As Shalva, the wicked king, fell in battle and his mighty city of Saubha was destroyed by Krishna’s mace, a wondrous sound arose in the heavens: celestial drums resounded, played by the hosts of gods in celebration. Yet, even as the gods rejoiced, Dantavakra, furious and determined to avenge his fallen friend, strode forward. Thus concluded the seventy-seventh chapter, “The Slaying of Shalva,” in the sacred Bhagavata Purana. Now begins the seventy-eighth chapter, recounting the deaths of Dantavakra and his brother Viduratha, and the beheading of Suta by Balarama. Shuka narrated: The wickedness of Shishupala, Shalva, Paundraka, and others—even after their deaths—was met by Krishna with transcendental friendship. Then, O great king, a single foot-soldier—Dantavakra—appeared, furious and wielding a mace, shaking the earth with each step, his strength immense. Seeing him advance, Krishna quickly seized his own mace, leapt down from his chariot, and confronted Dantavakra, like the ocean meeting the shore. Raising his mace, the proud Kārūṣa addressed Krishna: “By fortune, by great fortune, you have today come within my sight. You are our maternal uncle, O Krishna, yet you seek to kill me, your friend and ally. Therefore, O fool, I shall strike you down with my mace, hard as a thunderbolt. Then I shall be free of my debt, O friend of friends, by slaying an enemy who appears as a relative—just as one destroys a disease dwelling in the body.” With harsh words that stung like goads, Dantavakra assailed Krishna as one would prod an elephant, and struck him on the head with his mace, roaring like a lion. Yet, though struck in battle, Krishna—the foremost of the Yadus—stood unmoved. With his own mace, Kaumodaki, Krishna struck Dantavakra in the chest. The blow shattered Dantavakra’s heart; blood gushed from his mouth, and, spreading out his hair, arms, and legs, he fell lifeless to the ground. Then, a most subtle and wondrous light emerged from Dantavakra and entered Krishna, as all beings looked on—just as had happened at the slaying of Shishupala. Viduratha, Dantavakra’s brother, overwhelmed by grief, rushed forward with sword and shield, breathing heavily, intent on killing Krishna. As he charged, Krishna, with his razor-sharp discus, cut off Viduratha’s head—along with its crown and earrings. Thus, Krishna had slain Shalva, Saubha, Dantavakra, and Viduratha—foes unbearable to others. He was praised by gods and men, by sages, perfected beings, Gandharvas, Vidyādharas, great serpents, Apsarās, hosts of ancestors, Yakṣas, Kinnaras, and Cāraṇas. His victory was sung, and he was showered with flowers. Surrounded by the foremost of the Vṛṣṇis, Krishna entered the adorned city. Yet, Krishna—the Lord of Yoga, the Blessed One, Lord of the universe—is perceived by those of animal vision as either conquered or victorious. Meanwhile, upon hearing of preparations for war between the Kurus and the Pandavas, Balarama, under the pretext of pilgrimage, departed, choosing to remain neutral. Having bathed at Prabhāsa and satisfied the gods, sages, ancestors, and men, he traveled upstream along the Sarasvati, accompanied by brahmanas. He visited Pṛthūdaka, Bindusaras, Tritakūpa, Sudarśana, Viśāla, Brahmatīrtha, Cakra, and the eastern Sarasvati. Following the Yamuna and then the Ganga, he journeyed to Naimisha, where the sages were engaged in a sacrificial session. Upon Balarama’s arrival, the sages, who were absorbed in their long sacrifice, welcomed him according to custom: they rose up, bowed, and honored him. Thus received, together with his attendants and having accepted the offered seat, Balarama beheld Romaharshana, the disciple of the great sage, seated among them. Yet, Romaharshana did not rise, nor offer folded hands in respect; he remained seated, as did the other brahmanas. Mādhava, seeing this, became angry. “Because this low-born man sits above these brahmanas—the protectors of dharma—and above us as well, this wicked-minded one deserves death. Though he has become the disciple of the divine sage and has thoroughly studied histories, Purāṇas, and all the dharma-shāstras, for one who is undisciplined and unrestrained, who vainly considers himself learned, such knowledge is of no virtue, just as for an actor who has not mastered himself.” He continued, “Indeed, for this very purpose have I descended into this world: those who wear the guise of dharma but are most sinful are to be slain by me.” Having spoken thus, the Lord refrained even from killing the wicked; yet, contemplating, he struck Romaharshana with a blade of kuśa grass held in his hand. All the sages, their minds distressed, cried out in lamentation, “O Lord Saṅkarṣaṇa, you have committed a wrongful act! O descendant of Yadu, we had granted him the seat of Brahma, and life and freedom from fatigue for the duration of this sacrifice. Unknowingly, you have committed brahma-hatya, O master of yoga; even your name is not exempt from the law. If this act will purify the sin of brahma-hatya, O purifier of the worlds, then you yourself should undertake whatever expiation is proper, without being prompted by another.” The Blessed Lord replied, “I shall perform the prescribed expiation for the killing, desiring the welfare of the world; let the same rule be established as in the first age. Long life, strength, and senses were indeed promised to him; what you have spoken, I shall accomplish by my yogic power.” The sages said, “Let it be so, O Rama, that your word, and the power of your weapon, and death for us, all remain true.” The Blessed Lord declared, “The self is indeed born as the son—so declares the Veda; therefore, let his son be the speaker, endowed with life, senses, and strength. What is your wish, O best of sages? Speak, and I shall do it. Consider well, O wise ones, how I may atone for my unknowing act.” The sages replied, “There is a fierce demon named Balvala, son of Ilvala; he comes at every festival and defiles our sacrifice.