May Vishnu, the supreme protector, guard your secret parts; may Janardana keep watch over your thighs and feet; and may Vamana, who once appeared in but a moment, always shield you. As Govinda, radiant with his shining weapons and striding as Trivikrama across the three worlds, let him protect your head; and let Keshava guard your neck. Narayana, the imperishable Lord of undiminished might, may he protect your face, your arms, your mind, and all your senses. In every direction, may Vaikuntha stand as your guardian, with Madhusudana watching over the intermediate quarters; let Hrishikesha protect you from above in the sky, and Mahidhara from below, upon the earth. Having thus performed these sacred rites of protection, Nanda gently laid the child to rest beneath a cart, placing him on a little bed meant for infants. The cowherds, meanwhile, gazed with awe and fear upon the immense body of the slain Putana, marveling at the wonders unfolding in their midst. One day, as Madhusudana lay beneath the cart, longing for his mother’s milk, he began to cry and raised his tiny feet. In his yearning, his foot struck the cart, and to the astonishment of all, the cart was overturned—its pots and vessels shattered, falling in the opposite direction. The cowherds and their wives, alarmed by the commotion, rushed over and found the child lying on his back. In confusion, the cowherds asked, “Who has overturned the cart?” The children present 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, their minds filled with wonder, sat astonished, while Nanda, deeply amazed, took up the child in his arms. Yaśodā, overwhelmed by the miraculous event, worshipped the broken potsherds and the overturned cart with offerings of curds, flowers, fruits, and grains of rice. In Gokula, at the behest of Vasudeva, the wise sage Garga performed the rites for the two boys in secret, away from the notice of the cowherds. The elder was named Rāma, and the younger, Kṛṣṇa—names bestowed with great discernment by Garga, foremost among the wise. In a short time, both boys—mighty in strength and their knees rubbed raw from constant play—became well-known to the brāhmaṇas. Smeared with cow-dung ash, they wandered freely here and there, so much so that neither Yaśodā nor Rohiṇī could restrain their playful energy. They played in the middle of the cow-pen, and on that very day, they eagerly went to the calves’ enclosure, intent on pulling the tails of the newborn calves. Whenever Yaśodā saw the two boys playing together in one place, she found herself unable to stop their restless games. Finally, out of impatience, she bound Kṛṣṇa—though blameless in his actions—to a mortar in the middle of the courtyard with a rope, saying, “If you are able, go now, with your excessively restless behavior!” Having spoken thus, she returned to her household duties. But while she was busy, the lotus-eyed one began to drag the mortar behind him. He made his way between two great yamalārjuna trees, dragging the mortar sideways between them. Suddenly, with a tremendous cracking sound, the two tall trees were broken by him, their branches shattering as they crashed to the ground. The people of Vraja, startled and frightened by the noise, came running and saw the two great trees fallen, their trunks broken. There stood the boy, his face beaming with a few tiny teeth and a gentle smile, still bound tightly around his waist with a rope, standing between the two fallen trees. From that time, because he had been bound with a rope, he came to be known as Dāmodara. The elders of the cowherds, led by Nanda, gathered together, deeply troubled and frightened by these ominous events. They consulted among themselves: “We should not remain here. Let us go to another great forest. For here, many omens of destruction have appeared: the death of Pūtanā, the overturning of the cart, and now the falling of the trees without wind or any other cause. Therefore, let us quickly leave this place for Vṛndāvana. Before some great calamity befalls Vraja, we must depart.” They instructed everyone, “Let each return quickly to his own family, let there be no delay.” Without hesitation, they set out with their carts and herds of cows. In groups, the cowherd boys and girls called out to one another, leaving behind all their possessions in but a moment. The place of Vraja was soon filled only with crows and she-crows, while Vṛndāvana was contemplated by the Blessed Kṛṣṇa, whose deeds are ever wondrous. With a pure mind and desiring the well-being and increase of their cows, Kṛṣṇa meditated upon Vṛndāvana. Thus, even in that auspicious season, the land became lush as the rainy season, with fresh grass everywhere, and all of Vraja settled in their new home. Their carts and enclosures were arranged in the shape of a half-moon, and there, Rāma and Dāmodara grew up together. The two boys remained in the cowherd settlement, roaming about in childish play, adorned with peacock feathers and forest flowers. They played music on cowherds’ flutes and leaf-instruments, their hair dark as crow’s wings, shining like twin fires in their youth. Delighting in laughter and joy, they wandered through the great forest, sometimes laughing together, playing with each other and with their companions, filling Vṛndāvana with the bliss of their divine childhood.