own, or by what means was he obtained?” Vaidarbhi’s mind returned to her own sorrow: “My son was lost, taken from me at birth. This youth is of the same age and form—if he lives somewhere, where could it be?” She marveled at his resemblance to Krishna, the wielder of the Sharnga bow—in every aspect: his form, his limbs, his gait, his voice, his smile, his glance. “Surely,” she thought, “he must be the very child I carried in my womb. My left arm trembles with love, and my affection for him grows ever stronger.” As Vaidarbhi pondered these thoughts, Krishna—the illustrious son of Devakī—entered, accompanied by Devakī and Vasudeva. Though Krishna knew all that had transpired, he remained silent; instead, the sage Narada recounted the entire tale: the story of the lost child, his journey, and the slaying of the demon Shambara. Upon hearing this wondrous account, the women of Krishna’s household rejoiced. They welcomed the long-lost one as if he had returned from the dead after many years. Devakī and Vasudeva, along with Krishna and Balarama and their wives, embraced the reunited couple. Rukmini too was filled with happiness. The people of Dvārakā, upon learning that Pradyumna—who had disappeared—had returned, exclaimed in delight, “Ah! By good fortune, the boy has come back as if from the dead!” Pradyumna, whom mothers revered with the same love they bore for their own lords and fathers, was cherished more and more each day. Yet, this was not surprising—for in the very reflection of Lakshmi’s abode, in the realm of desire and love, what could those lacking virtue possibly do? Thus concludes the fifty-fifth chapter, “The Account of Pradyumna’s Birth,” from 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, decided to atone by giving his own daughter to Krishna and personally offering the Syamantaka jewel. The king inquired, “What wrong did Satrājit do to Krishna, O Brāhmaṇa? How did he come by the Syamantaka jewel? Why did he give his daughter to Hari?” Śrī Śuka replied: Satrājit was a devoted worshipper and dear friend of the sun god. Pleased by Satrājit’s devotion, the sun god bestowed upon him the Syamantaka jewel. When Satrājit wore the jewel around his neck, he shone like the sun itself. One day, he entered Dvārakā, and his dazzling brilliance was so great that the people did not recognize him. From a distance, the people, their eyes dazzled by his radiance, ran to Krishna, who was playing at dice, and reported, “O Nārāyaṇa, bearer of conch, discus, and mace—O Dāmodara, lotus-eyed Govinda, delight of the Yadus! The sun god himself approaches, wishing to see you, stealing the sight of men with his fierce rays. Surely, the gods seek your path throughout the three worlds; knowing you are hidden among the Yadus, today the unborn lord comes to see you.” Hearing the children’s excited words, the lotus-eyed Krishna laughed and said, “That is not the sun god, but Satrājit, shining with the Syamantaka jewel.” Satrājit entered his splendid, auspiciously decorated home and placed the jewel in his shrine, consecrated by brāhmaṇas. Day after day, the jewel produced eight loads of gold, and wherever it was worshipped, famine, calamity, snakebite, disease, and misfortune could not occur. When the Yadu king Śauri (Krishna) asked Satrājit for the jewel, Satrājit, uninterested in wealth, refused to give it, disregarding Krishna’s request. One day, Prasena, Satrājit’s brother, hung the radiant jewel around his neck, mounted his horse, and went hunting in the forest. There, a lion killed Prasena and his horse, seized the jewel, and carried it into a mountain cave. In that cave, the lion was slain by Jāmbavat, who desired the jewel for himself. Jāmbavat gave the gem to his child as a plaything in the cave. Meanwhile, Satrājit, not finding his brother, was overcome with distress. Rumors spread: “The wearer of the jewel-necklace was likely killed by Krishna and taken to the forest; his brother is mine.” Whispered from ear to ear, suspicion and blame grew. Hearing that his own name was being maligned, Krishna set out with the citizens of Dvārakā to clear himself, following the path Prasena had taken. They found Prasena slain, his horse killed by a lion, and then, on the mountain slope, the lion itself killed by a bear. Krishna alone entered the dreadful cave of the king of bears, shrouded in thick darkness, after stationing the people outside. Within, he saw the precious Syamantaka jewel being used as a child’s plaything. He resolved to retrieve it and waited near the child. Seeing the unfamiliar man, the nurse cried out in fear. Hearing her, Jāmbavān—the foremost of the strong—rushed in, angered. Mistaking Krishna for an ordinary man, Jāmbavān fought with him, not recognizing his true power. A fierce duel erupted between them, both eager for victory. They battled with weapons, stones, trees, and their own mighty arms, like vultures fighting over flesh. For twenty-eight days, without pause, day and night, they struck each other with fists hard as thunderbolts. At last, Jāmbavān, his limbs crushed by Krishna’s blows, his strength spent, his body drenched in sweat, was astonished. Bound in body and mind, he addressed Krishna, recognizing at last the greatness of his opponent.