Tenth Skandha

The Tenth Skandha, the most beloved, extensive, and cherished portion of the Bhagavata Purana, begins in the shadow of the tyrannical king of Mathura, Kansa. Kansa, holding deep affection for his sister Devaki, was himself driving her chariot toward her husband's home on the occasion of her wedding.

Along the way, a voice suddenly resounded from the sky, warning Kansa in clear words that Devaki's eighth child would be the cause of his death. Terrified and enraged, Kansa immediately drew his sword to kill his own sister, but at Vasudeva's earnest pleading, and upon receiving his promise that every newborn child would be handed over to him, Kansa's anger was calmed.

A short time later, Kansa's trust broke once again, and he imprisoned Devaki and Vasudeva, mercilessly killing every child born thereafter, one by one — Devaki and Vasudeva were forced to bear the unbearable grief of losing six sons in this way.

During this time, the earth, burdened beyond endurance by Kansa and many other tyrannical, unrighteous kings, took the form of a cow and, with tear-filled eyes, went to take refuge with Brahma, revealing her anguish to him.

Brahma, together with Shiva and all the other gods, went to the shore of the Ocean of Milk, where they offered profound praise to Lord Vishnu and prayed for the earth to be freed from this unbearable burden.

The Lord, hearing this sorrowful prayer of the gods, plucked two hairs from his head, one white, one dark, and promised that he himself would descend from Devaki's womb to slay Kansa and restore dharma, thus reassuring the gods and directing them to return to their own realms.

On the dark eighth night of the month of Bhadrapada, at exactly midnight, when the stars in the sky were still and all of nature was immersed in an extraordinary calm, the Lord first appeared from Devaki's womb in his four-armed, divine Vishnu form, bearing the conch, discus, mace, and lotus.

Vasudeva and Devaki, astonished by this otherworldly vision, joined their hands and offered the Lord profound praise, recognizing him as the Supreme Brahman, the Supreme Soul, but also prayed that, out of fear of Kansa, he withdraw this divine form and assume that of an ordinary infant, so that he could be safely carried away from there.

The moment the Lord assumed the infant form as they wished, the prison's chains broke of themselves, the doors opened on their own, and all the guards sank into an otherworldly, deep sleep. Vasudeva immediately placed the newborn infant in a basket and made the daring attempt to cross the surging, raging Yamuna river at midnight.

The Yamuna, recognizing the Lord's touch, lowered her own water level to make way, and Sheshanaga himself spread his vast hoods like a canopy to protect the infant from the torrential rain. Vasudeva, reaching Gokul, exchanged his son for the newborn girl (Yogamaya herself) sleeping beside Yashoda, and, still under the influence of that same otherworldly sleep, returned to the prison without anyone becoming aware of anything.

When Kansa received word that Devaki had again given birth, he rushed immediately to the prison, believing this to be the eighth child who would cause his death, and forcibly seized the newborn girl in order to destroy her.

But the moment Kansa raised his hand to dash her against a stone, she slipped from his hands and rose into the sky, appearing there in the eight-armed, radiant form of the goddess Yogamaya, complete with all her ornaments and weapons.

Yogamaya declared to Kansa in clear, grave words that his true enemy, who would cause his death, was already growing up safely elsewhere, and that this cruel attempt of his was entirely futile — saying this, she vanished, leaving Kansa in fear and confusion, which only increased his cruelty further.

Meanwhile in Gokul, at the home of Father Nanda and Mother Yashoda, the entire cowherd community, unaware of this divine child's birth, was immersed in joy and celebration; homes were decorated with festoons and flowers, curd and ghee were distributed, and musicians and singers began singing auspicious songs.

Father Nanda gave abundant charity to the brahmins, worshipped the cows, and celebration broke out throughout the whole land of Vraja, every gopi and cowherd flocking to their beloved Nanda's home to share in the joy, without knowing that the child whose birth they were celebrating was himself the sustainer of all creation.

Kansa, having learned that the child was safe somewhere in the Vrindavan region, sent the demoness Putana to kill all possible newborn infants; she took the form of a beautiful, affectionate woman and, having smeared her breasts with deadly poison, began wandering through Gokul.

Putana, reaching Yashoda's house, took the child Krishna into her lap and began to nurse him, thinking the poison alone would take his life. But Krishna, by his divine power, not only neutralized the poison but began nursing with such force that Putana's very life began to be drawn out along with it.

Putana collapsed, transforming into her true, gigantic demonic form, her body stretching for leagues, which the cowherds cut apart and burned; its fragrance, despite being filled with poison, was sweet like sandalwood because of the Lord's touch — thus even her wicked attempt at killing him, because it was offered to the Lord's own body, turned into her own liberation, for even feigned affection, if offered to the Lord, becomes liberating.

A short time later, once, while the child Krishna lay in a cradle beneath a large cart and began crying from hunger, he overturned that vast cart with a single kick of his tender foot; a demon named Shakatasura was actually hiding within the cart, and he was destroyed, shattered by this blow, the pots and toys placed on the cart scattering far and wide.

