When the contest of dice had reached its heated end, a voice resounded from the sky, clear and divine: “The wager was won by Balarama alone; Rukmi speaks falsely, claiming victory with words rather than righteousness.” Yet Rukmi, the king of Vidarbha, disregarded this heavenly pronouncement. Urged on by wicked rulers and by the hand of fate itself, he mocked Sankarshana—Balarama—speaking with derision. “You cowherds who wander the forests know nothing of dice,” Rukmi taunted. “It is kings who play at dice and shoot arrows, not men such as you.” His words, laced with scorn, were echoed by the gathered kings, who joined in insulting Balarama. Stung by their mockery, Balarama’s anger blazed. In the midst of the assembly, he raised his mighty club and struck Rukmi down. Then, swift as a storm, he seized the king of Kalinga—who had laughed at him, baring his teeth—and with a single blow, shattered his teeth. The other assembled kings, their arms, thighs, and heads broken and bloodied by Balarama’s wrathful club, fled in terror. When Rukmi, Krishna’s brother-in-law, fell slain, Hari—Krishna—remained silent, neither praising nor condemning Balarama’s act. He feared that expressing approval or censure might wound the bond between Rukmini and Balarama. With their purpose fulfilled, Balarama and the Dasharhas placed Aniruddha and his bride upon a splendid chariot and departed from Bhojakat for the city of Kushasthali, sheltered by Madhusudana—Krishna. At this point, the king Parikshit inquired: “The foremost of the Yadus married Usha, the daughter of Bana. At that time, a terrible battle was fought between Hari and Shankara. O great yogi, you are worthy to recount all of this in detail.” Shri Shuka then narrated: Bana, the eldest among the hundred sons of the great-souled Bali—he who had once given the earth to Hari in the form of Vamana—was a king always devoted to Shiva. Honored and generous, intelligent and steadfast in truth, Bana ruled the beautiful city of Sonita. By the grace of Shambhu, his attendants were as powerful as the immortals. With his thousand arms, Bana delighted Rudra by playing music during the Tandava dance. The Lord Shiva, master of all beings and refuge of devotees, pleased by Bana’s devotion, offered him a boon of his choice. Bana chose Shiva himself as the protector of his city. Once, intoxicated by his own strength, Bana approached Shiva, who was nearby, and touched his lotus feet, his crown shining like the sun. “I bow to you, Mahadeva, guru and lord of the worlds, fulfiller of the desires of those whose wishes are unmet and whose feet are worshipped by the immortals,” he said. “You have given me a thousand arms, but they have become a burden. In all the three worlds, I find no one who can match me in battle—except you. Yearning for combat, I have scratched myself with my own arms and fought the elephants of the directions, even crushing mountains, but all flee from me in fear.” Hearing this, Lord Shiva, angered, replied, “When your flag is broken, O fool, then you will find an opponent equal to you in battle—one who will humble your pride.” Delighted by these words, yet misguided, Bana returned to his house, foolishly awaiting the command of Shiva, not realizing he was inviting the destruction of his own strength. Bana had a daughter named Usha. One night, Usha dreamed of union with a handsome youth—the son of Pradyumna—whom she had never seen or heard of before. When she awoke and found him absent, she rose among her friends, agitated and embarrassed, calling out, “Where are you, beloved?” Bana’s minister was Kumbhanda, whose daughter Citralekha was a close friend of Usha. Seeing Usha’s distress, Citralekha questioned her in the company of their friends: “Whom are you seeking, O beautiful-browed one? What kind of man fills your thoughts? Princess, I have never seen anyone take your hand.” Usha replied, “I saw a man in my dream—dark, lotus-eyed, clad in yellow, with mighty arms—who captivates the hearts of women. I seek this beloved, who made me taste nectar from his lips, but then, desiring me, vanished, leaving me cast into an ocean of sorrow.” Citralekha comforted her: “If your misfortune is destined among 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 men as they appeared. Among the humans, she depicted the Vrishnis, Shura, and Anakadundubhi; when she drew Pradyumna, she felt shy drawing Rama and Krishna. But when the image of Aniruddha appeared, Usha lowered her face in modesty and, smiling, pointed him out: “That one, that one.” Understanding her friend’s heart, Citralekha, endowed with yogic powers and the granddaughter of Krishna, soared through the sky to Dvaraka, protected by Krishna. Using her yogic abilities, she entered the palace, where Aniruddha, the son of Pradyumna, slept on a fine bed. She carried him away to Shonitapura to present him to her friend. When Usha beheld the handsome hero, her heart overflowed with joy. She and Aniruddha enjoyed each other’s company in her private chambers, a place difficult for others to enter. Aniruddha was honored with excellent garments, garlands, fragrances, incense, lamps, seats, drinks, food, delicacies, and loving words of service. Hidden within the maiden’s palace, attended constantly by Usha’s growing affection, Aniruddha, his senses captivated, lost all sense of the passing days. As Usha delighted in the company of the Yadu hero, her vows forgotten, the palace guards began to notice subtle signs of her secret joy. They reported to the king, “We have noticed suspicious behavior in your daughter—a disgrace to the family. Though protected by us, O lord, we do not know how the maiden, so difficult to approach, has been defiled by a man.” Distressed by his daughter’s disgrace, Bana rushed to her quarters and beheld the Yadu prince. There sat Aniruddha—the most beautiful in the world—dark-complexioned, clad in yellow garments, lotus-eyed, broad-armed, radiant with earrings and curling locks, his face adorned by smiling glances. He was playing dice with Usha, who was eager for him; her body was adorned with a garland stained by the kumkuma from her breasts, and he held in his arms a garland of jasmine. Seeing him seated at his daughter’s side, Bana was struck with astonishment.