The mighty elephant, Kuvalayāpīḍa, charged at Krishna with great force, seizing him tightly in its trunk. Yet Krishna, slipping free from its grasp, struck the beast and swiftly moved beneath its massive feet. The elephant, enraged, fixed its gaze and scent upon Keśava, reaching out with its trunk to seize him again, but Krishna eluded its hold once more. Then, seizing the elephant’s tail, Krishna dragged the huge creature for a distance of twenty-five bows, just as Garuḍa might playfully drag a serpent. Achyuta spun the elephant around, turning it left and right with ease, as a child might playfully spin a calf. Approaching head-on, Krishna struck the elephant with his hand, causing it to stagger and fall to the ground as he touched it step by step. The elephant, thinking itself fallen in play, rose swiftly and, maddened by anger, struck the earth with its tusks. Its strength now checked, the great beast, goaded on by its keepers and burning with fury, charged at Krishna in a final rage. As it rushed forward, Lord Madhusūdana seized its trunk with his hand and hurled it down to the ground. Stepping upon the fallen elephant like a lion at play, Krishna tore out one of its tusks and struck the elephant’s keeper with it. Leaving the slain elephant behind, Krishna entered the arena, holding the tusk on his shoulder, marked by drops of blood and ichor, his lotus-like face glowing with beads of sweat. Accompanied by a few cowherd boys, Baladeva and Janārdana entered the arena, each wielding one of the elephant’s tusks as a weapon. To the wrestlers, Krishna appeared as a thunderbolt; among men, he was the foremost of men; to the women, he was the very form of Cupid; to the cowherds, a beloved kinsman; to the wicked rulers, a chastiser; to his parents, a child; to King Bhoja, he was death itself; to the wise, he was the cosmic form; to the yogis, the Supreme Truth; and to the Vṛṣṇis, the Supreme Deity. Thus, Krishna and his elder brother entered the arena. Upon seeing Kuvalayāpīḍa slain and the two unconquerable brothers standing there, even the resolute Kaṁsa was deeply disturbed in mind. The two, mighty-armed and resplendent, entered the arena adorned in beautiful garments, ornaments, garlands, and cloth, shining like expert actors assuming supreme roles, captivating the hearts of all who beheld them. The citizens and country folk, seated on platforms, gazed upon the two Supreme Persons with delight surging in their eyes and faces, unable to drink in enough of their beauty. 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 all they had seen and heard of Krishna and Balarama—their beauty, virtues, sweetness, and boldness—as if reminded anew. They said, “These two are truly direct incarnations of the Lord, Hari, Nārāyaṇa himself, who have descended in part into the house of Vasudeva. He was born of Devakī, then brought to Gokula, where he dwelled in secret and grew up in the house of Nanda. By him, Pūtanā was slain, the demon Cakravat defeated, Arjuna the Guhyaka, Keśī, Dhenuka, and many others destroyed. He rescued the cows and cowherds from the forest fire, subdued Kāliya the serpent, and humbled proud Indra. For seven days, he held up the great mountain with one hand, protecting Gokula from rain, wind, and thunderbolts. The cowherd women, always gazing upon his smiling, glancing face, overcame all hardship and fatigue with joy. By him, the illustrious Yadu dynasty, already famous, will attain even greater prosperity, fame, and greatness under his protection. And this is his elder brother, the glorious Rāma, lotus-eyed, who slew Pralamba, Vatsaka, Baka, and others.” As the people spoke thus among themselves and the musical instruments resounded, the wrestler Cāṇūra addressed Krishna and Rāma. “O sons of Nanda, O Rāma, you are famed as heroes and skilled in wrestling, and have been summoned by the king, who is eager to see your prowess. When the king’s wishes are fulfilled, the people prosper in thought, word, and deed; otherwise, it is not so. The cowherds and herders, always joyful, would play at wrestling in the forests while tending the cows. Therefore, let us do what pleases the king, for when the king, who embodies all beings, is satisfied, all creatures are pleased with us.” Hearing this, Krishna spoke words suited to the time and place, welcoming 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 by you. Therefore, you two must wrestle with the strong; there is no evasion here. Let Muṣṭika contend with Balarama, and let me, O descendant of Vṛṣṇi, match my strength with yours.” Thus ends the forty-third chapter, ‘The Slaying of Kuvalayāpīḍa,’ in the first half of the tenth book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa, the scripture for the paramahamsas. Śuka continued: With his resolve honored, Lord Madhusūdana, together with the son of Rohini, approached Cāṇūra and Muṣṭika. Locking hands with hands and feet with feet, they forcefully dragged each other, each eager for victory. They struck one another with their fists, knees, and heads, as well as with their chests and shoulders. With circling, feints, embraces, throws, advances, and retreats, they continually countered each other, the contest fierce and unrelenting.