Having spoken firmly and clapped his hands, Govinda strode forward to meet the demon Keśī. The monstrous horse, mouth gaping wide, charged fiercely at Krishna. Unperturbed, Janardana extended his arm, making it supple and serpent-like, and thrust it into the gaping maw of the wicked Keśī. As Krishna’s arm entered the demon’s mouth, Keśī’s teeth shattered and fell away, scattering like fragments of white clouds across the sky. Krishna’s arm, lodged within the demon’s body, began to grow in power and strength, swelling like an unchecked disease, O twice-born sage. Keśī’s lips split apart, and he spewed forth torrents of blood mixed with foam. His eyes rolled wildly, and his jaws, no longer restrained, hung open in agony. Struck down, the demon’s body convulsed; he released dung and urine onto the earth, his limbs trembling. Drenched in sweat, exhausted and subdued, all his strength abandoned him. With his mouth and cavernous throat agape, Keśī was overpowered by Krishna’s mighty arm. He fell to the ground, split in two like a great tree cleaved by a bolt of lightning. The two halves of the horse—divided through his legs, half his back and tail, one ear, one eye, and one nostril—shone separately upon the earth. Having slain Keśī, Krishna stood there, surrounded by jubilant cowherds. His body showed no sign of fatigue, his mind was serene, and a gentle smile played upon his lips. The cowherd women and men, astonished by the demon’s destruction, gathered around Krishna, the lotus-eyed one, and praised him, delighted by his affectionate nature. At that moment, I, Narada, hidden among the clouds, beheld the slaying of Keśī, and my heart overflowed with joy. “Well done, well done, Lord of the world!” I exclaimed. “By your divine play alone, O Achyuta, you have slain Keśī, who brought suffering even to the gods. “Eager for battle, I descended from heaven to witness this unprecedented contest between man and beast. The deeds you have accomplished in this descent, O slayer of Madhu, fill my mind with wonder and satisfaction. Even Indra and the gods feared this horse, O Krishna, as he shook his mane and neighed, gazing up at the clouds. “Because you have slain this wicked Keśī, O Janardana, you will be renowned throughout the world by the name ‘Keśava.’ May all be well with you; I shall take my leave now, but I will return again at the battle with Kamsa. Tomorrow I will come to you, O slayer of Keśī. “When Kamsa, the son of Ugrasena, is slain together with his followers, you, upholder of the earth, will relieve the burden of the world. There, many wondrous battles will be led by you, O Janardana, and I must witness them. “Now I go, O Govinda; a great task for the gods has been accomplished. All is known to you; may good fortune be yours, I take my leave.” When Narada had departed, Krishna, honored by the cowherds, entered Gokula, becoming the sole focus of the gopis’ loving gaze. Meanwhile, Akrura set out alone, riding swiftly in his chariot toward Nanda’s Gokula, eager for a vision of Krishna. As he journeyed, Akrura reflected with a heart full of devotion, “There is no one more fortunate than I, for today I shall behold the face of the wielder of the discus, he who has descended in his own portion. “Today my birth is fulfilled, this night is truly auspicious, for I shall see the radiant face of Vishnu, whose eyes bloom like lotus petals. Today my eyes are fulfilled, today my words are fulfilled, for I will converse with Vishnu after beholding him. “That face of Vishnu, whose lotus eyes dispel the sins of men even when remembered in thought—this day, I shall see it. From him the Vedas and all their limbs have emerged; I shall see that supreme abode, the radiant countenance of the Blessed One. “He who is called the Purusha in sacrifices, the Supreme Person among men, the support of all—him, the Lord of the world, I shall see. Indra, having worshipped him with a hundred sacrifices, attained the sovereignty of the immortals; I shall see that beginningless Keśava. “Neither Brahma, nor Indra, nor Rudra, nor the Ashvins, Vasus, Adityas, nor the hosts of Maruts know his true form. Yet he, Hari, will touch me. He who is the soul of all, who knows all, who is all, who dwells in all beings, who pervades and extends beyond everything—he will speak with me. “He who, in the forms of fish, tortoise, boar, horse, lion, and others, has preserved the world—the unborn one—today he will converse with me. Now, the Lord of the world, by his own will, has assumed a human form for the sake of his work, yet remains unchanged. “He who is infinite, who supports the earth in its established position, has descended for the sake of the world; he will address me as ‘Akrura.’ This illusion of father, son, friend, brother, mother, and kin cannot be overcome by the world; I bow again and again. “He in whom, when the mind is placed, one crosses the vast ocean of ignorance—salutations to that immeasurable yogi, the embodiment of knowledge. He who is called the Purusha of sacrifice by sacrificers, Vāsudeva by the Sātvatas, and Vishnu by those who know the Vedanta—I bow to him. “Just as the abode of the world is established in that foundation, the existent and non-existent rest upon that truth—may he show me kindness. Where remembrance brings all auspiciousness, to that eternal, unborn Purusha, Hari, I go for refuge.” Thus, immersed in contemplation of Vishnu and with a heart humbled in devotion, Akrura arrived at Gokula just as the sun began to rise.