Having taken leave of Gajamukta, the couple set out on their journey, their hearts free from fear. Meanwhile, the powerful Makaranda, having come to know the full story of their plight, devoted himself to dharma, performing various sacrifices and singing hymns in worship. Elsewhere, the daughter of King Abhinandana was known as Citraprapūjinī. And of Kesariṇī, the teacher Kutuka, renowned for assuming the form of a yogin, was to be remembered. The land they traversed was fraught with danger, difficult to approach because of enemies, and further imperiled by treacherous stones. In the midst of these perils, Jayanta was seized by Citralekhā, the king’s daughter, while Indula remained there, sorrowful and bewildered by the wonders of Citralekhā’s magic. At this moment, you, O god—a portion of Krishna—together with Sūryavarman, approached Citralekhā, performing dances and other arts in her presence. Enchanting the goddess with your skill, you recited her auspicious doctrine. When these words were spoken, the divine being vanished, leaving the king filled with astonishment. As the month of Phālguna arrived, the three of them assumed the forms of yogis. During this time, the god played the mṛdaṅga drum, while Makaranda played the vīṇā. With their music and presence, they bewildered both the city and its king, the lord of elephants. The king, moved by their ascetic presence, spoke: “Speak your desire to me, O ascetic.” The reply came humbly: “Having swiftly accomplished the task, I will return your son to you.” Hearing this, the lord of elephants entrusted his own son to them. Within a fortnight, filled with joy, they reached the city of Bahlika. Those skilled in the essence of dance, intent on enchanting the king, arrived there. Their mastery of song and dance captivated all who beheld them. The king, delighted, took them to his own house in celebration. There, Makaranda—the powerful son of Bhishma—once again took up the vīṇā and the drum. As he played, the great assembly of women rejoiced. In that moment, he dispelled the illusion that had clouded their hearts, rendering it powerless in an instant. Addressing the bride, Krishna’s portion said, “Speak your desire to me, O hero.” Hearing this, Citrarekha, her mind distressed by sorrow, replied. She spoke of the deities, beginning with Indra, all of whom had been created by her own power—whether it be Narayana, Dharma, or Shiva himself. She revealed, “My name is Udaya, O queen; this is Devasingha, the excellent one. Through separation from Indula, we have attained yogic powers. O great enchantress, give Shuka or give Indula, if you will. Grant me your audience quickly, otherwise I will give up my life.” Setting aside her shame, she spoke again: “Take me and my son, O lord.” The couple fell at their feet, weeping aloud. Taking the excellent letter written by Indu, he received it with reverence. Sūryavarman, honored by Makaranda, returned home. Mounted upon his cherished wish, he went to the place where joy mingled with sorrow. He declared, “Know that Devasimha and I are devoted to seeking your son.” Hearing this, Āhlāda attained supreme delight. Summoning the king, the humble-minded one spoke these words: “O hero, I have heard how Kṛṣṇāṃśa was slain.