Frightened and desperate, the people rushed to Bhagavan Krishna, who was calmly playing dice in the great assembly hall. Their voices trembled as they cried out, “O Lord of the three worlds, save us! A terrible fire is consuming our city!” Hearing their distress and seeing the fear in his people, Krishna—the refuge of all—smiled gently and reassured them: “Do not be afraid. I am your protector.” Krishna, the all-pervading Lord who witnesses everything within and without, immediately understood that this fire was no ordinary blaze—it was a sorcerous creation, conjured by Maheshvara. To counter this threat, Krishna commanded his divine discus, Sudarshana, which stood ever ready at his side. Suddenly, the Sudarshana discus blazed forth, its brilliance rivaling ten million suns, radiating with the intensity of the fire at the end of the world. Its dazzling light illuminated the sky, all directions, and the very earth itself. With this overwhelming power, the weapon of Mukunda subdued the fiery being. O King, that fiery entity, born from a ritual, was struck down by the might of Krishna’s discus. Defeated, it turned back in shame and entered Varanasi. There, it consumed Sudakshina and his priests—the very ones who had performed the abhicara, or sorcery. Thus, their own dark ritual turned upon them. Afterward, Sudarshana, the discus of Vishnu, swept into Varanasi. The city, with its palaces, assembly halls, bustling markets, grand gates, towers, granaries, treasuries, elephants, horses, chariots, and stores of grain, was all set ablaze. Having reduced Varanasi to ashes, the Sudarshana discus returned and once again stood by Krishna’s side, the Lord of flawless deeds. Whoever, with a focused mind, recites or hears this account of the praiseworthy Lord’s exploits is freed from all sins. At this point, King Parikshit spoke: “O wise Shuka, I wish to hear more of the wondrous deeds of Rama, the immeasurable and infinite Lord. What other feats did that great master accomplish?” Shuka replied: “There was once a powerful monkey named Dvivida. He was a friend of Naraka, a counselor to Sugriva, and the valiant brother of Mainda. Seeking vengeance for his slain friend, Dvivida brought devastation to the land. He set fire to cities, villages, settlements, and the hamlets of cowherds. Sometimes, he would uproot mountains and hurl them upon regions—especially in Anarta, where Hari, the slayer of his friend, resided. At other times, Dvivida would stand in the middle of the ocean, lifting its waters with his mighty arms and flooding the coastal lands. Such was his strength that it equaled ten thousand elephants. He destroyed the hermitages of great sages, breaking their trees and, in his wickedness, defiling their sacred fires with urine and excrement. Arrogant and cruel, he seized men and women, casting them into mountain caves and valleys, then crushing them with rocks as a craftsman crushes insects. As Dvivida continued his rampage, even violating noble women, he one day heard sweet singing coming from Mount Raivataka. Drawn by the sound, he approached and saw Rama—Balarāma, Lord of the Yadus—adorned with a garland of lotuses, radiant in every limb, surrounded by groups of women. Rama was singing, his eyes unsteady from drinking Varuni, his form shining like a mighty elephant in rut. The wicked monkey climbed a tree nearby, shaking its branches and making loud noises to draw attention to himself. The young women, playful and fond of laughter, who were companions of Balarāma, burst into giggles at the monkey’s antics. Dvivida mocked them, throwing clods of earth and other things, and even shamelessly displaying his backside—all while Rama watched. Enraged, Balarāma, foremost among warriors, hurled a rock at Dvivida. But the cunning monkey dodged the rock and snatched up a wine jar. Mocking Balarāma, Dvivida broke the jar and scattered Balarāma’s garments, acting with insolent pride. Seeing the monkey’s disrespect and the havoc he had wrought, Balarāma’s anger blazed. He seized his club and plough, ready to kill his foe. But Dvivida, of immense strength, raised a giant tree and rushed at Balarāma, striking him on the head. Yet Balarāma stood unmoved, like a mountain struck by a storm. Balarāma caught the tree and struck Dvivida with his club, shattering his skull and causing blood to stream forth. But Dvivida, undaunted, seized another tree, stripped it of its branches, and attacked again. Balarāma cut that tree to pieces a hundredfold. Again and again, Dvivida attacked with new trees, but each was destroyed; soon, the forest stood bare. Enraged, Dvivida hurled a shower of rocks at Balarāma, but the Lord effortlessly crushed them all with his club. The monkey then made his arms like palm trunks, formed his fists, and struck Balarāma on the chest. But Balarāma, abandoning his club and plough, seized Dvivida in anger, gripping him by the collarbone and pressing down until the monkey fell, vomiting blood. As Dvivida crashed to the earth, the ground trembled in fear, along with the trees—like a mountain rocked by the wind or a boat tossed on the water. From the sky, gods, siddhas, and great sages shouted “Victory!” and “Homage!” and praised the Lord, showering flowers upon him. Thus did Balarāma slay Dvivida, who had brought distress to the world, and, praised by the people, the Lord returned to his own city. Thus ends the sixty-seventh chapter, “The Slaying of Dvivida,” in the tenth book, second half, of the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for the paramahaṃsas. Afterward, there was the marriage of Sāmbha, and the episode of Balarāma dragging Hastināpura. The Kauravas, enraged, said among themselves, “This boy is ill-behaved; he has disregarded us and seized our unwilling daughter by force. Let us bind this insolent one—what will the Vrishnis do? They, who enjoy the land given to us, accumulated by our favor.