When the month of Phālguna arrived, the three companions adopted the forms of yogis, their appearance transformed by spiritual discipline. At that auspicious time, the god among them began to play the mṛdaṅga drum, while Makaranda took up the melodious vīṇā. Their music and presence bewildered the entire city, including the king, who was renowned as the lord of elephants. In their ascetic guise, they approached the king. The king, humbled and awed, asked, “O ascetic, speak your desire to me.” The yogi replied with humility, “I will swiftly accomplish this task and return your son to you.” Trusting their words, the king gave his own son into their care. Within a fortnight, the trio joyfully reached the city of Bahlika. Skilled in the very essence of dance and intent on enchanting the king, they arrived with grace. Their mastery of song and dance captivated all who beheld them. Delighted, the king brought them into his household, rejoicing at their artistry. There, Makaranda, the powerful son of Bhishma, once again took up the vīṇā and the drum. The great assembly of women rejoiced at their music and performance. Then, in a moment, Makaranda dispelled the illusion that had ensnared the court; his magic became fruitless, vanishing instantly. At that point, Krishna’s portion—one among them—turned to the bride and said, “Speak your desire to me, O hero.” Hearing this, Citrarekha, her heart heavy with sorrow, responded. She spoke of the divine powers by which all the deities, beginning with Indra, had been created—whether it be Narayana, Dharma, or Shiva himself. She revealed, “My name is Udaya, O queen, and this is Devasingha, the excellent one. Through our separation from Indula, we have attained yogic powers. O great enchantress, grant us Shuka, or, if you wish, give us Indula. Grant me your audience quickly, otherwise I shall give up my life.” Setting aside her shame, Citrarekha spoke again, “Take me and my son, O lord.” The couple fell at their feet, weeping aloud in their distress. Then, taking the excellent letter written by Indu, he received it with reverence. Sūryavarman, honored by Makaranda, returned home. Mounted upon his cherished wish, he journeyed to that place where joy and sorrow were mingled. He declared, “Know that Devasimha and I are devoted to seeking your son.” Hearing this, Āhlāda was filled with supreme delight. Summoning the king, the humble-minded one spoke, “O hero, I have heard how Kṛṣṇāṃśa was slain.” With eyes reddened by anger, Āhlāda seized him by the hair, yet did so with a peculiar joy. Upon hearing the commotion, King Parimala arrived with his queen. He cried out, “O wicked one, great sinner, you have killed my kinsman!” The king, distressed, sighed deeply and remained silent. At that moment, the hero Balakhāni arrived. He made preparations for the marriage of his brother’s son, bringing hope and new beginnings. Tāraka also came, accompanied by a thousand valiant warriors. Soon after, Tālana arrived as well, leading an army equal to a hundred thousand. Tālana, endowed with the strength of three hundred thousand, attained the very bliss of Brahman himself. Yet amidst all this, a cry of lamentation arose: “Alas, my friend! Where have you gone, having abandoned me, the lowest of men?” The story, thus, weaves together sorrow and hope, longing and reunion, in the tapestry of fate.