In the sacred land of Vraja, the women were truly blessed. Their hearts were wholly devoted to the mighty Lord, and even as they went about their daily tasks—milking cows, gathering dung, churning butter, smearing floors, swinging their children, or sweeping—they would sing of him, their voices choked with tears of devotion. Morning and evening, whenever he left for the pastures or returned, playing his enchanting flute, these fortunate young women would hurry to the path, eager to glimpse his smiling face and receive his compassionate glances. As the women spoke in this way, the Lord Hari, master of yoga, resolved in his mind to slay his enemy. Hearing the fearful words of the women, the parents of Kṛṣṇa and Balarāma, overwhelmed by affection and grief for their sons, suffered greatly, unaware of their sons’ true strength. The wrestling match commenced. Using all the techniques of wrestling, Acyuta (Kṛṣṇa) and his opponent Cāṇūra fought fiercely, just as Balabhadra (Balarāma) battled Muṣṭika. The blows from the Lord’s limbs were as harsh as thunderbolts, and Cāṇūra’s body was battered again and again, leaving him exhausted. With the speed of a hawk, Cāṇūra leapt up, clenched his fists, and struck Vāsudeva (Kṛṣṇa) angrily on the chest. Yet Kṛṣṇa was unmoved, like an elephant struck by a garland. Seizing Cāṇūra by the arms, Hari spun him around repeatedly and dashed him violently to the ground. Cāṇūra’s hair and garland scattered, and he fell like Indra’s banner collapsing, his life nearly gone. In the same way, Muṣṭika was struck forcefully by Balabhadra’s fist and then severely hit with his palm. Muṣṭika trembled, blood pouring from his mouth, tormented; his life departed, and he collapsed like a tree felled by the wind. Then Rāma, the best among fighters, effortlessly slew Kūṭa, who had approached, with a contemptuous blow of his left fist. At that moment, Śala, his head struck by Kṛṣṇa’s foot, and Tośalaka, both split in two, fell down. With Cāṇūra, Muṣṭika, Kūṭa, Śala, and Tośalaka slain, the remaining wrestlers, fearing for their lives, fled. Kṛṣṇa and Balarāma gathered their cowherd friends and played joyfully as musical instruments sounded and their anklets rang while they danced. All the people rejoiced at the deeds of Rāma and Kṛṣṇa, except for Kaṃsa; the foremost brāhmaṇas and the virtuous exclaimed, “Well done! Well done!” When the best of the wrestlers were slain and Kaṃsa, king of the Bhojas, was agitated, he stopped his musicians and spoke harshly: “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.” As Kaṃsa boasted thus, the imperishable Lord, enraged, leapt up swiftly and mounted the high platform. Seeing him approach—death itself for him—Kaṃsa sprang up from his seat, seized his shield and sword, and moved about swiftly, like a hawk circling in the sky. But the Lord, whose energy was irresistible and fierce, seized Kaṃsa forcefully, as Garuḍa would seize a serpent. Grabbing him by the hair, his crown shaking, Kṛṣṇa threw him down from the high platform onto the arena. The lotus-naveled Lord, refuge of the universe, fell upon him from above, and dragged his lifeless body across the ground, as one would drag an elephant, while all the world looked on. A great cry of “Alas! Alas!” arose from all the people. Kaṃsa, whose mind was always anxious—whether eating, speaking, moving, sleeping, or breathing—saw before him the Lord wielding the discus, and thus attained that very form, which is difficult to obtain. Kaṃsa’s eight brothers—Kaṅka, Nyagrodhaka, and the rest—rushed forward, enraged, seeking to avenge their brother’s death. Then Rohiṇī’s son, Balarāma, struck them down swiftly with his club, as a lion strikes down beasts. Drums resounded in the sky, and the divine powers led by Brahmā and Śiva, delighted, showered flowers upon Kṛṣṇa and Balarāma, praised them, and the women danced. The wives of the slain, afflicted with grief, approached, beating their heads, their eyes filled with tears. Embracing their husbands as they lay upon the heroes’ beds, the women lamented in sweet voices, again and again releasing their sorrow: “Alas, lord, beloved, knower of righteousness, compassionate protector of the helpless! With you slain, we and our children and households are destroyed. Deprived of you, our husband, this city, O best of men, is bereft of beauty, just as we are, with all festivals and auspiciousness ended. You have committed a grievous wrong against innocent beings; therefore, O slayer of creatures, who, having brought us to this state, can find peace? For all beings here, this indeed is the source of creation and dissolution; and as the protector, one who disregards this never attains happiness anywhere.” Śuka then said: The Lord, creator of the worlds, comforted the royal women and performed for the slain the customary funeral rites. Afterwards, he released his mother and father from their bonds, and he and Rāma bowed to them, touching their feet with their heads. Devakī and Vasudeva, recognizing their sons as Lords of the universe, embraced them without fear after receiving their reverence. Śuka continued: The Supreme Person, understanding that his parents’ desires had been fulfilled, spread his own deluding power, saying, “Do not grieve,” bewildering the minds of people. Approaching his parents with his elder brother, the best of the Sātvatas, he bowed respectfully and, to please them, addressed them affectionately as “Mother” and “Father.” “O Father,” he said, “though you and Mother always longed for us, your sons, we were never able to spend our childhood, boyhood, or youth with you.