When Krishna received a message filled with scorn and threats, he was told, “You will lie slain, your face covered, surrounded by vultures, crows, and jackals; then, your only refuge will be among the dogs.” The messenger faithfully relayed all these harsh words to his master. Upon hearing them, Krishna mounted his chariot and set out for Kashi. Meanwhile, Paundraka, a formidable warrior and charioteer, learned of Krishna’s approach. Without delay, he left the city, bringing with him two divisions of troops. The king of Kashi, Paundraka’s ally, followed close behind, leading three divisions of his own. As they gathered, the king of Kashi beheld Paundraka, who had adorned himself in a remarkable fashion: he bore the conch, discus, mace, bow, and the mark of Śrīvatsa, was decorated with the Kaustubha gem and a garland of forest flowers, and was clad in yellow silk. His banner displayed Garuda; his head was crowned with priceless jewels, and he shone with makara-shaped earrings. Seeing Paundraka dressed as an imitation of himself—like an actor upon a stage—Hari, Krishna, could not help but laugh heartily. But the enemy kings did not pause; they attacked Hari with a rain of weapons: spears, maces, clubs, javelins, lances, darts, swords, sabres, and arrows. Krishna, however, struck back with force, wielding his mace, sword, discus, and arrows against the armies of Paundraka and the king of Kashi—against their elephants, chariots, horses, and infantry—just as fire at the end of an age consumes all living beings. The battlefield became a dreadful sight, covered with the bodies of elephants, horses, camels, donkeys, and men, broken and scattered by the warriors. It resembled a cremation ground, a place of delight for the brave, and as fearsome as the playground of the Lord of beings. Then Krishna spoke to Paundraka: “Ho, Paundraka! Since you have sent me these words through your messenger, I will now relinquish these weapons to you. I will abandon the name you have falsely claimed as your own, O fool. Today, if I do not desire battle, I will seek refuge with you.” Having spoken thus, Krishna struck Paundraka with sharp arrows, deprived him of his chariot, and finally severed his head with a chariot wheel, as Indra would cleave a mountain with his thunderbolt. In the same way, Krishna cut off the head of the king of Kashi with his arrows and cast it down in the city of Kashi, as the wind drops a lotus bud. Having thus slain the envious Paundraka and his ally, Krishna—Hari—returned to Dvaraka, as the perfected beings sang nectar-like tales of his glory. Paundraka, who had constantly meditated on the Blessed Lord, was freed from all bonds, and, bearing the form of Hari, became absorbed in Him. When the severed head of the king of Kashi, still adorned with earrings, was found at the royal gate, the people wondered in amazement, “What is this? Whose face could this be?” Recognizing it as their king’s head, his queens, sons, relatives, and citizens wailed in grief, “Alas, the king is slain! Our protector is gone!” Sudakshina, the king’s son, performed the funeral rites for his father. Filled with resolve, he vowed, “I will destroy my father’s killer and thus honor my father.” With this determination, Sudakshina and his priest worshipped Maheshvara—Shiva—with supreme concentration. Pleased in Avimukta, the Lord granted Sudakshina a boon; he asked for the means to slay his father’s killer. Maheshvara instructed him: “Worship the southern fire together with Brahmins and the officiating priest, performing the ritual of sorcery; that fire, surrounded by spirits—when employed against one who is unrighteous, will accomplish your intent.” Thus instructed, Sudakshina performed the sorcery rite against Krishna, observing the required vows. From the fire-pit arose a terrifying embodied fire, with blazing copper-red hair and beard, and eyes streaming flames. It had fierce fangs, a dreadful brow, a harsh mouth, licked its lips with its own tongue, and was naked, shaking a blazing trident and making a rattling sound. With feet as large as palm trees, shaking the earth, it advanced, surrounded by spirits, burning all directions as it headed for Dvaraka. Seeing this sorcerous fire approaching, the inhabitants of Dvaraka were seized with terror, like deer trapped in a forest fire. In their fear, they rushed to Bhagavan, who was playing dice in the assembly hall, and pleaded, “Save us, O Lord of the three worlds, from the fire burning the city!” Hearing their distress and seeing his people’s fear, Krishna, the refuge of all, smiled and reassured them, “Do not fear; I am your protector.” The all-pervading Lord, witness within and without all, recognized the sorcerous act of Maheshvara and, to thwart it, ordered his discus, Sudarshana, which stood at his side. Sudarshana, blazing like ten million suns and shining with the radiance of the fire at dissolution, illuminated the sky, the directions, and the earth by its own brilliance. The weapon of Mukunda subdued the fiery being. O King, the fiery being created by the ritual was struck down by the power of Krishna’s discus, broken and turned back, its face defeated. Entering Varanasi, it consumed Sudakshina and his priests—the very sorcery they had performed turned upon them. Then, the discus of Vishnu entered Varanasi itself, with its palaces, assembly halls, and markets, crowded with gates, towers, granaries, treasuries, elephants, horses, chariots, and stores of grain. Having burned all of Varanasi, the Sudarshana discus returned once again to Krishna’s side, the doer of flawless deeds. Whoever, with focused mind, recites or hears this account of the exploits of the praiseworthy Lord is freed from all sins. At this point, the king asked, “Once more I wish to hear of the wondrous deeds of Rama, the immeasurable and infinite Lord—what else did that master accomplish?” Shuka replied, “There was a certain monkey named Dvivida, a friend of Naraka, a counselor of Sugriva, and the valiant brother of Mainda. Seeking to avenge his friend, Dvivida brought ruin to the land—he set fire to cities, villages, settlements, and cowherds’ hamlets. Sometimes, uprooting mountains, he crushed regions with them—especially in Anarta, where the slayer of his friend, Hari, resided. At times, standing in the middle of the ocean, he would lift up its waters with his arms and submerge lands along the shore, for he possessed the strength of ten thousand elephants.