After Nanda and the cowherds had loaded their goods onto carts and paid the necessary taxes, they departed, strong and resolute, seeking a new home. Settling in Gokula, their days unfolded peacefully—until one night, a dreadful event occurred. Pūtanā, the notorious child-killer, crept in while Krishna slept, intending to harm him as she had done to other infants. Whenever Pūtanā offered her breast to a child, the child’s body would be grievously harmed in an instant. But as Pūtanā pressed Krishna to her breast, he seized her with his tiny hands and, filled with righteous anger, drank not only her milk but her very life itself. With a terrifying roar, her sinews and joints snapping, Pūtanā collapsed to the earth, her monstrous form stilled in death. The people of Vraja, awakened by her dreadful cry, rushed in alarm to the scene. There they found Krishna lying atop Pūtanā’s breast, her lifeless body cast down. Yashoda, trembling with fear, quickly took Krishna in her arms. With cow-tail whisks and sacred rites, the brahmins sought to dispel any lingering evil from the child. Nanda, too, placed cow-dung on Krishna’s head for protection and uttered prayers: “May Hari, source of all beings, protect you—the one from whose navel sprang the lotus and the world. May Keshava, who as the Boar held up the earth, guard you. May Vishnu protect your secret parts, Janardana your thighs and feet; may Vamana, who appeared in an instant, always shield you. May Govinda, who 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 senses. May Vaikuntha protect you in all directions, Madhusudana in the intermediate quarters; Hrishikesha in the sky, Mahidhara on the earth.” Having completed these rites, Nanda gently laid Krishna beneath a cart, upon a small infant’s bed. The cowherds, beholding the immense body of the slain Pūtanā, were seized with awe and fear. One day, as Madhusudana lay beneath the cart, longing for his mother’s milk, he raised his feet and began to cry. With a single kick, his foot struck the cart, overturning it; pots and vessels shattered, and the cart crashed in the opposite direction. The cowherds and their wives, alarmed by the commotion, rushed to find the child lying on his back. Wondering who had overturned the cart, they questioned the children nearby, who replied, “It was this child; we saw him crying and striking the cart with his foot. No one else did it.” Amazed and bewildered, the cowherds sat down, and Nanda, astonished, picked up Krishna. Yashoda, filled with wonder, worshipped the broken potsherds and overturned cart with curds, flowers, fruits, and grains of rice. In Gokula, Garga, prompted by Vasudeva, performed the naming rites for the two boys in secret, away from the cowherds. He named the elder one Rama, and the younger Krishna, bestowing these names with great wisdom. Soon, both boys, mighty and energetic, became well known among the brahmins, their knees rubbed raw from constant play. Smeared with cow-dung ash, they wandered everywhere, and neither Yashoda nor Rohini could restrain their lively spirits. Playing in the cow-pen, they ventured to the calves’ enclosure, and on that very day, began tugging at the tails of the newborn calves. Whenever Yashoda saw the two boys playing together, she found herself powerless to curb their restlessness. At last, out of impatience, Yashoda bound Krishna—though blameless—to a mortar in the center of the house with a rope, saying, “If you are able, go now, with your excessively restless behavior!” Having spoken, she returned to her tasks. But Krishna, the lotus-eyed one, began to drag the mortar behind him. He squeezed between two tall yamalārjuna trees, pulling the mortar sideways. With a loud cracking sound, the two trees broke and fell, their branches shattered. The people of Vraja, startled by the noise, came running and saw the two great trees lying broken, and Krishna—smiling, with only a few teeth—standing between them, still bound tightly around his waist. From that day, because he had been tied with a rope, he became known as Dāmodara. All the elders, led by Nanda, gathered in concern. Troubled and frightened by these ominous events—the death of Pūtanā, the overturning of the cart, and the falling of the trees without wind or apparent cause—the cowherds consulted together: “We should not stay here; let us seek another, greater forest.” Thus, with many omens of destruction looming, they resolved to leave Gokula and move swiftly to Vṛndāvana.