The forests around Mathura teemed with the armies of allied kings under Jarāsandha's command. Ever vigilant, Krishna observed their movements and turned to Rama with a calm yet determined demeanor.

"People of Mathura," Krishna began, his voice a mix of steel and serenity. "The task of the gods nears completion. Jarasandha has come to us, his banners fluttering like ominous storm clouds. Look at the sea of warriors—umbrella tops gleaming like moons, their battle cries rising like waves. Today, the earth will witness destiny unfold. Stay close to me; when the battle begins, we must test their resolve together."

The Yadavas, brimming with resolve, readied themselves for the clash. Within the enemy ranks, Jarāsandha's thunderous voice echoed: "Kings, surround Mathura from all sides! Arm the catapults, ready the bows, and shatter their defenses. We must bring this city to its knees! Remember, retreating is dishonorable for a Kshatriya. March forward with resolve, or bear the shame of cowardice!"

The allied kings followed his commands. Forces swarmed the city's gates—armies led by Dantavaktra, Rukmi, Ekalavya (is part of Jarasandha army), and Shalya. Their war cries filled the skies as they closed in.

At dawn, Krishna and Rama emerged from Mathura like celestial warriors. Wielding his plough and club, Rama was a force of destruction, dragging chariots and elephants into chaos. Armed with the Sharnga bow and Koumadaki mace, Krishna was the epitome of precision and power, each arrow striking with divine purpose.

The battlefield became a tempest of sound and fury. Chariots roared like thunder, elephants trumpeted like storm winds, and the clamour of swords clashing filled the air. Dust swirled, obscuring the sun, as the armies collided.

Jarasandha, unyielding and fierce, led his forces with unmatched vigor. The kings rallied behind him, hurling storms of arrows at the Yadavas. Krishna met Jarasandha with a volley of arrows, each shot finding its mark. Beside him, Rama shattered chariots and felled warriors, his plough carving through the ranks like a relentless serpent.

The Vrishnis and Andhakas, led by seasoned warriors like Satyaki, Shini, and Yuyudhana, countered with unparalleled ferocity. Mathura's defenders fought like lions, each soldier willing to give his life to protect the city.

As the battle raged, divine weapons descended from the heavens to aid Krishna and Rama—shining relics of Vishnu's might. The Sharnga bow thundered with every release, and the Samvartaka plough wreaked havoc upon the enemy. The earth trembled under their power.

Jarasandha, undeterred, urged his kings to fight on. "Shame on any who falters! This is the hour to prove your mettle!" But Krishna, with his unparalleled strategy, and Rama, with his unyielding strength, proved to be an unstoppable force.

The siege turned into a maelstrom of destruction, and the ground was soaked with warriors' blood. Yet, even amidst the chaos, the Yadavas held firm, their courage a beacon of hope in the storm.

TheBattle Between the Vrishnis and Jarasandha

The battlefield was chaotic as the Vrishnis clashed against the mighty Magadha forces. Rukmi confronted Vasudeva; Bhishmaka squared off with Ahuka. Kings and warriors alike locked in ferocious duels—Kratha with Vasudeva, Kaishika with Babhru, Gada with the king of Chedi, and Dantavakra against Shambhu. The air resounded with the clash of steel, neighing of horses, and roars of warriors.

Soldiers fought soldier to soldier, chariot to chariot, horse to horse, and elephant to elephant, an orderly chaos of warriors battling for supremacy. The earth became drenched with the blood of the fallen, a grotesque mire of gore and valour.

Jarasandha, the indomitable king of Magadha, charged at Baladeva with a ferocity that made the heavens tremble. Their duel was a spectacle of raw power, akin to the mythical clash of Indra and Vritra. With arrows like venomous serpents, Baladeva rained destruction, but Jarasandha countered with equal force. Both warriors exhausted their weapons, their chariots shattered, and their horses slain.

