May Keśava, the divine one who once took the form of the mighty Boar and, lifting the earth and all the worlds upon the tip of his tusk, preserved creation—may he protect you. May Keśava, the all-pervading Lord who became Narasiṃha and, with his sharp nails, tore open the chest of his enemy, ensure your safety in every place. May Vāmana, who in a single instant expanded into Trivikrama, whose radiant strides encompassed the three worlds and whose weapons glitter with power, always shield you. Let Govinda guard your head, Keśava your throat, Viṣṇu your secret parts and belly, and Janārdana your thighs and feet. May Nārāyaṇa, the imperishable Lord who possesses unchallenged sovereignty, protect your face, arms, forearms, mind, and all your senses. And may those who are your enemies—the Piśācas, Kūṣmāṇḍas, and Rākṣasas—be vanquished, struck down by the sound of the conch and the might of the bow Śārṅga, the discus, the mace, and the sword. May Vaikuṇṭha guard you in all directions, Madhusūdana in the intermediate spaces, Hṛṣīkeśa in the sky above, and the Lord of the Earth protect you upon the ground. Thus, after performing these sacred rites of protection, Nanda gently laid the divine child to sleep beneath the cart, on a bed lovingly prepared for him. Soon after, the cowherds beheld the gigantic body of Putana, now lifeless, and were seized by a great and fearful astonishment. Once, as Madhusudana lay beneath the cart, he stretched his feet upward, seeking his mother’s milk, and began to cry. With a simple movement of his foot, the cart was overturned, its pots and vessels shattered, and it fell in the opposite direction. At the commotion, all the cowherds and their wives rushed over, alarmed, and saw the child lying calmly on his back. They asked each other, “By whom, by whom has this cart been overturned?” The boys present replied, “It was thrown down by this child.” Wonder and amazement filled the hearts of the cowherds, and even Nanda, struck with astonishment, lifted up the child. Yashoda, together with the women who had climbed onto the cart to gather the scattered vessels, worshipped the cart with offerings of curds, flowers, fruits, and unbroken grains. In Gokula, Garga, prompted by Vasudeva, performed the sacred naming rites for the two boys in secret among the cowherds. The wise Garga named the elder boy “Rama” and the other “Krishna,” bestowing these names with great discernment. In a short time, both boys began to crawl about on their knees, exploring Vraja with growing freedom. Their little bodies were smeared with cow dung and ashes as they wandered here and there, impossible for either Yashoda or Rohini to restrain. They played joyfully among the cowpens and, one day, entered the calves’ enclosure, intent on pulling the tails of the newborn calves. Whenever Yashoda saw the two boys playing together in one place, she found it impossible to keep them in check, so lively and restless were they in their play. Taking up a stick in exasperation, Yashoda approached Krishna, whose eyes were like lotus petals, and scolded him sternly. “If you are able, go on with your restless mischief!” she exclaimed, before returning to her household tasks. Left to himself, Krishna, dragging the mortar to which he had been tied, crawled between the twin arjuna trees. As he pulled the mortar sideways between them, the high branches broke, and the two great trees fell with a thunderous crash. Alarmed by the sound, the people of Vraja rushed to the spot and saw the fallen trees. There, between the great trunks, lay the child, a bright smile on his face and his newly erupted little teeth showing, still bound around the waist with a rope. From that day, Krishna became known as Damodara, “the one bound with a rope around the waist.” Seeing these repeated wonders, the elder cowherds, led by Nanda, gathered in concern. “There is nothing left for us here; let us move to another great forest, for many calamities are happening here without cause, bringing destruction. The death of Putana, the overturning of the cart, and the falling of the arjuna trees—all have happened without any wind or other reason.” Having made their decision, all the inhabitants of Vraja called to their families, “Let us go quickly, do not delay.” In a moment, the people of Vraja set out in groups, leading their carts, cattle, calves, and children. Their former home was soon emptied of possessions and people, and crows and their mates filled the silent place. Krishna, whose actions are effortless, gazed upon Vrindavana with a pure heart, wishing for the flourishing of the cows. O best of the twice-born, by his presence, even in the harsh summer, fresh crops sprang up everywhere as if it were the rainy season. Thus, all the people of Vraja settled in Vrindavana, arranging their carts and cattle in semicircular formations. There, Rama and Damodara became cowherd boys, wandering together through the pastures, delighting in childish play. They wore crowns of peacock feathers, garlands of wildflowers, and played flutes and leaf instruments, producing sweet and melodious sounds. With hair as dark as crow’s wings and resembling the young sons of fire in their brilliance, the two boys laughed and played, wandering mightily and joyfully through the fields of Vrindavana.