Struck by the force of Kṛṣṇa’s mace, the enemy’s heart was shattered; blood poured from his mouth as he collapsed lifeless to the earth, his hair, arms, and legs splayed out. In that moment, before the eyes of all, a subtle and wondrous light arose from the fallen body and entered into Kṛṣṇa himself—just as it had when Śiśupāla was slain, O King. Witnessing his brother’s death, Vidūratha was overwhelmed by grief. Breathing heavily, sword and shield in hand, he rushed forward, intent on avenging his brother by slaying Kṛṣṇa. But as Vidūratha charged, Kṛṣṇa, with the razor-sharp edge of his discus, severed his head—crown and earrings and all, O King. Thus did Kṛṣṇa vanquish Śālva, Saubha, Dantavakra, and his brother—foes too terrible for others to bear. Gods and men alike praised him for his victory, joined by sages, perfected beings, Gandharvas, Vidyādharas, mighty serpents, Apsarās, hosts of ancestors, Yakṣas, Kinnaras, and Cāraṇas. Their songs of triumph filled the air and showers of flowers rained down upon him. Surrounded by the foremost of the Vṛṣṇis, Kṛṣṇa entered the beautifully adorned city. Yet, O King, Kṛṣṇa—the Lord of Yoga, the Blessed One, master of the universe—is perceived by those with animal vision as sometimes conquered, sometimes victorious, not knowing his true nature. Meanwhile, when Rāma heard of the impending war between the Kurus and the Pāṇḍavas, he departed under the pretext of pilgrimage, 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. Along the way, he visited the sacred sites of Pṛthūdaka, Bindusaras, Tritakūpa, Sudarśana, Viśāla, Brahmatīrtha, Cakra, and the eastern Sarasvatī. Following the rivers Yamunā and then Gaṅgā, he arrived at Naimiṣa, where the sages were engaged in a long sacrificial session. When Rāma entered, the assembled sages rose, bowed, and welcomed him with honor, offering him a seat as custom demanded. Seated with his attendants, Rāma looked upon Romaharṣaṇa, the disciple of the great sage, who remained seated without rising, nor did he offer respectful greetings, just as the brāhmaṇas beside him did not. Seeing this, Mādhava’s anger was kindled. He spoke: “This low-born man sits above these brāhmaṇas, the protectors of dharma, and above us as well. Such wicked-mindedness deserves death. Though he has become the disciple of a divine sage and mastered many histories, Purāṇas, and all the dharma-śāstras, what virtue is there in knowledge for one who is undisciplined and unrestrained, who vainly considers himself learned? It is as useless as an actor who has not mastered himself. Indeed, I have descended into this world for this very purpose: to destroy those who wear the guise of dharma yet are most sinful.” Having spoken thus, the Lord refrained from outright killing the wicked, but in contemplation, he struck Romaharṣaṇa with a blade of kuśa grass held in his hand. At once, the sages, hearts stricken with distress, cried out, “O Lord Saṅkarṣaṇa, you have committed a wrongful act! O descendant of Yadu, we had granted Romaharṣaṇa the seat of Brahmā, and a boon of life and freedom from fatigue for the duration of this sacrifice. Unknowingly, you have committed the sin of brahma-hatya, O master of yoga, and even you are not exempt from the law. If this act is to be purified, 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 the truth of death for us all remain unbroken.” The Lord said, “The self is indeed born as the son—so declares the Veda. Therefore, let Romaharṣaṇa’s son become 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 by showering us with pus, blood, excrement, urine, liquor, and flesh. O descendant of Daśārha, slay that wicked one for us—that is our highest wish. Then, after leaving the land of Bharata, wander for twelve months and bathe at holy places with a steady mind; thus you will become purified.” Later, King Parīkṣit said, “O venerable one, I wish to hear more heroic deeds of Mukunda, the great soul whose power is infinite. O brāhmaṇa, who, having heard the sacred stories of the praiseworthy Lord even once, would ever cease listening—except one afflicted by the arrows of desire and ignorant of their true worth? That speech which 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 all 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.” Sūta continued: Thus questioned by Viṣṇurāta, the blessed son of Badarāyaṇa, whose heart was immersed in Lord Vāsudeva, spoke. Śuka said: Kṛṣṇa had a brāhmaṇa friend, deeply learned in the Veda, detached from sense pleasures, peaceful in mind, and self-controlled. Living as a householder and sustaining himself with whatever came by chance, his wife—thin from hunger and with clothing in tatters—was just like him. One day, this devoted wife, her face pale and trembling with suffering, approached her impoverished husband and spoke to him.