On that fateful night, as the world slept under a shroud of secrecy, Vasudeva quietly placed his newborn son down and, taking up the infant girl, hurried to the house of Nanda and Yashoda. There, he laid the girl beside Yashoda, who lay peacefully in her bed, unaware of the divine events unfolding around her. When Yashoda awoke, her eyes fell upon her newborn son, whose skin was as dark and radiant as the petal of a blue lotus. Overwhelmed with joy, she gazed upon the child, her heart brimming with happiness at the sight of her beautiful boy. Meanwhile, Vasudeva, having exchanged the children, returned swiftly to his own house with the infant girl. He laid her gently on Devaki’s bed, just as before, ensuring all appeared unchanged. But the silence of the prison was soon broken; the cries of the child awakened the guards, who rushed to inform Kamsa that Devaki had given birth once again. Kamsa arrived in haste, his mind set on his cruel purpose. He seized the infant girl, his heart hardened against Devaki’s desperate pleas. Choking with emotion, Devaki begged him, “Let her go, let her go.” For a moment, he hesitated, restrained by her sorrow, but then, determined to rid himself of the threat, he hurled the girl onto a stone slab. Yet, as she was thrown, a wondrous thing occurred. The infant did not fall; instead, she remained suspended in the air and transformed before their eyes. She assumed a resplendent, formidable form, armed and mighty, with eight powerful arms. With a thunderous laugh, she addressed Kamsa, her voice ringing with divine authority: “Fool! What will you gain by throwing me? The one destined to kill you has already been born.” She continued, “He who was once the death of all beings and gods has now become your death. Reflect on this, and act swiftly for your own good.” Having spoken these words, the goddess vanished into the sky, adorned with celestial weapons, fragrances, and ornaments, praised by the Siddhas, leaving Kamsa and all who witnessed her in awe and terror. Stricken with fear and agitation, Kamsa summoned the greatest of the asuras—Pralamba, Keshi, Dhenuka, Putana, Arishta, and many others. Addressing these mighty demons, he said, “O Pralamba, O Keshi, Dhenuka, Putana, Arishta, and all assembled here, heed my words. The gods have plotted against me many times, and even Indra himself has harassed me, but I do not fear them. What can Indra do, whose power is small? What can Hari, even as the slayer of demons, accomplish alone? What of the Adityas, the Vasus, or the Maruts, whose strength is limited? None of the immortals have prevailed against the might of my arms.” He recalled, with disdain, how even Indra, lord of the gods, had once come to battle only to flee in defeat, and how the clouds, when held back by Indra in the land of the Madras, had released their rain all the same. “Are there any kings on earth,” Kamsa boasted, “who have not submitted to Jarasandha’s power? Among the immortals, I feel only contempt—they are laughable to me.” Yet, Kamsa’s suspicion and fear remained. “Nevertheless,” he declared, “we must strive all the more to destroy those wicked ones, for they are evil-minded. All who are renowned on earth, and those who perform sacrifices, must be slain, for this will harm the gods. Even if death comes for me, as the maiden born of Devaki foretold, so be it. Therefore, wherever there are exceptional children, wherever a child possesses great strength, he must be killed.” Having thus instructed the asuras, Kamsa returned to his house. He released Vasudeva and Devaki from their prison, saying, “The children you bore, whom I killed, are gone in vain; another child, meant for my destruction, has been born elsewhere. Do not grieve; those children were destined for that fate, and it is by your fault that their lives were cut short.” With these words, Kamsa tried to console them and, still troubled, withdrew into his inner chambers. Now freed, Vasudeva made his way to Nanda’s cart, where he found Nanda rejoicing at the birth of his son. Vasudeva greeted him warmly, saying, “By great fortune, a son has been born to you even in your old age.” He reminded Nanda and the other cowherds that they had fulfilled their purpose in coming to the city, having paid the annual tax to the king, and urged them to return quickly to their village in Gokula. “There, too, is my own child, born of Rohini; protect him as you would your own son.” Heeding Vasudeva’s words, Nanda and the cowherds loaded their carts with their goods, paid their dues, and departed for Gokula, their hearts filled with joy and relief. While they dwelt in Gokula, a new danger arose. Putana, the fearsome child-killer, crept into the village by night. She took the sleeping Krishna into her arms and offered him her breast, intending to destroy him as she had so many other children, for any child who drank her milk perished in an instant. But Krishna, though an infant, grasped Putana’s breast tightly with his small hands. Filled with divine anger, he drank out her very life along with her poisoned milk. With a terrible, piercing cry, Putana’s limbs slackened, and she fell dead to the ground, her form fearsome to behold. Awakened by the dreadful sound, the people of Vraja rushed to the scene. They found Krishna alive, resting in Putana’s lap, while the demoness lay lifeless. Overcome with fear and awe, Yashoda quickly took Krishna into her arms and, to ward off any evil, waved a cow’s tail over him as a protective charm. Nanda, too, performed a rite of protection: he placed cow dung on Krishna’s head and recited, “May Hari, the source of all beings, he from whose navel-lotus the world arose, protect you, my child.” Thus, through divine intervention and the love of his family, Krishna was safeguarded, and the people of Gokula rejoiced in his miraculous survival.