Having made up his mind to rid himself of the threat he perceived from Rāma and Janārdana, the evil-minded Kaṃsa devised a plan for their destruction. He summoned Akrūra and spoke to him with persuasive words, saying, “O generous lord, listen to me and do as I wish: take your chariot and go at once to the village of Nanda, among the cowherds. “There,” Kaṃsa continued, “are the sons of Vasudeva—children born from a portion of Viṣṇu—who have come into this world for my ruin. Though still young, they are growing in strength and wickedness. A grand bow festival is to be held on the fourteenth day, and you must bring these two boys to Mathurā for a wrestling contest. “My champions, Cāṇūra and Muṣṭika, are masters of combat and will fight them before the eyes of the world. The mighty elephant Kuvalayāpīḍa, driven by his chief mahout, will trample and kill these sons of Vasudeva, even though they are but children. “Once they are dead, I will also kill Vasudeva, Nandagopa, and that wicked one among them. My father and Ugrasena, both evil-minded, shall also perish by my hand. After this, I will seize all the cattle and wealth of the cowherds, those enemies who wish for my death. “But you, O generous Akrūra, are the only one among the Yādavas who is not wicked in my eyes. All the others I will destroy, one by one. Then, free from all obstacles and enemies, I shall rule the entire kingdom alone. So, for my pleasure, O hero, go forth and accomplish this task. “Approach them as cowherds do, swiftly and sweetly, offering gifts of clarified butter and curds to a buffalo—speak to them in just such a way.” Thus commanded, Akrūra, who was a great devotee, felt joy arise within him. The thought filled his heart: “Tomorrow I shall behold Krishna.” Bowing in assent, he quickly mounted his chariot and departed from Mathurā, the beloved city of Madhu. Meanwhile, Keśi, the powerful and fearsome horse-demon, sent by Kaṃsa as his messenger and bent on Krishna’s destruction, arrived in Vṛndāvana. As he galloped, his hooves tore up the earth and the lash of his mane scattered the clouds. He advanced swiftly along the path of the sun and moon, coming upon the cowherds’ settlement. The sound of Keśi’s terrible neighing struck terror into the hearts of the cowherds and their wives. Frightened by the demon horse, they fled and took refuge in Govinda, crying out, “Save us! Save us!” Hearing their desperate pleas, Govinda, his voice deep as thunderclouds heavy with rain, spoke to them: “Enough of this fear, O cowherds! Why do you tremble at the name of Keśi? Has the valor of your noble race vanished in the face of danger? “What is this insignificant, neighing, demon-driven, wicked horse that prances about? Why should you be alarmed at all? “Come, come, you wicked one! I am Krishna, the bowman like Pūṣan. I shall knock every tooth from your mouth!” Having spoken thus, Krishna strode forth to meet Keśi. The demon, mouth agape, charged at him in fury. Krishna, with an arm like a coiling serpent, thrust it deep into Keśi’s mouth. As Krishna’s arm entered, Keśi’s teeth shattered, white as clouds. Krishna’s arm, now within the demon’s body, grew larger and larger, swelling for the very purpose of Keśi’s destruction, just as a neglected disease grows and overwhelms its victim. Keśi’s lips split apart, he vomited frothy blood, his jaws stretched wide, and the force that bound his life was broken. He staggered, his body drenched in sweat, excreting in fear and exhaustion, powerless and shattered. At last, the fierce demon, mouth still agape, was split in two by Krishna’s arm, falling to the ground like a tree struck by lightning. His legs, back, tail, half an ear, one eye, and nose lay scattered, shining in pieces. Having slain Keśi, Krishna, surrounded by the jubilant cowherds, stood among them, his body unwearied, at ease, and smiling gently. The cowherds and their wives, astonished at the slaying of Keśi, gathered around the lotus-eyed Krishna, showering him with praise and delighting in his loving presence. At that moment, the sage Nārada arrived, swift as thought, standing upon a cloud. Seeing Keśi slain, his heart overflowed with joy. He exclaimed, “Well done, well done, O Lord of the universe! O Acyuta, by your divine play alone, this Keśin, who brought suffering even to the gods, has been destroyed by you. “O Madhusūdana, the noble deeds you perform in your descent to earth fill the mind with wonder; my heart is satisfied by witnessing this. Even Indra and the gods feared this horse, Krishna, as he shook his mane and neighed, scattering the clouds with his roar. “Because you, Janārdana, have slain this wicked Keśin, you will be known throughout the world by the name Keśava. “Now, I take my leave. I will return again at the battle with Kaṃsa. The day after tomorrow, I shall meet you again, O slayer of Keśin. When Kaṃsa, son of Ugrasena, and his followers are destroyed, you, upholder of the earth, will remove the world’s burden. “There, many kinds of battles, led by you, Janārdana, I shall witness on earth. So now I go, Govinda; a great divine task has been accomplished by you. Honored by you, I take my leave—may all be well for you as I depart.” When Nārada had gone, Krishna, serene and undisturbed, entered Gokula with the cowherds, the sole object of the gopīs’ loving gaze.