As each day in Vraja drew to a close, Krishna, ever affectionate toward the cows, would lead the herds home along the forest paths. Elders honored him with loving glances, and the air was filled with the sweet, enchanting melodies of his flute, his fame echoing through the village. His face shone with the glow of exertion, and his garland, once fresh, was now dusted by the earth kicked up by the cattle’s hooves. With every step, he radiated a wish to bless his friends, this kingly child born from Devaki, beloved by all. His eyes, bright and slightly rolling with the joy of play, sparkled beneath the garland he wore. He honored his friends with every gesture, and his lips, pale as ripe jujube fruit, were framed by soft cheeks adorned with the golden gleam of his earrings. Krishna, the lord of the Yadus, would sometimes sport among the king of elephants, but always, as the sun set, he returned like the lord of the night—his face beaming with happiness, bringing relief to the cows of Vraja from the heat of the day. Thus, O King, Śuka said, the women of Vraja spent their days absorbed in Krishna’s pastimes, their hearts and minds wholly devoted to him, singing of his deeds and filled with profound joy. So concludes the thirty-fifth chapter, “The Song of the Gopīs in Pairs,” of the first half of the Tenth Book of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam Mahāpurāṇa, the scripture for the supreme renunciates. Then, a new threat came to the peaceful cowherd settlement. Ariṣṭa, the bull-demon, arrived, shaking the very earth with his massive hump and tearing up the ground with his powerful hooves. He bellowed harshly, scraping the earth, raising his tail, and tossing mounds of dirt with his horns. Bit by bit, he released dung and urine, his unblinking eyes fierce and terrifying. His dreadful roars struck fear into the hearts of cows and people alike. Pregnant women miscarried from fear, and even the clouds, mistaking his hump for a mountain, scattered away in panic. The sight of his sharp horns left the cowherd men and women terror-stricken, and the cattle, frightened beyond measure, fled from Gokula, abandoning their home. In their distress, all cried out, “Krishna! Krishna!” and sought refuge in Govinda. Seeing Gokula gripped by fear, Krishna took notice and comforted them: “Do not be afraid.” He then called out to the bull-demon, while the trembling cowherds and cattle looked on: “What is this, O worst of creatures?” With a resounding slap of his palm on the ground, Krishna provoked Ariṣṭa and declared, “I am the destroyer of the pride of the wicked, like you, O evil-minded one.” Standing with his arm draped over his friend’s shoulder, Krishna waited. Enraged, Ariṣṭa scraped the earth, his tail whirling like a storm cloud, and charged furiously at Krishna. With sharpened horns pointed forward, bloodshot eyes fixed in a sidelong glare, Ariṣṭa rushed at Krishna like a thunderbolt hurled by Indra. But the Lord seized the demon’s horns, stepped back eighteen paces, and dragged him away, just as an elephant might pull back another elephant. Thrown aside, Ariṣṭa rose again, his body drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, and, overcome by wrath, charged once more. Krishna seized him by the horns, pressed him down with his foot, and threw him to the ground. He squeezed Ariṣṭa as one wrings out wet clothes and struck him with the horn. The demon fell, vomiting blood, releasing urine and feces, flailing his legs, his eyes rolling in agony. Thus, Ariṣṭa met his end at the hands of Nirṛti, and the gods showered Krishna with flowers and praised him. Having slain the bull-demon Kukudmin in this way, Krishna, lauded by the twice-born, entered the cowherd settlement with Balarama—a festival for the eyes of the gopīs. When Krishna had performed this wondrous feat and slain Ariṣṭa, the divine sage Nārada, witness to the deeds of gods, went to the city 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. Vasudeva, placing his trust in his friend Nanda, had sent these two boys, by whom Kaṃsa’s own men had been slain. Hearing this, the king of the Bhojas, his senses inflamed with anger, seized a sharp sword, intent on killing Vasudeva. But Nārada restrained him, revealing that these two sons were, in truth, the harbingers of his own death. Realizing this, Kaṃsa bound Vasudeva and his wife with iron chains. When the divine sage departed, Kaṃsa summoned the demon Keśin and spoke to him, “Go and kill Rāma and Keśava; then send Muṣṭika, Cāṇūra, Śala, Tośala, and others.” He then called for his ministers and elephant-keepers, announcing, “Listen, all of you: these are the mighty wrestlers Cāṇūra and Muṣṭika. In Nanda’s cowherd village reside the two sons of Ānakadundubhi, Rāma and Krishna; therefore, my death has been foretold at their hands. You two must kill them here in a wrestling match. Let various platforms be prepared, surrounded by the wrestling arena, so that all citizens and country folk may witness their combat. O chief minister, have the elephant Kuvalayāpīḍa brought to the gate of the arena; let him kill my enemies there. Let the bow-sacrifice be commenced on the fourteenth day, according to the prescribed rites; let the pure animals be brought in for offering to the Lord of beings, the bestower of blessings.” Having thus instructed his expert minister, Kaṃsa summoned the foremost among the Yadus, took his hand, and spoke to Akrura: “O generous lord, please, out of respect, establish friendship with me; among the Bhojas and Vrishnis, there is no one more well-wishing than you. Therefore, gentle one, I have taken refuge in you, as you are capable of accomplishing important tasks, just as Indra, relying on Vishnu, attained his own purpose, O mighty one. Go to Nanda’s Vraja; there, the two sons of Anakadundubhi are staying. Bring them here at once in this chariot. It is said that my death has been sent by the gods who dwell in Vaikuntha; bring those two here together with the cowherds, led by Nanda, along with their gifts. When they have been brought here, I will have them killed by the elephant, who is like death itself; if they escape, then I will have them slain by wrestlers, fierce as lightning. When those two have been killed, I will destroy Vasudeva and the others who are tormented, and I will slay their relatives—the Vrishnis, Bhojas, and Dasharhas. I will also kill Ugrasena, my aged father who desires the throne, his brother Devaka, and all others who are hostile to me.” Thus, Kaṃsa’s dark intentions were set in motion, as the stage was prepared for the next chapter in the divine play of Krishna’s life.