Then, Keśava, with gentle power, placed his feet upon her and drew her upright, restoring her to perfect straightness. In that instant, the woman known as Kubjā was transformed—her beauty blossomed, and she became radiant, the best among women. Overflowing with gratitude and love, she looked upon Govinda with playful charm, clutched his garment, and said invitingly, “Come to my house.” Śauri, thus addressed, glanced at Rāma’s face and laughed, his heart light. He spoke kindly to Kubjā, who was now neither crooked nor to be scorned. Hari, still laughing, promised her, “I will come to your house,” and then, looking again at Rāma, dismissed her with a cheerful laugh. With their bodies dusted by the devotion of the people, and clad in blue and yellow garments, Krishna and Rāma, adorned with splendid garlands, made their way to the bow-hall. As they arrived, the guards questioned them about the precious bow. Krishna, without hesitation, seized the bow and began to string it. With a surge of strength, he bent it, and the bow snapped with a thunderous sound that echoed through all of Mathurā. The breaking of the bow alarmed the guards, who rushed to challenge the brothers. But Krishna and Rāma fought valiantly, swiftly overcoming and slaying the guards, and then departed from the bow-hall. News of these events quickly reached Kaṃsa: he learned of Akrūra’s arrival and of the shattering of the great bow. Disturbed, Kaṃsa summoned Cāṇūra and Muṣṭika, his champion wrestlers. He addressed them sternly: “The cowherd boys have come before me. You must kill them in wrestling, for they threaten my life. If you destroy them in combat, I will reward you with whatever you desire. But beware—these two are exceedingly strong. Whether by fair means or foul, my enemies must be killed by you. Their death will bring you fame, or at least a common reward.” Having instructed the wrestlers, Kaṃsa called for the elephant keeper and commanded in a loud voice, “Let the elephant stand at the entrance to the wrestling arena. Station Kuvalayāpīḍa there, and when the cowherd boys arrive at the arena gate, see that they are killed.” After issuing these orders and ensuring all the seats were prepared, Kaṃsa, sensing his own doom drawing near, anxiously awaited sunrise. Soon, the citizens filled the seats, and the kings, with their attendants, took their places of honor. Kaṃsa arranged the wrestlers and spectators near the center of the arena and himself mounted a lofty platform. Special platforms were set for the women of the inner chambers, for the chief courtesans, and for the women of the city. Nanda, the other cowherds, and their companions stood on separate platforms, while Akrūra and Vasudeva watched from the platform’s edge. Among the city women sat one whose heart longed to see Devakī’s son. Even in that final moment, her gaze was fixed, her mind repeating, “I will see my son.” As the musical instruments played and Cāṇūra leapt about, the crowd erupted in shouts and cries. Muṣṭika struck his hands together, rousing the excitement. Into this charged atmosphere entered the two heroes, Balabhadra and Janārdana, smiling slightly, dressed as simple cowherd boys, making their way toward the arena entrance. Suddenly, Kuvalayāpīḍa, urged on by his mahout, charged at them, intent on killing the brothers. A great uproar filled the arena. Seeing the danger, Baladeva addressed Krishna: “This elephant, O greatly fortunate one, incited by our enemy, must be slain.” Thus urged by his elder brother, Mādhava, the destroyer of enemy heroes, let out a mighty lion’s roar. He seized the elephant’s trunk in his powerful hand and, with strength rivaling Airāvata, whirled the beast about. Krishna, Lord of all worlds, played among the elephant’s tusks, delighting in the sport as if still a child. Then, with his right hand, Krishna tore out the elephant’s left tusk and struck the mahout, shattering his head into a hundred pieces. At the same moment, Balabhadra tore out the right tusk and, enraged, struck down the other elephant keepers nearby. Leaping swiftly, the mighty son of Rohiṇī struck the elephant’s head with his left foot, and, struck thus in sport, the elephant fell dead—like a mountain felled by Indra’s thunderbolt. Having slain Kuvalayāpīḍa and the keepers, their bodies smeared with blood and ichor, and armed with the best of elephant tusks, Balabhadra and Janārdana entered the great arena, proud and playful, like two lions among deer. The crowd’s astonishment erupted into a great outcry: “This is Krishna, and that is Balabhadra!” People recalled in wonder: “This is he who slew the dreadful, child-killing Putana; who hurled the cart and broke the twin Arjuna trees. This is the boy who subdued the serpent Kaliya, who held up the great mountain Govardhana for seven nights. Arishta, Dhenuka, and Keshi—all those wicked ones—were effortlessly slain by this high-souled one. Behold, this is Achyuta!” They also marveled at his elder brother: “Here is mighty-armed Balabhadra, proceeding ahead with playful ease, a delight to the eyes and hearts of women.” And the wise, skilled in the Puranas, proclaimed: “This very one is the cowherd who will uplift the Yadava lineage, now sunk low.” Thus did Krishna and Balarama, the two divine brothers, enter the arena, their deeds and glory shining before all.