As Krishna approached the entrance to the grand arena, he found his way barred by the formidable elephant Kuvalayāpīḍa, who stood there at the command of its keeper. With firm resolve, Krishna fastened his belt and brushed aside his curly locks. His voice, deep as thunder, rang out as he addressed the elephant keeper: “O elephant keeper, grant us passage without delay. Otherwise, today I shall send both you and your elephant to the abode of Yama, the lord of death.” Stung by this rebuke, the enraged keeper goaded the furious elephant—an animal as terrifying as death itself—against Krishna. The lordly beast charged, seizing Krishna forcefully with its trunk. Yet, Krishna slipped from its grasp, struck the elephant, and moved nimbly beneath its massive feet. The elephant, incensed and intent on Krishna, tried again to capture him with its trunk, but Krishna eluded it with ease. Then, displaying playful power, Krishna seized the elephant’s tail and dragged the mighty beast for a distance of twenty-five bows’ length, as effortlessly as Garuḍa, the divine eagle, might playfully drag a serpent. Krishna spun the elephant to the left and right, turning it about as a child would a calf. Approaching head-on, Krishna struck the beast with his hand, causing it to stagger and fall as he moved alongside it step by step. The elephant, thinking itself fallen, quickly rose in play and, in its rage, struck the earth with its tusks. Its strength failing, the great beast, urged on by its keepers, charged Krishna again in a fury. As it rushed upon him, Krishna—Madhusūdana—seized its trunk with his hand and threw the elephant down with a mighty heave. Stepping upon the fallen elephant as a lion might in sport, Krishna tore out one of its tusks and, wielding it as a weapon, struck down the elephant keeper. Leaving the slain elephant behind, Krishna entered the arena, the tusk resting on his shoulder, his lotus face radiant with beads of sweat, marked by drops of blood and ichor. At his side was Balarāma, and together, accompanied by a few cowherds, the two brothers entered the arena, each bearing an elephant’s tusk as their weapon. To the wrestlers, Krishna appeared as a thunderbolt incarnate; among men, he was the foremost of all; 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 cherished child; to King Bhoja, he was death itself; to the wise, the personification of the cosmic form; to the yogis, the Supreme Truth; and to the Vṛṣṇis, the Supreme Deity. Thus known in many ways, Krishna entered the arena with his elder brother. O King, seeing Kuvalayāpīḍa slain and those two unconquerable brothers striding into the arena, even the resolute Kaṁsa was greatly disturbed in mind. Krishna and Balarāma, their mighty arms adorned with various garments, ornaments, garlands, and cloth, shone brilliantly as they entered, like expert actors assuming supreme roles, captivating the hearts of all who beheld them. The citizens and country folk, seated on high platforms, gazed upon the two with delight surging in their eyes and faces. Their eyes could not drink in enough of the brothers’ radiant faces; it was as if they drank with their eyes, tasted with their tongues, smelled with their noses, and embraced with their arms. They spoke among themselves, recalling what they had seen and heard of the brothers’ beauty, virtues, sweetness, and boldness, as if reminded anew. 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, where, dwelling in secret, he grew up in the house of Nanda. By him, Pūtanā was brought to her end, the demon Cakravat was slain, Arjuna the Guhyaka, Keśī, Dhenuka, and others like them were destroyed. He rescued the cows and herders from the forest fire, subdued Kāliya the serpent, and humbled Indra of his pride. For seven days, with one hand, he held up the great mountain, protecting Gokula from rain, wind, and thunderbolts. The cowherd women, always seeing his smiling, glancing face, crossed over all fatigue and hardship with joy. By him, the illustrious Yadu dynasty, already renowned, will attain greater prosperity, fame, and greatness under his protection. And this is his elder brother, the glorious Rāma, lotus-eyed, by whom Pralamba was slain, as well as Vatsaka, Baka, and others.” While the people thus spoke among themselves and the instruments resounded, the wrestler Cāṇūra addressed Krishna and Balarāma: “O sons of Nanda, O Rāma, you two are famed as heroes, skilled in wrestling, and have been summoned by the king, eager to see you. When the king’s wishes are fulfilled, the people surely attain welfare by thought, deed, and word; the opposite brings misfortune. The cowherds and herders, always joyful, would openly play at wrestling in the forests while tending the cows. Therefore, O friends, let us do what pleases the king, for when the king, who embodies all beings, is satisfied, all creatures are pleased with us.” Hearing these words, Krishna replied with speech appropriate to the time and place, gladly accepting the challenge of wrestling, which he himself desired. “We, the subjects of King Bhoja, and we forest-dwellers as well, will always do what pleases him; that is our greatest favor. We are boys, and will play with those of equal strength as is proper; let the wrestling match be fair, so that the assembly of wrestlers may not find fault with us.” But Cāṇūra replied, “You are neither a child nor a youth; you are the foremost among the strong, for by your play the mighty elephant, who bore the strength of a thousand, was slain. Therefore, you two must wrestle with the strong; there is no evasion here. Let Muṣṭika contend with Balarāma, and let me, O descendant of Vṛṣṇi, match my strength with yours.” Thus concludes the forty-third chapter, entitled “The Slaying of Kuvalayāpīḍa,” in the first half of the tenth book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa, the scripture for the paramahaṁsas.