Having spoken his profound words, the Blessed Lord fell silent, and Vasudeva, in the quiet of night, gently took the infant and slipped outside. The guards, overcome by the sleep cast by Yogamāyā, remained oblivious, as did the gatekeepers of Mathurā, while Ānakadundubhi—another name for Vasudeva—departed. Outside, the clouds poured heavy rains, and Śeṣa, the serpent, shielded Vasudeva with his many hoods, accompanying him as he ventured forth. Carrying the divine child Viṣṇu in his arms, Vasudeva crossed the Yamunā. Though the river was deep and filled with swirling currents, its waters rose only to his knees, allowing him to pass safely. On the riverbank, Vasudeva saw Nanda and the elder cowherds, who had come to Mathurā to pay tribute to Kaṃsa. Meanwhile, in the cowherd village, Yaśodā too was overcome by Yogamāyā’s sleep, and in that enchanted moment, she gave birth to a girl, while all the people remained deluded. Vasudeva, radiant and immeasurable in splendor, quickly placed the boy—the divine child—on Yaśodā’s bed and took the newborn girl. When Yaśodā awoke, she found a son by her side, dark as a blue lotus petal, and her heart overflowed with joy. Vasudeva then returned to his own house, placing the girl upon Devakī’s bed, and remained there as before. Soon, the cry of the child reached the ears of the guards, who immediately rose and informed Kaṃsa of Devakī’s delivery. Kaṃsa rushed in, seized the newborn girl, even as Devakī, adorned and desperate, pleaded with him, “Let go, let go!” But Kaṃsa, intent on his purpose, hurled the child upon a stone. Yet, as she was thrown, the girl remained suspended in the air, transforming into a great form with eight mighty arms, bearing weapons. She laughed loudly, her anger blazing, and spoke to Kaṃsa: “Why do you attack me, Kaṃsa? The one destined to end your life has already been born. He is the very essence of the gods, the agent of their destruction in times past, and now he is your doom. Consider this well and act swiftly for your own good.” Having spoken these words, the goddess, adorned with celestial garlands, fragrances, and ornaments, departed through the sky as Kaṃsa watched, her glory praised by the Siddhas. Shaken and disturbed in mind, Kaṃsa summoned all the mighty Asuras, led by Pralamba and Keśi, and addressed the foremost among them: “O Pralamba, mighty-armed one, Keśin, Dhenuka, Pūtanā, Ariṣṭa, and others, listen well. The wicked gods have tried to kill me, but I count as nothing those heroes, tormented by my own power. It is astonishing what the maiden has said—it makes me laugh at those so-called heroes, even as they strive with all their might. Nevertheless, O lords of the Daityas, I must make even greater efforts to destroy those wicked ones. Death has arisen for me—the lord of past, future, and present—so spoke the maiden born from Devakī’s womb. Therefore, utmost effort must be made concerning children on earth. Wherever a child displays extraordinary strength, he must be killed with all care.” Having thus commanded the Asuras, Kaṃsa returned to his own house and spoke without opposition to Vasudeva and Devakī: “The embryos of you two have been slain by me in vain; now, some other child has arisen for my destruction. Enough of grief—whatever is destined will surely happen; which child of yours is not slain at the destined end of life?” Thus consoling and releasing them, and having satisfied them, Kaṃsa entered his inner chambers again. Freed, Vasudeva went to Nanda’s cart and saw Nanda rejoicing, exclaiming, “A son is born to me!” Vasudeva replied respectfully, “By good fortune, a son has now been born to you, even in old age. All the annual taxes due to the king have been paid by you; for that purpose you came, so there is no reason for the great-souled to remain here. The purpose for which you came has been accomplished; why stay longer? Go, Nanda, quickly to your own cowherd village. My own child is also there, born of Rohiṇī; he must be protected by you just as you protect your own son.” Thus addressed, the cowherds, led by Nanda, departed, loading their goods onto carts, having paid the tax, and being mighty in spirit. While they dwelt in Gokula, Pūtanā, the child-killing demoness, came at night, seized the sleeping Kṛṣṇa, and offered him her breast. To whichever child Pūtanā gave her breast, that child’s body would be harmed in a moment. But Kṛṣṇa, filled with anger, seized her breast tightly with his hands and drank not only her milk, but her very life. With a terrible roar, Pūtanā’s sinews and joints were torn apart; her monstrous body fell to the ground, terrifying in death. Hearing the dreadful cry, the people of Vraja awoke in alarm, and saw Krishna lying on Pūtanā’s breast, her body cast down. Yaśodā, trembling, took Krishna in her arms, and with cow-tail whisks and other rites, the brahmins dispelled any evil from the child. Nanda, too, placed cow-dung on Krishna’s head for protection, and uttered these words: “May Hari, the source of all beings, protect you—he from whose navel the lotus arose and from which the world was born. May Keshava, the god who, in the form of the Boar, held up the earth on his tusk, protect you.