With his eyes blazing red with anger, Bala—mighty Balarama—struck the demon Pralamba with his clenched fist, landing a tremendous blow upon the demon’s head. So fierce was the strike that Pralamba’s eyes burst outward, his skull shattered, and blood poured from his mouth. Overcome by the force of Bala’s might, the foremost of the asuras collapsed to the earth and perished. Witnessing this wondrous act—the slaying of Pralamba—the cowherd boys were filled with joy and amazement. They surrounded Bala, praising him with shouts of “Well done! Well done!” Their hearts overflowed with gratitude and admiration for his heroic deed. Thus honored by the cowherds, Rama, together with Krishna, made their way back to Gokula, the village of the cowherds. Time passed as Rama and Keshava wandered through the lush pastures, tending their cattle. The rainy season faded, giving way to the clear, resplendent days of autumn, when lotuses blossomed upon the waters. Yet, in the marshes, the fish suffered as the waters receded, just as a householder, bound by attachment to children and land, suffers from the burdens of possessiveness. In the forests, the peacocks stood silent, their proud displays abandoned, for they recognized the barrenness around them—much like yogis who discern the emptiness of worldly existence. The pure white clouds, having poured out all their rains, withdrew from the sky, just as the wise renounce their homes for the path of truth. The autumn sun’s rays scorched the land, drying up the lakes, just as the hearts of embodied beings wither from excessive attachment. Yet, the autumn waters, adorned with blooming lotuses, became pure and clear, reflecting the clarity of a pure-hearted mind illumined by understanding. In the unclouded sky, the stars shone with undivided brilliance, while the moon moved serenely among them, like a yogi of pure self moving among the noble. The waters slowly withdrew from the shores, just as the wise, rising above attachment to fields and sons, let go of all possessiveness. The swans, which had departed from the lakes during the rains, now returned, just as yogis, freed from all afflictions, regain their union with the divine. The ocean, too, became exceedingly calm and still, like an ascetic whose self is tranquil, having attained the supreme state of yoga. Everywhere, the waters grew clear and pure, as do the minds of the wise upon realizing Vishnu, who pervades all existence. In autumn, the sky was spotless, the clouds dispelled, just as the minds of yogis become pure when the mass of afflictions is burned away by the fire of yoga. The moon, lord of the stars, subdued the heat of the sun’s rays, just as discernment soothes the suffering born of ego. He drew the clouds from the sky, the mud from the earth, and the impurity from the water, just as withdrawal draws the senses away from their objects. Like the practice of breath control, the waters of the lakes were filled and emptied with the cycles of the day, resembling the yogic practices of inhalation, exhalation, and retention. When the season arrived, with the sky and stars shining clear, Krishna beheld the people of Vraja preparing for a grand festival dedicated to Indra. The cowherds were eager and joyful, bustling with preparations for the celebration. Observing their delight, Krishna, wise and curious, approached the elders and respectfully asked Nanda, his father, “Who is this Indra, by whose name you are all so delighted?” Nanda replied, “Indra is the king of the gods, the lord of clouds and waters. He commands the clouds to pour their essence as rain upon the earth. From that rain, crops are produced, sustaining us and all beings, and providing offerings for the gods. Our cows, full of milk and calves, thrive on the grass that grows from this rain, becoming strong and content. Wherever rain-bearing clouds are seen, there is no lack of food, no shortage of grass, and no one suffers from hunger. The earth is milked by cows, the clouds are the waters of the sun, and Parjanya, the rain-god, pours down blessings for all beings. Therefore, during the rainy season, all kings and people, filled with joy, worship Indra with sacrifices, as do we.” Hearing Nanda’s words, Damodara—Krishna—spoke, his words subtly provoking the anger of Indra. “We are not farmers, nor do we live by trade,” he said. “Father, the cows are our divinity, for we dwell in the forest. There are four branches of knowledge: philosophy, the three Vedas, trade, and governance. Hear from me now about trade. Farming, trade, and cattle-rearing are the three livelihoods; trade is a single branch based on these. Farming is for farmers, trade for merchants, and for us, cattle-rearing is supreme; thus, trade is divided into these three kinds.” “For each person, the branch of knowledge they practice is their highest divinity; that alone is to be worshipped and honored, for it is their true support. Whoever worships another by offering what belongs to someone else obtains no auspicious result, either in this world or the next. The boundary at the end of the fields, the forest beyond the boundary, and the mountains beyond the forest—these are our ultimate refuge. We have neither gates nor enclosures, nor householders or landowners; in all the world, none are as happy as those who wander with the wheel.” “It is said that in these mountains and forests, beings take on forms as they desire and delight upon their own slopes. When these beings are driven out, those who dwell in the forests are then killed by the mountains, which take on forms such as lions and others. Therefore, let us perform the sacrifice to the mountain and to the cows; what have we to do with Indra? Cows, mountains, horses, and deities are ours.” Thus, Krishna gently guided the cowherds’ hearts away from the worship of Indra, turning their devotion toward the true sources of their sustenance and joy.