Gradually, the women of the palace, discerning the truth and feeling a gentle embarrassment, approached with joy and amazement the precious jewel among them. Their hearts brimmed with wonder at this extraordinary youth in their midst. Among them, Vaidarbhi—her eyes dark and her words sweet—was suddenly overcome by memories of her lost son. Affection welled up within her, and her breasts grew moist with motherly love. She gazed at the lotus-eyed youth and pondered aloud, “Who is this jewel among men? Whose son might he be? In whose womb was he carried? Who is the fortunate woman who has gained such a son, or by what means was he obtained?” Her thoughts turned to her own sorrow: “My son was lost, taken from me in the birthing chamber. This youth is of the same age and form. If my son lives somewhere, where could he be?” She marveled at his striking resemblance to the wielder of the Sharnga bow, in every feature—his form, limbs, gait, voice, smile, and glance. “How has he come to look so much like him?” she wondered. “Surely, he must be the very child I bore. My left arm trembles with affection, and my love for him only grows stronger.” As Vaidarbhi pondered these things, the illustrious Krishna, son of Devaki, arrived with his parents, Devaki and Vasudeva. Though the all-knowing Lord Janardana remained silent, the sage Narada narrated the entire tale, including the slaying of the demon Shambara. Upon hearing this wondrous story, the women of Krishna’s inner chambers rejoiced. They welcomed the youth who had been lost for so many years, as if he had returned from the dead. Devaki and Vasudeva, together with Krishna, Balarama, their wives, and Rukmini too, embraced the couple, their hearts overflowing with happiness. When the people of Dvārakā learned that Pradyumna, who had been lost, had returned, they exclaimed in delight, “Ah! The boy has come back as if from the dead—by good fortune!” Pradyumna, whom the mothers cherished and worshipped with the same affection they felt for their own husbands and fathers, grew ever dearer to them each day. Yet, this was no wonder—for in the presence of Lakshmi’s own reflection, in the domain of desire and love, what could others, lacking virtue, do? Thus concludes the fifty-fifth chapter, entitled “The Account of Pradyumna’s Birth,” in the tenth book, second part, of the great Purāṇa, Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the scripture cherished by the supreme paramahaṃsas. The story continues. Śrī Śuka said: Satrājit, having committed a wrong, sought to atone by giving his own daughter to Krishna, personally offering the Syamantaka jewel. The king then asked, “What wrong did Satrājit do to Krishna, O Brāhmaṇa? Whence did he obtain the Syamantaka? Why did he give his daughter to Hari?” Śrī Śuka replied: Satrājit was a great devotee and intimate friend of the sun god. Pleased with him, the sun god bestowed upon Satrājit the Syamantaka jewel. When Satrājit wore the jewel around his neck, he shone with the brilliance of the sun itself. Entering Dvārakā, his radiance was so dazzling that the people did not recognize him. From a distance, the people, blinded by his brilliance, hurried to Bhagavān Krishna, who was playing dice, and reported what they had seen. They exclaimed, “O Nārāyaṇa, salutations to you, bearer of conch, discus, and mace! O Dāmodara, lotus-eyed, Govinda, delight of the Yadus! Here comes the sun god himself, 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 continued: 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, auspiciously adorned house and placed the Syamantaka jewel in the shrine, consecrated by brāhmaṇas. Day by day, the jewel produced eight loads of gold. Where it was worshipped, there was no famine, calamity, snake affliction, disease, or misfortune. When Krishna, the Yadu king, requested the jewel, Satrājit, not desiring to part with his wealth, refused and disregarded the request. Once, Satrājit’s brother Prasena, wearing the radiant jewel on his neck, mounted his horse and went hunting in the forest. There, a lion killed Prasena and his horse, seized the jewel, and entered a mountain cave. In that cave, the lion was slain by Jāmbavat, who coveted the jewel for himself. Jāmbavat gave the jewel to his son as a plaything in the cave. Meanwhile, Satrājit, not seeing his brother return, was greatly distressed. Rumors spread: “He who wore the jewel-necklace was likely killed by Krishna and went to the forest; his brother is mine.” These whispers passed from ear to ear among the people. When Krishna heard that his own reputation had been tarnished by these rumors, he set out with the citizens to clear himself, following the path taken by Prasena. They found Prasena slain, and his horse killed by a lion in the forest. On the mountainside, they also saw the lion, itself killed by a bear. Leaving the people outside, Krishna alone entered the dreadful, dark cave of the king of bears. Inside, he saw the precious jewel being used as a child’s toy and resolved to retrieve it, waiting near the child. Seeing the unfamiliar man, the nurse cried out in fear. Hearing her, Jāmbavān, the mightiest of the strong, rushed in, enraged. Not recognizing Krishna’s true power, and thinking him an ordinary man, Jāmbavān fought fiercely with his own master. A terrible duel ensued between the two, both eager for victory. They fought with weapons, stones, trees, and their own arms, like vultures battling over flesh. For twenty-eight days and nights, without rest, they struck each other with fists as hard as thunderbolts. At last, Jāmbavān, his limbs crushed by Krishna’s blows, his strength spent and body drenched in sweat, was filled with astonishment and spoke to Krishna: “I know you are the life, vigor, strength, and power of all beings—Viṣṇu, the ancient person, the supreme lord and master. You are indeed the creator of the creators, and that which exists among the created; you are Time, the lord of those who measure, the supreme Self, and the self of all selves.