Krishna, the Lord, looked tenderly upon his beloved Rukmini and spoke to her with gentle seriousness, “O lovely-browed one, women who follow men whose ways are uncertain—who have turned from the path of the world—often meet with sorrow. We are always destitute, and I am dear only to those who are themselves destitute. Therefore, O slender-waisted one, women of wealth do not generally choose me as their husband. “Marriage and friendship, it is said, are proper only between those who are 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, a man lacking in such qualities, praised only in vain by wandering mendicants. “Therefore, unite yourself with a Kshatriya hero who is your equal, by whom you may find 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, I brought you here only to humble the pride of those kings, who, intoxicated by their strength, had become arrogant, so that the virtuous might be protected. “In truth, I am indifferent, seeking neither wife, nor children, nor pleasure; I am fulfilled in myself, and my household is but a ritual without light.” Having spoken thus, Krishna fell silent. He saw Rukmini as his own beloved, inseparable from himself, and with these words, her pride was gently ended. But for Rukmini, the Lord’s words were like a storm never before felt. Terrified, her heart trembling, she 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 in those tears. She stood with her head bowed, her voice choked by intense grief. Overwhelmed by unbearable sorrow and fear, her mind shattered, her bracelet slipped from her limp hand, and the fan she held fell to the floor. Her body and mind bewildered, she suddenly fainted, collapsing like a plantain tree struck by the wind, her hair scattering around her. Seeing this, Krishna, bound by the love of his beloved and not fully realizing the depth of her affection, was moved with compassion. Quickly descending from his couch, the four-armed Lord gently raised her up, gathered her hair, and wiped her face with his lotus hand. Tenderly, he wiped away the tears from her eyes and from her breasts wet with sorrow, and embraced her with his arm—she who was devoted to none but him. Knowing how to console, Krishna soothed her with compassion. Though her mind was bewildered by pride and his playful jest, she was undeserving of such sorrow. The Lord, always the refuge of the virtuous, comforted her. He spoke softly, “Do not be angry, O princess of Vidarbha. I know your devotion to me. Wishing to hear your words, I spoke only in jest, 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 happiness in family life is to spend time in playful conversation with their beloved.” Śuka, the sage, narrates: Thus consoled by the Lord, Rukmini realized his words were spoken in jest and let go of her fear of being abandoned by her beloved. Looking at Krishna’s face, she spoke to him, her glance gentle and affectionate, her smile charming with modesty. Rukmini said, “Indeed, O lotus-eyed one, what you have said is true. How could I, with such insignificant qualities and ignorance, ever 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 humble, 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, 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.” The Blessed Lord replied, “O chaste one, princess, you have been tested by Me with words meant to see your desire to hear. Everything you have asked about, as I have spoken, is indeed true. O beautiful one, whatever desires you may have, if you are devoted only to Me, O auspicious lady, they are always fulfilled for you, who are My exclusive devotee. “O sinless one, your love for your husband and your fidelity have been proven. Even when you were agitated by My words, your mind did not waver from Me. Those who worship Me in married life, with austerity and vows, but are attached to desires, are deluded by My maya, thinking of Me as the lord of liberation.” Thus, in loving words and gentle actions, the Lord reassured Rukmini, revealing the depth of her devotion and the playful affection between the Divine and his most beloved consort.