After a long separation from their beloved husband, the noble wives of Krishna rose swiftly from their seats and beds the moment they saw him return home. Their hearts overflowed with joy, as if a great festival had suddenly blossomed within them. Yet, bound by the modesty of their vows, they kept their faces and eyes lowered, their happiness shining through their gentle reserve. Despite the intensity of their feelings—so difficult to contain—the virtuous ladies of the Bhṛgu line embraced Krishna along with their children. Their eyes lingered on him, filled with an inner longing, and though they tried to restrain themselves, tears of bashful emotion welled up and slipped down their cheeks. Even when Krishna was with them in private, his feet seemed ever new and wondrous at every step. How could any woman turn away from those feet, when even the ever-restless goddess of fortune never leaves them? In this way, Krishna, after having stirred enmity among the kings—those who had been born as the earth’s burden and whose might was turned against one another in battle—brought about their mutual destruction, much like the wind snuffs out fire, and then stood apart, weaponless and untouched. Though he descended into the world of men by his own will, surrounded by the most exceptional women, he moved among them as if he were just an ordinary man. Yet, even Cupid himself was bewildered by the passionate glances, bashful smiles, and sidelong looks of these women. Overcome, Cupid put aside his bow, but the foremost of these ladies, with all their beauty and wiles, could not disturb Krishna’s senses in the least. People, unable to understand, judged him by their own standards and believed him attached, simply because they saw him engaged in worldly affairs. But this is the Lord’s sovereignty: though he dwells in the world of nature, he is never bound by its qualities, just as the mind of one who takes refuge in him remains untouched by those qualities. Not knowing the true measure of their Lord, some women thought of Krishna as their very own, devoted to them in private, just as ordinary minds mistake the infinite Lord for something limited. Krishna and Balarama, too, would sometimes playfully roar and bellow like rutting bulls, imitating the cries of animals, behaving as if they were just ordinary boys. Once, as Krishna and Balarama were tending their calves with their friends on the banks of the Yamuna, a demon approached, intent on killing them. This demon had taken the form of a calf and mingled with the herd. Krishna, feigning innocence, sat down slowly and pointed out the disguised demon to Balarama. Then, Acyuta seized the demon by the hind legs and tail, whirled him around, and threw him onto the top of a kapittha tree. Struck by the falling fruits, the great-bodied demon fell to the ground, lifeless. The cowherd boys, astonished by what they had seen, cried out, “Well done! Well done!” Meanwhile, the gods above, delighted, showered flowers from the heavens. Though Krishna and Balarama are the protectors of all worlds, they continued to act as simple cowherd boys, tending the calves and sharing their morning meal as usual. On another day, each boy led his group of calves to the water’s edge. After the calves drank, the boys themselves drank from the river. There, they beheld a mighty being standing before them, like a mountain peak struck down by Indra’s thunderbolt. It was Baka, a powerful demon in the form of a giant crane, who suddenly rushed forward and seized Krishna in his sharp beak. The boys, seeing Krishna swallowed by Baka, became as lifeless as senses bereft of their master. But Krishna, the son of the cowherd and teacher of the world, burned the root of Baka’s palate like fire. Overwhelmed by pain, Baka spat Krishna out, but, enraged, attacked again, hoping to kill him with his beak. Krishna, friend of the virtuous and even of his enemy Kamsa, seized Baka’s beak in his arms and, as the boys watched in amazement, effortlessly tore the demon apart, as easily as a hero among the gods. The boys rejoiced at this wondrous sight. The gods, overjoyed, showered Krishna with Nandana flowers and jasmine, and praised him with drums, conches, and hymns. The cowherd boys watched, astonished. When Krishna emerged unharmed from Baka’s mouth, the boys, led by Rama, felt as if their very life had returned. Embracing Krishna with relief, they gathered the calves and joyfully returned to Vraja, singing of the miraculous event. When the cowherds and their wives heard what had happened, they gazed at Krishna with wonder and deep affection, as if he had returned from the dead. They exclaimed, “Alas, how many dangers this boy has faced! Perhaps some past misdeed of ours is the cause of this fear.” Yet, they marveled that these terrible beings could not overcome Krishna; though they came to kill him, they perished like moths in a flame. Indeed, the words of the knowers of Brahman are never false; just as the sage Garga had declared, so it came to pass. Thus, Nanda and the other cowherds, delighting in tales of Krishna and Rama, spent their days in joy, untouched by worldly suffering. In this way, through the playful games of childhood—hiding, building dams, and leaping about like monkeys—they passed their boyhood in Vraja. At this point, Shaunaka, the sage, asked: “By the power of Ashvatthama’s dreadful Brahmashirsha weapon, Uttara’s unborn child was struck down, but by the Lord’s grace, he was restored to life. We wish to hear about his birth, his deeds as a great soul, and how his end came. Where did he go after death? If you deem it proper, please tell us, for we are eager listeners, to whom Shuka imparted this knowledge.” Sūta replied: King Yudhishthira, like a true father, delighted his subjects, remaining unattached to all desires through his service at Krishna’s feet. He possessed wealth, performed sacrifices, ruled over realms, had queens and brothers, dominion over Jambudvipa, and his fame reached the heavens. But, O twice-born, what value are even the desires coveted by the gods to one whose mind is fixed on Mukunda? Just as other things bring joy to a hungry king, so did these things bring delight to him. O descendant of Bhrigu, while still in his mother’s womb, the heroic child—Parikshit—saw a wondrous Person as he was being burned by the power of the weapon. He beheld a spotless form, the size of a thumb, shining brilliantly, crowned with a golden diadem, dark in complexion, clad in yellow garments, and altogether wondrous—the infallible Lord himself. Resplendent, with four long arms, adorned with blazing golden earrings and blood-red eyes, holding a mace, the Lord moved all around the child in every direction, whirling the mace again and again like a blazing meteor. With his own mace, he dispelled the weapon’s fiery energy, just as the lord of cows disperses mist, and the child watched closely, wondering, “Who is this?” Then, having removed that danger, the immeasurable Lord, protector of righteousness and all-pervading, disappeared there itself before the child’s very eyes at the end of ten months.