O King, guests had arrived—seekers who had journeyed from afar. With humility and reverence, they approached the ruler, requesting that he grant them their heart’s desire. “What is unbearable for those who are patient?” they asked. “What is improper for the unrighteous? What is not to be given by the generous? Who is greater than those who see all beings with equal vision?” They spoke further, “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.” Śuka described how the king, by their voices, appearances, and even the scars on their hands from bowstrings, recognized these royal guests, recalling them from earlier encounters. He 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 remembered the story of Bali, whose fame, pure and widespread, endured even after he was deprived of his wealth by Vishnu, who appeared as a Brahmin. Vishnu, desiring Indra’s wealth, took the earth from Bali, the Daitya king, who, though aware and restrained, still gave it away. The king thought, “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, the king spoke to Krishna, Arjuna, and Bhimasena: “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 then revealed, “This is Bhimasena, O Partha; his brother is Arjuna. Know me, Krishna, as their maternal uncle and your enemy.” Hearing this, the king of Magadha laughed loudly, angered, and 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 Bhima is equal in might to me.” Having spoken thus, he gave a mighty mace to Bhimasena, took another for himself, and together they left the city. The two heroes, equally matched, met on the battlefield. Wild with battle, they struck each other with maces as powerful 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 great speed, their maces struck each other’s shoulders, hips, feet, knees, and heads, shattering as the branches of the sun are broken when two blazing elephants fight. As their maces broke, the two heroes, angry, battered each other with their iron-hard fists. The sound of their blows was fierce as thunderbolts, arising from the slapping of their palms. They struck each other, equal in skill, strength, and vigor, so the battle was indistinguishable—neither’s speed diminished. Thus, O great king, as they fought, twenty-seven days passed, while their friends stood by at night. Once, Vṛkodara (Bhima) said to his maternal cousin, “O Mādhava, I am not able to defeat Jarāsandha in battle.” Hari, knowing the birth and death of the enemy and that Jarāsandha’s life was sustained by Jara, strengthened Pārtha with his own energy and considered 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, 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. All saw the body split into two 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. The victorious and infallible ones embraced and honored Bhīma. The Lord, creator of beings and master of himself, anointed Sahadeva, Jarāsandha’s son, as king of the Magadhas, and released the kings who had been imprisoned by Jarāsandha. Thus ends the seventy-second chapter, entitled “The Slaying of Jarāsandha,” in the second half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for the paramahaṃsas. Śuka continued: Sixteen thousand eight hundred kings, defeated in battle and imprisoned, emerged from the mountain cave, dirty and clad in soiled garments. Emaciated by hunger, their faces dried up, tormented by confinement, they saw before them the dark-complexioned one, dressed in yellow silk. They beheld him marked with Śrīvatsa, four-armed, with lotus-like reddish eyes, a beautiful, gracious face, and shining makara-shaped earrings. He held a lotus, mace, conch, and discus, adorned with a crown, necklace, bracelets, a girdle, and armlets. His neck shone with the best of jewels and was garlanded with forest flowers; they drank him in with their eyes, as if tasting him with their tongues. They seemed to smell him with their noses, embrace him with their arms; freed from sin, they bowed with their heads at Hari’s feet. Delighted by the sight of Kṛṣṇa, their fatigue from captivity vanished. The kings, palms joined, praised Hṛṣīkeśa with their words: “Salutations to you, Lord of gods, imperishable remover of the distress of those who take refuge! We have sought your shelter, O Kṛṣṇa—protect us, who are weary of this terrible cycle of birth and death.