O revered one, this grand sacrifice is longed for by sages, ancestors, gods, friends—even by ourselves—and indeed, by all living beings. Having subdued all kings and brought the world beneath your command, gather all the necessary offerings and perform this great sacrifice. O king, your brothers are born from portions of the guardians of the worlds. I myself am conquered by you, who possess self-control; I am not to be conquered by those who lack mastery over themselves. None in this world surpasses me in power, fame, wealth, or opulence—not even the gods, much less earthly kings. Thus spoke the Lord, and hearing these words, the king’s face blossomed with delight. Empowered by Viṣṇu’s energy, he sent his brothers forth to conquer the directions. Sahadeva, accompanied by the Sṛñjayas, was dispatched to the southern quarter; Nakula to the west; Arjuna to the north; Bhīma, along with the Matsyas, Kekayas, and Madras, to the east. These heroic brothers, by their strength, subdued the kings in all directions and brought immense wealth to Ajātaśatru, who was to perform the sacrifice. Yet, upon hearing that Jarāsandha remained unconquered, the king pondered. Then Hari revealed the means, the very strategy that Uddhava had previously described. Bhīmasena, Arjuna, and Kṛṣṇa—three who bore the marks of Brahmins—journeyed to Girivraja, the city where the son of Bṛhadratha, Jarāsandha, resided. Arriving at the proper time for guests, they entered the house of the householder, disguised as Brahmins, and acted according to custom. “O king,” they announced, “know that guests have arrived—seekers from afar. Grant us, O fortunate one, what we desire.” For what is unbearable for the patient? What is improper for the unrighteous? What is not to be given by the generous? Who is superior to those who see all equally? He who, with his impermanent body, does not earn lasting fame among the virtuous though able, is truly pitiable. Hariścandra, Rantideva, Śibi, Bali, the hunter, the pigeon—many have attained the eternal by means of the impermanent. By their voices, appearances, and even their hands marked by bowstring scars, Jarāsandha recognized the royal guests, having seen them before, and pondered. “These relatives of the royal order bear the marks of Brahmins; I will give even my own self, which is difficult to relinquish, as alms to them.” He recalled how the fame of Bali, pure and widespread, remained even after Viṣṇu, disguised as a Brahmin, deprived him of his wealth. Desiring the wealth of Indra, Viṣṇu, appearing as a Brahmin, had received the earth from the king of the Daityas, who, though aware and restrained, still gave it. “What purpose does the body of a kshatriya relative serve, if living only for the sake of Brahmins? When the body falls here, great fame is attained.” With noble intent, Jarāsandha spoke to Kṛṣṇa, Arjuna, and Bhīmasena: “O Brahmins, choose your desire; I will give even my own head to you.” The Blessed Lord replied, “O king, grant us battle, if you consider it fitting to fight in pairs. We have come seeking combat, desiring nothing else but battle with the royal order.” He continued, “This is Bhīmasena, O Partha; his brother is Arjuna. Know me, Kṛṣṇa, as their maternal uncle and your enemy.” Thus informed, the king of Magadha laughed loudly and, angered, declared, “Then, I will grant you battle, O fools. I will not fight with you, coward, whose valor is uncertain; you abandoned your own city, Mathura, and took refuge by the sea. This one is equal to me in age, but not in strength; Arjuna is not fit to fight, but Bhīma is equal in might to me.” Having spoken thus, Jarāsandha gave a great mace to Bhīmasena, took another himself, and strode out from the city. The two heroes, equally matched, met on the battlefield; wild with battle, they struck each other with maces as mighty as thunderbolts. Their fight shone as they moved in intricate circles, left and right, like dancers on a stage. The sound of their maces striking was like the crash of thunderbolts, as they hurled them, like the tusks of elephants clashing. With the speed of their arms, the maces struck each other's shoulders, hips, feet, knees, and heads, and were shattered, just as the branches of the sun are broken when two blazing elephants fight. Thus, as the two heroes struck with their maces, angry, they battered each other with iron-hard fists; the sound of their blows, fierce as thunderbolts, arose from the slapping of their palms. As the two struck each other, equal in skill, strength, and vigor, the battle was indistinguishable, for neither’s speed diminished. So, O great king, as they fought, twenty-seven days passed, while their friends stood by at night. Once, Vṛkodara spoke to his maternal cousin, “O Mādhava, I am not able to defeat Jarāsandha in battle.” Knowing both the birth and death of the enemy, and that Jarāsandha’s life was sustained by Jara, Hari infused Pārtha with his own energy and pondered what to do. Having conceived a means to kill the enemy, he whose vision never fails gave a sign to Bhīma by tearing a branch, as if to demonstrate. Understanding this, the mighty Bhīma, foremost among fighters, seized his enemy by the feet and threw him down upon the ground. Placing one foot upon Jarāsandha’s leg and grasping the other with his arms, he tore him from the anus, like a great elephant splitting a branch. The people saw the body split into parts—one with a single leg, thigh, testicle, hip, back, breast, and shoulder; the other with one arm, eye, brow, and ear. A great outcry arose when the king of Magadha was slain. Bhīma, along with the victorious and infallible ones, was embraced and honored by all.