With hearts full of reverence, the people of Dvaraka bowed before Krishna, the Master whose lotus feet are worshipped even by Brahma, Shiva, and Indra. They acknowledged him as the supreme refuge for all who seek well-being, a haven untouched even by the power of time itself. For their sake, he was the creator, sustainer, and protector of the universe; to them, he was mother, friend, lord, and father, their true teacher and highest deity. By following him, they had achieved all success. They marveled at their good fortune, feeling truly blessed, for even the gods of heaven rarely beheld what they saw daily: Krishna’s face, radiant with loving smiles and glances, and his form adorned with every auspicious mark. Whenever Krishna departed for the land of the Kurus or the Madhus to visit friends, each moment of separation stretched unbearably, seeming as long as millions of ages. Their eyes felt as bereft as those left without the sun, longing for the lotus-eyed Acyuta. As the people spoke thus, Krishna, ever affectionate to his devotees, listened with a gracious smile and entered the city. Dvaraka was protected by the mighty Madhus, Bhojas, Dasharhas, Kukuras, Andhakas, and Vrishnis, whose strength matched his own; together, they guarded the city as serpents protect their ancient capital, Bhogavati. In every season, Dvaraka flourished with prosperity, surrounded by auspicious trees, creepers, hermitages, gardens, parks, and lotus ponds, shining in splendor. At the city gates, doorways, and roads, festive arches were erected, adorned with colorful flags and banners, shading the streets from the sun. The grand avenues, markets, and squares were swept clean, sprinkled with fragrant water, and decorated with fruits, flowers, and grains. At the entrance of each home, pots filled with yogurt, grains, fruits, and sugarcane stood as offerings, accompanied by incense and lamps. When word spread of Krishna’s arrival, Vasudeva the noble, Akrura, Ugrasena, Rama of wondrous strength, Pradyumna, Charudeshna, Samba—the son of Jambavati—and all the others, overwhelmed with joy, abandoned their beds, seats, and meals. Placing the lordly elephant at the front, they set out with Brahmins chanting auspicious hymns, the sounds of conch shells and trumpets resounding, and Vedic hymns honoring the occasion. Moved by affection and awe, they approached with chariots to welcome Krishna. Hundreds of splendid elephants, adorned with shining earrings and radiant faces, added to the city’s glory. Dancers, actors, Gandharvas, bards, Magadhas, and singers filled the air with songs of Krishna’s wondrous deeds and stories. Amid his relatives and the gathered citizens, Krishna approached each person according to custom, honoring them all. With humble greetings, embraces, hand-touches, and smiling glances, he comforted those who had been away and granted desired blessings to others. He, along with elders, priests, wives, and aged relatives, received blessings in turn and entered the city, accompanied by singers. As Krishna proceeded along Dvaraka’s royal road, the noble women of the city climbed to the upper stories of their mansions, eager to witness the festival of his arrival. Yet, though they gazed upon him constantly, their eyes were never satisfied, for he was the very abode of fortune and the source of all beauty. His chest was the dwelling place of Lakshmi, his face the vessel for the eyes’ delight, his arms the guardians of the world, and his lotus feet the refuge of the virtuous. He shone resplendent, adorned with white parasols and fans, showered with fresh flowers, wearing yellow garments and a garland of forest flowers. He appeared like the sun encircled by clouds, a rainbow, and flashes of lightning. Entering his parents’ house, he was embraced by his mothers and, bowing his head joyfully, greeted Devaki and the other seven. The mothers, their affection overflowing, lifted their son onto their laps and, overwhelmed with joy, bathed him with tears of love. Thereafter, Krishna entered his own unsurpassed palace, fulfilling every desire, where sixteen thousand mansions awaited him, homes of his wives. His wives, after being separated from their beloved, rose at once from their seats and beds upon his return. Their hearts overflowed with festival-like joy, yet their faces and eyes were cast down in modesty, mindful of their vows. Though their feelings were difficult to restrain, these noble ladies of the Bhṛgu line embraced their husband with their children, gazing at him with longing. Even as they tried to contain their emotions, tears flowed from their eyes out of bashful joy. Even in the intimacy of their chambers, Krishna’s feet seemed ever new to them at every step. What woman could ever turn from those feet, when even the restless goddess of fortune never leaves them? In this way, Krishna, after having caused enmity among the kings—those who were born as the earth’s burden and whose power was turned against each other in battle—brought about their mutual destruction, standing apart and weaponless, like the wind extinguishing fire. The Lord had descended into the world of men by his own power, and, surrounded by the choicest of women, enjoyed himself as if he were an ordinary man. Even Cupid, struck down by the passionate glances, bashful smiles, and sidelong looks of these foremost women, became bewildered and set aside his bow; yet, with all their charms, these women could not disturb Krishna’s senses with their wiles. People, ignorant of his true nature, imagined him attached, judging him by worldly standards, simply because he appeared engaged in worldly affairs. Such is the sovereignty of the Lord: though he dwells in nature, he is never bound by its qualities, just as one who takes refuge in him is not affected by them. Yet, foolish women, not knowing the measure of their Lord, thought of him as their own, devoted to them in private, just as ordinary minds mistake the limitless Lord for something finite. Sometimes, Krishna and Balarama, roaring and bellowing like bulls in rut, would imitate the cries of animals and play together as if they were ordinary beings. Once, while Krishna and Balarama were tending their calves with their friends on the bank of the Yamuna, a demon came, intent on killing them. The demon had taken the form of a calf and mingled with the herd. Hari, feigning innocence, sat down slowly and pointed him out to Balarama. Then Acyuta seized the demon by his hind legs and tail, whirled him around, and threw him onto the top of a kapittha tree. The great-bodied demon, struck by the falling fruits, fell lifeless to the ground. The astonished boys exclaimed, “Well done! Well done!” and the gods, greatly pleased, showered flowers from above. Though they were the protectors of all the worlds, Krishna and Balarama acted as simple cowherd boys, tending the calves and taking their morning meal as usual.