King Jarāsandha, mighty ruler of Magadha, stood before Krishna, Arjuna, and Bhimasena, his resolve unwavering. He declared, “Of what use is the body of a kshatriya relative, if it exists only to serve the Brahmins? When this body falls in battle, great fame is won.” Thus, with noble intent, he addressed Krishna, Arjuna, and Bhimasena, saying, “O Brahmins, ask of me any boon you desire—even if it be my own head, I will grant it.” The Blessed Lord Krishna replied, “O King, if you deem it proper, grant us battle. We have come seeking combat, desiring nothing else but a duel with the royal order.” He then introduced his companions: “This is Bhimasena, O Partha; his brother is Arjuna. Know me, Krishna, as their maternal uncle and your enemy.” Hearing these words, Jarāsandha laughed loudly, his anger kindled. “Then I will give you battle, O fools,” he declared. “But I will not fight you, Krishna, whose valor is uncertain—you who abandoned your own city, Mathura, and took refuge by the sea. This one,” he said, indicating Bhima, “is equal to me in age, though not in strength. Arjuna is not fit to fight me, but Bhima matches my might.” Having spoken, Jarāsandha handed a great mace to Bhimasena, took another himself, and together they strode out from the city. There, on the battlefield, the two heroes—equal in strength—confronted each other, wild with the joy of combat, striking with maces as mighty as thunderbolts. Their movements were intricate, weaving left and right like dancers upon a stage, and the sound of their maces crashing echoed like thunderbolts, as if elephant tusks clashed. With the speed of their arms, they struck each other’s shoulders, hips, feet, knees, and heads, shattering their weapons just as the branches of the sun are broken when two blazing elephants fight. Angered, the two warriors then battered each other with their iron-hard fists, the fierce slapping of their palms resounding like thunderbolts. Matched in skill, strength, and vigor, the battle was so even that none could discern who was superior, for neither’s speed diminished. Thus, O great king, twenty-seven days passed as they fought, while their companions stood by through the nights. At last, Vṛkodara—Bhima—spoke to his cousin Krishna: “O Mādhava, I am unable to defeat Jarāsandha in battle.” Krishna, knowing the secret of Jarāsandha’s birth—that his life was sustained by the demoness Jara—strengthened Bhima with his own energy and pondered a way to end the fight. Having devised a means to slay the foe, Krishna, whose vision never fails, gave Bhima a sign by tearing a branch as if to demonstrate. Understanding Krishna’s intent, the mighty Bhima seized Jarāsandha by the feet, hurled him to the ground, and, placing one foot upon his enemy’s leg and grasping the other, tore him apart from the anus, like a great elephant splitting a branch. Those who witnessed saw Jarāsandha’s 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 as the king of Magadha was slain. Bhima, along with Krishna and Arjuna, was embraced and honored by all present. The Lord, creator of beings and master of himself, then anointed Sahadeva, Jarāsandha’s son, as king of Magadha, and released the captive kings whom Jarāsandha had imprisoned. Thus ends the seventy-second chapter, “The Slaying of Jarāsandha,” in the second half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, scripture for the paramahaṃsas. Śuka continued: Sixteen thousand eight hundred kings, defeated in battle and long imprisoned, emerged from the mountain cave, dirty and clad in soiled garments. Emaciated by hunger, their faces dried and tormented by confinement, they beheld before them the dark-complexioned Lord, clad in yellow silk. They saw him marked with the Śrīvatsa, four-armed, with lotus-like reddish eyes, a beautiful, gracious face, and shining makara-shaped earrings. In his hands he held the lotus, mace, conch, and discus; his form was adorned with a crown, necklace, bracelets, girdle, and armlets. His neck shone with the best of jewels, garlanded with forest flowers. The kings drank in his form with their eyes, as if tasting him with their tongues, seemed to smell him with their noses, and to embrace him with their arms. Freed from sin, they bowed their heads at Hari’s feet. Delighted by the sight of Krishna, their fatigue from captivity vanished. With palms joined, the kings praised Hṛṣīkeśa with their words: “Salutations to you, Lord of gods, imperishable remover of the distress of those who seek 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; 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 unshakable. Just as children imagine water in a mirage, so do those lacking discernment mistake illusion for reality. “Formerly, blinded by the intoxication of prosperity, we competed with one another, mercilessly destroying our own subjects, O Lord, recklessly disregarding death before us. Those very riches, O Krishna, have been swept away by your profound and irresistible power. By time, by your form, and by your compassion, our pride is destroyed, and we remember your feet. “Therefore, we no longer desire a kingdom, which is like a mirage, nor a body that is ever subject to decay and pain. O Lord, we long to worship you, for the fruit of such acts, both in this life and the next, is pleasing to the ear. “Instruct us in the means by which, even as we wander in this world, our remembrance of your lotus feet may never cease. “Obeisance again and again to Krishna, son of Vasudeva, to Hari, the Supreme Self, to Govinda, destroyer of the distress of those who take refuge in him.