Overwhelmed by sorrow, Rukmiṇī stood with her head bowed, her tears darkened by collyrium streaming down her cheeks. Her well-formed foot, adorned with the gentle red glow of her nails, traced patterns on the ground. Her breasts, smeared with saffron, were now bathed in tears, and her voice was choked by intense grief. The weight of unbearable pain, fear, and sorrow clouded her mind; her bracelet slipped from her limp hand, and the fan she held fell to the floor. Bewildered in body and mind, she suddenly fainted, collapsing like a plantain tree struck by a fierce wind, her hair falling loose and scattered. Witnessing this, Krishna, who was bound by the love of his beloved yet unaware of the depth of her devotion, was moved to deep compassion. Quickly rising from his couch, the four-armed Lord descended to her side, gently lifting her up, gathering her disheveled hair, and wiping her tear-stained face with his lotus-like hand. Tenderly, he dried the tears from her eyes and comforted her, embracing her with his arm—the very woman who was devoted to none but him. The Lord, who knows the hearts of all and how to console them, soothed her with compassion, for though her mind was confused by pride and jest, she did not deserve such distress. He, the refuge of the virtuous, calmed her heart. With a gentle voice, the Blessed Lord spoke: “Do not be angry, O princess of Vidarbha. I know your devotion to me. Desiring to hear your words, I spoke playfully, O fair one. I wished to see your face, your lips trembling in loving excitement, your sidelong glances tinged with red, and the beautiful curve of your frowning brows. For householders, O gentle and lovely one, the greatest joy in family life is to spend time in playful conversation with their beloved.” Thus consoled by the Lord, Rukmiṇī realized his words had been spoken in jest. Her fear of being abandoned by her beloved melted away. Looking up at Krishna’s face, she spoke to the best of men, her glance gentle and affectionate, her smile charming with modesty. She said, “Indeed, O lotus-eyed one, what you have said is true. How could I, with insignificant qualities and little understanding, 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, 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 difficult for men and beasts to comprehend, O Lord, because your actions are beyond worldly understanding; only those who follow you can grasp your ways. You are truly without possessions, for nothing exists apart from you; even the powerful offer you tribute. 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—like 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, 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, 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 tasted the nectar of your lotus feet, cherishes her beloved—whose body is covered with skin, hair, and nails, 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.” Hearing these words, 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 spoken of, as I have said, 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, 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 māyā, thinking of me as the lord of liberation. Those proud ones who, after attaining me—the Lord and the wealth of liberation—still desire material prosperity and a husband, are unfortunate. Even in hell, for such people, hell is pleasant because of their attachment to their own kind. “O mistress of the house, by good fortune you have repeatedly acted in accordance with me, which is rare and liberates one from birth, even for women who are difficult to please, whose desires are hard to fulfill, and who indulge in deceit. O proud one, I do not see in any household a wife as devoted as you, who, at your wedding, did not consider the kings who had come, but sent the brahmin who had heard my glories to me in secret. When your brother was disfigured in battle and killed at the gambling arena during the wedding festival, you endured that unbearable sorrow out of fear of separation from me, and did not say anything; thus, you have conquered us. When you sent a messenger with a secret message to obtain me, and when you thought I might abandon this unworthy body, you remained steadfast in me; for that, we respond in kind.” Thus, the Lord of the universe, by affectionate and playful conversation, delighted Rukmiṇī with his words, imitating the ways of humans. In the same way, the all-pervading Lord Hari, as the teacher of the world, resided in each of his wives’ homes, upholding the duties of householders as if he were a householder himself. In time, each of Krishna’s wives bore ten sons, each equal in strength, and a ninth son as well, all endowed with their father’s noble qualities. Though Acyuta never left home, always present in their houses, the royal princesses considered him their dearest, though they did not truly know his divine nature. With faces like blooming lotuses, with long arms and eyes, with loving glances and sweet words, the Lord enchanted the women, who could not control their minds by their own charms before his majesty.