As Krishna and Balarama entered the city of Mathura, a new chapter in their divine play unfolded. Śuka continued the narration, describing how, after their auspicious entry, Krishna, ever compassionate, prepared to show favor to Kubjā, break the mighty bow, and make ready the wrestling arena for the coming events. As Mādhava, the Lord, walked along the royal road, he noticed a young woman carrying a vessel of fragrant ointment. This was Kubjā, a maiden with a lovely face, though her body was hunched. Krishna smiled at her, his heart full of delight, and gently questioned her as she walked by: “Who are you, beautiful one? What is this fragrant ointment you carry? Whose maid are you? Tell us clearly. Please, apply this excellent ointment to our limbs; by doing so, your good fortune will soon arise.” The maiden, Sairandhri, answered humbly, “O handsome one, I am a maidservant approved by Kaṃsa, and my name is Trivakra. My work is to prepare ointments, which are especially dear to the Bhoja king. But besides you two, who else could be worthy of them?” Captivated by the beauty, charm, sweet smiles, speech, and graceful glances of Krishna and Balarama, Kubjā applied the rich ointment to both. The ointment, glowing with a color distinct from their own, made their already radiant forms even more attractive. Pleased by her devotion, Krishna resolved to reward Kubjā. He wished to show the world the fruit of merely seeing him. Placing his feet upon hers and lifting her chin gently with his upward-turned fingers, Acyuta drew her up, straightening her bent body. By the miraculous touch of Mukunda, Kubjā was instantly transformed—her form became straight and beautiful, adorned with broad hips and full breasts, her face glowing with newfound grace. Endowed now with beauty, virtues, and generosity, Kubjā, her heart awakened with desire, caught Krishna’s upper garment and smiled, speaking with longing: “Come, hero, let us go to my house. I cannot bear to let you go. My heart is stirred by you—please, best of men, be gracious to me.” Krishna, smiling as Balarama and the townsfolk looked on, replied sweetly, “O lovely-browed one who captivates the hearts of men, I will come to your house. When our task is accomplished, you will be the refuge for us wanderers.” With these gentle words, Krishna took his leave and continued down the merchant’s road with Balarama. The people honored them, offering gifts, betel, garlands, and perfumes. The women of Mathura, unable to contain their excitement and agitation at seeing and remembering Krishna, lost all sense of themselves—their clothes, hair, and bangles slipped as if they were painted figures come to life. Desiring to see the famed bow, Krishna asked the townspeople its location, entered the hall, and beheld the wondrous weapon, resplendent like Indra’s own and vigilantly guarded. Though the guards tried to restrain him, Krishna, with playful might, seized the bow. Effortlessly, he strung it with his left hand before all eyes and, drawing it back, snapped it in two with a thunderous crack, as an elephant snaps a stalk of sugarcane. The sound of the breaking bow resounded through the sky, earth, and all directions, striking terror into Kaṃsa’s heart. Enraged, the guards and their followers rushed upon Krishna and Balarama, shouting to seize and kill them. Sensing their hostility, the brothers grew angry; seizing the broken fragments of the bow, they struck down and killed their assailants. Having vanquished Kaṃsa’s force, Krishna and Balarama joyfully left the hall and wandered through Mathura, marveling at the city’s splendor. The citizens, witnessing their valor, brilliance, and noble form, regarded them as foremost among the gods. As the two divine brothers roamed freely, the sun set. Krishna and Balarama, accompanied by their cowherd companions, returned from the city to their wagon for the night. Meanwhile, the gopīs, pained by separation from Mukunda, offered heartfelt blessings from afar in Mathura. Even goddess Lakshmi, beholding Krishna’s beauty, abandoned all others and desired only him. That night, with their feet washed and having eaten food mixed with milk, Krishna and Balarama rested happily, aware of Kaṃsa’s intentions. Kaṃsa, however, was deeply disturbed by news of the broken bow, the destruction of his guards, and the extraordinary deeds of Govinda and Rama. His mind was troubled by evil omens, both real and imagined, signaling impending doom. In reflections, he saw his own head missing or doubled; he saw duplicity in the stars, gaps in his shadow, could not hear his breath, and noticed gold in trees while his footprints vanished. In dreams, he embraced the dead, rode a donkey, felt sorrow, wore garlands of nalada, was smeared with oil, and wandered naked. Terrified by these omens, both waking and in dreams, Kaṃsa could not sleep, his mind gripped by fear. When night passed and the sun rose, Kaṃsa arranged a grand wrestling festival. The arena was splendidly decorated, drums and trumpets sounded, and platforms were adorned with garlands, flags, colorful cloths, and arches. Townspeople, villagers, and leaders among Brahmins and Kshatriyas entered according to their status, while the kings took their seats. Surrounded by his ministers and regional rulers, Kaṃsa sat upon the royal platform, his heart full of agitation. As trumpets and drums played, the wrestlers, proud and well adorned, entered with their teachers. Chanura, Mushtika, Kuta, Shala, and Toshala approached the stage, delighted by the sweet music. The cowherds, led by Nanda and summoned by the king of the Bhojas, brought their gifts and entered together, seated upon a single platform. Thus ended the forty-second chapter, “Description of the Wrestling Arena,” in the first half of the tenth book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa, the scripture of the supreme renunciates.