At the urging of his beloved wife Satyabhama, Krishna uprooted the celestial Parijata tree from the heavens. Placing the divine tree atop Garuda, his mighty mount, Krishna confronted and overcame the assembled gods, including Indra himself, and triumphantly brought the Parijata to his own city. There, he planted the wondrous tree in Satyabhama’s private garden, where its radiant presence enhanced the beauty of her home. The Parijata’s fragrance was so enchanting that swarms of bees, greedy for its scent, followed it all the way from heaven to earth. Satyabhama, overwhelmed with gratitude and joy, bowed low before Krishna—Acyuta—touching his feet with the jeweled tips of her crown, and humbly begged him to fulfill her heart’s desire. In this way, Krishna, the great Lord, showed his love and fulfilled her wish, while the pride of the gods, who had tried to keep the Parijata for themselves, was revealed to be a deep and blinding darkness. Then, in a single, wondrous moment, Krishna—the unchanging Lord—manifested as many forms as there were queens, so that he might marry each of them in their own splendid mansions. Dwelling in the homes of his consorts, Krishna surpassed all comparison and distinction, delighting in their company and fulfilling his own loving desires, just as an ordinary householder lives with his wives. The queens, having attained as their husband the Lord of Lakshmi himself—whose path even Brahma and the highest gods cannot comprehend—served Krishna with ever-increasing joy and love. Their devotion was expressed through radiant smiles, affectionate glances, intimate union, playful words, and bashful gestures. Hundreds of maidservants also attended the Lord, offering every service: greeting him, offering seats, performing worship, washing his feet, bringing betel leaves, providing rest, fanning him, adorning him with fragrant garlands, arranging his hair, preparing his bed, bathing him, and presenting gifts. Thus concludes the chapter describing Krishna’s taking of the Parijata tree and the slaying of Naraka, a holy narration for the wise paramahamsas. Once, in the tranquil inner chambers of Krishna’s palace, Rukmini—also known as Bhaishmi—attended to her husband, the supreme teacher of the world, as he reclined contentedly upon his bed. She sat beside him, gently fanning him with her companions. This was no ordinary chamber; it was adorned with a hanging pearl necklace, a canopy overhead, and gleaming jeweled lamps. Garlands of jasmine and other fragrant blossoms filled the air, and the soft hum of bees mingled with the pure moonlight streaming through the lattice windows. Cool breezes wafted the scent of Parijata groves and gardens, mingled with the sweet incense of aloe wood, through the ornate openings. On a couch as white as milk foam, Rukmini lovingly served her Lord, the master of all the worlds. Taking a yak-tail fan with a jeweled handle from her companion, the goddess herself fanned Krishna, performing the most intimate worship. Her anklets of precious stones chimed softly as she moved, her hands adorned with rings and bangles, her necklace tinged with saffron from her hidden breasts beneath her garment, and her hips encircled by a priceless girdle—she shone resplendent beside Acyuta. Krishna beheld his beloved, the very embodiment of beauty and fortune, who had no refuge but him and whose form perfectly matched his own. Smiling with curling locks, radiant earrings, and a shining necklace, his lips blooming with nectar-like smiles, he spoke to her, his voice gentle and teasing. “O princess,” Krishna said, “you were sought by many kings—guardians of the world—men of great power, wealth, beauty, generosity, and strength. Yet you rejected all those suitors, scorning even the proudest among them, like Shishupala. Your father and brother gave you away, but why did you not choose someone equal to yourself? Out of fear of the kings, you sought refuge in the ocean, making enemies of the mighty and abandoning your royal seat. O beautiful-browed one, women who follow men whose path is uncertain, who have left the ways of the world, often come to grief. I am always destitute, dear only to the destitute; wealthy women do not generally 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 all qualities—praised only by wandering mendicants. Therefore, unite yourself with a Kshatriya hero who matches you, and by whom you will gain true blessings in this world and the next. Shishupala, Shalva, Jarasandha, Dantavakra, and other kings, even your own brother Rukmi, are hostile to me. You were brought here by me only to humble the pride of these 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 paused, seeing Rukmini as his beloved, inseparable from himself, and thus ended her pride. But his words, so harsh and unexpected from her cherished Lord, struck Rukmini to the core. Terrified and trembling, she fell into deep, unending sorrow, weeping. With her delicate foot, its nails glowing red, she traced the ground; her tears, darkened by collyrium, fell upon her saffron-smeared breasts, and she stood with her head bowed, her voice choked by grief. Overwhelmed by unbearable sorrow and fear, her bracelet slipped from her limp hand, the fan fell from her grasp, and her mind bewildered, she suddenly fainted like a plantain tree struck by the wind, her hair scattering about her. Seeing Rukmini thus stricken, Krishna, bound by her deep love and realizing the depth of her devotion, was moved to compassion. He quickly descended from the couch, raised her up, gathered her hair, and gently wiped her face with his lotus-like hand. He dried her tears and her sorrow-dampened breasts, and embraced her, she who was devoted to none but him. Knowing how to console, Krishna soothed his beloved with gentle words, understanding that her mind, bewildered by pride and his playful jest, deserved only comfort. “Do not be angry, O princess of Vidarbha,” Krishna said softly. “I know your devotion to me. Wishing to hear your words, I acted playfully, O fair one. I longed to see your face, your 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 greatest joy is to spend time in playful conversation with their beloved.” Thus consoled by Krishna, Rukmini understood that his words had been spoken in jest, and she let go of her fear of being abandoned by her dearest Lord.