Some time after this, another demon sent by Kansa, Trinavarta, came to Vrindavan in the form of a terrible whirlwind and, wrapping the playing child Krishna in a dust storm, carried him very high into the sky, plunging Yashoda and all of Gokul into fear and lamentation.

Krishna, while still in the sky, suddenly made his body so heavy that Trinavarta's momentum was halted, and the demon, exhausted by his own power, fell to the earth under the child's weight and met his death in his true form; Krishna was found sitting safely and smiling atop the demon's corpse, without any harm, and the astonished gopis lifted him up.

Some time later, the great astrologer and family priest, the sage Garga, arrived secretly at Nanda's house, and at Nanda's request, performed a secret naming ceremony for both children, Balarama and Krishna, also prophesying that this dark-complexioned child would perform extraordinary, otherworldly deeds.

One day, when Yashoda saw that the child Krishna was eating dirt, she scolded him affectionately and asked him to open his mouth so she could check whether he had truly eaten dirt.

The moment Krishna opened his mouth, Yashoda saw within it, astonishingly, the entire universe — every star, every planet, mountains, oceans, all the realms, even Vrindavan and Yashoda herself holding her own son in her lap. This vast, unimaginable vision was held for only a moment before the Lord, by his own Yogamaya, once again cast the veil of maternal affection over Yashoda's mind, causing her to entirely forget this divine vision and embrace her son with her former affection.

One day, Yashoda herself was churning curd when the child Krishna came and expressed a desire to be nursed. Yashoda immediately took him into her lap, but just then she saw that the milk on the stove was boiling over, so she set Krishna aside and ran to save the milk.

Angered, Krishna picked up a stone and broke the churning pot, then went into the inner chamber to eat fresh butter and distribute it to the monkeys. Yashoda, returning to find the broken pot, went inside searching for Krishna and found him standing on an overturned mortar, stealing butter from a pot hanging above.

Krishna, seeing his mother, began to run, and Yashoda, chasing him a short distance, caught him. She decided that this time she would tie Krishna to the mortar with a rope, but astonishingly, the rope always fell two fingers short; Yashoda added another rope, yet it still fell two fingers short — this repeated again and again, revealing his infinite, boundless nature even in that childlike, loving moment, until at last, moved by his mother's love and exhaustion, Krishna himself allowed himself to be bound.

Bound to the mortar, Krishna crawled slowly toward two vast twin arjuna trees standing in Yashoda's courtyard, and dragged the mortar between them in such a way that both trees were uprooted and fell to the ground with a tremendous roar.

As the trees fell, two exceedingly radiant, divine beings emerged from them — these were in truth Nalakuvara and Manigriva, sons of Kubera and yakshas by nature, who had once been cursed to become trees for disrespecting the celestial sage Narada while intoxicated and bathing naked in the water.

Narada had, out of compassion, also granted within that very curse the boon that they would be freed by the touch of Lord Krishna's own childlike hands. Now, freed from this curse, both yakshas offered heartfelt praise to Krishna and gratefully returned to their own abode — this event deepened still further the wonder throughout Vrindavan at Krishna's extraordinary, otherworldly nature.

Concerned by the repeated occurrence of such extraordinary, terrifying events as Putana, Shakatasura, Trinavarta, and now the falling of the trees, Nanda and all the residents of Gokul, along with Upananda, decided that Gokul was no longer a safe place, and resolved collectively to move to Vrindavan.

After settling in Vrindavan, Krishna and Balarama, as they grew, progressed from crawling to walking and then running, playing with cowherd boys of their own age, tending to the young calves, and delighting all of Vraja with their innocent childhood pastimes.

During this period, their extraordinary strength, playfulness, and beauty captivated the hearts of the entire cowherd community, though most of the residents still did not know who this beloved child truly was, and the chapters that follow describe many more of his wondrous pastimes.

One day, Krishna and his cowherd friends were playing while tending the cattle in the forest, when an exceedingly gigantic demon sent by Kansa, Aghasura (brother of Putana and Bakasura), took the form of a python leagues long, mountain-like in size, and lay across their path, opening his vast mouth like a cave.

The cowherd boys, mistaking it for an extraordinary forest cave, began entering it out of curiosity, without knowing that this was the very mouth of death itself. Krishna, seeing his companions in this terrible danger, himself entered that mouth as well.

The demon immediately closed his mouth to swallow them all, but Krishna expanded his body within so greatly that the demon's throat became blocked, and his life left his body, choking, through his very own mouth; Krishna then, with his divine vision, revived all his companions and brought them out unharmed from the demon's mouth — and at this event the gods themselves showered flowers from the sky.

After the slaying of Aghasura, Brahma, seeing Krishna's extraordinary power, was moved by a desire to test the limits of his own power of maya and Krishna's true identity. While Krishna and his companions were eating in the forest, Brahma secretly stole away all the cows, calves, and cowherd boys and put them to sleep in a cave, becoming entangled in this very web of maya himself.

