The mood in the great arena was tense, as the people of Mathura gathered to witness the wrestling matches arranged by King Kamsa. The king’s attendants, seeking to please their ruler—who was regarded as the very embodiment of all beings—urged one another, “Let us do what pleases the king, for when the king is satisfied, all creatures are pleased with us.” Hearing this, Krishna, ever wise and attentive to time and circumstance, spoke words that welcomed the challenge of wrestling—something 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,” Krishna affirmed, honoring the customs of the land. “But we are only boys,” Krishna continued, “and it is proper for us to play with those of equal strength. Let the wrestling match be fair, so that the assembly of wrestlers may not find fault with us.” Chanura, the powerful wrestler, responded, “You are neither a child nor a youth; you are the foremost among the strong. By your playful might alone, you slew the great elephant who bore the strength of a thousand.” He insisted, “Therefore, you two must wrestle with the strong; there is no evasion here. Let Mushtika contend with Balarama, and let me, O descendant of Vrishni, match my strength with yours.” Thus ended the chapter of Kuvalayapida’s slaying, and the scene shifted to the wrestling arena, where the next dramatic events would unfold. Śuka, the sage, continued the tale: With Krishna’s resolve honored, the Lord Madhusudana, along with Balarama, the son of Rohini, approached Chanura and Mushtika in the arena. They locked hands and feet, forcefully dragging each other about, each eager for victory. Fists, knees, heads, chests, and shoulders were all used as they struck one another, the contest fierce and unyielding. They circled, feinted, embraced, threw, advanced, and retreated—constantly countering each other’s moves. With lifting, shaking, and holding, each sought to overpower the other, exerting their full strength in a dazzling display. As this contest of strength and weakness unfolded, the women assembled in the gallery, watching with anxious compassion. They whispered among themselves, “Alas, what great injustice is this, that such a contest is allowed before the king and his assembly! How can these mighty wrestlers, with bodies hard as thunderbolts and resembling mountain peaks, be matched against these two delicate youths, not yet come to full manhood?” They lamented, “Surely, this assembly will incur a breach of righteousness. Where unrighteousness arises, one should not remain. A wise person should not enter such a gathering, remembering the faults of its members; whether he speaks or remains silent, even an ignorant man incurs sin.” Their eyes turned to Krishna: “See Krishna’s lotus-like face, covered with sweat from exertion as he faces his enemy, like a lotus bud moistened with water. And why do you not see Rama’s face, with copper-red eyes, adorned with a smile and the flush of anger, shining as he confronts Mushtika?” The women’s thoughts drifted to the pastures of Vraja: “Blessed indeed are the lands of Vraja, where this ancient Person, concealed in human form and adorned with garlands of forest flowers, tends the cows with Balarama, playing his flute, his feet worshipped by the beloved of the mountain lord, delighting in various pastimes. What austerities did the cowherd women perform, that they could see his form—the very essence of beauty, ever fresh, peerless, and unique—drinking it in with their eyes?” They praised the fortune of the women of Vraja, whose minds were ever devoted to the mighty Lord, who sang of him with voices choked by tears as they went about their daily tasks—milking cows, churning butter, sweeping floors, or swinging their children. Morning and evening, as Krishna left for the pastures or returned with the cows, playing his flute, the blessed young women would rush to the path to catch a glimpse of his smiling face and compassionate glances. As the women thus spoke, Krishna, the master of yoga, resolved in his mind to slay his enemy. Meanwhile, the parents of Krishna and Balarama, hearing the fearful words of the women, were overcome with distress and grief for their sons, unaware of their true strength. The wrestling continued with all its techniques and fury—Acyuta and Chanura, Bala and Mushtika—each fighting with all their might. Chanura’s body was battered by Krishna’s blows, harsh as thunderbolts, until he became exhausted. Like a hawk, Chanura leapt up and struck Krishna on the chest with both fists, but Krishna stood unmoved, like an elephant struck by a garland. Seizing Chanura by the arms, Krishna spun him around many times and dashed him violently to the ground. Chanura’s life nearly gone, his hair and garland scattered, he fell like Indra’s banner collapsing. In the same way, Mushtika was struck forcefully by Balarama’s mighty fist and then severely hit with his palm. Blood pouring from his mouth, Mushtika trembled and collapsed, his life departed, like a tree felled by the wind. Then Balarama, best among fighters, effortlessly slew Kuta with a contemptuous blow of his left fist. At that very moment, Shala, his head struck by Krishna’s foot, and Toshalaka, both split in two, fell to the ground. With Chanura, Mushtika, Kuta, Shala, and Toshalaka slain, the remaining wrestlers, desiring to save their lives, fled the arena. Krishna and Balarama then gathered their cowherd friends and played joyfully together, dancing to the sound of musical instruments, their anklets ringing in celebration. All the people rejoiced at the mighty deed of Rama and Krishna, and the foremost brahmanas and virtuous souls exclaimed, “Well done! Well done!”—all except for Kamsa, who was thrown into agitation. The king of the Bhojas, seeing his best wrestlers slain, silenced his musicians and, in anger, commanded: “Expel from the city those two wicked sons of Vasudeva; seize the wealth of the cowherds; bind Nanda, that evil-minded man. Let Vasudeva, that wicked-minded one, be killed at once, along with the best of horses; and Ugrasena, my father, who sides with the enemy, along with his followers.” Thus, the arena became the stage for both the triumph of righteousness and the fury of a desperate king, as destiny moved inexorably forward.