In the royal chambers, Rukmiṇī, the goddess herself, took a yak-tail fan with a jeweled handle from the hand of her companion and began to fan Lord Krishna, performing her loving worship. As she moved, the soft ringing of her jeweled anklets filled the air; her hands, adorned with rings and bangles, held the fan gracefully. Her necklace was tinged red by saffron, brushed by her hidden breasts beneath her garment, and her hips were encircled by a priceless girdle. She shone radiantly beside Acyuta, her beauty and fortune unmatched. Krishna beheld her, the very embodiment of splendor and prosperity, who had no other refuge and whose playful nature had assumed a form befitting his own. Pleased and smiling, his curling locks framing his face, earrings and necklace gleaming, and nectar-like smiles upon his lips, Hari spoke to her. "O princess," he said, "you were sought after by kings, guardians of the world, endowed with great power, wealth, beauty, generosity, and strength. 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. 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." Having spoken thus, Krishna paused, seeing Rukmiṇī as his beloved, inseparable from himself, and thus ended her pride. When the Lord of the three worlds uttered such harsh words—never before heard from her beloved—his queen was terrified. Her heart trembling, she fell into deep, unending sorrow and wept. With her well-formed foot, glowing red from her nails, she traced the ground; her tears, darkened by collyrium, fell as her saffron-smeared breasts were bathed in grief. She stood with her head bowed, her voice choked by intense sorrow. Her mind, shattered by unbearable grief, fear, and sadness, caused her bracelet to slip from her limp hand and the fan to fall. Her body and mind bewildered, she suddenly fainted, collapsing 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. He quickly descended from the couch, the four-armed Lord gently 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. Knowing how to console, the Lord 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 then spoke: "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 Krishna’s face, she spoke to the best of men, her glance gentle and affectionate, her smile charming with modesty. She replied, "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. The path to your lotus feet, enjoyed by sages, is indeed difficult for men and beasts to comprehend, O Lord, because your actions are beyond worldly understanding; only those who follow you, O great one, can grasp your ways. You are truly without possessions, for nothing exists apart from you; even the powerful offer tribute to you. Those blinded by insatiable desire and wealth do not know you, O beloved, yet even the mighty are dear to you, and you are dear to them. You are the embodiment of all human goals and their fruits; wise men, desiring you, renounce everything. O Lord, your association is fitting for them, not for those absorbed in the pleasures and pains of men and women. You, whose greatness is praised by sages who have laid aside anger, are the soul and giver of souls to the worlds—so I have heard. When your eyebrow signals the force of time, even Brahmā and Śiva lose their blessings; what then of others? O elder brother of Gadā, your words may seem dull, but you drove away kings with the twang of your bow and took me, just as a lion seizes his share among animals; out of fear of them, I sought refuge in the ocean. Desiring you, O lotus-eyed one, the foremost of kings—such as Ambarīṣa, Nahuṣa, and Gaya—abandoned their kingdoms and entered the forest; yet those who remain here, why do they not follow your path? Who, after smelling the fragrance of your lotus feet, spoken of by the virtuous and granting liberation to people, would seek any other shelter? Mortal men, with their vision blinded by material pursuits, disregard the abode of Lakṣmī, the treasury of virtues. I have worshipped you, the Lord of all worlds, as is proper; you are the fulfiller of desires in this life and the next. May your feet be my sole refuge as I wander through the cycles of birth, for you surely come to those who worship you, granting freedom from falsehood. O Acyuta, in the homes of women, the men instructed by you are like donkeys, cows, horses, cats, and servants; if your stories, sung in the assemblies of Śiva and Brahmā, do not reach their ears, what is the use of their lives? A foolish woman, who has not smelled the nectar of your lotus feet, cherishes her beloved—whose body is covered with skin, hair, nails, and hair, filled with flesh, bones, blood, worms, excrement, phlegm, bile, and wind—a living corpse. O Lotus-eyed One, may I have devotion to Your feet, for You are self-satisfied and see no one as separate from Yourself. When, due to the influence of old age, the mode of passion increases in someone, and You look upon me, that alone is Your supreme compassion for us." Thus, Rukmiṇī poured out her heart, expressing her unwavering devotion and surrender to Krishna, the Lord of all worlds.