Seeing Rukmiṇī, the embodiment of beauty and fortune, standing before him with no other refuge, her form shaped to match his own by playful art, Hari was pleased. Smiling gently, his curling locks framing his face, earrings glittering, and a radiant necklace adorning his chest, he spoke to her, his lips curved in nectar-like smiles. “O princess,” Krishna said, “you were sought after by kings—the guardians of the world—endowed with great power, wealth, beauty, generosity, and strength. Rejecting all those suitors, scorning proud monarchs 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 those kings, you sought refuge in the ocean, making enemies of the powerful and abandoning 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 rarely choose me. Marriage and friendship are proper only 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 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, streamed down her cheeks; her breasts, smeared with saffron, were bathed with sorrow. She stood, head bowed, her voice choked by intense grief. Her mind shattered by unbearable grief, fear, and sorrow, her bracelet slipped from her limp hand, the fan fell; 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 gently 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, the refuge of the virtuous, soothed her. Krishna 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. 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 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. 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. 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. O Madhusudana, I do not think Your words are false. For a maiden’s love is generally for her mother, and only sometimes for another. Even for a married woman of loose character, her mind turns again and again to something new. A wise man should not keep such a faithless woman; if he does, he loses both sides.” Thus, Rukmiṇī spoke, her devotion and wisdom shining forth, and the Lord’s heart was gladdened by her words.