The Blessed Lord, standing before the king of Magadha, spoke with gravity: “O king, if you deem it proper, grant us battle—let us fight in pairs. We have come seeking combat, desiring nothing but a contest with the royal order.” He then introduced his companions: “This is Bhimasena, O Partha, and his brother is Arjuna. Know me as Krishna, their maternal uncle—and your enemy.” Hearing these words, the king of Magadha burst into loud laughter, his anger roused. “Then I will grant you battle, O fools,” he declared. “But you, coward, I will not fight—your valor is uncertain. You abandoned your own city, Mathura, and took refuge by the sea. This one”—he gestured to Bhima—“is my equal in age, though not in strength. Arjuna is unfit to face me, but Bhima is my match.” Having spoken, the king handed a great mace to Bhimasena, took another for himself, and strode forth from the city. On the battlefield, the two mighty heroes met—equally matched, wild with the thrill of combat. Their maces crashed together with the force of thunderbolts, as if two elephants were clashing tusks. They circled each other left and right, moving with the grace and intricacy of dancers upon a stage. The sound of their weapons striking echoed like thunder, and their blows landed on shoulders, hips, feet, knees, and heads. The maces shattered, just as branches splinter when two blazing elephants collide. Undeterred, the two warriors, their anger kindled, battered each other with their iron-hard fists, the sound of their blows fierce as thunderbolts. Skill, strength, and vigor matched, neither yielded nor slowed. The battle raged on, indistinguishable in its ferocity, for neither’s speed diminished. Thus, O king, twenty-seven days passed while their friends stood by at night, watching the relentless struggle. At last, Bhima, weary, confided in Krishna: “O Madhava, I am unable to defeat Jarāsandha in battle.” Krishna, who knew the secret of Jarāsandha’s birth and the means of his death, and that his life was bound by Jara, strengthened Bhima with his own divine energy and pondered a way to end the conflict. Then, with unfailing vision, Krishna gave Bhima a sign—he tore a branch as if to demonstrate the method. Understanding the signal, mighty Bhima seized his foe by the feet and hurled him to the ground. Planting one foot upon Jarāsandha’s leg, grasping the other, Bhima wrenched him apart from the base, as a great elephant splits a branch. The people beheld the body split into two—one part with a single leg, thigh, testicle, hip, back, breast, and shoulder; the other with one arm, eye, brow, and ear. A great outcry arose at the fall of the king of Magadha. The victors embraced and honored Bhima, rejoicing with Krishna and Arjuna. The Lord, master of creation and self-controlled, anointed Sahadeva, the son of Jarāsandha, as king of the Magadhas. He then released all the kings whom Jarāsandha had imprisoned. Thus concludes the seventy-second chapter, “The Slaying of Jarāsandha,” in the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavata Mahāpurāṇa, scripture for the paramahaṃsas. Śuka continued: From the mountain cave emerged sixteen thousand eight hundred kings, whom Jarāsandha had defeated and imprisoned. Their garments were soiled, their bodies emaciated from hunger, their faces drawn and weary from long confinement. Before them stood Krishna, dark-complexioned, clad in yellow silk. They beheld him radiant, marked with the Śrīvatsa, four-armed, with lotus-like reddish eyes and a gracious, beautiful face. Makara-shaped earrings shone from his ears. He held a lotus, mace, conch, and discus, adorned with crown, necklace, bracelets, girdle, and armlets. His neck gleamed with the finest jewels and was garlanded with forest flowers. The kings drank in his sight with their eyes, as if tasting him with their tongues. They seemed to smell his fragrance, to embrace him with their arms. Freed from the burden of their sins, they bowed their heads at Hari’s feet. Delighted by Krishna’s presence, their fatigue vanished. With joined palms, the kings praised Hṛṣīkeśa: “Salutations to you, Lord of gods, imperishable, remover of distress for those who seek refuge! We have come to your shelter, O Krishna—protect us, weary of the terrible cycle of birth and death. “O Madhusudana, we do not blame you for the loss of our kingdoms at the hands of the Magadhan. For us kings, your favor is the true cause. A king, swollen with pride from sovereignty and opulence, never attains true welfare; deluded by your māyā, he mistakes impermanent riches for lasting reality. “Just as children imagine water in a mirage, so do those lacking discernment mistake illusion for truth. Once, blinded by prosperity and driven by the urge to conquer, we competed with each other, mercilessly destroying our own subjects, heedless of death’s approach. “But those very riches, 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 recall your feet. “Therefore, we no longer desire kingdoms, which are like mirages, nor bodies ever subject to decay and pain. O Lord, we long to worship you, for the fruit of such acts, in this life and beyond, is pleasing to the ear. “Instruct us, O Lord, in the means by which, even as we wander this world, our remembrance of your lotus feet may never fade. “Obeisance again and again to Krishna, son of Vasudeva, to Hari, the Supreme Self, to Govinda, destroyer of the distress of those who seek refuge in him.” Śuka said: Thus praised by the freed kings, the compassionate Lord, shelter of all, addressed them with gentle words: “From this day forward, O kings, unwavering devotion to me—the Self, the Lord of all—will arise in you, for you have sincerely wished for it.