Amidst the peaceful pastures of Vraja, the mighty Krishna, appearing as a simple cowherd boy, was tending the cows with loving care. Around him gathered the cowherd children, delighting in his company, for he was not only their protector but the guardian of the whole world. High above, Garuda, king of birds, was unseen by most, hovering quietly and shading Hari’s head with his great wings. At this moment, Indra, king of the gods, descended from his celestial serpent mount and approached Krishna in private. His eyes were wide with joy, and with a gentle smile, he addressed Krishna: “O Krishna, listen to me—the reason I have come to you, O mighty-armed one. Do not think otherwise. You alone, supreme lord, have descended to earth to relieve her burden; you are the support of all. In opposition to the great disruption, I sent mighty clouds to destroy Gokula, and they wrought devastation. Yet, you saved the cows from distress by lifting the great mountain. For this most wondrous deed, O hero, I am satisfied. Today, Krishna, I see that the purpose of the gods has been fulfilled by you, for you raised this best of mountains with a single hand. I have not come here at the urging of the cows, but because you have greatly protected them—for your sake and theirs. Therefore, Krishna, at the request of the cows, I shall anoint you. In the office of Upendra, you will become Govinda, the Indra of the cows.” Indra then took a bell from his ceremonial elephant, Airavata, and performed a sacred anointing with water drawn from it. As the ceremony was underway, the cows themselves made the earth moist with streams of milk, offering their devotion. When the anointing was complete, Indra, prompted by the cows, addressed Krishna again with affection and humility: “By the word of the cows this has been done. Now hear from me as well, O greatly fortunate one, what I say out of desire to relieve the earth’s burden. A portion of myself, the tiger among men, has descended to earth as Arjuna, the bearer of the earth; he must always be protected by you. In the task of relieving the earth’s burden, that hero will be your companion; protect him, O Madhusudana, as you would protect your own self. I know that Partha, born in the Bharata lineage, is a portion of yourself. I will protect him as long as I remain upon the earth. As long as I am here, O destroyer of foes, no one will defeat Arjuna in battle, O Indra of the gods. Kamsa, the mighty-armed demon, and others—Arishta, Keshi, Kuvalayapida, Naraka—when they are slain, O Indra, there will be a great battle. Then, O thousand-eyed one, know that the earth’s burden will have been lifted. You may go; do not grieve for your son, for no enemy of Arjuna will prevail before me. For Arjuna’s sake, I will return all the wounded, led by Yudhishthira, to Kunti when the Bharata war is over.” Thus addressed, Indra embraced Krishna, mounted Airavata, and returned again to heaven. Krishna, accompanied by the cows and cowherds, returned to Vraja by the path made sacred by the sight of the gopis. After Shakra’s departure, the cowherds, filled with affection, spoke to Krishna, the doer of flawless deeds, having witnessed him hold up Govardhana mountain: “O greatly fortunate one, you have saved us and the cows from great danger by holding up the mountain. This incomparable play of childhood, this cowherd role, is astonishing; your deed is divine—what is the meaning of this, father? Please tell us. Kaliya has been subdued in the water, Pralamba has been cast down, and Govardhana has been held up—our minds are filled with wonder. Truly, truly, we take refuge at the feet of Hari, O one of boundless valor. Having witnessed your power, we cannot consider you a mere man. Whether you are a god, a demon, a yaksha, or even a gandharva—whatever you may be, what concern is it of ours to inquire? You are our kinsman. Salutations to you. The affection of the women and children of your cowherd community, O Keshava, is yours. This deed is impossible even for all the gods together. Your childhood, your extraordinary might, and your birth among us seem unfitting; pondering this, O Krishna of immeasurable self, gives rise to doubt.” For a moment, Krishna became silent, showing a slight affectionate displeasure. Then he spoke to the cowherds: “O cowherds, if you feel no shame in your connection with me, or if I am praiseworthy to you, then what need have you for further deliberation? If you have affection for me, if I am worthy of your praise, then offer me the respect due to a kinsman, and treat me as one would a relative. I am not a god, nor a gandharva, nor a yaksha, nor a demon. I am born as your kinsman; therefore, there is no need to think otherwise.” Hearing these words, the blessed cowherds, bound by silence, departed from that place where Krishna had shown affectionate displeasure. Krishna then beheld the spotless sky, the moonlight of the autumn moon, and the blooming water-lily, filling the directions with fragrance. He saw the line of forest trees, delightful with swarms of humming bees, and, together with the cowherd women, turned his mind toward love. With Rama, the lotus-footed one, Krishna sang sweetly—a song most dear to women—there, having undertaken his vow, filling the night with divine melody and joy.