In the sacred land of Vraja, the atmosphere was enchanted by the music of Krishna’s flute. The bulls, deer, and cows, captivated by its distant melody, sat together in groups. With mouthfuls of grass still held between their teeth and their ears trained to the sound, they became utterly motionless, as if painted, lost in a peaceful, dreamlike trance. Krishna, known as Mukunda, adorned himself with peacock feathers, colored minerals, and leaves, sometimes dressing in the manner of a wrestler. Alongside his cowherd friends, he would call the cows, his presence radiating beauty and vitality. Even the rivers, their currents slowed and interrupted by breezes carrying the dust from Krishna’s lotus feet, longed for him as the gopīs did. Blessed by their merits, the rivers’ waters stilled, their “arms” trembling with love, yearning for his touch. When Krishna, the original person and lord of the mountains, wandered the forest and was praised by his companions for his valor, he called the cows with his flute along the slopes. The forest itself responded: creepers and trees, heavy with flowers and fruit, seemed to manifest Vishnu within themselves. Their branches bowed, honey streaming down, and their bodies thrilled with love, producing blossoms in honor of him. He was adorned with tilaka, a garland of forest flowers, divine fragrances, and honey-laden tulasi leaves. As Krishna played his flute, bees, intoxicated by the scent and music, buzzed their own song, honoring him. In the lakes, cranes, swans, and other birds, captivated by Krishna’s beautiful song, gathered around him. With minds restrained and eyes closed, they maintained silence, worshiping Hari in their own way. On the slopes of the hills, Krishna and his companions, adorned with garlands and ornaments, delighted the cowherd women with the sound of his flute. The joy that arose from his music seemed to pervade the entire world. Even the clouds responded, rumbling softly and cautiously so as not to overshadow Krishna. As friends, they showered flowers and provided shade, forming a gentle canopy above him. Krishna, expert in tending various cows and skilled in flute playing, placed the flute to his lips and brought forth melodies of his own creation. Hearing these tunes, the lords of the gods—Indra, Shiva, Brahma, and others—along with the sages, bowed their necks and minds, bewildered and unable to fathom the truth of Krishna’s divine nature. The cows, delighted by the flute, soothed the earth of Vraja, covering its wounds with their hooves, which bore the marks of flag, thunderbolt, lotus, and goad. As Krishna passed by, the gopīs were overcome by the playful glances he cast and the force of desire awakened in their hearts. Lost in confusion, they wandered about, unaware of the state of their hair or garments. Sometimes, adorned with a garland fragrant with tulasi, Krishna counted the cows, placing his arm on the shoulder of a dear companion and singing as they walked. The wives of Krishna, deceived in mind by the sound of his flute, followed him, their hearts absorbed in his virtues. Even the deer, like the cowherd women, freed from attachment to their homes, followed after him. On the banks of the Yamuna, Krishna was welcomed with garlands of jasmine and festive attire, surrounded by cowherds and cattle. Nanda’s son delighted the hearts of his loving friends with playful pastimes. A gentle, fragrant breeze—laden with sandalwood—blew to honor him. Groups of celestial singers encircled Krishna, offering music, song, and praise. Affectionate to the cows of Vraja and honored by the elders along the path, Krishna led all the cattle home at day’s end, his fame sung by the sound of his flute. His face shone with exertion, his garland dusted with earth kicked up by the cows’ hooves. He came, wishing to grant blessings to his friends—this king who was born from Devaki’s womb. His eyes rolled slightly from joy; the garland-wearing Krishna honored his friends, his lips pale like the jujube fruit, and his soft cheeks adorned by the splendor of golden earrings. The lord of the Yadus, sporting among the king of elephants, returned at day’s end like the lord of the night. His face radiant with joy, Krishna approached the village, relieving the cows of Vraja from the day’s heat. Thus, as Śuka explained, the women of Vraja spent their days singing of Krishna’s pastimes, absorbed in him with minds and hearts wholly devoted, filled with great joy. Here ends the thirty-fifth chapter, “The Song of the Gopīs in Pairs,” in the first half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for supreme renunciates. But then, a new threat appeared. Ariṣṭa, the bull-demon, arrived at the cowherd settlement, shaking the earth with his massive hump and tearing up the ground with his hooves. He bellowed harshly, scraped the earth with his feet, raised his tail, and tossed mounds of earth with the tips of his horns. He released dung bit by bit, urinated, and fixed his fierce, unblinking eyes on the settlement. His terrifying bellowing struck fear into cows and people alike. Out of fear, pregnant women miscarried before their time, and the clouds, mistaking his hump for a mountain, scattered away. Seeing his sharp horns, the cowherd women and men were struck with terror. The cattle, frightened, fled the settlement, abandoning Gokula. All cried out, “Krishna! Krishna!” and took refuge in Govinda. Seeing Gokula panic-stricken, the Lord took notice. He comforted them, saying, “Do not be afraid,” and called out to the bull-demon, while the cowherds and cattle, trembling with fear, looked on: “What is this, O worst of creatures?” Achyuta struck the ground with his palm, provoking Ariṣṭa with a resounding slap. He declared, “I am the destroyer of the pride of the wicked, like you, O evil-minded one.” Standing with his arm extended over his friend’s shoulder, Krishna awaited Ariṣṭa. Enraged, Ariṣṭa scraped the earth with his hoof, whirled his raised tail like a storm cloud, and charged furiously at Krishna. With sharp horns pointed forward, eyes fixed and bloodshot, Ariṣṭa rushed swiftly at Achyuta, casting a sidelong glance like a thunderbolt released by Indra. The Lord seized him by the horns, stepped back eighteen paces, and dragged him away, just as an elephant would pull back another elephant. Thrown aside by the Lord, Ariṣṭa quickly rose again, his body drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, and overcome by wrath, he charged once more. Krishna seized the charging Ariṣṭa by the horns, pressed him down with his foot, and threw him to the ground. He squeezed him as one wrings out wet clothes, then struck him with the horn, and Ariṣṭa fell down. Vomiting blood, releasing urine and feces, flailing his legs, his eyes unsteady, Ariṣṭa suffered greatly and met his end at the hands of Nirṛti. The gods showered Krishna with flowers and praised him. Having slain the bull-demon Kukudmin in this way, Krishna, praised by the twice-born, entered the cowherd settlement with Balarama—a festival for the eyes of the gopīs. When the demon Ariṣṭa was slain by Krishna’s wondrous deeds, the divine sage Nārada, who beholds the gods, went to inform Kaṃsa. He told Kaṃsa that the daughter of Yaśodā, the boy Krishna of Devakī, and Rāma, the son of Rohiṇī, had been entrusted by the fearful Vasudeva.