In the illustrious lineage of Rohiṇī, sons such as Dīptimān, Tāmra, and Taptā were born, while from Pradyumna, the mighty son of Krishna, came Aniruddha, whose birth was to Rukmavatī, the powerful daughter of Rukmi, in the city of Bhojakaṭa. The descendants of these noble families multiplied, their sons and grandsons numbering in the tens of millions, and the mothers of Krishna’s children were sixteen thousand in all. Curious about the bonds between rivals, King Parīkṣit asked, “How did Rukmi, though insulted by Krishna and seeking a chance to kill him, give his daughter in marriage to Krishna’s son during battle? Tell me, O wise one, the story of this wedding between adversaries.” Śuka replied, “Yogis perceive clearly what is past, future, present, and even that which is hidden or distant.” Śuka continued, “In the svayamvara, Rukmavatī herself chose Cupid incarnate, Aniruddha, who, endowed with many qualities, defeated the assembled kings and carried her away alone in his chariot during the battle. Despite his enmity and the insult he suffered from Krishna, Rukmi gave his daughter to the son of his sister, thus pleasing his beloved sister, Rukmini. Furthermore, the powerful son of Kritavarma married Rukmini’s daughter, a maiden famed for her wide eyes and beauty. Rukmi also gave his granddaughter, Rocana, to Aniruddha, Krishna’s grandson, despite their ongoing feud, wishing to please his sister. Though he knew the union was improper, affection bound him.” At this auspicious event, Rukmini, Rama (Balarama), Krishna, and others including Samba and Pradyumna, traveled to Bhojakaṭa. After the wedding was completed, the kings, led by the ruler of Kalinga, proud and arrogant, challenged Rukmi to defeat Balarama in a game of dice. “This one does not know dice,” they said, “yet even so, the loss is great.” Balarama was summoned, and Rukmi played dice with him. Rama staked a hundred, a thousand, and then ten thousand coins, but Rukmi defeated him, and the king of Kalinga laughed loudly at Balarama, exposing his teeth—a sight Halayudha could not tolerate. Then Rukmi staked a hundred thousand coins, and Balarama won the wager. Rukmi, relying on deceit, claimed, “I have won.” Filled with wrath, Balarama, his eyes reddened with anger, staked ten million coins and won by fair means, though Rukmi again resorted to trickery, insisting, “I have won; let the witnesses declare it.” Then, a voice from the sky proclaimed, “Balarama alone has won the wager; Rukmi speaks falsely, claiming victory by words, not by righteousness.” Ignoring this heavenly voice, the Vidarbha king, prompted by wicked rulers and fate, mocked Sankarshana (Balarama) and spoke derisively: “You are not skilled in dice, you cowherds who wander the forests; kings play dice and shoot arrows, not men like you.” Thus insulted and mocked, Balarama, enraged, raised his club and struck Rukmi in the assembly of men. Swiftly, Balarama seized the king of Kalinga by his tenth step and knocked out his teeth—the same king who had laughed with exposed teeth. Other kings, their arms, thighs, and heads broken and covered in blood, fled in fear, battered by Balarama’s club. When Rukmi, his brother-in-law, was slain, Krishna, fearing the breaking of affection between Rukmini and Balarama, neither praised nor condemned the act. Then, placing Aniruddha and his bride on a splendid chariot, Rama and the Dasharhas departed from Bhojakaṭa for Kushasthali, their purposes fulfilled under the shelter of Madhusudana. The king then asked, “The foremost of the Yadus married Bāṇa’s daughter Ūṣā. There was a terrible battle between Hari and Śaṅkara at that time. O great yogi, you are worthy to recount all of this in detail.” Śuka replied: “Bāṇa was the eldest among the hundred sons of the great soul Bali, who gave the earth to Hari in the form of Vāmana. Bāṇa himself was always devoted to Śiva, honored, generous, intelligent, steadfast in truth, and firm in his vows. He ruled in the beautiful city called Śoṇita. By the grace of Śambhu, his attendants were like immortals. With his thousand arms, he pleased Rudra by playing music during the Tāṇḍava dance. The Lord, master of all beings and refuge of devotees, offered him a boon of his choice, and Bāṇa chose Śiva as his city’s protector. Once, intoxicated with his own strength, Bāṇa approached Giriśa, touched his lotus feet with a crown shining like the sun, and said, ‘I bow to you, Mahādeva, guru and lord of the worlds, fulfiller of the desires of men whose wishes are unmet, and whose feet are worshipped by the immortals. You have given me a thousand arms, but they have become a great burden. In all the three worlds, I find no one equal to fight except you. Longing for battle, I scratched myself with my restrained arms and fought the elephants of the directions, crushing mountains at the outset. Even they fled in fear.’ Hearing this, the Lord, enraged, said, ‘When your flag is broken, O fool, then you will find an opponent equal to you in battle who will humble your pride.’ Thus addressed, the misguided Bāṇa, delighted, entered his own house, awaiting Giriśa’s command, foolishly expecting the destruction of his own strength. Bāṇa had a daughter named Ūṣā, who, in a dream, experienced union with Pradyumna’s son—a handsome youth whom she had never seen or heard of before. Not seeing him there, she rose among her friends, agitated and deeply embarrassed, calling out, ‘Where are you, beloved?’ Bāṇa’s minister was Kumbhāṇḍa, and his daughter Citralekhā, a friend of Ūṣā, questioned her out of curiosity among their companions: ‘Whom are you seeking, O beautiful-browed one? What kind of man fills your thoughts? Princess, I have not yet seen anyone take your hand.’ Ūṣā replied, ‘I saw a man in my dream—dark, lotus-eyed, clad in yellow, with great arms—who captivates the hearts of women. I seek that beloved, who made me drink nectar from his lips, but then, desiring me, vanished somewhere, casting me into an ocean of sorrow.