Kaṃsa, tormented by the prophecy of his doom, summoned the Asuras and issued a cruel command: “On earth, wherever a child displays extraordinary strength, he must be killed with utmost care.” Having given this order, Kaṃsa returned to his own house, where he spoke to Vasudeva and Devakī without opposition. He confessed bitterly, “The embryos of you two have been slain by me in vain; now, some other child has arisen for my destruction.” Resigned, he continued, “Enough of grief—surely, whatever is destined will happen. Which child of yours is not slain at the destined end of life?” With these words, he sought to console and release them, and after satisfying them, Kaṃsa withdrew once more to his inner chambers. Freed from captivity, Vasudeva made his way to Nanda’s cart and found Nanda rejoicing, declaring, “A son is born to me!” Vasudeva greeted him respectfully, saying, “By good fortune, a son has now been born to you even in old age.” He reminded Nanda that all the annual taxes due to the king had been paid, and since that purpose was fulfilled, there was no reason for the great-souled to linger any longer. “The purpose for which you came has been accomplished; why stay? 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 advised, Nanda and the cowherds loaded their belongings onto carts, paid the taxes, and departed, mighty and content. As they settled in Gokula, danger lurked. Pūtanā, the child-killer, entered at night and took the sleeping Kṛṣṇa, offering him her breast. To any child Pūtanā nursed, harm befell their body in a moment. But Kṛṣṇa, seizing her breast tightly with his hands, drank not only her milk but her very life, filled with divine anger. With a great roar, Pūtanā’s sinews and joints were severed, and she fell to the ground, terrifying in her death. The dreadful cry awakened the people of Vraja; alarmed, they rushed to see Krishna lying upon Pūtanā’s breast and her enormous body cast down. Yaśodā, trembling, took Krishna in her arms, and the brahmins performed rites with cow-tail whisks and other rituals to dispel any evil from the child. Nanda, too, placed cow-dung on Krishna’s head for protection, uttering prayers: “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. 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, the 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.” Having performed these rites of protection, Nanda laid the child to rest beneath a cart, on a little bed for infants. The cowherds, seeing the immense body of the dead Pūtanā, were seized with great fear and wonder. Once, as Madhusudana lay beneath the cart, desiring his mother’s milk, he raised his feet and began to cry. With a single blow from his foot, the cart was overturned; its pots and vessels shattered, and it fell in the opposite direction. The cowherds and their wives, alarmed, rushed to see the child lying on his back. They asked, “By whom was the cart overturned?” The children replied, “By this child it was thrown down. We saw him crying, striking with his foot; the cart was overturned. No one else did this.” The cowherds, astonished, sat down, and Nanda, amazed, took up the child. Yaśodā, filled with wonder, worshipped the broken potsherds and the overturned cart with curds, flowers, fruits, and grains of rice. In Gokula, at Vasudeva’s prompting, Garga performed the naming rites for the two boys in secret from the cowherds. He named the elder one Rāma, and the other Kṛṣṇa, bestowing their names with great discernment. In a short time, both boys, mighty in strength and with knees rubbed raw from play, became well-known to the brāhmaṇas. Smeared with cow-dung ash, wandering here and there, neither Yaśodā nor Rohiṇī was able to restrain them. Playing in the middle of the cow-pen, they went again to the calves’ enclosure, and that very day became intent on pulling the tails of the newborn calves. Whenever Yaśodā saw the two boys playing together in one place, she was unable to stop their restless games. Out of impatience, she finally bound Kṛṣṇa, who was blameless in his actions, to the mortar in the middle with a rope, and spoke these words.