One day in Gokula, the infant Krishna lay beneath a cart. With a simple blow of his tiny foot, the cart was overturned, its pots and vessels shattered, and it tumbled away in the opposite direction. Hearing the commotion, all the cowherds and their wives rushed over, their voices filled with alarm, and they found the child lying calmly on his back amidst the chaos. The cowherds, bewildered, asked one another, “By whom, by whom has this cart been overturned?” The boys present replied, “It was thrown down by this child.” Amazement filled the cowherds, and even Nanda, Krishna’s father, was astonished. He lovingly picked up the child, marveling at the wonder before him. Meanwhile, Yashoda, Krishna’s mother, along with other women who had climbed onto the cart to gather the scattered vessels, worshipped the cart with curds, flowers, fruits, and unbroken grains, offering reverence for the mysterious event. In Gokula, the sage Garga, prompted by Vasudeva, performed secret rites for the two boys among the cowherds. With great wisdom, Garga named the elder one ‘Rama’ and the younger ‘Krishna,’ bestowing names full of meaning and discernment. Soon, the two children began to crawl on their knees, moving freely about Vraja. Their bodies became smeared with cow dung and ashes as they wandered here and there, and neither Yashoda nor Rohini could restrain their playful spirits. Amidst the cowpens, they played together and visited the calves’ enclosure, intent on pulling the tails of the newborn calves. Whenever Yashoda saw the two boys playing together, she found herself unable to keep them in check, so restless were they in their games. In frustration, she took up a stick and approached Krishna, whose eyes were like lotus petals, scolding him angrily. “If you are able, go on with your restless mischief!” she declared, before returning to her household tasks. While she was busy, Krishna, dragging a mortar behind him, made his way between the twin arjuna trees. As he dragged the mortar sideways, the high branches broke, and the two trees crashed down. The people of Vraja, alarmed by the loud sound, hurried over and saw the great trees fallen. Between the fallen branches sat the child, his small teeth newly erupted, his smile bright, the rope still tied around his waist. Bound between the trees with a rope, Krishna became known as Damodara, for the rope binding his belly. All the elder cowherds, led by Nanda, gathered to discuss these alarming events. They spoke anxiously, “There is nothing for us to do here; let us go to another great forest, for many calamities are seen here, causing destruction. The death of Putana, the overturning of the cart, and the falling of the arjuna trees—all occurred without any fault of wind or other causes.” Resolved to depart, the inhabitants of Vraja called to their families, “Let us go quickly, do not delay.” Within moments, the people of Vraja set out with their carts and cattle, moving in groups, driving their calves and children. Their old home was emptied of possessions and people, left to crows and their mates. Krishna, whose actions are effortless, contemplated Vrindavana with a pure mind, desiring the growth of the cows. Then, even in the harsh summer, fresh crops sprang up everywhere as if it were the rainy season. All of Vraja settled in Vrindavana, with their carts and cattle arranged in semicircular formations. There, Rama and Damodara became cowherd boys, wandering together in the pasture, engaged in playful mischief. They adorned themselves with crowns of peacock feathers and garlands of wild flowers, playing flutes and leaf instruments, filling the air with melodious sounds. Their hair, dark as crow’s wings, made them resemble young sons of fire as they laughed and played, mighty in strength. As time passed, Rama and Damodara grew and, in the great Vraja, reached seven years of age, becoming cowherds and protectors of the whole world. The rainy season arrived, the sky covered by masses of clouds, streams of water uniting as if joining the directions. The earth, adorned with new, flourishing crops and filled with Indra’s insects, gleamed like emerald studded with rubies. The rivers, deep and wandering, seemed newly beautiful, like the minds of the ill-mannered upon gaining wealth. Indra, whose horses are unobstructed, did not shine forth amidst the sullied clouds, just as the words of fools do not shine before the wise. Even with a mighty bow, the path of Indra in the sky could not be attained, just as a king without discernment cannot properly acquire possessions. Upon the clouds, the pure line of cranes shone, just as the conduct of a noble person stands out amidst the actions of the wicked. Lightning, fickle and fleeting, did not bind stability in the sky, just as friendship offered by the wicked to the noble does not endure. The paths became unclear, covered by heaps of new grain, just as the words of people, having acquired a different meaning, become obscure. At times, together with the cowherds, Rama and Damodara delighted in singing and dancing; at other times, they sought shelter under trees, greatly chilled by the rain. Thus, the childhood of Krishna and Rama unfolded in Vrindavana, filled with wonder, play, and the protection of Vraja.