Seizing immense clubs, they charged each other like raging mountains, shaking the earth beneath their feet. Spectators from the heavens—gods, Gandharvas, Siddhas, and apsaras—gathered to witness the confrontation. The celestial firmament glittered with their presence, adding an ethereal glow to the grim battlefield.

Baladeva's strikes were thunderous, each swing of his club echoing like a storm. Jarasandha, unyielding, countered with crushing blows, his tread like the collapse of mighty peaks. Neither wavered; Baladeva stood unmoved like Mount Vindhya, while Jarasandha drew strength from his unshakable fortitude and relentless training.

Amid this ferocious duel, a divine voice reverberated across the skies: "O Baladeva, restrain yourself. Jarāsandha's death is not yours to deliver. His end has been ordained elsewhere. Hold back and let fate play its course."

Distracted by this proclamation, Jarasandha faltered, and Baladeva ceased his attack. The battle halted as the warriors, witnessing the decree of destiny, withdrew from their relentless clash.

Though the Vrishnis emerged victorious, they bore no triumph, knowing Jarasandha had yet to meet his destined end. This marked the eighteenth battle against the Magadha king, whose twenty akshouhinis continued to overshadow the limited forces of the Yadavas.

Yet, undeterred by the odds, the Vrishnis, lions among men, celebrated their survival and returned to their city with unbroken spirits.

TheFounding of Dvaravati

In the assembly of the Yadus, Pundarikaksha addressed his people with wisdom and authority. His words were measured yet powerful.

"This land of Mathura has nurtured us and brought prosperity. But its size confines us, and enemies can easily breach its defences. Though we possess unmatched mounts, vast infantry, and treasures, this region no longer serves our growing strength. O bulls among the Yadus, hear me: I propose we establish a new city, a fortress of strength and splendor, beyond the reach of our foes."

The assembly, moved by Krishna's foresight, unanimously responded, "Do as you deem best for the welfare of all."

As Jarāsandha's army loomed, joined by the formidable Kalayavana, Krishna declared, "Today, under this auspicious sign, we shall leave Mathura." His command was resolute, and the Yadavas prepared for their exodus.

The departure from Mathura was a grand spectacle. Vasudeva led the procession, flanked by chariots adorned with gold, mighty war elephants, and swift horses lashed by skilled riders. The Yadava women, including Niyati and Subhadra, were carried in palanquins of Krishna's design. The rolling drums and conches echoed like the ocean's roar as the Yadavas marched westward, their spirit unbroken.

They arrived at a land kissed by the sea, vibrant with lush coconut groves, ketaki blossoms, and grapevines. The marshy terrain was rich and red, perfect for a grand city. The cool ocean breezes carried the scent of salt and promise. Krishna's eyes gleamed with vision as he surveyed the land, declaring it the site of their new kingdom.

The region lay near the dazzling Raivataka mountain, resplendent like Mount Mandara. It was a place of legends, once home to Ekalavya and Drona, a land teeming with jewels and life. Enchanted by its beauty, the Yadavas likened it to heaven itself.

Krishna, the slayer of Keshi, resolved to build a city unlike any other—a bastion of prosperity and security, untouched by the fear of Jarasandha or Kalayavana. The land was named Dvaravati, a gateway to glory, like an ashtapada board ready for the divine game.

As the Yadavas set up their camps and prepared to construct their new home, Krishna's determination blazed brighter than ever. Gada's elder brother took the lead, organizing the building of magnificent structures. The Yadavas, resplendent in their unity, were joyous, like gods ascending to paradise.

Thus, under Krishna's guidance,Dvaravati was born—a city of strength and sanctuary, a testament to theYadavas' resilience and a shining jewel on the shores of destiny. KalayavanaV/S Krishna

At the shore of Dwarka, Subhadra's – (daughter of Vasudeva Rohini) curiosity was piqued as she asked Krishna, "Brata, why did we abandon Mathura? Who is Kalayavana? And, where were you? You left us here and went away."

