When the messenger had departed, the valiant Śaṃkhacūḍa received news of the impending battle. The weight of the moment fell upon him—his throat, lips, and palate became parched, a sign of the anxiety that gripped him. Meanwhile, Tulasī, his beloved, approached him in distress. “O god who presides over life,” she pleaded, “protect my life, if only for a moment.” Her heart was heavy, her mind scorched, and she confessed, “My life is swaying, and my mind is constantly scorched.” She urged him, “Enjoy in each birth whatever pleasure is desired in your mind,” seeking solace amidst the uncertainty. Hearing Tulasī’s words, Śaṃkhacūḍa, having refreshed himself with food and drink, sought to comfort her. He spoke gently, “Auspiciousness, joy, pleasure, pain, fear, sorrow, and inauspiciousness—all these arise in time. Even trees grow their branches according to time, and their fruits ripen and mature only when the time is right. Beings come into existence in time, and in time they depart. The creator brings forth at the appointed time, and the protector preserves according to time.” He continued, his voice calm and wise, “The Lord, who is beyond nature, is the origin of Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, and others. As creator, protector, and destroyer, He acts always in full measure. At the proper time, that very Lord fashions nature by His own will. From Brahma down to a blade of grass, all is indeed artificial. Worship the true, supreme Brahman—Radha’s Lord—who is beyond the three qualities.” Śaṃkhacūḍa’s words were filled with reverence. “He creates water from water, and sustains water with water. By His command the wind blows, swiftly and continually. With each passing moment, Indra sends rain, and death moves among creatures. The root of death is time; the root of time is the supreme Lord of Yama. Seek refuge in Krishna, the destroyer of the destroyer.” He then reflected on their fate. “Who am I, who are you, and what is this destiny by which we were joined long ago? The ignorant, fearful in sorrow and adversity, are not wise. You will certainly attain Narayana, the Lord of all, your beloved. You were obtained by me through austerity and the boon of Brahma. In Vṛndāvana, you will attain Govinda in Goloka. There you will see me, and I will see you constantly. I will return there again; why should I grieve, listen dear one. You, indeed, after leaving the body and assuming a divine form, at that time, you will attain Hari; do not be anxious, beloved.” Thus comforted, Tulasī slept well upon a beautiful bed, adorned with flowers and sandalwood paste. The chamber glowed with jeweled lamps, and the jewel among women, a lady of great beauty, rested there. Śaṃkhacūḍa placed his beloved, who wept in distress, fasting and immersed in an ocean of sorrow, upon his chest. In that intimate moment, he awakened her with divine knowledge, himself awakened as well, and bestowed upon her that supreme wisdom which removes all sorrow. Joyfully, he played with her, knowing the transience of all things. Their bodies, overcome with emotion, were covered in goosebumps; together they fainted in solitude, becoming as one, like Ardhanārīśvara—the divine unity of masculine and feminine. Śaṃkhacūḍa cherished Tulasī as dearer than his own life, the sovereign of his very breath. Adorned and motionless from the bliss of their union, both exceedingly charming, they exchanged delightful, divine words, laughing together for a moment. They enjoyed betel together, each offering it to the other, and served one another with great affection, gently waving white chowries. In this way, their love shone brightly, even as destiny moved them forward.