The maiden born from Devaki’s womb, with unshakable resolve, declared, “Even if death, which has already visited me, comes again, so be it.” Hearing this, the ruthless Kamsa, determined to thwart the prophecy of his own destruction, commanded the Asuras: “Wherever on earth there are children of remarkable strength or exceptional qualities, seek them out and kill them, no matter the effort required.” Having thus instructed his demonic followers, Kamsa returned to his own house and, for the moment, released Vasudeva and Devaki from their long confinement. He spoke to them with a bitter sense of futility, “The children I killed in your wombs are now gone in vain; some other child has arisen who is destined to be my end. Therefore, grieve no more—those children were fated for that destiny. It is because of your fault that their lives were cut short.” With these words of cold consolation, Kamsa freed them, but suspicion still gnawed at his heart as he withdrew once more into his inner chambers. Now released, Vasudeva went out to where Nanda had arrived with his cart. He found Nanda rejoicing, exclaiming, “A son has been born to me!” Vasudeva greeted him with respect, saying, “By great good fortune, even in your old age, a son has been born to you.” He continued, “You and your people have paid the annual tax to the king, which is the reason for your coming here, so you wealthy cowherds need not stay any longer. The purpose of your journey has been fulfilled—why remain here? Go swiftly, Nanda, back to your own cowherd village. There, too, is my own son, born of Rohini; you must protect him as dearly as you do your own child.” Heeding Vasudeva’s words, the cowherds, led by Nanda, loaded their carts with their goods and departed, having paid their taxes, their hearts strong and resolute. When they returned and dwelt in Gokula, a dreadful night descended upon them. Putana, the fearsome child-killer, entered their midst under cover of darkness. She found the infant Krishna asleep, took him in her arms, and offered him her poisoned breast. To any other child, this would have meant instant death, for Putana’s milk was laced with deadly venom. But Krishna, grasping her firm breast with his tiny hands, became filled with anger and, as he drank, he drew out her very life along with her milk. Putana let out a terrible, earth-shaking cry. Her limbs slackened, and she fell dead to the ground, her body monstrous and terrifying to behold. The people of Vraja, awakened by the dreadful sound, rushed to the scene. They saw Krishna, unharmed, in the lap of the dead demoness, and fear and wonder seized them all. Yaśodā, trembling with anxiety, took up Krishna and, to ward off any lingering evil, waved a cow’s tail over him with her hand. Nanda, too, performed a rite of protection: he placed cow dung on Krishna’s head and recited prayers, invoking divine guardianship. “May Hari, the source of all beings, protect you—he from whose navel the lotus of the world arose. May Keśava, who as the Boar lifted the earth on his tusk, guard you. May Keśava, all-pervading, who as Narasiṃha tore open his enemy’s chest, protect you everywhere. May Vāmana, who became Trivikrama and strode across the three worlds, always protect you. May Govinda guard your head, Keśava your throat, Viṣṇu your secret parts and belly, and Janārdana your thighs and feet. May Nārāyaṇa, the imperishable lord, protect your face, arms, forearms, mind, and all your senses. May all your enemies—the Piśācas, Kūṣmāṇḍas, and Rākṣasas—be destroyed by the sound of the conch and the weapons Śārṅga, discus, mace, and sword. May Vaikuṇṭha shield you in all directions, Madhusūdana in the intermediate spaces, Hṛṣīkeśa above, and the Lord of the Earth below.” Having thus blessed the child, Nanda laid Krishna to sleep beneath a cart, on a bed prepared for him. The cowherds, meanwhile, gazed upon Putana’s enormous, lifeless form with awe and dread, marveling at the miraculous deliverance. On another occasion, as Krishna, called Madhusudana, lay beneath the cart, he grew hungry and cried, lifting his feet upward in search of milk. In his restlessness, his foot struck the cart with such force that it overturned, smashing its pots and vessels, and crashed down in the opposite direction. The cowherds and their wives, alarmed by the commotion, rushed over and found the child lying safely on his back. “Who has overturned this cart?” they cried. The boys nearby replied, “It was this child who did it!” Once again, all were filled with intense wonder, and even Nanda, astonished beyond measure, gathered Krishna up in his arms. Yaśodā and the women, who had climbed onto the cart to recover the scattered vessels, performed a ritual, worshipping the cart with offerings of curds, flowers, fruits, and unbroken grains. Meanwhile, in Gokula, at Vasudeva’s request, the sage Garga came in secret and performed the naming rites for the two boys among the cowherds. Garga, wise and discerning, named the elder boy “Rama” and the younger “Krishna.” In a short time, these two children, crawling on their knees, began to move freely about Vraja. Their bodies were smeared with cow dung and ashes, and they wandered here and there, beyond the ability of Yaśodā or Rohini to restrain them. Playing in the midst of the cowpens, they made their way to the calves’ enclosure, and that day, with childish delight, they set about pulling the tails of the newborn calves, their innocence and divinity shining in every deed.