The Lord, whose broad chest is the very abode of the goddess of fortune, whose radiant face is a feast for the eyes, whose mighty arms protect the world, and whose lotus feet are the refuge of the virtuous, entered his city. Along his path, white parasols and fans shaded him, fresh flowers were showered before him, and he shone in yellow garments and a garland of forest blooms—resplendent as the sun encircled by clouds, a rainbow, and flashes of lightning. Upon entering his parents’ home, Krishna was warmly embraced by his mothers. With joyful reverence, he bowed his head before Devaki and her seven companions. The mothers, overwhelmed with love, lifted their son onto their laps; tears of joy streamed from their eyes, wetting their breasts as they held him close. Then Krishna made his way to his own peerless palace, a wondrous place that fulfilled every desire, where there stood sixteen thousand mansions for his wives. After being apart from him, his beloved queens, their hearts bursting with festival-like joy, rose from their seats and beds the moment he returned. Out of modesty—and in observance of their vows—their faces and eyes were cast down, even as their delight was impossible to conceal. Though their love was difficult to restrain, these noble women of the Bhṛgu line embraced Krishna with their children, gazing at him with longing. Even as they tried to stifle their tears out of bashful joy, their eyes overflowed. Even when Krishna was alone with them, his feet always seemed new and wondrous, never losing their charm. Which woman could ever leave those feet, when even the restless goddess of fortune never abandons them? Having incited enmity among the kings—who had become a burden to the earth and whose armies clashed in mutual destruction—Krishna, like the wind extinguishing fire, caused their downfall and then stood apart, weaponless. Though he descended into the world by his own power, the Lord, surrounded by the most exquisite women, enjoyed himself as if he were an ordinary man. Yet even Cupid, overcome by the queens’ passionate glances, bashful smiles, and sidelong looks, was bewildered and set aside his bow. Despite their many charms, those foremost women could not disturb Krishna’s senses, for he remained untouched by their allure. People, ignorant of his true nature, imagined him attached—judging him by their own standards, simply because he appeared to engage in worldly affairs. But such is the sovereignty of the Lord: though dwelling in the world, he is never bound by its qualities, just as the intelligence of those who take refuge in him remains unaffected. Foolish women, unable to fathom their Lord’s greatness, thought of him as their own, devoted to them in private, just as ordinary minds mistake the infinite Lord for something limited. Krishna and Balarama, roaring and bellowing like bulls in their youth, imitated the calls of animals and played together as if they were ordinary boys. Once, while tending their calves with their friends on the banks of the Yamuna, a demon approached, intent on killing them. This demon, disguised as a calf, mingled among the herd. Hari, feigning innocence, sat down and pointed the demon out to Balarama. Then Krishna swiftly seized the demon by the hind legs and tail, whirled him around, and flung 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 cried out, “Well done! Well done!” while the gods, pleased, showered flowers from above. Though Krishna and Balarama are the protectors of all the worlds, they behaved as simple cowherd boys, tending the calves and taking their morning meal with their friends. One day, each boy led his group of calves to the water’s edge; after the calves drank, the boys also drank. There, they saw a mighty being standing—a form like a mountain peak struck down by Indra’s thunderbolt. It was Baka, a powerful demon in the shape of a crane, who suddenly lunged and seized Krishna with his sharp beak. Seeing Krishna swallowed, Rama and the other boys became as lifeless as senses without their master, bewildered and afraid. But Krishna, the teacher of the world, burned the root of Baka’s palate like fire. Overcome with pain, Baka spat Krishna out and, enraged, attacked again with his beak. Krishna, Lord of the virtuous and friend of Kamsa, seized Baka’s beak with his arms and, as the boys watched, effortlessly tore him apart—just as a hero among the gods might do—bringing joy to his friends. The gods rained down Nandana flowers and jasmine, sounding drums and conches, and sang Krishna’s praises. The cowherd boys, amazed, saw this display. When Krishna emerged safe from Baka’s mouth, the boys, led by Rama, felt as if their very lives had returned. They embraced him with relief, gathered the calves, and joyfully returned to Vraja, singing of Krishna’s victory. Hearing this, the cowherds and their wives gazed at Krishna with unquenchable love, as if he had returned from the dead. “Alas, how many dangers this boy has faced!” they said. “Perhaps some past misdeed of ours is the cause of this fear.” Yet, they marveled, “These terrifying beings cannot overcome him; even when they try to kill him, they perish like moths in a flame.” They remembered, “Indeed, the words of the knowers of Brahman never fail; just as the sage Garga declared, so it has come to pass.” Thus, Nanda and the other cowherds, delighting in tales of Krishna and Rama, passed their days in happiness, untouched by worldly sorrow. In this way, through childhood play—games of hiding, building dams, and leaping like monkeys—the boys spent their youth in Vraja. At this point, Shaunaka spoke: “By the power of Ashvatthama’s Brahmashirsha weapon, Uttara’s unborn child was struck down, but by the Lord’s grace, he was restored to life. We wish to hear of this child’s birth, his deeds as a great soul, and how his life ended, and where he went after death. If you think it proper, please tell us, for we are eager listeners to whom Shuka imparted this wisdom.” Sūta replied: King Yudhishthira delighted his subjects as a father would, his heart free from all desires through service at Krishna’s feet. He possessed wealth, performed sacrifices, ruled realms, had queens and brothers, dominion over Jambudvipa, and fame that reached the heavens. But, O twice-born, what value are even the gods’ coveted pleasures to one whose mind is fixed on Mukunda? Just as other things bring joy to a hungry king, so did these bring delight to Yudhishthira.