Many noble souls—Hariścandra, Rantideva, Śibi, Bali, the hunter, and even the pigeon—have attained the eternal by offering up the impermanent. Their lives shine as examples of sacrifice and devotion. Now, Śuka continued, describing a moment of recognition. The king observed the guests before him, noting their voices, appearances, and even the scars on their hands from bowstrings. He had seen them before and pondered deeply. Though these visitors bore the marks of royalty, they were adorned with the signs of Brahmins. The king resolved, “I will give even my own self, which is so hard to relinquish, as alms to them.” He remembered the tale of Bali, whose fame remained pure and widespread even after Vishnu, disguised as a Brahmin, deprived him of all his wealth. Vishnu, longing for Indra’s riches, had approached Bali in Brahmin form and received the earth from the Daitya king, who, though aware and self-controlled, still gave everything away. The king thought, “What use is the body of a kshatriya, if its purpose is only to serve Brahmins? When the body falls here, great fame is attained.” With noble intent, he addressed Krishna, Arjuna, and Bhimasena, saying, “O Brahmins, choose your desire; I will give even my own head to you.” The Blessed Lord Krishna 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.” Krishna introduced his companions: “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—Jarāsandha—laughed loudly, angered, and declared, “Then, I will grant you battle, O fools.” He refused to fight Krishna, whom he called a coward for abandoning Mathura and taking refuge by the sea. He assessed his opponents: “This one (Arjuna) 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, Jarāsandha handed a great 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, striking 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 crash of their maces sounded like thunderbolts, like the tusks of elephants clashing. With the speed of their arms, the maces struck shoulders, hips, feet, knees, and heads, shattering like branches broken in the clash of two blazing elephants. As their anger grew, the two battered each other with iron-hard fists, the sound fierce as thunderbolts, echoing from the slapping of their palms. Their skill, strength, and vigor were equal, and the battle was indistinguishable, for neither’s speed diminished. Thus, O king, they fought for twenty-seven days, while their friends watched by night. At one point, Vṛkodara (Bhima) confessed to Krishna, his maternal cousin, “O Mādhava, I am not able to defeat Jarāsandha in battle.” Krishna, knowing the secret of Jarāsandha’s birth and death—that his life was sustained by Jara—strengthened Arjuna with his own energy and pondered what to do. He conceived a means to kill the enemy and, with unfailing vision, gave a sign to Bhima by tearing a branch, demonstrating what must be done. Understanding Krishna’s signal, the mighty Bhima, foremost among fighters, seized Jarāsandha by the feet and threw him down upon the ground. Placing one foot upon Jarāsandha’s leg and grasping the other with his arms, Bhima tore him apart from the anus, like a great elephant splitting a branch. All witnessed 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. Bhima, along with Krishna and Arjuna, was embraced and honored by the victorious and infallible ones. The Lord, creator and master, 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, “The Slaying of Jarāsandha,” in the second half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for the paramahaṃsas. Śuka then spoke: 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 and tormented by confinement, they saw before them the dark-complexioned one, dressed in yellow silk. They beheld him marked with the 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. The kings drank him in with their eyes, as if tasting him with their tongues. They seemed to smell him with their noses and embrace him with their arms. Freed from sin, they bowed with their heads at Hari’s feet. Delighted by the sight of Krishna, their fatigue from captivity vanished. With joined palms, they 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 Krishna—protect us, who are weary of this terrible cycle of birth and death. “O Madhusūdana, we do not blame you for the loss of our kingdoms at the hands of the Magadhan. O Lord, for us kings, your favor is the cause. “A king, swollen with pride from sovereignty and opulence, does not attain true welfare; deluded by your māyā, he considers impermanent riches to be unshakable. “Just as children imagine water in a mirage, so too do those lacking discernment mistake illusory things for reality.