Captivated by the beauty, charm, sweet smiles, speech, and glances of Krishna and Balarama, the hunchbacked Kubjā lovingly applied her rich ointment to both brothers. With the ointment’s radiant hue, different from their own, adorning their bodies, the two divine youths appeared even more attractive, their forms enhanced by her offering. Pleased by Kubjā’s devotion, Krishna resolved to reward her. He wished to straighten her hunchbacked form, demonstrating the blessing that comes from beholding Him. Placing His feet gently upon hers, and lifting her chin with His upward-turned fingers, Acyuta drew her up, straightening her body. By Mukunda’s touch, Kubjā was instantly transformed—her body became straight and beautiful, with broad hips and full breasts, radiating exquisite feminine grace. Now endowed with beauty, virtues, and generosity, Kubjā, her heart awakened with desire, drew Krishna’s upper garment and smiled at Him. With longing, she spoke to Keśava: “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 their followers looked on, replied to her: “O lovely-browed one who captivates the hearts of men, I will come to your house. When our purpose is fulfilled, you will be the refuge for us wanderers.” With these sweet words, Krishna departed, walking along the merchant’s road with Balarama. The people honored them, bringing gifts of betel, garlands, and perfumes. The women of Mathura, agitated by seeing and remembering Krishna, lost awareness of themselves; their clothes, hair, and bangles slipped, as if they were painted figures coming to life. Krishna, asking the townspeople about the location of the bow, entered the hall and beheld the wondrous bow, shining with splendor like Indra’s own, guarded and worshipped by many men. Though restrained by the guards, Krishna forcefully took up the bow. With playful ease, he lifted it with his left hand, strung it in a moment before all eyes, and drew it back. The mighty Krishna broke the bow in the middle, as an elephant snaps a stalk of sugarcane. The sound of the bow’s breaking filled the sky, earth, and all directions; Kaṃsa, hearing it, was seized with fear. The angry guards and their followers rushed forward, shouting, “Catch him! Kill him!” Seeing their hostile intent, Balarama and Krishna became furious; taking up the broken fragments of the bow, they struck and killed the assailants. Having slain the force sent by Kaṃsa, the brothers joyfully left the hall and wandered about, observing the city’s splendor. The residents, witnessing their wondrous valor, brilliance, confidence, and divine form, regarded Krishna and Balarama as foremost among the gods. As the two wandered freely, the sun set, and accompanied by the cowherds, they returned from the city to their wagon. The gopis, distressed by separation from Mukunda, offered heartfelt blessings from Mathura. Gazing upon Krishna’s beauty, Lakshmi herself abandoned all others and desired only Him. That night, after their feet were washed and they had eaten food mixed with milk, Krishna and Balarama spent the night happily, aware of Kaṃsa’s intentions. Kaṃsa, hearing of the breaking of the bow, the destruction of his guards, and the extraordinary deeds of Govinda and Rama, was greatly disturbed. Sleepless and fearful, his mind troubled by evil omens, he described many signs, both real and imagined, foretelling death’s approach. He saw his own head missing in reflections, and when it appeared, it seemed doubled; he saw duplicity in the stars. He perceived gaps in his shadow, could not hear his own breath, saw gold in trees, and his footprints vanished. In his 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 dreaming, Kaṃsa could not sleep, his mind gripped by anxiety. When night had passed and the sun rose, Kaṃsa arranged a grand festival of wrestling. Men decorated the arena; drums and trumpets sounded; platforms were adorned with garlands, flags, cloths, and arches. Townspeople, villagers, and leaders of Brahmins and Kshatriyas entered according to their status, and the kings took their seats. Surrounded by his ministers, Kaṃsa sat upon the royal platform, among the regional rulers, his heart agitated. As trumpets and drums played, the wrestlers—well adorned and proud—entered with their teachers. Chanura, Mushtika, Kuta, Shala, and Toshala approached the stage, delighted by the sweet music. The cowherds led by Nanda, summoned by the king of the Bhojas, offered their gifts and entered together upon a single platform. Thus concludes 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. Śuka continued: Then Kṛṣṇa and Rāma, having purified themselves, O subduer of enemies, heard the booming sound of the wrestling drums and came to witness the spectacle. Approaching the entrance to the arena, Kṛṣṇa saw Kuvalayāpīḍa, the mighty elephant, stationed there, urged on by its keeper. Śauri, fastening his belt and brushing aside his curly locks, spoke to the elephant keeper in a voice deep as thunder: “O elephant keeper, give us passage and do not delay; otherwise, today I shall send you and your elephant to the abode of Yama.