Queen Bhadrā, with gentle reverence, recalled her marriage to Krishna. She told how her father, inviting her maternal uncle, had given her hand to Krishna—the dark-hued Lord whose mind is ever steadfast in Himself—bestowing upon her not only a husband but also an army and companions. In her heart, Bhadrā cherished a single wish: that in every future birth, she might be blessed with the touch of Krishna’s feet, for by that touch, even one lost in the endless cycle of karma attains the highest good for the soul. Lakṣmaṇā, another of Krishna’s beloved queens, shared her own story. She recounted how, time and again, she listened to Nārada’s tales of Krishna’s birth and wondrous deeds. Her mind, drawn irresistibly to Mukunda, the lotus-handed Lord, became so absorbed in Him that she cared not for any other—even the guardians of the worlds faded from her heart. Sensing her devotion, her father, the affectionate King Bṛhatsena, devised a plan for her marriage. He arranged a svayaṃvara, a gathering where the princess would choose her husband. As in the famous contest for Draupadī, a fish was set as the target, but here it was hidden outside and could only be seen reflected in the water below. When word of this challenge spread, kings from all directions—masters of weapons and missiles—came by the thousands, each accompanied by their teachers, to her father’s city. King Bṛhatsena honored all the assembled rulers according to their strength and age. Those who wished to win Lakṣmaṇā’s hand took up mighty bows and arrows, ready to prove themselves in the assembly. Some tried to string the bow but failed; some, drawing the bowstring to their chests, were struck down by its force. Even great heroes—like the kings of Magadha, Ambashṭha, Cedi, Bhīma, Duryodhana, and Karṇa—managed to string the bow, but did not understand the true nature of the challenge. Then Arjuna, perceiving the fish’s image in the water and knowing its real position, carefully released his arrow. Yet, it only touched the target without cutting it. When the kings, their pride humbled, withdrew, Krishna Himself stepped forward. Effortlessly He strung the bow, and, seeing the fish’s reflection just once in the water, He let fly His arrow, striking down the target as the sun stood in the Abhijit constellation. Lakṣmaṇā, adorned in a new silk garment, with anklets softly tinkling, a radiant golden garland of gems in her hands, and a bashful smile upon her face, entered the arena. Her hair was crowned with a floral wreath, her cheeks glowed, and her earrings shone as she cast gentle, smiling glances around the assembly. With a heart devoted to Murāri, she placed the garland upon Krishna’s shoulder. At that moment, a joyous clamor arose: drums, kettledrums, conches, trumpets, and other instruments resounded; dancers danced and singers sang in celebration. Yet, when Lakṣmaṇā chose Krishna, the master of Māyā, many chiefs of men, burning with desire, could not tolerate the outcome—just as they had with Draupadī—and began to contend with one another. Krishna, undaunted, placed Lakṣmaṇā upon His chariot, yoked with four splendid horses. Taking up His Śārṅga bow and donning His armor, He stood ready for battle, manifesting His four-armed form. Dāruka, His charioteer, drove the chariot, adorned with golden fittings, as the kings looked on—just as the lion king carries off his prize before the other beasts. Some of the kings pursued Krishna, determined to block His path, their bows drawn like village lions chasing Hari. But, struck by volleys of arrows from Krishna’s Śārṅga bow, many had their arms, legs, and necks severed and fell in battle, while others, abandoning the fight, fled in fear. At last, Krishna, Lord of the Yadus, entered His city, decked with sun-shaded banners and painted gateways, celebrated in heaven and on earth—like a ship returning safely to its harbor. Lakṣmaṇā’s father honored Krishna’s friends, relatives, and kin with precious garments, ornaments, beds, seats, and many gifts. He gave maidservants, wealth, soldiers, chariots, horses, and valuable weapons, all with heartfelt devotion. Lakṣmaṇā, together with the other maidservants of Krishna’s household, reflected that they had attained this blessed state only through the power of true austerity and complete detachment, and now served Him who is ever self-satisfied. The queens of Krishna spoke with one heart: after He had slain Bhauma and his followers in battle, He freed them—the princesses who had been conquered and held captive. Remembering His lotus feet, which fulfill all desires, they rejoiced that Krishna accepted them in marriage, liberating them from worldly bondage. They declared, “We do not seek sovereignty, lordship, rulership, or even the supreme position of Brahmā, nor the endless abode of Hari. We desire only to bear on our heads the dust of His glorious feet, fragrant with the scent of His beloved’s ointments—He who wields the mighty mace. All beings—cowherd women of Vraja, Pulinda women, grasses and herbs, cows, and cowherd boys—long for the touch of His feet as He tends the cows.” Śuka continued the tale. When Kuntī, Subhadrā, Draupadī, Mādhavī, the royal wives, and their own gopīs heard of Krishna’s deep affection for them, they were all amazed, their eyes brimming with tears of joy. As the women spoke among themselves and the men conversed, a great assembly of sages arrived, eager to see Krishna and Balarāma. Among them were Vyāsa, Nārada, Cyavana, Devala, Asita, Viśvāmitra, Śatānanda, Bharadvāja, and Gautama. Rāma with His disciples, the venerable Vasiṣṭha, Gālava, Bhṛgu, Pulastya, Kaśyapa, Atri, Mārkaṇḍeya, and Bṛhaspati also came. Dvitas, Trita, Ekata, the sons of Brahmā, Aṅgirā, Agastya, Yājñavalkya, Vāmadeva, and many others were present. Seeing these revered sages, the kings, along with the Pāṇḍavas, Krishna, and Balarāma, immediately rose from their seats and bowed with deep respect. They worshipped the holy ones as was proper, and Rāma and Acyuta greeted them with words of welcome, offering them seats, water for washing feet, garlands, incense, and ointments. When the sages were comfortably seated, Krishna, the embodiment of righteousness, spoke, and the whole assembly listened in silent reverence to His measured words. The Blessed Lord said, “Ah, we who are born into this world have attained the highest fruit—one difficult even for the gods to obtain—the sight of the masters of yoga. What to say of those with 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 idols of clay and stone, purify as the holy ones do; their mere sight, even for a moment, sanctifies all. Neither fire, nor sun, nor moon and stars, nor earth, water, sky, wind, speech, or mind—though worshipped as separate—remove sin. Only by serving the enlightened, even for a moment, does one become truly purified.” Thus, in that sacred gathering, the glory of the Lord, His queens, and the assembled sages shone forth, sanctifying all who beheld or heard of those wondrous deeds.