In a single, wondrous moment, the unchanging Lord assumed as many forms as needed and, in each of the various mansions, married those women who had become his consorts. Dwelling in their homes, surpassing all comparison and distinction, he remained among them, delighting with his wives and immersed in his own desire, just as an ordinary householder lives with his family. These women, having attained the Lord of Lakshmi as their husband—a path unknowable even to Brahma and others—served him with ever-increasing joy and love. They offered him smiles, gentle glances, intimate union, playful words, and bashfulness. Hundreds of maidservants also attended to the Lord, performing acts such as meeting him as he arrived, offering seats, worship, washing his feet, betel, rest, fanning, fragrant garlands, arranging his hair, preparing his bed, bathing, and presenting gifts. Thus concludes the fifty-ninth chapter, entitled "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—Rukmiṇī—attended to her husband, the teacher of the world, as he sat happily on his own bed, using a fan along with her companions. He, who by his playful will creates, sustains, and destroys the universe, had been born among the Yadus for the protection of the cows and his own kin. In the inner chamber where they sat, the room was adorned with a hanging pearl necklace, a canopy, and jeweled lamps. Garlands of jasmine flowers and other blossoms filled the air, bees hummed, and pure moonlight streamed through lattice windows. Breezes carried the fragrance of the Parijata grove, gardens abounded, and incense of aloe wood wafted out through the lattice openings. On a most excellent couch, white as milk foam, Rukmiṇī attended her husband, the Lord of the worlds, as he sat comfortably. Taking a yak-tail fan with a jeweled handle from the hand of her companion, the goddess fanned the Lord and performed worship. Her anklets softly rang as she stepped, her hands adorned with rings, bangles, and the fan; her necklace was reddened by saffron from her hidden breasts beneath her garment, and her hips were encircled by a priceless girdle. She shone beside Acyuta, radiant in her devotion. Seeing her, the embodiment of beauty and fortune, who had no other refuge and had assumed a form matching his own through her playful grace, Hari was pleased. Smiling, his curling locks, earrings, and shining necklace gleamed; nectar-like smiles played on his lips as he spoke to her. "O princess," said the Blessed Lord, "you were desired by kings—the guardians of the world—endowed with great power, wealth, beauty, generosity, and strength. Yet, rejecting those suitors who sought your hand, 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. 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." Having spoken thus, the Lord ceased, seeing her 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 grief, fear, and sorrow, her bracelet slipped from her limp hand, the fan fell; her body, mind bewildered, 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 her deep 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. The Blessed Lord said: "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. Desiring 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 consoled by the Lord, Rukmiṇī understood his words were spoken in jest, and she let go of her fear of being abandoned by her beloved. Looking at the Lord’s face, she spoke to the best of men, her glance gentle and affectionate, her smile charming with modesty. Rukmiṇī said: "Indeed, O lotus-eyed one, what you have said is true. How could I, of insignificant qualities and ignorant, be a fitting match for you, the Lord, master of all opulence, who delights in your own greatness? Truly, O mighty-armed, you dwell within all virtues, yet remain untouched by them, just as the ocean lies beneath the waves. Ever free from the senses, you assume forms for your devotees, dispelling the dense darkness of ignorance from the hearts of kings.