At that remarkable time, Brahmā himself assumed the form of a calf, while Viṣṇu became the cow. Together, they entered the formidable city of Tripura at the most auspicious moment and drank the nectar from the well, a feat of divine ingenuity. The demons who witnessed this extraordinary act did nothing to prevent it, their minds clouded by illusion. Understanding their bewilderment, the great yogī Maya addressed the guardians of the nectar. Maya, serene and smiling, free from sorrow, remembered those suffering under the weight of destiny. He reflected on the truth that none—whether god, demon, human, or any other—possesses independence in this world. What is destined for oneself or another cannot be averted by either, for fate alone prevails. With this realization, Maya, by his own mystical powers, enacted the principal deed of Shiva. Drawing upon righteousness, wisdom, detachment, prosperity, austerity, learning, and action, Maya manifested all the elements of battle: the chariot, its charioteer, the banner, horses, bow, armor, arrows, and every necessary accoutrement. Fully armed, he mounted the chariot, taking up the bow and arrow. With swift determination, he fitted the arrow to the bow, and in a single, decisive moment, the Lord of Victory readied himself. With that arrow, O King, Hara—Shiva—burned the three impregnable cities to ashes. In the heavens, celestial drums thundered, and the skies became crowded with hundreds of divine vehicles. The gods, sages, ancestors, and perfected beings, filled with joy, showered flowers upon the victor and proclaimed his triumph, while the Apsaras, the heavenly dancers, rejoiced in ecstatic dance. Thus, having destroyed the three cities, the Lord—destroyer of cities—praised by Brahmā and the others, returned to his own abode. In this way, the wondrous deeds of Hari, who, by his own divine power, playfully imitates the ways of mortals, are sung by the sages. What more can be said? These sacred stories purify the world. Sūta continued: As the Lord approached the lands of Ānarta and his own prosperous regions, he sounded his resplendent conch, its deep resonance seeming to dispel all sorrow from the hearts of the people. The conch, white-bellied and high-pitched, touched by the reddish lower lip of the mighty Lord, when blown in his lotus-like hand, rang out clear and pure, like the call of a swan amidst lotus-filled ponds. Hearing that resounding, fear-dispelling blast, all the people, eager to see their beloved Lord, gathered together. Their strength renewed, they honored him as one would cherish a lamp in darkness, feeling ever content and fulfilled simply by his presence. Faces blossoming with joy, they spoke in voices choked with happiness, like children addressing a father who is both their protector and dearest friend. They offered their reverence: “We bow to you, Master, whose lotus feet are always worshipped by Brahmā, Shiva, and Indra. You are the supreme refuge for all who seek well-being, beyond even the reach of time itself. For our welfare, you are the creator, sustainer, and protector of the universe; you are our mother, friend, lord, and father; you are our true teacher and highest deity. By following you, we have become accomplished. Truly, we are blessed by you, for even the gods of heaven rarely behold what we see: your face, radiant with loving smiles and glances, and your form, adorned with every auspicious mark. “O lotus-eyed one, whenever you departed for the Kurus or the Madhus, wishing to see your friends, each moment became as long as millions of ages. Our eyes, bereft of your presence, were like eyes without the sun, O Acyuta.” As the people spoke these loving words, the Lord, ever affectionate to his devotees, listened and bestowed his gracious glance upon them, then entered the city. Protected by the Madhus, Bhojas, Dasharhas, Kukuras, Andhakas, and Vrishnis—clans whose strength matched his own—he made the city secure, as the serpents protect Bhogavati. In every season and with every prosperity, surrounded by auspicious trees, creepers, hermitages, gardens, parks, and lotus ponds, the city shone with radiant splendor. At the gates, doorways, and roads, festive arches were constructed, adorned with colorful flags and banners, shading the inner city from the sun’s glare. The grand avenues, streets, markets, and squares were swept clean, sprinkled with fragrant water, and decorated with fruits, flowers, and grains. At each doorstep, full pots, offerings, incense, and lamps were arranged alongside yogurt, grains, fruits, and sugarcane. Hearing that their beloved Lord was arriving, Vasudeva, noble-minded, Akrura, Ugrasena, and Balarāma of wondrous strength, together with Pradyumna, Charudeshna, Samba the son of Jambavati, and all the others, were overwhelmed with joy. They abandoned their beds, seats, and meals, eager to welcome him. Placing the lordly elephant at the front, accompanied by Brahmins chanting auspicious hymns and the sounds of conch shells and trumpets, honored by the sacred Vedic recitations, they joyfully approached with chariots, their hearts full of affection and awe. Hundreds of majestic elephants, eager for the Lord’s sight, with shining earrings and radiant faces, enhanced the grandeur of the scene. Dancers, actors, Gandharvas, bards, Magadhas, and singers recounted the wondrous deeds and stories of the illustrious one. The Blessed Lord, amidst his relatives and the citizens who followed him, approached each according to custom and honored them all—greeting some with humility, embracing others, touching hands, and offering smiling glances, comforting those who had been away and granting desired boons to others. He himself, along with elders, priests, wives, and aged relatives, received blessings from others and entered the city, accompanied by singers. As Krishna proceeded along the royal road of Dvārakā, the noble women of the city ascended to the balconies of their mansions, eager for the great festival of beholding him. Though the residents of Dvārakā gazed upon him constantly, their eyes were never satisfied, for he is the very abode of fortune and the source of all beauty. His chest was the dwelling place of Śrī, his face the drinking vessel for all eyes, his arms the guardians of the world, and his lotus feet the refuge of the virtuous. Adorned with white parasols and fans, showered with fresh flowers along the path, clad in yellow garments and a garland of forest flowers, he shone like the sun surrounded by clouds, a rainbow, and lightning. Upon entering his parents’ home, he was embraced by his mothers, and he joyfully bowed his head to Devakī and the other seven. The women, their affection overflowing, lifted their son onto their laps and, overwhelmed with joy, bathed him in tears of love. Finally, Krishna entered his own unsurpassed palace—fulfilling every desire—where there were sixteen thousand mansions for his beloved wives.