O King, you who are the soul of all and see no difference between yourself and others, experiencing your own bliss—your favor, like that of a wish-fulfilling tree, comes only in response to the service rendered, never otherwise. Then the Blessed Lord spoke, “O king, destroyer of enemies, your resolve is righteous. Because of this, your auspicious fame will be celebrated throughout all the worlds. This great sacrifice you desire is longed for not only by sages, ancestors, gods, and friends—even by us—but by all beings. Now that you have subdued all kings and brought the world under your sway, gather all the necessary materials and perform this grand sacrifice.” He continued, “O king, your brothers are born from portions of the guardians of the worlds. I am conquered by you, who have mastered yourself; those without self-control cannot conquer me. In this world, none surpasses me in power, fame, wealth, or opulence—not even the gods, much less any earthly king.” Hearing the Lord’s words, Yudhiṣṭhira’s face bloomed with delight. Strengthened by Viṣṇu’s power, he sent his brothers forth to conquer the directions. Sahadeva, with the Sṛñjayas, went south; Nakula was sent west; Arjuna was dispatched north; and Bhīma went east, accompanied by the Matsyas, Kekayas, and Madras. These heroic brothers, conquering the kings in every direction by their strength, returned with abundant wealth for Yudhiṣṭhira, who was to perform the great sacrifice. Yet, when he learned that Jarāsandha remained unconquered, the king pondered what to do. Then Hari spoke of the means, just as Uddhava had previously described. Thus, Bhīmasena, Arjuna, and Kṛṣṇa—bearing the marks of Brahmins—set out for Girivraja, the city where Jarāsandha, son of Bṛhadratha, resided. They arrived at the proper hour for guests and, disguised as Brahmins, entered the house of Jarāsandha, observing all the customary rites. They announced themselves: “O king, know that guests have come—seekers from afar. O fortunate one, grant us what we desire.” They spoke further: “What is unbearable for the patient? What is improper for the unrighteous? What is not to be given by the generous? Who is greater than those who see all equally? He who, though able, does not earn lasting fame among the virtuous with his impermanent body is truly pitiable. Many—Hariścandra, Rantideva, Śibi, Bali, the hunter, the pigeon—have attained the eternal by means of the impermanent.” Jarāsandha, recognizing them by their voices, their appearance, and even the scars on their hands from bowstrings, realized they were not Brahmins, but royal guests he had seen before. He pondered, “These kṣatriya relatives, though disguised as Brahmins, have come. I will give even my own self, which is so hard to relinquish, as alms to them. Is not the fame of Bali, pure and widespread, remembered even after Viṣṇu, in the guise of a Brahmin, deprived him of his wealth? Desiring Indra’s riches, Viṣṇu, as a Brahmin, received the earth from Bali, king of the Daityas, who, though aware and restrained, still gave. What purpose does the body of a kṣatriya serve, if not to live for Brahmins? When the body falls here, great fame is attained.” With noble intent, Jarāsandha addressed Kṛṣṇa, Arjuna, and Bhīmasena, “O Brahmins, ask what you wish—I will even give you my own head.” The Blessed Lord replied, “O king, if you deem it fit, grant us battle, fighting in pairs. We seek nothing else but combat with the royal order.” Then Kṛṣṇa revealed their true identities: “This is Bhīmasena, O Partha; his brother is Arjuna. Know me, Kṛṣṇa, as their maternal uncle and your enemy.” Hearing this, the king of Magadha laughed aloud, angered, and said, “Then, I will grant you battle, O fools. I will not fight with you, coward, whose valor is uncertain—you abandoned your own city, Mathurā, and took refuge by the sea. This one”—indicating Bhīma—“is my equal in age, though not in strength; Arjuna is not fit to fight, but Bhīma matches me in might.” Having spoken, Jarāsandha handed a great mace to Bhīmasena, took another for himself, and went out from the city. There, the two heroes, equally matched, met on the field. Wild with the joy of battle, they struck each other with their maces, as mighty as thunderbolts. The fight shone as they moved in intricate circles, to the left and right, like dancers upon a stage. The sound of their maces striking echoed like thunderbolts, as if the tusks of elephants clashed. With the speed of their arms, the maces struck shoulders, hips, feet, knees, and heads, shattering like branches when two blazing elephants fight. When their maces were broken, the two, still angry, battered each other with their iron-hard fists, the sound of their blows fierce as thunderbolts. They struck with equal skill, strength, and vigor; the battle was indistinguishable, for neither’s speed diminished. Thus, O great king, twenty-seven days passed as they fought, their friends watching through the nights. At last, Vṛkodara—Bhīma—said to his cousin, “O Mādhava, I cannot defeat Jarāsandha in battle.” Kṛṣṇa, knowing the secret of Jarāsandha’s birth and death—that his life was sustained by Jara—strengthened Bhīma with his own energy and pondered the means of victory. Then, Kṛṣṇa, whose vision never fails, gave a sign to Bhīma by tearing a branch, as if to demonstrate. Understanding the sign, mighty Bhīma seized his enemy by the feet and hurled him to the ground. Placing one foot upon Jarāsandha’s leg and grasping the other with his arms, Bhīma tore him apart from the anus, like a mighty elephant splitting a branch.