As the formidable adversary advanced, Kṛṣṇa, perceiving the threat, swiftly seized his mighty mace, leapt down from his chariot, and confronted his foe with the unstoppable force of the ocean meeting the shore. The Kārūṣa, filled with arrogance and pride, raised his own mace and addressed Mukunda with scorn: “By great fortune, O Kṛṣṇa, you have come before me today. Though you are my maternal uncle, you seek my life, though I am your friend and ally. Therefore, O fool, I shall strike you down with this mace, hard as a thunderbolt. When I have slain you, O friend of friends, I will be rid of my debt, destroying an enemy disguised as a relative—just as one eradicates a disease lurking within the body.” With words that stung like goads, the Kārūṣa assailed Kṛṣṇa, provoking him as one would prod an elephant. Roaring like a lion, he struck Kṛṣṇa’s head with his mace. Yet, though struck in the midst of battle, Kṛṣṇa, the foremost of the Yadus, did not move. In reply, Kṛṣṇa wielded his own mace, Kaumodakī, and dealt a crushing blow to his opponent’s chest. The Kārūṣa’s heart shattered from the impact; blood poured from his mouth, and with his hair, arms, and legs splayed, he fell lifeless to the earth. At that moment, a subtle and wondrous light emerged from the fallen warrior and entered Kṛṣṇa, witnessed by all present—just as it had when Śiśupāla was slain. Overcome with grief, Vidūratha, the Kārūṣa’s brother, rushed forward with sword and shield, his breath heavy with rage, intent on avenging his kin by slaying Kṛṣṇa. But as Vidūratha charged, Kṛṣṇa, with a swift motion of his razor-sharp discus, severed his head along with its crown and earrings. Thus, Kṛṣṇa vanquished Śālva, Saubha, Dantavakra, and his brother—foes unbearable to others. The gods and men alike praised his deeds, joined by sages, perfected beings, Gandharvas, Vidyādharas, great serpents, Apsarās, ancestors, Yakṣas, Kinnaras, and Cāraṇas. Their voices sang of his victory, and showers of flowers rained down upon him. Surrounded by the foremost of the Vṛṣṇis, Kṛṣṇa entered the splendidly adorned city. Yet, O King, Kṛṣṇa—the Lord of Yoga, the Blessed One, the Lord of the universe—remains misunderstood by those of limited vision, who see him as either conquered or victorious, failing to perceive his true nature. Meanwhile, upon hearing of the impending war between the Kurus and the Pāṇḍavas, Balarāma, choosing to remain neutral, departed on pilgrimage under that pretext. Having bathed at Prabhāsa and honored the gods, sages, ancestors, and men, he journeyed upstream along the sacred Sarasvatī, accompanied by brāhmaṇas. He visited holy places: Pṛthūdaka, Bindusaras, Tritakūpa, Sudarśana, Viśāla, Brahmatīrtha, Cakra, and the eastern Sarasvatī. Continuing along the Yamunā and then the Gaṅgā, he arrived at Naimiṣa, where sages were deeply engaged in a sacrificial session. Upon his arrival, the assembled sages rose, bowed, and honored him with due custom. Accepting their offered seat, Balarāma beheld Romaharṣaṇa, disciple of the great sage, seated among them. Noticing that Romaharṣaṇa did not rise, nor offer respectful greetings, but remained seated as did the brāhmaṇas, Mādhava became angry. He thought, “This low-born man sits above these brāhmaṇas, the protectors of dharma, and above us as well; such wickedness deserves death. Though he has studied under a divine sage and mastered histories, Purāṇas, and all the dharma-śāstras, for one who is undisciplined and unrestrained, such knowledge is fruitless—just as for an actor who has not mastered himself. Indeed, I have descended into this world to slay those who, though wearing the guise of dharma, are truly sinful.” Having spoken thus, the Lord refrained from outright killing the wicked, but, contemplating, struck Romaharṣaṇa with a blade of kuśa grass held in his hand. Instantly, all the sages cried out in distress, “O Lord Saṅkarṣaṇa, you have committed a wrongful act! 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, 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 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 death for us, all remain true.” The Lord then declared, “The Veda states that the self is indeed born as the son; therefore, let his son be the speaker, endowed with life, senses, and strength. Now, O best of sages, speak your wish, and I shall fulfill it. Consider well, O wise ones, how I may atone for my unknowing act.” The sages said, “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 further instructed, “Then, having left the land of Bharata with a steady mind, after wandering for twelve months and bathing at holy places, you will be purified.” Hearing this, the king inquired, “O venerable one, I wish to hear more of Mukunda’s heroic deeds, for his power is infinite. O brāhmaṇa, who, having once heard the sacred stories of the praiseworthy Lord, would ever cease listening—except one afflicted by the arrows of desire and ignorant of their true worth?