Krishna's enigmatic smile deepened as he began, his voice captivating all but Niyati, who remained in meditation.

"The ascetic Gargya, a revered sage of the Vrishnis and Andhakas, once endured an insult questioning his masculinity. Fueled by indignation, he performed rigorous penance for twelve years, subsisting only on powdered iron. Pleased by his devotion, Mahadeva granted him a boon—a son of immense strength, destined to challenge the Vrishnis and Andhakas.

Fate wove its intricate design. Gargya's child was born through Gopali, an apsara disguised as a gopa woman, and raised by the Yavana king, who named him Kalayavana. Upon the king's death, Kalayavana inherited the throne, leading a massive coalition of Mleccha tribes. With a formidable army, he marched to Mathura, seeking battle."

Krishna's voice grew solemn as he continued. "Despite our diplomacy, Kalayavana's arrogance and the boon of invincibility shielded him. Simultaneously, Jarasandha and envious kings allied against us. Realizing Mathura's vulnerability, we chose to relocate to Dwaraka. But the battle with Kalayavana required strategy."

Subhadra's eyes widened as Krishna described his ploy. "To test Kalayavana's resolve, I sent him a pot with a fierce serpent, symbolizing our power. But he returned it, filled with venomous ants, reducing the serpent to nothing. His message was clear—he would not be intimidated."

Krishna paused, his gaze distant. "I lured him to the cave of Muchukunda, a great king who had aided the gods in ancient wars. Exhausted, Muchukunda had sought eternal sleep, blessed with a boon to incinerate anyone disturbing his rest. Kalayavana, blind with rage, mistook the sleeping king for me and kicked him awake. In that instant, the fire in Muchukunda's gaze consumed him entirely."

The assembly listened in rapt silence as Krishna concluded. "Muchukunda, awed by the changing ages, renounced the world and ascended to the Himalayas for penance. With Kalayavana vanquished, I returned to Dwaraka, bringing treasures and triumph to our people."

Krishna's tale left the roomcharged with reverence, save for Niyati, whose meditation deepened as ifforeseeing the trials yet to come. A Havenof the Yadavas

Its golden rays painted the horizon as the sun rose, signaling the dawn of a momentous day. Hrishikesha, the lotus-eyed Krishna, seated himself near the forest's edge, immersing in his morning meditation. The serene air vibrated with the promise of a new era as Krishna, accompanied by the foremost Yadavas, began scouting for the perfect location to establish a fort. The auspicious Rohini nakshatra blessed the day as learned Brahmanas recited benedictions, their voices weaving a divine melody.

Standing tall amidst his kin, Krishna's voice resounded with the clarity of the cosmos. "Behold this sacred land! It resembles the abodes of the gods. Here, I shall craft a city that will echo through eternity as Dvaravati, as magnificent as Amaravati. This city will serve as a fortress for the Yadavas, offering security and prosperity. Begin the work—mark the royal roads, the walls, and the crossroads. Summon the finest artisans from every land to craft this dwelling worthy of the gods."

The Yadavas, exhilarated by Krishna's vision, set to work fervently, their hands wielding measuring tapes and tools. Krishna, his divine intellect gleaming, pondered the city's swift construction. In solitude, he invoked Vishwakarma, the celestial architect, who appeared, bowing reverently.

"O Vishvakarma," Krishna addressed him, "create for us a city that embodies my power, a terrestrial reflection of heaven. Let it stand as an eternal symbol of Yadava grandeur."

Vishvakarma began the task with unmatched skill. Yet, he humbly cautioned Krishna about the constraints of space.

Krishna, ever the master strategist, turned to the ocean and commanded, "Withdraw twelve yojanas, O lord of rivers, and make space for this sacred city." With reverence, the sea obeyed, retreating to accommodate Dvaravati's birth.

