Dantavakra, filled with fury and grief, confronted Kṛṣṇa on the battlefield. “You are our maternal uncle, O Kṛṣṇa,” he cried, “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 words as sharp and stinging as goads, Dantavakra assailed Kṛṣṇa, provoking Him as one might prod a mighty elephant. Roaring like a lion, Dantavakra raised his mace and struck Kṛṣṇa on the head. Yet, though struck by this powerful blow, Kṛṣṇa—the foremost of the Yadus—did not move. With His own mace, Kaumodakī, Kṛṣṇa struck Dantavakra in the chest. The impact shattered Dantavakra’s heart; blood gushed from his mouth, and, his hair and limbs splayed, he fell lifeless to the ground. In that moment, a subtle and wondrous light emerged from Dantavakra’s body and entered Kṛṣṇa, as all who were present looked on in awe—just as had happened when Śiśupāla was slain. Overcome with grief for his fallen brother, Vidūratha rushed forward, sword and shield in hand, his breath heavy with rage, intent on avenging Dantavakra by killing Kṛṣṇa. But as he charged, Kṛṣṇa, wielding His discus sharp as a razor’s edge, cut off Vidūratha’s head—crown and earrings tumbling to the earth. Thus did Kṛṣṇa slay Śālva, Saubha, Dantavakra, and his brother—foes who were unbearable to others. Gods and men alike praised Him for these deeds. Sages, perfected beings, Gandharvas, Vidyādharas, great serpents, Apsarās, hosts of ancestors, Yakṣas, Kinnaras, and Cāraṇas all sang His victory. Showers of flowers rained down as Kṛṣṇa, surrounded by the foremost of the Vṛṣṇis, entered the adorned city. Yet, O King, the Lord of Yoga, the Blessed One, Kṛṣṇa—Lord of the universe—is seen by those of animal vision as either conquered or victorious, not perceiving His true nature. Meanwhile, hearing of the preparations for war between the Kurus and the Pāṇḍavas, Balarāma, under the pretext of pilgrimage, departed, choosing to remain neutral. Having bathed at Prabhāsa and satisfied the gods, sages, ancestors, and men, He journeyed upstream along the Sarasvatī, accompanied by brāhmaṇas. He visited holy places: Pṛthūdaka, Bindusaras, Tritakūpa, Sudarśana, Viśāla, Brahmatīrtha, Cakra, and the eastern Sarasvatī. Following the Yamunā and then the Gaṅgā, He went to Naimiṣa, where sages were engaged in a great sacrificial session. When Balarāma arrived, the assembled sages, absorbed in their long sacrifice, rose up, bowed, and welcomed Him according to custom, offering Him honor and a seat. Seated with His attendants, Balarāma beheld Romaharṣaṇa, the disciple of the great sage, who remained seated, neither rising nor offering respectful greetings, just as the brāhmaṇas remained seated. Seeing this, Mādhava (Balarāma) 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 the divine sage and has thoroughly studied many histories, Purāṇas, and all the dharma-śāstras, 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. 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 restrained Himself even from killing the wicked outright. Yet, contemplating, He struck Romaharṣaṇa with a blade of kuśa grass held in His hand. At this, all the sages cried out in distress, “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 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 responded, “Let it be so, O Rāma, that your word, the power of your weapon, and death for us, all remain true.” The 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 said, “There is a fierce demon named Balvala, son of Ilvala; he 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 said, “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.” The king then spoke, “O venerable one, I wish to hear other heroic deeds of Mukunda, the great soul, whose power is infinite, O master. O brāhmaṇa, who, having heard the sacred stories of the praiseworthy Lord even once, would cease listening—except one who is deeply afflicted by the arrows of desire and ignorant of their true worth?” He continued, “That speech by which one praises His qualities, those hands that perform His deeds, that mind which remembers Him dwelling among all beings, and those ears that hear His holy stories—these alone are truly speech, hands, mind, and ears. That head is truly a head which bows to Him who bears both forms; those eyes alone see which behold Him; those limbs are truly limbs which always serve the water that has washed the feet of Viṣṇu or His devotees.