Then, the earth herself approached Krishna, bringing with her radiant earrings fashioned from refined gold and set with brilliant jewels. She also offered the resplendent Vaijayanti garland, a magnificent jewel, and a royal umbrella to Krishna, the illustrious son of Prachetas. Reverently, the goddess—worshipped by the foremost among the gods—praised the Lord of the universe. With hands folded and her mind absorbed in loving devotion, she addressed him with heartfelt reverence. Bhumi spoke: “Obeisance to you, Lord of the gods, bearer of the conch, discus, and mace; you who assume forms according to the desires of your devotees, Supreme Soul, I bow to you. Salutations to you, lotus-naveled one, adorned with a garland of lotuses, lotus-eyed one, whose feet are like lotuses—again and again, I bow. Salutations to you, O Bhagavan, Vāsudeva, Viṣṇu, the Supreme Person, the original seed, the one of complete knowledge; I bow to you. Obeisance to you, the unborn, creator of the universe, of infinite power; the soul of all, supreme and immanent, I bow to you. “O unborn Lord, when you desire creation, you assume a fierce form to bring about dissolution; for the world’s stability, you manifest as sattva, O Lord of the universe. Time, matter, the supreme person—all these are you. Earth, water, fire, air, ether, the senses, the gods, mind, and the great principle—all that moves and does not move, O Lord, in you, the non-dual, delusion does not exist. “This son of yours, frightened, has taken refuge at your lotus feet, seeking relief from distress; therefore, protect him—place your lotus hand, which removes all sin, upon his head.” Śuka continued: Thus addressed with devotion and humility by Bhūmi, the Lord offered her reassurance and then entered the splendid palace of the earth-born king. There, Hari beheld over sixteen thousand royal maidens, whom the earth-born one had seized and whom Krishna had rescued from the hands of the kings. When that best of men entered, the maidens, bewildered, felt their hearts drawn to him. Each wished for Krishna to become her chosen husband, as if fate itself had brought him to them. In their hearts, each prayed, “May this one become my husband, and may the Creator approve it.” Thus, every maiden, with her own unique feeling, surrendered her heart to Krishna. Krishna then sent them all to Dvārakā, dressed in spotless garments, accompanied by attendants, vast treasures, chariots, horses, and abundant wealth. Keśava also dispatched sixty-four swift, four-tusked, white elephants descended from the line of Airāvata. Afterward, Krishna journeyed to the abode of the king of the gods and presented the radiant earrings to Aditi. There, he was honored by Indra, the king of the gods, and his beloved Indrani. At Satyabhama’s urging, Krishna uprooted the celestial Parijata tree, placed it upon Garuda, and—having overcome the gods and Indra himself—brought it to his own city. He planted the Parijata for Satyabhama, adorning her house-garden with its divine presence; so enticing was its fragrance that bees followed it all the way from heaven. Satyabhama, with deep humility, bowed and touched Acyuta’s feet with the jeweled tips of her crown, imploring him to grant her heart’s desire. Thus, the Lord fulfilled her wish, and it is said that by such acts, the greatness of the Lord is shown—alas, how profound is the darkness of pride among the gods! Then, in a single moment, the Lord—unchanging and assuming as many forms as needed—married all those women in their respective mansions. Dwelling in their homes, surpassing all comparison and distinction, Krishna remained with his consorts, delighting in their company and living as a householder among his wives. Having attained the Lord of Lakshmi as their husband—whose path even Brahma and the gods cannot fathom—the women served Krishna with joy and ever-increasing love, expressing their devotion through smiles, glances, intimate union, playful words, and bashfulness. Hundreds of maidservants also rendered service to the Lord: greeting him as he entered, offering seats, worship, washing his feet, betel, rest, fanning, fragrant garlands, arranging his hair, preparing his bed, bathing him, and presenting gifts. Thus concludes the fifty-ninth chapter, “The Taking of the Parijata Tree and the Slaying of Naraka,” in the tenth book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for the paramahaṃsas. Once, Bhāīṣmī—Rukmini—attended to her husband, the teacher of the world, as he sat contentedly on his own bed, fanning him alongside her companions. He, whose playful power creates, sustains, and destroys the universe, had taken birth among the Yadus for the protection of the cows and his own kin. In that inner chamber, adorned with a necklace of hanging pearls, a canopy overhead, and jeweled lamps, garlands of jasmine flowers and blossoms filled the air, and swarms of bees hummed. Pure moonlight streamed in through the lattice windows, while breezes carried the fragrance of the Parijata grove, mingling with the scent of aloe wood incense wafting through the openings. Upon an excellent couch, white as milk foam, she attended her husband, the Lord of the worlds, as he sat at ease. Taking a yak-tail fan with a jeweled handle from her companion, the goddess lovingly fanned the Lord, performing her worship. Her anklets softly chimed as she moved; her hands, adorned with rings and bangles, held the fan. Her necklace, reddened by the saffron of her hidden breasts beneath her garment, and her hips, encircled by a priceless girdle, made her shine beside Acyuta. Seeing her—an embodiment of beauty and fortune, with no other refuge, who by her play had assumed a form matching his own—Hari was pleased. Smiling, with curling locks, radiant earrings, and a shining necklace, he spoke to her with nectar-like words. The Blessed Lord said: “O princess, you were sought after by kings—the guardians of the world—endowed with great power, wealth, beauty, generosity, and strength. Yet, rejecting those suitors, scorning proud kings like Shishupala and others, you were given to me by your brother and father. Why did you not choose someone equal to yourself? “O beautiful-browed one, out of fear of the kings, you sought refuge in the ocean, having made powerful enemies and abandoned your royal seat. Women who follow men whose path is unclear, who have left the way of the world, generally come to grief. “We are always destitute, and dear to those who are destitute; therefore, O slender-waisted one, wealthy women generally do not choose me. Marriage and friendship are proper between those whose wealth, birth, power, beauty, and status are equal—never between the highest and the lowest. O princess of Vidarbha, not understanding this, you have chosen me—one lacking in qualities—praised in vain by wandering mendicants.