Sometimes, when a man’s wife grieves, he too is overcome by sorrow; when she rejoices, he shares in her happiness. Thus, even when unwilling, the ignorant man, deceived by his wife and all her qualities, imitates her like a plaything, out of weakness. Now, Śuka continued: As the cowherds witnessed the extraordinary deeds performed by Kṛṣṇa, they were filled with amazement, unaware of the true extent of his divine power. Remembering the words of the sage Garga, they gathered around Nanda and spoke with wonder. They said, “These acts of your boy are truly astonishing! How could such a child be born among us villagers, whose offspring are usually overlooked? How could this child, only seven days old, effortlessly lift the great mountain with a single hand, just as the king of elephants lifts a lotus flower? With his eyes only half open in childish innocence, he drank the breast milk of the mighty Pūtanā, taking her very life, just as time consumes all beings. As an infant lying beneath a cart, his tiny feet struck it and toppled the wheel as he cried and kicked. When he was only a year old, the demon Tṛṇāvarta seized him and carried him through the sky, grasping his neck, but the child overcame this great affliction. “Once, his mother tied him to a mortar for stealing butter, but he crawled between two arjuna trees and, with his arms, caused them both to fall. In the forest, tending calves and surrounded by his friends, he tore apart the mouth of the demon Baka with his hands, though Baka intended to kill him. When a demon, disguised as a calf, entered among the herd to harm him, he slew the demon and, with playful ease, knocked down the kapittha fruits. He killed the ass-demon and his powerful companions, making the tāla grove safe and filled with ripe fruit. By his strength, he slew the fierce Pralamba demon and rescued the cows and cowherds from a raging forest fire. He subdued the great serpent king, humbling his pride, and drove him from the lake, thus freeing the waters of the Yamunā from poison. “All the residents of Vraja have a love for him that cannot be abandoned. Nanda, how could such innate affection arise in us for your son? How can a seven-day-old child perform the feat of holding up a great mountain? O leader of Vraja, these wonders fill us with doubt about your son.” Nanda replied, “Listen, O cowherds, and let your doubts be dispelled. The sage Garga spoke to me about this child. He told me that in previous ages, this illustrious one has appeared in three different colors—white, red, and yellow. Now, he has assumed a dark complexion. In the past, he was born as the son of Vasudeva; now, he is my son. The wise call him Vāsudeva. Your son has many names and forms, each corresponding to his qualities and deeds. I know them, though others do not. “This child, the delight of the cowherds and of Gokula, will bring you all prosperity. By his power, you will easily overcome all dangers. In ancient times, when the virtuous were oppressed by robbers in a land without a king, he protected them and defeated the bandits, uniting the people. Those who are fortunate enough to develop affection for him are not overcome by misfortune, just as those protected by Viṣṇu are not overcome by demons. Therefore, this son of Nanda is equal to Nārāyaṇa in his qualities, fortune, fame, and influence. There is no wonder in his actions. “Garga thus instructed me directly, and, after returning to his own house, left me with this understanding: I consider Kṛṣṇa, the doer of effortless deeds, to be a portion of Nārāyaṇa himself.” Hearing Nanda’s words and Garga’s teachings, the residents of Vraja, having witnessed and heard of Kṛṣṇa’s immeasurable brilliance, joyfully honored both Nanda and Kṛṣṇa, their hearts free from doubt and astonishment. When the god Indra, angered by the disruption of his sacrifice, sent torrents of rain, hail, and fierce wind, the cowherds and their cattle were greatly distressed. But seeing Kṛṣṇa, their only refuge, smiling with compassion, he uprooted the mountain with one hand, as easily as a child lifts a toy, and held it aloft, sheltering the entire cowherd community. Thus, Indra, proud of his power, was not pleased with the cows. Thus ends the twenty-sixth chapter of the first part of the tenth book in the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, the great Purāṇa, the scripture cherished by the supreme renunciates. The saints, who are unattached, absorbed in me, peaceful, seeing all equally, free from possessiveness and ego, undisturbed by dualities, and without greed—among them, O fortunate one, my stories always arise. These sacred narratives, when cherished, purify and remove sin. Those who listen to them, sing them, or approve of them with respect—and who are devoted to me and faithful—attain devotion to me. For the saint who has attained devotion, what else remains to be achieved? Such a one experiences bliss in me, the infinite, the embodiment of Brahman and joy. Just as one who approaches a blazing fire dispels cold, fear, and darkness, so does one who associates with the saints. For those who are tossed about in the dreadful ocean of existence, the saints—knowers of Brahman and peaceful—are like a sturdy boat for those who are immersed in the waters of life. Food is the life of living beings; I am the refuge for the distressed; righteousness is the wealth of people after death; and saints are the shelter for those who fear in this world. Saints give vision, like the rising sun outside; gods, relatives, saints, and I myself are all saints. Thus, Vaitasena, even after Urvaśī, indifferent to worldly realms and free from attachment, wandered this earth, delighting in the self. Softness and hardness, coldness and heat—these are the qualities of touch, the subtle element of air. Movement, gathering, acquisition, leadership among objects and sounds, and the essence of all the senses—these are the characteristic actions of air. From the subtle element of touch belonging to air, and by divine influence, form arose; then, light emerged, and the eye became the means of perceiving form.