Janardana, the Lord, though knowing all, kept silent as Narada recounted the entire tale, including the slaying of the demon Shambara. The women in Krishna’s inner chambers, upon hearing this wondrous story, were filled with joy, welcoming the one who had been lost for so many years as if he had returned from the dead. Devakī and Vasudeva, together with Krishna, Balarama, their wives, and Rukmini, embraced the couple, rejoicing at this miraculous reunion. News of Pradyumna’s return spread throughout Dvārakā, and its residents exclaimed in amazement, “Ah! The boy has come back as if from the dead—by good fortune!” Mothers, again and again, worshipped him with feelings reserved for their own lord and father, their affection for him growing daily. Yet, such devotion was not surprising, for in the reflection of Lakshmi’s abode—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, offered his own daughter to Krishna, personally presenting the Syamantaka jewel. The king asked, “What wrong did Satrājit do to Krishna, O Brāhmaṇa? From where did he obtain the Syamantaka? Why did he give his daughter to Hari?” Śuka replied: 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, which shone with the brilliance of the sun, Satrājit entered Dvārakā. So dazzling was his radiance that the people did not recognize him. From a distance, the people, blinded by his brilliance, reported to Bhagavān, who was playing dice, suspecting that the sun god himself had arrived. They offered salutations: “O Nārāyaṇa, 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.” Hearing the words of the children, the lotus-eyed Lord 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 brāhmaṇas. Day by day, the jewel produced eight loads of gold; famine, calamities, snake afflictions, diseases, and misfortune did not occur wherever the jewel was worshipped. When the Yadu king, Śauri (Krishna), requested the jewel, Satrājit, not desiring wealth, refused to give it, disregarding the request. Once, Prasena, Satrājit’s brother, wore 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. Inside, the lion was slain by Jāmbavat, the king of bears, who desired the jewel and made it a toy for his son in the cave. Not seeing his brother, Satrājit was greatly distressed. Rumors spread: “He of the jewel-necklace was likely killed by Krishna and went to the forest; his brother is mine.” People whispered these suspicions from ear to ear. Hearing that his own name was stained by such infamy, the Blessed Lord resolved to clear himself. He set out with the citizens, following the path taken by Prasena. In the forest, they saw Prasena slain, his horse killed by a lion, and the lion itself killed by a bear on the mountain slope. The Lord alone entered the dreadful cave of the king of bears, shrouded in dense darkness, having stationed the people outside. Within, he saw the precious jewel made into a child’s plaything and resolved to retrieve it, standing near the child. Seeing the unfamiliar man, the nurse cried out in fear. Hearing her, Jāmbavān, the foremost of the strong, rushed in, enraged. He fought with the Lord, his own master, mistaking him for an ordinary man and, in his anger, failing to recognize Krishna’s true power. A fierce duel ensued between the two, both eager for victory, using weapons, stones, trees, and their arms, battling like vultures over flesh. For twenty-eight days, without rest, day and night, they struck each other with fists as hard as thunderbolts. At last, crushed by Krishna’s blows, his limbs bound and strength spent, his body drenched in sweat, Jāmbavān, greatly astonished, spoke: “I know you are the life, vigor, strength, and power of all beings—Viṣṇu, the ancient person, the supreme lord and master. You are 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. By whose mere sidelong glance, slightly raised in anger, the ocean was stirred, showing the path, and a bridge was built, Lanka’s fame made to shine, and the heads of demons fell to the earth, shattered by arrows.” Recognizing the Lord, the king of bears, Achyuta, the son of Devakī, spoke to him. Lotus-eyed Krishna, touching Jāmbavān with his hand and speaking in a voice deep as a cloud, addressed his devotee with utmost compassion: “For the sake of the jewel, O king of bears, I have come to your cave, to clear myself of the false accusation, with this very jewel.” Thus addressed, Jāmbavān joyfully gave his own daughter, Jāmbavatī, and the jewel to Krishna, honoring him. Meanwhile, the people outside, not seeing Śauri emerge from the cave, waited twelve days in sorrow and then returned to their city. Hearing that Krishna had not come out, Devakī, the queen, along with Rukmiṇī, Vasudeva, friends, and relatives, all grieved deeply.