Each of the noble princesses, their hearts filled with unique longing, silently wished, “May this one become my husband, and may the Creator approve it.” Thus, each entrusted her heart to Krishna alone. With great care and generosity, Krishna sent these princesses to Dvārakā, adorning them in spotless garments, accompanied by attendants, abundant treasures, chariots, horses, and all manner of wealth. As a further sign of honor, Keśava dispatched sixty-four swift, four-tusked, white elephants, all descended from the illustrious line of Airāvata. Fulfilling another promise, Krishna journeyed to the celestial abode of Indra, the king of the gods, and presented the radiant earrings to Aditi. There, he was honored by Indra and his queen, Indrani, who received him with reverence and gratitude. At Satyabhama’s earnest request, Krishna uprooted the celestial Pārijāta tree, placed it upon Garuda, and, after vanquishing the gods led by Indra, brought the divine tree to his own city. He planted the Parijata tree in Satyabhama’s garden, enhancing its splendor. So enchanting was its fragrance that swarms of bees, intoxicated by its scent, followed it all the way from heaven. Satyabhama, overwhelmed with joy, bowed deeply, touching Acyuta’s feet with her jeweled crown, and humbly begged for her heart’s desire to be fulfilled. By this act, her devotion was accomplished—a reminder of how pride can darken even the hearts of the gods. Then, in a single moment, the Lord—unchanging and limitless—assumed as many forms as there were princesses, marrying each one in her own mansion. Dwelling with them in their homes, beyond all comparison or distinction, Krishna delighted with his consorts, living as a householder among his wives, yet ever immersed in his own divine nature. Having attained the Lord of Lakshmi as their husband—he whose path even Brahma and the gods cannot fathom—the women, hearts blooming with ever-increasing joy and love, served Krishna with smiles, glances, intimate union, playful words, and bashfulness. Hundreds of maidservants also attended the Lord, offering every service: greeting him, offering seats, worship, washing his feet, presenting betel, providing rest and shade, weaving fragrant garlands, arranging his hair, preparing his bed, bathing him, and giving 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, as Krishna reclined contentedly on his own bed, Bhāīṣmī (Rukmini) attended to him, gently fanning him alongside her companions. He, who by his playful will creates, sustains, and dissolves the universe, had taken birth among the Yadus to protect the cows and his own kin. Within the inner chamber, adorned with a pearl necklace suspended from the ceiling, a jeweled canopy, and radiant lamps, the air was filled with garlands of jasmine and other blossoms, and the gentle hum of bees. Pure moonlight streamed through the lattice windows, and breezes carried the fragrance of the Parijata grove and gardens, mingled with the scent of aloe wood incense drifting out through the lattice. On a couch as white as milk foam, Rukmini attended her Lord as he sat in comfort, the master of all worlds. Taking a yak-tail fan with a jeweled handle from her companion, the goddess herself began to fan Krishna, offering him loving worship. Her anklets softly chimed with each step; her hands, adorned with rings, bangles, and the fan, moved gracefully. Her necklace, tinged red by the saffron from her hidden breasts beneath her garment, and her hips, encircled by a priceless girdle, all added to her radiant beauty as she stood by Acyuta’s side. Seeing her—beauty and fortune personified, having no other refuge, and by her playful nature appearing as his own equal—Hari was pleased. Smiling, his curling locks and earrings shining, his necklace radiant, and with nectar-like smiles upon his lips, he spoke to her. “O princess,” Krishna said, “you were desired by kings—the guardians of the earth—endowed with great power, wealth, beauty, generosity, and strength. Yet, rejecting those suitors and 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 took refuge in the ocean, having made enemies of the powerful and abandoned your royal seat. Women who follow men whose path is uncertain, who have left the ways of the world, often 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. Therefore, seek union with a Kshatriya hero who matches you, by whom you will find true happiness in this world and the next. Shishupala, Shalva, Jarasandha, Dantavakra, and other kings, O slender-thighed one, are hostile to me, and even your elder brother Rukmi is among them. You were brought here by me to humble the pride of those kings, intoxicated by their own strength, and to diminish their arrogance for the sake of the virtuous. Truly, I am indifferent, seeking neither wife, children, nor pleasure. I am fulfilled in myself, and my household is but a shadow, a ritual without light.” Having spoken thus, Krishna paused, seeing Rukmini as his own beloved, inseparable from himself. In this way, he gently ended her pride. But when the Lord of the three worlds spoke such harsh words—never before heard from her beloved—his queen was terrified. Her heart trembling, she fell into deep, unending sorrow, weeping. With her well-formed foot, adorned by the red glow of her nails, she traced the ground. Her tears, darkened by collyrium, bathed her saffron-smeared breasts; she stood with bowed head, voice choked by intense grief. Overwhelmed by unbearable sorrow, her bracelet slipped from her limp hand and the fan fell to the floor. Her mind bewildered, she suddenly fainted, like a plantain tree struck by the wind, her hair falling loose. Seeing his beloved in such distress, Krishna, bound by her love and not fully aware of the depth of her devotion, was moved to compassion. Quickly descending from the couch, the four-armed Lord raised her up, gently gathered her hair, and wiped her face with his lotus hand. He dried the tears from her eyes and her breasts wet with sorrow, and embraced her with his arm—she who was devoted to none but him. The Lord, who knows how to console, soothed the distressed Rukmini with compassion. Though her mind was bewildered by pride and Krishna’s playful jest, she was undeserving of such sorrow. The Lord, ever the refuge of the virtuous, comforted her, restoring peace to her heart.