As Vishvakarma worked, the city of Dvaravati emerged, radiant and resplendent. Golden walls shimmered like the sun, and multi-storied palaces reached for the heavens. Streets thrived with bustling merchants, lush gardens adorned the cityscape, and cool breezes from the ocean added to the charm. The city sparkled, a celestial jewel on earth.

To ensure the prosperity of his people, Krishna summoned Shankha, the divine treasurer. "Fill this city with riches," he commanded, "so no one here suffers from want or misery." Shankha obeyed, showering wealth upon every household. No home in Dvaravati knew poverty or sorrow.

Krishna then turned to Vayu, the life-breath of the universe, and entrusted him with a vital mission—to retrieve Sudharma, the celestial assembly hall. Swift as the wind, Vayu secured the hall from the gods, placing it at the city's heart.

Krishna adorned Dvaravati further with heavenly treasures, established laws, and appointed leaders. Ugrasena was crowned king, Kashya the priest, Anadhrishti the commander-in-chief, and Vikradu the chief minister. Supervisors ensured seamless governance, and Satyaki shone as the foremost warrior.

Thus, Dvaravatirose, a city where gods and mortals would find solace. It stood as a testamentto Krishna's vision, an earthly paradise radiating divine splendour, where theYadavas thrived under the eternal guidance of their beloved Govinda.TheVijaya Bow

Vasusena, the eldest Kaunteya and Pandava, stood before his revered guru, Parashurama, with a mix of emotions: pride, gratitude, and a hint of nostalgia. His education under the legendary warrior sage had come to an end.

Parashurama's eyes twinkled with admiration as he addressed Vasusena, "Today, you have completed your education, Vasusena. You are among the best students I have had the privilege to teach. I foresee a great ruler in you."

With a flourish, Parashurama presented Vasusena with the majestic Vijaya bow. "This bow, crafted by Vishvakarma for Indra, is now yours. May it serve you well in your future endeavours."

Vasusena's heart swelled with gratitude as he accepted the revered bow. He bowed his head, seeking his guru's permission to offer a token of appreciation.

"What can I give as Guru Dakshina, Gurudeva?" he asked, his voice filled with humility.

Parashurama's expression turned solemn, his eyes piercing with intensity. "I shall ask two things of you, Vasusena. First, always adhere to the path of Dharma, no matter the circumstances. Even if you burn in the fire, remain steadfast in your commitment to righteousness."

Vasusena nodded, and his determination was evident on his face.

Parashurama continued, "Second, I know that Hastinapur is the kingdom that awaits you. However, I charge you to build an independent kingdom for yourself and your family. Create a realm that will be a beacon of hope and prosperity."

Vasusena's eyes widened, puzzled by the request. Yet, he remained committed to fulfilling his guru's wishes.

With a warm smile, Parashurama placed his hand on Vasusena's shoulder. "You have my blessings, Vasusena. May you excel in all your endeavors and build a kingdom that will be remembered for generations."

As Vasusena departed, he felt a mix of emotions: excitement, gratitude, and a hint of trepidation. He mounted his trusty steed, Chetak, with Pakshi flying overhead. Together, they set off toward Hastinapur, where Vasusena's family awaited his return.

Though unsure of the challenges ahead, Vasusena was determined to fulfil his guru's wishes and forge a new path that would lead him to greatness.

TheGrand Display of Valour

When Drona, the unparalleled preceptor, saw that the sons of Dritarashtra and Pandu had mastered the art of warfare, he approached King Dritarashtra in a court filled with esteemed sages and warriors—Kripa, Bhishma, Vyasa, and Vidura among them. He said, "O King, the princes are now ready. With your consent, let them demonstrate their skills in a grand display."

Dritarashtra, his heart swelling with pride and sorrow for his blindness, replied, "O Drona, you have fulfilled your duty with unparalleled devotion. Arrange this exhibition as you deem fit. My only regret is that I cannot witness the glory of my sons. Vidura, ensure every detail aligns with Drona's wishes."

