Śuka continued: When Bhūmi, the Earth goddess, approached the Lord with words full of devotion and humility, he comforted her, granting her assurance. Then the Lord entered the splendid palace of the son of the earth. Within that magnificent residence, Hari beheld a wondrous sight: over sixteen thousand royal maidens, all of whom had been taken captive by the earth-born one, now freed by the Lord from the clutches of various kings. As Krishna, the best of men, entered their presence, the maidens, bewildered yet filled with hope, each longed in her heart for him to become her husband, feeling as if fate itself had brought him to them. "May this divine one become my husband, and may the Creator approve it," each maiden prayed inwardly, her heart drawn irresistibly to Krishna. Understanding their desires, Krishna sent all the maidens to Dvārakā, adorned in spotless garments, accompanied by attendants, vast treasures, chariots, horses, and abundant wealth. Furthermore, Keśava dispatched sixty-four swift, four-tusked, white elephants, descended from the line of Airāvata, to accompany them. Having accomplished this, Krishna journeyed to the abode of the king of the gods and respectfully presented the celestial earrings to Aditi. There, he was honored by Indra, the king of heaven, and his consort Indrani. At Satyabhama’s request, Krishna uprooted the celestial Parijata tree, placed it upon Garuda, and, after defeating Indra and the other gods, brought the sacred tree to his own city. He planted the Parijata in Satyabhama’s garden, enhancing its beauty; so intoxicating was its fragrance that swarms of bees followed the tree all the way from heaven. Satyabhama, her crown touching the Lord’s feet in reverence, humbly begged for her heart’s desire to be fulfilled. By this act, she was considered accomplished, while the pride of the gods was exposed as deep and impenetrable. Then, in a single moment, the Lord—unchanging and all-powerful—assumed as many forms as needed and married each of the maidens in their separate mansions, fulfilling their hearts’ deepest wishes. Dwelling in their homes, surpassing all comparison, he delighted with his consorts, living with them just as an ordinary householder lives with his wives, yet always immersed in his own divine joy. Thus, the maidens attained as their husband the very Lord of Lakshmi, whose path even Brahma and the other gods cannot comprehend. They served him joyfully and with ever-increasing love, through their smiles, glances, intimate unions, playful words, and bashfulness. Hundreds of maidservants also attended the Lord, offering every kind of service—meeting him as he entered, offering seats, worship, washing his feet, presenting betel, arranging for his rest, fanning him, adorning him with fragrant garlands, arranging his hair, preparing his bed, bathing him, and bringing 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. Now, once, Bhāīṣmī—Rukmini—served her husband, the teacher of the world, as he reclined happily upon his own bed, using a fan together with her companions. He, whose playful acts create, sustain, and dissolve the universe, had taken birth among the Yadus to protect the cows and his own kin. The inner chamber was splendid: pearl necklaces hung from the ceiling, a jeweled canopy arched above, and radiant lamps shimmered. Garlands of jasmine and other blossoms filled the air, mingling with the gentle hum of bees, while pure moonlight streamed in through the lattice windows. Breezes, carrying the fragrance of the Parijata grove and rich with the scent of gardens, wafted inside, mingling with the aroma of aloe incense drifting through the lattices. On a couch as white as milk foam, Rukmini attended to the Lord of the worlds as he sat comfortably. Taking a yak-tail fan with a jeweled handle from her companion, the goddess herself fanned her Lord, worshipping him with devotion. Her anklets of jewels rang softly as she stepped, her hands adorned with rings and bangles, the fan shining in her grasp. Her necklace, reddened by the saffron of her hidden breasts beneath her garment, and the priceless girdle encircling her hips, made her shine beside Acyuta. Beholding her—embodiment of beauty and fortune, having no other refuge, who by her play had assumed a form matching his own—Hari, pleased, smiled at her. His curling locks, shining earrings, and radiant necklace framed his face, and nectar-like smiles danced on his lips as he spoke. "O princess," said Krishna, "kings—guardians of the world—desired you, men endowed with power, wealth, beauty, generosity, and strength. Yet you rejected those suitors, scorning proud kings like Shishupala and others, though your brother and father gave you away. 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 enemies of the powerful and abandoned royal seats. Women who follow men whose path is unclear, who have left the ways 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 equals in wealth, birth, power, beauty, and status; 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." "Therefore, unite yourself with a Kshatriya hero who matches you, by whom you will obtain true happiness in this world and the next. Shishupala, Shalva, Jarasandha, Dantavakra, and others are hostile to me, and even your elder brother Rukmi is among them." "O good lady, you were brought here by me to humble the pride of those kings, blinded by their strength, and to diminish their arrogance, for the sake of the virtuous. Truly, I am indifferent, not seeking wife, children, or pleasure; I am fulfilled in myself, and my household is but a lightless ritual." Having spoken thus, Krishna ceased, seeing Rukmini as his beloved, inseparable from himself, and thus ended her pride. But when the Lord of the three worlds spoke such harsh words—never before uttered by her beloved—his queen, terrified and trembling, fell into deep, unending sorrow and wept. With her well-formed foot, its nails glowing red, she traced the ground; her tears, darkened by collyrium, bathed her saffron-smeared breasts. She stood, head bowed, her voice choked by grief. Overwhelmed by unbearable sorrow, fear, and pain, her bracelet slipped from her limp hand, the fan fell, and her body and mind, bewildered, gave way. She fainted suddenly, like a plantain tree struck by wind, her hair scattered about her. Seeing this, Krishna—bound by the deep love of his beloved and unaware of the depth of her affection—was moved to compassion.