Then, O great king, a single warrior appeared on the battlefield—a furious foot-soldier wielding a heavy mace. His steps shook the earth as he approached, his strength immense and terrible to behold. Seeing this formidable foe advancing, Krishna acted swiftly. He seized his own mighty mace, leapt down from his chariot, and stood to face the challenger, as the ocean meets the shore—unyielding and resolute. The warrior was Kārūṣa, overcome with pride. Raising his mace high, he spoke arrogantly to Krishna: “By fortune, by great fortune, you have come within my sight today. Though you are our maternal uncle, O Krishna, you seek to kill me, your friend and ally. Therefore, fool, I shall strike you down with my mace, hard as a thunderbolt! Thus will I free myself from 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 these harsh, stinging words, like goads prodding an elephant, Kārūṣa assailed Krishna and, roaring like a lion, struck him on the head with his mace. Yet Krishna, foremost among the Yadus, stood unmoved by the blow. With his own mace, Kaumodakī, Krishna struck Kārūṣa in the chest. The force shattered the warrior’s heart; blood gushed from his mouth, and, his hair, arms, and legs sprawling, he fell lifeless to the ground. At that moment, a subtle and wondrous light emerged from the fallen body and entered Krishna, as all beings looked on—just as had happened when Śiśupāla was slain, O King. Witnessing his brother’s death, Vidūratha, overwhelmed with grief, rushed forward with sword and shield, breathing heavily, intent on killing Krishna. But as he charged, Krishna, wielding his discus with its razor-sharp edge, severed Vidūratha’s head—crown and earrings falling with it. Thus did Krishna vanquish Śālva, Saubha, Dantavakra, and his brother—foes intolerable to others. Gods and men alike praised him, as did sages, perfected beings, Gandharvas, Vidyādharas, great serpents, Apsarās, hosts of ancestors, Yakṣas, Kinnaras, and Cāraṇas. They sang of his victory and showered him with flowers. Surrounded by the foremost of the Vṛṣṇis, Krishna entered the beautifully adorned city. Yet, O King, Krishna, the Lord of Yoga, the Blessed One, Lord of the universe, is seen by those of limited vision as sometimes conquered, sometimes victorious. Meanwhile, hearing of the preparations for war between the Kurus and the Pāṇḍavas, Rāma, under the pretext of pilgrimage, departed, choosing to remain neutral. He bathed at Prabhāsa and satisfied the gods, sages, ancestors, and men, then traveled upstream along the Sarasvatī, accompanied by brāhmaṇas. He visited many sacred places—Pṛthūdaka, Bindusaras, Tritakūpa, Sudarśana, Viśāla, Brahmatīrtha, Cakra, and the eastern Sarasvatī. Following the Yamunā and then the Gaṅgā, he reached Naimiṣa, where sages were engaged in a great sacrificial session. When Rāma arrived, the sages, absorbed in their long sacrifice, welcomed him with due honor. They rose, bowed, and offered him a seat. Thus honored, Rāma, together with his attendants, took his seat and beheld Romaharṣaṇa, the disciple of the great sage, seated among them. But Romaharṣaṇa did not rise, nor offer respectful greetings; he remained seated, as did the other brāhmaṇas. Seeing this, Mādhava became angry. “This low-born man sits above these brāhmaṇas, the protectors of dharma, and above us as well. This wicked-minded one deserves death. Though he has become the disciple of a divine sage and studied many histories, Purāṇas, and all the dharma-śāstras, knowledge is fruitless for one who is undisciplined and unrestrained, who vainly considers himself learned—just as for an actor who has not mastered himself. Indeed, for this very purpose have I descended into this world: to slay those who wear the guise of dharma but are most sinful.” Having spoken thus, the Lord refrained even from killing the wicked outright; yet, after contemplating, he struck Romaharṣaṇa with a blade of kuśa grass held in his hand. All the sages, 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 Brahmā, 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 this 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 responded, “Let it be so, O Rāma, that your word, the power of your weapon, and our own promise, all remain true.” The Blessed Lord said, “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 answered, “There is a fierce demon named Balvala, son of Ilvala, who comes at every festival and defiles our sacrifice. O descendant of Daśārha, slay that wicked one for us—that is our highest wish. He showers pus, blood, excrement, urine, liquor, and flesh upon us.” They continued, “Then, having left the land of Bharata with a steady mind, after wandering for twelve months and bathing at holy places, you will become purified.” O venerable one, said the king, I wish to hear further of the heroic deeds of Mukunda, the great soul whose power is infinite.