Under Drona's command, a grand arena was prepared—a vast, treeless plain adorned with wells and springs. The finest artisans built an opulent viewing stand for the royal family, gilded with gold and inlaid with pearls and lapis lazuli. Platforms for citizens rose like waves in a sea of anticipation. The event's announcement spread like wildfire, and the city emptied as people thronged to witness the spectacle.

On the chosen day, Dritarashtra, flanked by Bhishma, Yuyutsu and Kripa, ascended the royal stand while Gandhari, Kunti, and the palace women arrived radiant as celestial beings. The arena brimmed with nobles, citizens, and sages, their excitement surging like a tempestuous ocean.

Drona, dressed in pure white, entered with Ashwatthama. His presence was commanding, his voice like thunder as he began the proceedings.

The princes stepped forward, led by Yudhishthira, their bows gleaming under the sun. The crowd erupted in cheers as they showcased their mastery—arrows splitting targets, horses galloping with precision, and swords flashing in a symphony of skill. Awe gripped the onlookers; the arena seemed a celestial realm.

The crescendo came when Suyodhana and Bhima clashed with clubs. Like mountains colliding, their roars shook the earth. The crowd divided, each faction roaring for their favourite. The duel grew ferocious, threatening to spiral into chaos until Ashwatthama intervened on Drona's command.

Then came the moment all awaited. Drona's deep and resonant voice silenced the crowd. "Behold Partha, the son of Indra, the protector of dharma, and my dearest disciple!"

Arjuna entered, his golden armor gleaming like the setting sun kissing the clouds. His bow sang as he strung it, quiver brimming with arrows that promised precision and power. The crowd erupted in a deafening roar. Overwhelmed by pride, Kunti wept silently.

Hearing the uproar, Dritarashtra asked Vidura, "What is this thunderous sound that fills my ears?"

Vidura replied, "Jyeshta Brata, it is the arrival of Arjuna, Pandu's son, who shines like a god among mortals."

Dritarashtra's voice, filled with pride, proclaimed, "O Vidura, wise and farsighted! Indeed, I am blessed and protected by the flames of these three Pandavas, kindled from Pritha's sacred fire."

As the arena quieted, all eyes turned to Vibhatsu (Arjuna). With calm resolve and the grace of a seasoned warrior, he prepared to showcase the extraordinary skills imparted to him by his preceptor, Drona.

Arjuna's exhibition was a divine spectacle. He wielded celestial weapons as if the elements themselves were under his command. With the Agneya weapon, he summoned flames; with the Varuna weapon, he conjured water; the Vayavya weapon unleashed fierce winds; and the Parjanya weapon called down torrents of rain. The Bhoumya weapon caused the ground to open beneath him, and with the Parvata weapon, mountains rose from the earth. Finally, with the Antardhana weapon, all he had created vanished, leaving the audience breathless.

His physical prowess was equally astounding. He seemed to change form in mere moments—tall, short, on his chariot, at its center, then back on the ground, all in the blink of an eye. The arena watched, spellbound, as Arjuna demonstrated unparalleled precision. Fragile, minute, and unyielding targets succumbed to his arrows.

When an iron boar was moved as a target, Arjuna loosed five arrows so swiftly that they seemed to merge into one, piercing the boar's mouth with flawless accuracy. A cow's hollow horn, swaying on a taut rope, became his next challenge, and the mighty hero shot twenty-one arrows into it in rapid succession, each one striking true. His mastery was not limited to the bow—Arjuna showcased expertise with the sword, the club, and every weapon he touched, proving why he was Drona's favourite.

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, their admiration rising like waves. Here was a warrior destined for immortality.

As the tournament drew close, the drums fell silent, and the once-roaring arena began to empty. But before the tranquillity could settle, a booming sound shattered the stillness—the echo of arms being slapped in defiance. A sound rippled through the arena like a storm's fury.