When the people ventured into the forest, they came upon a grim scene: Prasena lay slain, his horse fallen beside him, both victims of a lion’s might. But further up, on the mountain slope, they discovered the lion too had met its end, killed by a powerful bear. This trail of death and the mystery of the missing jewel led the Lord alone to the heart of danger. Leaving the people outside, Krishna entered the dreadful cave of the king of bears, a place dense with darkness and fear. Inside, Krishna saw the precious jewel—now nothing more than a plaything in a child’s hands. Determined to recover it, he waited quietly near the child. But his unfamiliar presence startled the child’s nurse, who cried out in alarm. Her call brought Jāmbavān, the mighty king of bears, rushing in, filled with anger. Not recognizing Krishna as the Supreme Lord, but thinking him an ordinary man, Jāmbavān challenged him to battle. A fierce duel erupted between them, both eager for victory. They fought with weapons, hurled stones and trees, and grappled with their bare arms—like vultures locked in combat over a single piece of flesh. For twenty-eight days and nights, without pause, they struck each other with fists as hard as thunderbolts. At last, Jāmbavān, his strength spent, body drenched in sweat, and limbs battered by Krishna’s blows, realized the truth. Astonished, he addressed Krishna: “I know now that you are the very 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 the essence of all creation; you are Time itself, the supreme Self, the self of all selves. It was by your mere sidelong glance, raised in anger, that the ocean was stirred, a path revealed, a bridge built, Lanka’s fame established, and the heads of demons shattered by arrows.” Having recognized Krishna, Jāmbavān, the king of bears, humbly spoke to the Lord, Achyuta, the son of Devakī. Krishna, his eyes like lotus petals, touched Jāmbavān with his hand and, his voice deep as a raincloud, spoke with compassion: “O king of bears, I have come to your cave for the sake of the jewel, to clear myself of the false accusation that has arisen. I seek only the jewel.” Overjoyed, Jāmbavān gladly gave Krishna both the precious jewel and his own daughter, Jāmbavatī, to honor him. Meanwhile, the people outside, seeing that Krishna had not emerged from the cave, waited anxiously for twelve days before returning sorrowfully to their city. News of Krishna’s absence filled Devakī, Rukmiṇī, Vasudeva, and all their friends and relatives with deep grief. The citizens of Dvārakā, overcome with sorrow, cursed Satrājit, blaming him for these misfortunes. Longing for any word of Krishna, they turned in worship to the goddess Durgā, Candra-bhāgā. Pleased by their devotion, the goddess blessed them and revealed that Hari, his mission accomplished and accompanied by his new wife, would soon return. True to her word, Krishna appeared, adorned with the jewel and accompanied by Jāmbavatī, bringing immense joy—as though he had returned from the very jaws of death. The city erupted in festivity at the sight of Hṛṣīkeśa, radiant and victorious. Summoning Satrājit before the assembly and the king, Krishna recounted the story of the jewel’s recovery and presented it to Satrājit. Overwhelmed with shame and remorse for his actions, Satrājit took the gem and returned home, his heart heavy with regret. He pondered deeply: “How can I cleanse myself of this sin? How can I please Acyuta? How can I restore my good name and avoid the scorn of others for being petty and greedy?” Resolving to make amends, Satrājit decided, “I will give Krishna my daughter, a jewel among women, along with the gem itself. This is the proper way to appease him.” Acting on this resolve, Satrājit personally brought his virtuous daughter, Satyabhāmā, and the jewel to Krishna, offering them both. Krishna graciously married Satyabhāmā, whose beauty, character, and noble qualities were renowned and sought by many. Yet, when offered the jewel, Krishna said, “We do not accept the jewel, O King. Let it remain with you, a devotee of the gods, while we partake of its benefit.” Some time later, Śuka tells us, Krishna, adorned with his attendants such as Yuyudhāna, traveled to Indraprastha to visit the Pāṇḍavas. The heroic sons of Pāṇḍu, seeing Mukunda, the Lord of all, arrive, rose together in joy, as if life itself had returned to them. They embraced Acyuta, their hearts freed from all distress by his touch, and rejoiced to see his affectionate, smiling face. Krishna paid his respects at the feet of Yudhiṣṭhira and Bhīma, embraced Arjuna, and was honored by the twins. Draupadī, recently married and somewhat bashful, approached Krishna and respectfully greeted him as he sat on the chief seat. Satyaki too was honored by the Pāṇḍavas and took his seat, as did the other honored guests. Krishna then approached Kuntī, offered his salutations, and was embraced by her—her eyes moist with deep affection. He inquired after her welfare, that of her daughters-in-law, her sister, and all her relatives. Kuntī, recalling their many hardships and the vision of the Self that comes after suffering, spoke to Krishna with a voice choked by love and eyes filled with tears: “Only when you became our protector did our well-being begin. Remembering our kin, my brother was sent to you, O Krishna. For you, the friend and Self of all, there is no confusion of ‘us’ and ‘them’; yet, dwelling in the heart, you always dispel the sorrows of those who remember you.” Yudhiṣṭhira then said, “What good deed have we left undone, O Lord? For you, who are rarely seen even by the masters of yoga, have been seen by us, who are of little wisdom.” Thus, at the king’s request, Krishna stayed in Indraprastha for several months, delighting the eyes and hearts of all the people.