As the battle raged, Shalva, master of deceit, confronted Krishna with a cruel illusion. He rebuked Krishna harshly, drew his sword, and, seizing what appeared to be the head of Anakadundubhi—Krishna’s own father—vanished into the sky-bound fortress of Saubha. For a brief moment, Krishna, surrounded by his loved ones, was overtaken by deep sorrow and natural affection, believing his father slain. But soon, his divine wisdom awakened; he recognized this as a trick of sorcery, a demonic illusion conjured by Shalva at the behest of Maya. As if waking from a dream, Krishna found himself alone on the battlefield—neither the messenger nor his father’s body were anywhere to be seen. Above him, the enemy hovered, stationed upon the Saubha fortress, poised to strike. O royal sage, some recount this tale in various ways, yet if their accounts contradict one another, surely their memory falters. For what place have grief, delusion, affection, or fear—born of ignorance—in one whose wisdom, knowledge, and sovereignty remain unbroken and undiminished? Through service at the Lord’s feet and the attainment of self-knowledge, the wise dissolve the ancient bondage of self-delusion. They realize their own infinite sovereignty—how then could confusion disturb one who has reached the Supreme? Now, as Shalva unleashed a storm of weapons, Krishna, ever invincible, retaliated fiercely. His arrows shattered Shalva’s armor, bow, and crown, and with his mighty mace, Krishna struck the Saubha fortress, breaking it apart. The blow of Krishna’s mace crushed Saubha, which fell into the waters below in a thousand fragments. Abandoning his ruined aerial city, Shalva leapt to the ground, wielding his mace, and charged at Krishna. But as Shalva rushed forward, Krishna severed his arm with a razor-sharp arrow. Then, taking up his blazing discus—radiant like the sun at the world’s end—Krishna, resplendent as the rising sun, prepared to end Shalva’s life. With that very discus, Hari struck off the head of Shalva, the master of illusions, adorned with earrings and crown, just as Indra once slew Vritra with his thunderbolt. Cries of “Alas!” rose among men as Shalva fell and his fortress was destroyed. The gods, rejoicing at the victory, sounded celestial drums in the heavens. Yet, out of anger and loyalty, Dantavakra advanced to avenge his fallen friend. Here ends the seventy-seventh chapter, “The Slaying of Shalva,” in the sacred Bhagavata Purana. The narrative continues: the slaying of Dantavakra and Viduratha, and the beheading of Suta by Balarama. Shuka spoke: Even after the deaths of Shishupala, Shalva, Paundraka, and others, Krishna met their enmity with transcendental friendship. Then, a single foot-soldier, furious and brandishing a mace, approached—his steps shaking the earth with their force. Seeing this mighty foe advance, Krishna seized his own mace, leapt from his chariot, and stood ready, like the ocean confronting the shore. The Kārūṣa, Dantavakra, arrogant and proud, raised his mace and addressed Krishna: “By fortune—great fortune—you have come before me today. Though you are our maternal uncle, Krishna, you seek to kill me, your friend and ally. Therefore, O fool, I shall strike you down with my mace, hard as a thunderbolt. Thus will I discharge my debt to you, friend of friends, by slaying an enemy who appears as kin—just as one destroys a disease festering within.” With words as sharp as goads, Dantavakra taunted Krishna and brought his mace down upon Krishna’s head, roaring like a lion. Yet Krishna, unmoved by the blow, struck back with his own mace, Kaumodakī, landing a mighty blow upon Dantavakra’s chest. The impact shattered Dantavakra’s heart; blood poured from his mouth, and, arms, legs, and hair splayed, he fell dead to the ground. Then, before all present, a subtle and wondrous light departed from Dantavakra and entered Krishna—just as had occurred when Shishupala was slain. Viduratha, Dantavakra’s brother, overwhelmed by grief, rushed forward with sword and shield, intent on avenging his kin. But Krishna, wielding his razor-edged discus, swiftly cut off Viduratha’s head, crown and earrings falling to the ground. Thus Krishna destroyed Shalva, Saubha, Dantavakra, and Viduratha—enemies formidable even to the gods. The gods and men alike praised Krishna for his deeds. Sages, perfected beings, Gandharvas, Vidyādharas, great serpents, Apsarās, hosts of ancestors, Yakṣas, Kinnaras, and Cāraṇas sang of his victory and showered him with flowers. Surrounded by the foremost of the Vṛṣṇis, Krishna entered the splendidly adorned city. The Lord of Yoga, the Blessed Krishna, Lord of the universe, is perceived by those of limited vision as either conquered or victorious. Meanwhile, hearing of the impending war between the Kurus and Pāṇḍavas, Balarama, under the pretext of pilgrimage, departed, choosing to remain neutral. Balarama bathed at Prabhāsa, offered homage to the gods, sages, ancestors, and men, and traveled upstream along the Sarasvatī, accompanied by brāhmaṇas. He visited many holy places—Pṛthūdaka, Bindusaras, Tritakūpa, Sudarśana, Viśāla, Brahmatīrtha, Cakra, and the eastern Sarasvatī. Following the Yamunā and then the Gaṅgā, he came to Naimiṣa, where sages were engaged in a great sacrificial session. Seeing Balarama arrive, the assembled sages rose, bowed, and honored him according to custom. Accepting their hospitality, Balarama, together with his attendants, took the offered seat. There he beheld Romaharṣaṇa, the disciple of the great sage, seated among the assembly. Noticing that Romaharṣaṇa did not rise, nor offer respectful greetings, but remained seated as did the brāhmaṇas, Balarama grew angry. “This low-born man,” he declared, “sits above these brāhmaṇas—the protectors of dharma—and above us as well. He is wicked-minded and deserves death. Though he has become the disciple of a divine sage and studied histories, Purāṇas, and all the dharma-śāstras, knowledge is of no virtue in one who is undisciplined and unrestrained, who vainly considers himself learned—just as an actor’s skill is useless if he has not mastered himself.” “For this very purpose have I descended into this world: to slay those who, though garbed in dharma, are truly sinful.” Having spoken thus, the Lord refrained from a violent act, yet, contemplating, he struck Romaharṣaṇa with a blade of sacred kuśa grass held in his hand.