As the women in the audience spoke anxiously among themselves, O best of the Bhāratas, the Lord Hari, master of yoga, resolved within his mind to destroy his enemy. The fearful words of the women reached the ears of the parents, who, overwhelmed by affection and grief for their sons, suffered deeply for their two boys, unaware of the true extent of their strength. Meanwhile, Acyuta and his opponent engaged in wrestling, employing every technique and move, just as Bala and Muṣṭika had done before. The powerful blows from the Lord’s limbs, as harsh as thunderbolts, struck Cāṇūra repeatedly, battering his body until exhaustion overcame him. With the swiftness of a hawk, Cāṇūra leapt up, clenched his fists, and angrily struck Vāsudeva, the Lord, on the chest. Yet Kṛṣṇa did not move from the blow, standing firm as an elephant struck by a mere garland. Seizing Cāṇūra by the arms, Hari spun him around again and again, then dashed him violently to the ground. His life nearly gone, his hair and garland scattered, Cāṇūra fell like Indra’s banner collapsing to earth. In the same way, Muṣṭika was struck with great force by the mighty fist of Balabhadra, and then again with his palm. Blood poured from Muṣṭika’s mouth as he trembled, tormented; his life departed, and he fell to the ground like a tree felled by the wind. Then Rāma, the foremost among fighters, effortlessly slew Kūṭa, who had come forward, with a contemptuous blow of his left fist. At that very moment, Śala, struck on the head by Kṛṣṇa’s foot, and Tośalaka, both split in two, fell down as well. With Cāṇūra, Muṣṭika, Kūṭa, Śala, and Tośalaka all slain, the remaining wrestlers, desperate to save their lives, fled the arena. Gathering their cowherd friends, Kṛṣṇa and Rāma played joyfully, dancing to the sound of musical instruments, their anklets ringing merrily. All the people rejoiced at the deeds of Rāma and Kṛṣṇa. The foremost brāhmaṇas and the virtuous exclaimed, “Well done! Well done!”—all except Kaṃsa, who was greatly agitated. Seeing his best wrestlers slain, the king of the Bhojas halted his musicians and commanded in anger: “Expel from the city those two wicked sons of Vasudeva! Seize the wealth of the cowherds! Bind Nanda, that evil-minded man. Kill Vasudeva at once, along with the best of horses! And slay Ugrasena, my father, and his followers, for siding with the enemy!” As Kaṃsa thus raged and boasted, the imperishable Lord, filled with anger, leapt swiftly and mounted the high platform. Seeing death itself approaching in the form of Kṛṣṇa, Kaṃsa sprang up from his seat, seizing his shield and sword. He moved about swiftly, sword in hand, like a hawk circling in the sky. But the Lord, fierce and irresistible, seized him forcefully, as Garuḍa would seize a serpent. Grabbing Kaṃsa by the hair, his crown shaking, Kṛṣṇa threw him down from the high platform into the arena, and then, the lotus-naveled Lord, refuge of the universe, fell upon him from above. Hari dragged Kaṃsa’s lifeless body across the ground as one might drag an elephant, while the world looked on in shock. A great cry of “Alas! Alas!” rose from the people, O King. Kaṃsa, whose mind was always anxious—whether eating, speaking, moving, sleeping, or breathing—had always seen before him the Lord with the discus, and thus, at death, attained that very form, so difficult to obtain. Kaṃsa’s eight brothers—Kaṅka, Nyagrodhaka, and the rest—rushed forward, enraged and seeking revenge. But Rohiṇī’s son, Baladeva, struck them down with great speed, wielding his club like a lion felling wild beasts. Drums resounded in the sky, and the divine beings, led by Brahmā and Śiva, rejoiced. They showered flowers upon the Lord, praised him, and the women danced in celebration. Yet the wives of the slain, O great king, stricken with grief, approached the bodies of their beloveds, beating their heads and weeping, their eyes filled with tears. Embracing their husbands as they lay upon the heroes’ beds, the women lamented in sweet voices, again and again pouring out 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, this is the source of creation and dissolution; and as the protector, one who disregards this never attains happiness anywhere.” Śuka said: The Lord, creator of the worlds, comforted the royal women and performed the customary funeral rites for the slain, as is proper in the world. Then, releasing his mother and father from their bonds, Kṛṣṇa and Rāma bowed to them, touching their feet with their heads. Devakī and Vasudeva, recognizing their sons as the Lords of the universe, received their reverence and embraced them without fear. Śuka continued: The Supreme Person, seeing that his parents’ desires had been fulfilled, spread his own divine illusion, saying, “Do not grieve,” thus bewildering the minds of the 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.” He said, “O Father, though you and Mother always longed for us, your sons, we could never spend our childhood, boyhood, or youth with you. Because fate prevented us, we could not dwell near you; the happiness that children, cherished in their father’s house, usually enjoy, we did not experience. Even if a mortal lives a hundred years, he cannot repay his parents from whom his body, the source of all attainments, is born and nourished.