Having accomplished his mission, Krishna journeyed to the abode of Indra, the king of the gods. There, he presented the precious earrings to Aditi, Indra’s mother, and was warmly honored by Indra and his beloved consort, Indrani. At Satyabhama’s urging, Krishna uprooted the celestial Parijata tree, placed it upon Garuda, and, having vanquished Indra and the other gods who opposed him, brought the glorious tree to his own city. He established the Parijata tree in Satyabhama’s house-garden, enhancing its beauty. Bees, intoxicated by the tree’s heavenly fragrance, followed it all the way from the realms above. Satyabhama, overwhelmed with gratitude and joy, bowed reverently, touching Krishna’s feet with the tips of her crown, and begged him to fulfill her heart’s desire. By this act, Krishna was considered truly accomplished, yet the darkness of pride among the gods was lamented. Then, in a single moment, the Lord—unchanging and capable of assuming countless forms—married his many wives in their respective mansions. Dwelling in their homes, beyond all comparison and distinction, Krishna remained, delighting with his consorts and immersed in his own desire, just as an ordinary householder lives with his wives. Having attained the Lord of Lakshmi as their husband—whose path even Brahma and the other gods cannot comprehend—the women served Krishna with joy and ever-increasing love. They attended to him with smiles, glances, intimate union, playful words, and bashfulness. Hundreds of maidservants also rendered service, performing acts such as meeting him, offering seats, worship, washing his feet, presenting betel, providing rest, fanning, offering fragrant garlands, arranging his hair, preparing his bed, bathing him, and presenting gifts. Thus concludes the fifty-ninth chapter, entitled “The Taking of the Parijata Tree and the Slaying of Naraka,” from the tenth book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for the paramahaṃsas. Once, Bhāīṣmī—known as Rukmini—attended to her husband, Krishna, the teacher of the world, as he sat happily on his own bed, accompanied by her companions, using a fan. Krishna, who by his playful activities creates, sustains, and destroys the universe, had been born among the Yadus to protect the cows and his own kin. In that inner chamber, adorned with a hanging pearl necklace, a canopy, and jeweled lamps, garlands of jasmine flowers, blossoms, and the hum of bees filled the air. Pure moonlight streamed through the lattice windows, and breezes carried the fragrance of the Parijata grove, mingling with incense of aloe wood wafting through the openings. On a most excellent couch, white as milk foam, Rukmini attended to Krishna, the Lord of the worlds, as he sat comfortably. Taking a yak-tail fan with a jeweled handle from her companion, the goddess fanned the Lord, performing worship. Her anklets of jewels softly rang as she stepped. Her hands, adorned with rings and bangles, held the fan. Her necklace, reddened by saffron from her hidden breasts beneath her garment, and her hips encircled by a priceless girdle, made her shine beside Acyuta. Seeing Rukmini, the embodiment of beauty and fortune, having no other refuge, who by her play had assumed a form matching his own, Hari was pleased. Smiling, his curling locks, earrings, and shining necklace glimmered, and nectar-like smiles played on his lips as he spoke to her. “O princess,” Krishna said, “you were desired by kings—guardians of the world—endowed with great power, wealth, beauty, generosity, and strength. Rejecting those suitors, scorning proud kings like Shishupala and others, you were given 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 enemies of the powerful and abandoned royal seats. O lovely-browed one, 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. Therefore, unite yourself with a Kshatriya hero who matches you, by whom you will obtain true blessings 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. O good lady, you were brought here by me to humble the pride of those kings, blinded by the intoxication of 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.” Śuka narrates that, having spoken thus, Krishna ceased, seeing Rukmini as his beloved, inseparable from himself, and thus ended her pride. When the Lord of the three worlds spoke such harsh words—never before heard from her beloved—his queen, terrified and trembling at heart, 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, head bowed, her voice choked by intense grief. Her mind, destroyed by unbearable sorrow, fear, and pain, caused her bracelet to slip from her limp hand and the fan to fall; her body and mind bewildered, she suddenly fainted like a plantain tree struck by the wind, her hair scattered. Seeing this, Krishna, bound by his beloved’s love and unaware of the depth of her affection, was moved to compassion. Quickly descending from the couch, the four-armed Lord raised her up, gathered her hair, and wiped her face with his lotus hand. Wiping the tears from her eyes and her breasts wet with sorrow, he embraced her with his arm—she who was devoted to none but him. He, who knows how to console, comforted the distressed woman with compassion. Though her mind was bewildered by pride and jest, she was undeserving of such sorrow—the Lord, refuge of the virtuous, soothed her. Krishna spoke gently: “Do not be angry, O princess of Vidarbha; I know you are devoted to me. Wishing to hear your words, I acted playfully, O fair one. I desired to see your face, with lips trembling in loving excitement, your sidelong glances reddened, and the beautiful curve of your frowning brows. For householders, O timid and lovely one, the highest gain in family life is to spend time in playful conversation with their beloved.” Thus, the Lord comforted Rukmini, restoring her joy and deepening their love.