After the wedding of Aniruddha and his bride, a great assembly was held in Bhojakat. During this gathering, a game of dice was proposed. Although Balarama was not skilled in the art of dice, he was summoned to play against Rukmi, the king of Vidarbha. Rama wagered first a hundred coins, then a thousand, and then ten thousand. Each time, Rukmi defeated him. The king of Kalinga, witnessing Balarama’s defeat, laughed loudly, baring his teeth, which Balarama, known as Halayudha, could not tolerate. Then, Rukmi staked a hundred thousand coins. This time, Balarama won, but Rukmi, relying on deceit, falsely declared himself the victor. Balarama, his wrath rising like the swelling ocean, his eyes reddened by both nature and anger, staked ten million coins. Again, by honest means, Balarama won, yet Rukmi resorted to trickery, insisting he was victorious and calling for witnesses to support his claim. Suddenly, a divine voice resounded from the sky, proclaiming that Balarama alone had won the wager, and that Rukmi’s claim was false, a victory by words and not by righteousness. Yet, the king of Vidarbha, ignoring this heavenly admonition, spurred on by wicked rulers and fate, mocked Balarama and spoke derisively, saying, “You cowherds who wander the forests are not skilled in dice. Kings play dice and shoot arrows, not men like you.” Insulted and mocked by Rukmi and the assembled kings, Balarama’s anger flared. He raised his mighty club and struck Rukmi down in the midst of the assembly. Then, seizing the king of Kalinga, who had laughed at him, Balarama knocked out his teeth. The other kings, their limbs broken and covered in blood from Balarama’s blows, fled in terror. When Rukmi, Krishna’s brother-in-law, was slain, Hari—fearing that the affection between Rukmini and Balarama might be shattered—neither praised nor condemned Balarama’s deed. Afterwards, Aniruddha and his bride were placed upon a splendid chariot, and Rama, together with the Dasharhas, departed from Bhojakat for Kushasthali, their purposes fulfilled under the shelter of Madhusudana. At this point, King Parikshit inquired, “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, please recount all of this in detail.” Śuka replied: Bāṇa was the eldest among the hundred sons of the great soul Bali—the same Bali who gave the earth to Hari when He appeared as Vāmana. Bāṇa himself was always devoted to Śiva, honored, generous, intelligent, steadfast in truth, and firm in his vows. In the beautiful city of Śoṇita, he once ruled as king. By the grace of Śambhu, his attendants were like the immortals. With his thousand arms, Bāṇa pleased Rudra by playing music during the Tāṇḍava dance. The Lord, master of all beings, refuge and lover of devotees, offered Bāṇa a boon of his choice. Bāṇa chose Śiva as the protector of his city. Once, intoxicated by his own strength, Bāṇa approached Giriśa, who was nearby, and touched his lotus feet with a crown shining like the sun. He praised Mahādeva, guru and lord of the worlds, whose feet are worshipped by the immortals and who fulfills the desires of those whose wishes are unmet. Bāṇa lamented, “You have given me a thousand arms, but they are a great burden. In all the three worlds, I find none equal to fight except you. Longing for battle, I have scratched myself with my own arms and fought the elephants of the directions, crushing mountains at the outset. Even they fled in fear.” Hearing this, Śiva, enraged, replied, “When your flag is broken, O fool, you will find an opponent equal to you in battle who will humble your pride.” Delighted by this, though misguided, Bāṇa returned to his house, foolishly awaiting the command of Giriśa and expecting the destruction of his own strength. Bāṇa had a daughter named Ūṣā. In a dream, Ūṣā experienced union with Pradyumna’s son, a handsome youth she had never seen or heard of before. Not finding him upon waking, 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 in the company of their companions: “Whom are you seeking, O beautiful-browed one? What kind of man fills your thoughts? Princess, I have not 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, leaving me in an ocean of sorrow.” Citralekhā responded, “If your misfortune is destined in the three worlds, I will remove it. Tell me who this enchanting one is, and I will bring him to you.” She then drew the forms of gods, gandharvas, siddhas, charanas, serpents, demons, vidyadharas, yakshas, and humans as they appeared. Among the humans, she depicted the Vrishnis, Shura, Anakadundubhi, and, seeing Pradyumna, she became embarrassed while drawing Rama and Krishna. When Ūṣā saw Aniruddha drawn, she turned her face downward in modesty; smiling, she said to Citralekhā, “That one, that one.” Understanding this, Citralekhā, the yogini and granddaughter of Krishna, departed through the sky to Dvaraka, protected by Krishna. There, using her yogic power, she took Pradyumna’s son, Aniruddha, who was sleeping on a fine bed, and brought him to Shonitapura to show her friend. Upon seeing Aniruddha, Ūṣā, her face joyful, enjoyed his company in her own home, which was difficult for others to enter. Aniruddha was honored with excellent garments, garlands, fragrances, incense, lamps, seats, drinks, food, delicacies, and words of service. Hidden in the maiden’s palace, always attended by her growing affection, Aniruddha, whose senses were captivated by Ūṣā, did not notice the passing days. As Ūṣā was thus enjoyed by the Yadu hero, her vows broken, the palace guards observed her delight by subtle signs.