Kamsa, the king, was gripped by a relentless, sleepless fear. His mind churned with anxiety, troubled by ominous signs—some real, some conjured by his own dread—each one seeming to announce the approach of death. In his waking hours, he saw strange, unsettling visions: his own reflection appeared headless, or at times, doubled; even the stars in the night sky seemed to him to display duplicity and disorder. He noticed gaps in his shadow, could not hear the sound of his own breath, and saw golden hues shimmering on trees where none should be. Even his footprints seemed to vanish as he walked, deepening his unease. His dreams offered no respite. Night after night, he found himself embracing the dead, riding a donkey, weighed down by sorrow, adorned with garlands of nalada grass, his body smeared with oil, wandering naked and exposed. These terrible omens, whether seen in dreams or in waking life, filled Kamsa with terror at the thought of his impending death. Sleep eluded him entirely, and his mind remained agitated, unable to find peace. As the long, anxious night finally gave way to morning and the sun rose, Kamsa resolved to distract himself and the people with a grand spectacle: he ordered a magnificent festival of wrestling to be held. The arena was lavishly decorated; drums and trumpets resounded through the air, and every platform was adorned with garlands, flags, colorful cloths, and splendid arches. People from the city and countryside, along with the leaders of the Brahmins and Kshatriyas, entered the arena according to their rank, each king taking his appointed seat. Kamsa himself sat high upon the royal platform, surrounded by his ministers and the assembled rulers of the land. Yet, even amid this grandeur, his heart remained troubled and restless. The sound of trumpets and drums announced the arrival of the wrestlers, who entered the arena, proud and splendidly adorned, accompanied by their teachers. Among them were the renowned wrestlers Chanura, Mushtika, Kuta, Shala, and Toshala, who approached the stage, delighted by the music that filled the air. Meanwhile, the cowherds led by Nanda, having been summoned by the king of the Bhojas, came forward bearing their gifts and entered together onto a single platform. Thus was set the scene for the great event—the wrestling arena prepared and filled with anticipation. At this point, Śuka continued the tale. Kṛṣṇa and Balarāma, having purified themselves, heard the booming sound of the wrestling drums. Drawn by the commotion, they made their way toward the arena. As they approached the entrance, Kṛṣṇa saw the mighty elephant Kuvalayāpīḍa stationed there, its keeper urging it on as a living barrier. Kṛṣṇa, his belt fastened and his curly locks swept aside, 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." Stung by this challenge, the elephant keeper, enraged, incited the furious Kuvalayāpīḍa against Kṛṣṇa. The beast, as dreadful as Death itself, charged forward and seized Kṛṣṇa forcefully with its trunk. Yet Kṛṣṇa slipped from its grasp, struck it, and darted beneath its massive feet. The elephant, wild with anger, fixed its gaze and scent upon Keśava, trying again to seize him, but again Kṛṣṇa escaped. With effortless strength, Kṛṣṇa grabbed the elephant's tail and dragged the mighty creature a great distance, as Garuḍa might playfully drag a serpent. Turning the elephant left and right, he spun it around as a child would spin a calf. Then, confronting the beast head-on, Kṛṣṇa struck it with his hand, causing the elephant to stagger and fall, step by step. The elephant, thinking itself bested, rose swiftly and, in its fury, struck the earth with its tusks. Its strength failing, but still urged on by its keepers, the great beast charged at Kṛṣṇa in a final rage. As it rushed upon him, Kṛṣṇa seized its trunk with his hand and hurled it to the ground. Stepping upon the fallen elephant as a lion would upon its prey, he tore out one of its tusks and struck the elephant keeper with it. Leaving behind the dead elephant, Kṛṣṇa entered the arena, the tusk resting on his shoulder, his body marked with drops of blood and ichor, while his lotus-like face glowed with beads of sweat. Balarāma and Kṛṣṇa, accompanied by a few cowherds, entered the wrestling arena, each wielding an elephant's tusk as a weapon. To those assembled, Kṛṣṇa appeared in many forms: to the wrestlers, he was as formidable as a thunderbolt; among men, the foremost of men; to the women, he was the very embodiment of Cupid; to the cowherds, a beloved kinsman; to the wicked rulers, a chastiser; to his parents, a dear child; to King Kamsa, he was death itself; to the wise, he appeared as the cosmic form; to yogis, he was the Supreme Truth; and to the Vṛṣṇis, their Supreme Deity. Thus, Kṛṣṇa entered the arena with his elder brother, Balarāma. Upon seeing the mighty Kuvalayāpīḍa slain and those two unconquerable youths entering, even the resolute Kamsa was deeply shaken. Kṛṣṇa and Balarāma, their mighty arms adorned with splendid garments, ornaments, garlands, and cloth, shone as they entered the arena, like expert actors assuming the highest roles, captivating all hearts with their radiance. The citizens and villagers, seated upon their platforms, gazed at the two brothers with eyes full of wonder and delight. No matter how long they looked, their eyes could not be satisfied by the sight. It was as if they drank with their eyes, tasted with their tongues, smelled with their noses, and embraced with their arms the beauty before them. As they spoke among themselves, recalling all they had seen and heard of Kṛṣṇa and Balarāma—their beauty, virtues, sweetness, and fearless deeds—it was as if their admiration was renewed afresh. They said to one another, "These two are indeed direct incarnations of the Lord, Hari, Nārāyaṇa himself, who have descended in part into the house of Vasudeva. He was truly born of Devakī, then brought to Gokula, and, dwelling there in secret all this time, grew up in the house of Nanda." They remembered: "By him, Pūtanā the demoness was brought to her end; Cakravat was slain; Arjuna the Guhyaka, Keśī, Dhenuka, and many others of that kind were destroyed. He rescued the cows and their herders from the raging forest fire; subdued the serpent Kāliya; and humbled the pride of Indra. For seven days, with a single hand, he held aloft the great mountain, thus protecting Gokula from rain, wind, and thunderbolts." So did the people marvel, as Kṛṣṇa and Balarāma, shining like twin suns, entered the wrestling arena, the focus of all eyes and the fulfillment of all hopes.