Kaṃsa, filled with suspicion and dread, rushed forward and seized the newborn girl. Devakī, her neck adorned with jewels, desperately pleaded, “Let go, let go!” But Kaṃsa, blinded by fear of the prophecy, hurled the infant upon a stone, intent on ending her life. Yet, as he threw her, something miraculous occurred—the child did not fall. Suspended in the air, she revealed herself in a magnificent form, vast and resplendent, bearing eight mighty arms, each wielding a divine weapon. With a thunderous, mocking laughter, she confronted Kaṃsa, her eyes blazing with fury. “Why do you attack me, Kaṃsa?” she declared. “The one destined to kill you has already been born. He is the very essence of the gods, their destroyer in ages past, and now he is your doom. Reflect on this and act swiftly for your own welfare.” Having spoken these words, the goddess, adorned with celestial garlands, fragrances, and ornaments, vanished into the sky as Kaṃsa, king of the Bhojas, watched in astonishment. Her departure was hailed by the Siddhas, who praised her glory. Shaken to his core, Kaṃsa summoned the greatest Asuras—Pralamba, Keśi, and other formidable demons. Addressing them, he said, “Pralamba, mighty-armed one, Keśin, Dhenuka, Pūtanā, Ariṣṭa, and all of you, listen well. The gods, wicked as they are, have tried to kill me, but I do not fear those so-called heroes, for I have tormented them with my own power. Yet, what the maiden said is astonishing. It makes me laugh at their efforts, though they strive with all their might. Still, O lords of the Daityas, I must redouble my efforts to destroy those wicked ones. The maiden born of Devakī’s womb declared that death has come for me—the lord of past, future, and present. Therefore, we must be vigilant. Wherever a child displays extraordinary strength, he must be slain with utmost care.” Having thus commanded his demonic allies, Kaṃsa returned to his palace and spoke without opposition to Vasudeva and Devakī. “All the embryos born to you have been slain by me in vain,” he said. “Now, some other child has arisen for my destruction. Enough of grief—whatever is destined will surely happen. Which child of yours has not been taken at the destined end of life?” Thus consoling and releasing them, and having satisfied their hearts, Kaṃsa withdrew to his inner chambers. Once freed, Vasudeva made his way to Nanda’s cart and found Nanda rejoicing, exclaiming, “A son is born to me!” Vasudeva greeted him warmly, “By good fortune, a son has been born to you even in your old age. All the annual taxes due to the king have been paid, and your purpose here is fulfilled. There is no reason for the noble-hearted to remain—go quickly, Nanda, return to your cowherd village. My own child, born of Rohiṇī, is there too; protect him as you would your own son.” Nanda and the cowherds, heeding Vasudeva’s counsel, loaded their goods onto carts, paid their taxes, and departed, mighty in spirit. As they settled in Gokula, danger soon approached. Pūtanā, the infamous child-killer, entered the village at night and took the sleeping Kṛṣṇa in her arms, offering him her poisoned breast. Any child who nursed from Pūtanā at night would perish in a moment. But Kṛṣṇa, grasping her breast tightly, drank not only her milk but her very life, his anger fierce and unstoppable. With a terrible roar, Pūtanā’s sinews and joints were shattered; she fell to the ground, her monstrous form terrifying in death. The dreadful cry awakened the people of Vraja, who rushed to the scene, alarmed and fearful. They found Krishna safe upon Pūtanā’s breast, her lifeless body cast aside. Yashoda, trembling, snatched Krishna into her arms, and the brahmins performed rites to ward off evil, using cow-tail whisks and sacred incantations. Nanda too took cow-dung, placing it on Krishna’s head for protection, and uttered prayers: “May Hari, the source of all beings, protect you—he from whose navel the lotus arose, from which the world was born. May Keshava, who in the form of the Boar held up the earth on his tusk, protect you. May Vishnu guard your secret parts, Janardana your thighs and feet; may Vamana, who appeared in a moment, always protect you. May Govinda, whose weapons shine as he strides the three worlds as Trivikrama, protect your head; may Keshava guard your neck. May Narayana, imperishable lord of undiminished power, protect your face, arms, mind, and all your senses. May Vaikuntha protect you in all directions, Madhusudana in the intermediate quarters; may Hrishikesha guard you in the sky, and Mahidhara on the earth.” With these rites completed, Nanda laid Krishna to rest beneath the cart, on a small bed made for infants. The cowherds, seeing the immense body of the slain Pūtanā, were filled with awe and fear. One day, as Madhusudana lay beneath the cart, desiring his mother’s milk, he raised his feet and began to cry. With a single kick, the cart was overturned; its pots and vessels shattered as it crashed in the opposite direction. The cowherds and their wives rushed over, alarmed, and found the child lying safely on his back. They asked, “By whom was the cart overturned?” The children nearby replied, “By this child—it was thrown down by him.” Thus, the miraculous events surrounding Krishna’s infancy continued to unfold, filling Gokula with wonder and reverence.