Lakṣmaṇā spoke: "Again and again, I listened to Nārada recount the wondrous stories of the birth and deeds of the great King—Mukunda, the lotus-handed one. Hearing these tales, my heart was irresistibly drawn to Him, so much so that I turned away from even the guardians of the world. Perceiving the state of my mind, my loving father, Bṛhatsena, devised a way for my marriage. Just as, for Draupadī’s svayaṃvara, a fish was set up as the target to fulfill the Pāṇḍavas’ desire, so too, in my svayaṃvara, a fish was hidden above, but its reflection could be seen only in the water below. When this challenge was announced, kings from all directions, masters of weapons and missiles, came by the thousands with their teachers, all converging on my father’s city. My father welcomed each king with honor, according to their strength and age. Those who aspired for my hand took up bows and arrows, ready to compete in the assembly. Some tried to lift and string the bow, but failed; others, struggling to draw the bowstring to their chest, were struck down by its force. Heroes such as the kings of Magadha, Ambashṭha, and Cedi, as well as Bhīma, Duryodhana, and Karṇa, managed to string the bow, but did not truly understand the challenge. Then, Arjuna, perceiving the fish’s image in the water and discerning its position, released his arrow with great care. His arrow did not cut the target, but merely touched it. When the kings, their pride broken, withdrew from the contest, the Lord Himself took up the bow and, with effortless grace, strung it. With a single, steady glance at the fish’s reflection in the water, He released His arrow. It pierced the target and brought it down, just as the sun stood in the Abhijit constellation. At that moment, I entered the arena. My anklets tinkled softly as I walked, a radiant garland of golden gems in my hands. Dressed in new silk, my hair adorned with a floral wreath, and a bashful smile upon my face, I lifted my gaze. My large earrings shone, my cheeks glowed, and, casting gentle, smiling glances at the assembled kings, my heart devoted to Murāri, I placed the garland upon His shoulder. Instantly, drums, kettledrums, conches, trumpets, and other instruments resounded throughout the hall. Dancers danced and singers sang in joy. But when I chose the Lord, the master of Māyā, as my husband, the assembled chiefs of men, inflamed by desire, could not bear it. Just as they had with Draupadī, they began to vie with one another. Unperturbed, the Lord placed me upon His chariot, yoked with four splendid horses. Taking up His Śārṅga bow, donning His armor, and standing revealed in His four-armed form, He prepared for battle. Dāruka, His charioteer, drove the chariot, which was adorned with golden trimmings, while the kings looked on—just as the king of beasts carries off his prize before the other animals. Some of the kings gave chase, determined to block His path, their bows drawn and weapons ready, like village lions pursuing Hari. But as they advanced, the Lord released volleys of arrows from His Śārṅga bow, severing arms, legs, and necks. Some kings fell on the field, while others, in fear, fled the battle. Then the Lord of the Yadus entered His city, which shone with sun-bright banners and painted gateways, celebrated in heaven and on earth, as a ship returns safely to its harbor. My father, in joy, honored his friends, relatives, and kin with fine garments, ornaments, beds, seats, and other precious gifts. He gave maidservants, all manner of wealth, soldiers, chariots, horses, and valuable weapons with heartfelt devotion. We, the maidservants of His household, became so by the power of true austerity and complete detachment, serving Him who is ever self-satisfied. The queens spoke: 'Having slain Bhauma and his followers in battle, the Lord freed us, the princesses who had been conquered and held captive. Remembering His lotus feet, the fulfiller of all desires, He accepted us in marriage and granted us liberation from worldly bondage. We do not desire sovereignty, lordship, rulership, or even the supreme position of Brahmā, nor the endless abode of Hari. Our only wish is to bear upon our heads the dust of His glorious feet, fragrant with the scent of His beloved's breast-unguent—He who wields the mace. Even the cowherd women of Vraja, the Pulinda women, the grasses and herbs, the cows, and the cowherd boys—all long for the touch of the feet of that great soul as He tends the cows.' Śuka continued: When Kuntī, Subhadrā, Draupadī, Mādhavī, the royal wives, and the gopīs heard of the deep affection Krishna, the Supreme Soul, bore for them, they were all filled with wonder, their eyes brimming with tears. As the women spoke among themselves and the men among men, a host of sages arrived, eager to see Krishna and Balarāma. Among them were Vyāsa, Nārada, Cyavana, Devala, Asita, Viśvāmitra, Śatānanda, Bharadvāja, and Gautama. Along with them came Rāma and his disciples, the venerable Vasiṣṭha, Gālava, Bhṛgu, Pulastya, Kaśyapa, Atri, Mārkaṇḍeya, and Bṛhaspati. Dvitas, Trita, Ekata—the sons of Brahmā—Aṅgirā, Agastya, Yājñavalkya, Vāmadeva, and many others also arrived. Upon seeing these revered sages, the kings, who had been seated before, along with the Pāṇḍavas, Krishna, and Balarāma, immediately rose and bowed in reverence. They all worshipped the sages as was proper, and Rāma and Acyuta honored them with words of welcome, seats, water for washing their feet, offerings, garlands, incense, and ointments. When the sages were seated comfortably, the Lord, embodiment of righteousness, addressed them, while the great assembly listened in silence to His measured words. The Blessed Lord said: 'Ah, we who are born into this world have attained the highest fruit, which even the gods find difficult to obtain—the sight of the masters of yoga. What can one say of those men of little austerity, who, in their worship of the gods—the eyes of the world—are granted the chance to see, touch, question, and bow to such holy beings? Neither sacred waters, nor gods made of clay and stone, purify as the holy ones do; even a brief sight of them cleanses all impurities. Neither fire, nor sun, nor moon and stars, nor earth, water, sky, wind, speech, or mind—though worshipped as separate—can remove sin; it is the wise who destroy it, even by a moment’s service to the enlightened. He who identifies the self with the body composed of three elements, regards wife and kin as his own, worships earth as sacred, and sees holy places only as water, but never seeks out the wise—he is no better than a cow or donkey.' Śuka said: Hearing these words of Krishna, whose wisdom is unfathomable, the sages sat silent, their minds awed and perplexed by the depth of His speech.