Bhadrā, one of Krishna’s queens, reflected with deep devotion on how her life had unfolded. She remembered how Krishna, through his valor, had won her hand—along with her maidservants and army—by defeating the kings who opposed him on the road. With heartfelt humility, she wished only to become his servant, grateful for the fortune that had brought her to him. Bhadrā recalled that her father, in consultation with her maternal uncle, had given her to Krishna, the dark-hued one whose mind was ever fixed upon himself, along with companions and an army. Her greatest desire was to have the touch of Krishna’s feet in every birth, for she knew that such contact could grant the highest spiritual good, freeing one from the endless cycle of karma. Lakṣmaṇā, another queen, spoke of her own longing. She recounted how, hearing again and again from Nārada about Krishna’s birth and deeds, her mind was drawn irresistibly to Mukunda, the lotus-handed Lord, even to the exclusion of the guardians of the world. Understanding her heart, her father, the affectionate Bṛhatsena, devised a plan for her marriage. A svayaṃvara was arranged, much like the famous contest held for the Pāṇḍava princess, where a fish was set up as the target. Here, the fish was hidden outside but could be seen reflected in the water below. Hearing of this challenge, kings from all directions, skilled in weapons and missiles, arrived by the thousands with their teachers at her father’s city. Her father honored all these kings according to their rank and strength. Those who wished to win Lakṣmaṇā took up bows and arrows, preparing to shoot in the assembly. Some tried to string the bow but failed; others, drawing the bowstring to their chest, were struck and fell. Some heroes—like the kings of Magadha, Ambashṭha, Cedi, and even Bhīma, Duryodhana, and Karṇa—managed to string the bow, but did not grasp the true challenge. Then Arjuna, understanding the task, saw the image of the fish in the water and carefully released his arrow. It touched the target but did not cut it. When the kings withdrew, their pride broken, Krishna himself took up the bow and strung it effortlessly. Aiming at the fish, he saw it just once in the water, and with a single arrow, cut it down, making it fall, while the sun stood in the Abhijit constellation. Lakṣmaṇā entered the arena, her anklets softly tinkling. She held a radiant golden garland of gems, dressed in new silk, her face adorned with a bashful smile, her hair crowned with flowers. Lifting her face, earrings gleaming, cheeks glowing, she cast gentle, smiling glances around the assembly of kings. With a heart devoted to Murāri, she placed the garland upon Krishna’s shoulder. At that moment, drums, kettledrums, conches, trumpets, and other instruments resounded. Dancers danced and singers sang, celebrating the union. But as Krishna, the master of Māyā, was chosen, the chiefs of men—burning with desire—could not tolerate Lakṣmaṇā’s choice, just as they had with Draupadī, and competed with each other. Krishna placed Lakṣmaṇā on his chariot, yoked with four noble horses, took up the Śārṅga bow, donned his armor, and stood ready for battle with four arms revealed. Dāruka drove the chariot, adorned with gold, as the kings watched—just as the king of beasts carries off his prize before the other animals. Some kings pursued them, armed and with drawn bows, attempting to block Krishna, like village lions chasing Hari. But struck by volleys of arrows from the Śārṅga bow, their arms, legs, and necks were severed; some fell in battle, while others, abandoning the fight, fled. Krishna, the Lord of the Yadus, entered his city, splendidly decorated with banners shaded from the sun and painted gateways, celebrated in heaven and on earth, like a ship reaching its own harbor. Lakṣmaṇā’s father honored his friends, relatives, and kin with precious garments, ornaments, beds, seats, and other gifts. With maidservants, wealth, soldiers, chariots, horses, and valuable weapons, he gave everything with full devotion. Lakṣmaṇā and her maidservants became devoted members of Krishna’s household, serving him who is self-satisfied, their service empowered by true austerity and detachment. The queens then spoke together, remembering how Krishna had slain Bhauma and his followers in battle, freeing them—the princesses conquered and imprisoned by him. Remembering Krishna’s lotus feet, the fulfiller of all desires, they rejoiced in their marriage, grateful for liberation from worldly bondage. They declared that they did not desire sovereignty, lordship, rulership, or even the supreme position of Brahmā, nor the endless abode of Hari. Their only wish was to bear on their heads the dust of Krishna’s glorious feet, fragrant with the scent of his consort’s breast-unguent, he who wields the mace. They spoke of how even the cowherd women of Vraja, the Pulinda women, the grasses and herbs, the cows, and the cowherd boys—all longed for the touch of Krishna’s feet as he tended the cows. At this point, Śuka described how, when Kuntī, Subhadrā, Draupadī, Mādhavī, the royal wives, and their own gopīs heard of Krishna’s deep affection for them, they were amazed, their eyes brimming with tears. As the women spoke among themselves and the men among men, the sages arrived, eager to see Krishna and Balarāma. Among them were Vyāsa, Nārada, Cyavana, Devala, Asita, Viśvāmitra, Śatānanda, Bharadvāja, and Gautama. Rāma came with his disciples, along with Vasiṣṭha, Gālava, Bhṛgu, Pulastya, Kaśyapa, Atri, Mārkaṇḍeya, and Bṛhaspati. Dvitas, Trita, Ekata—the sons of Brahmā—Aṅgirā, Agastya, Yājñavalkya, Vāmadeva, and others also arrived. Seeing these revered sages, the kings who had been seated, along with the Pāṇḍavas, Krishna, and Balarāma, immediately rose and bowed in respect. They worshipped the sages as was proper, and Rāma and Acyuta honored them with words of welcome, seats, water for washing feet, offerings, garlands, incense, and ointments. The Lord, embodiment of righteousness, spoke to them as they sat comfortably, while the great assembly listened in silence to his measured words. Krishna said, “Ah, we who are born into this world have attained the highest fruit—so difficult even for the gods to obtain—the sight of the masters of yoga. What to say of those men of little austerity, who, in worshipping the gods—the eyes of the world—gain the chance to see, touch, question, and bow to the feet of such beings? Neither sacred waters nor gods made of clay and stone purify in the same way; it is the holy ones who purify, simply by their sight, even in a brief moment.” Thus, the queens, the assembled kings, and all present basked in the presence of Krishna, his love, and the wisdom of the sages, experiencing the highest blessings of devotion and spiritual company.