Krishna, with his omniscience, immediately recognized what had happened, and without telling anyone, expanded himself into the form of all those cows, calves, and cowherd boys, identical in every detail, so precisely that even their own parents and the gopis could not tell the difference.

For an entire year, Krishna himself remained in Vrindavan in the form of all of them, performing the very same childhood pastimes, demonstrating that he himself is greater and superior even to Brahma, the creator of the universe, for he could render even Brahma's own maya entirely powerless with his own.

A year later, when Brahma returned and saw that everything in Vrindavan was continuing exactly as before, without any change, the cows, calves, and cowherd boys still playing there just as they had been when he himself had stolen them a year earlier, he sank into deep astonishment and began to doubt his own power of maya.

Recognizing the truth with his yogic vision, Brahma became exceedingly ashamed and humble, and descended from the sky before Krishna, prostrating himself fully and acknowledging his error. He offered Krishna an exceedingly profound, philosophical prayer of praise, accepting him as the ultimate cause of all creation, the Supreme Brahman and Supreme Lord.

Krishna forgave Brahma and affectionately bid him farewell, and then, in that very instant, restored all the cows, calves, and cowherd boys to their original place, without anyone gaining even the slightest awareness that an entire year had passed — thus bending even that entire cycle of time according to his own will.

Near Vrindavan lay a palm forest where sweet, ripe fruits grew in abundance, but this forest was guarded by a fearsome demon named Dhenukasura, who had assumed the form of a donkey and killed anyone entering the forest with a terrible kick of his hind legs.

Balarama, to fulfill his friends' desire to eat the fruit, began shaking a palm tree to make the fruit fall, at which the enraged Dhenukasura came charging at Balarama, roaring, to strike him with his hind legs.

Balarama, without wavering, seized the demon's hind legs and, with a single swing, hurled him atop a palm tree, killing him instantly. When his fellow donkeys also attacked, Krishna and Balarama dispatched them in the very same way, hurling them onto the trees, thus clearing the way for the cowherd boys to fearlessly enjoy the fruits of that sweet forest.

After the slaying of Dhenukasura, one summer, Krishna noticed that the water of the Yamuna river had become so poisonous at one spot, because of the dwelling of an exceedingly venomous, many-hooded serpent named Kaliya, that any bird or animal drinking it died instantly, and even birds flying above amid the fumes of that water fell dead.

One day, a ball fell into that very poisonous water, and, pretending to retrieve it, Krishna himself leapt into that terrible pool. Kaliya, enraged by this intrusion into his territory, coiled his vast hoods around Krishna, causing the cowherds standing on the bank, and even Father Nanda himself, to faint from fear.

A moment later, Krishna made his body so heavy that Kaliya himself grew exhausted and slackened, and then Krishna climbed atop his largest hood and began to dance upon it with his tender yet divine feet; with each step the serpent's strength diminished, until at last, vomiting blood, he was compelled to beg for his life.

Kaliya's wives, seeing their husband on the brink of death, appeared before Krishna in exceeding fear and distress, and, with joined hands and choked voices, offered a heartfelt prayer for their husband's life, acknowledging that they themselves had failed to recognize this offense against the Lord.

They offered Krishna profound praise, saying that this punishment was in truth itself a grace for their husband, for the very touch of the Lord's feet had freed him from the sins of many births.

Krishna, moved by this humble prayer, forgave Kaliya, but ordered him to leave the Yamuna at once and go permanently to the sea called Ramanaka Dvipa, assuring him that his footprints would remain forever marked upon his hoods, so that no other creature would dare attack him — thus the waters of the Yamuna became pure and clear once again, and a wave of joy swept through the cowherds.

Some time later, another demon, Pralambasura, sent by Kansa, disguised himself as a cowherd boy and joined Krishna and Balarama in play, seeking an opportunity to abduct the two children.

In a game in which the loser had to carry the winner upon his shoulders, Pralambasura lifted Balarama onto his shoulder and began racing swiftly toward the forest, gradually revealing his true, gigantic demonic form.

Balarama, seeing that he was seated upon a demon's back, without fear, struck a single blow to his head with his thunderbolt-like fist, shattering his skull and instantly felling him lifeless to the ground; all the cowherd boys present praised Balarama's valor abundantly.

On another occasion, while Krishna, Balarama, and the cowherd boys were resting after tending the cattle in the forest, the grazing cows, eating dry grass, accidentally set a fire in one spot, and, driven by strong winds, this terrible forest fire soon began engulfing the entire forest, surrounding the cowherds on all sides.

The terrified cowherd boys, seeing flames rising all around them, ran crying out for help to take refuge with Krishna, believing that only he could save them from this impossible danger.

Krishna, instructing his companions to close their eyes, himself swallowed that entire terrible fire into his own mouth, performing this display of his boundless, otherworldly power as though it were a simple, loving act; when they opened their eyes, the cowherd boys found themselves entirely safe, without any harm, as though nothing had happened at all.

This chapter offers an exceedingly beautiful, poetic description of the arrival of autumn, when the monsoon clouds clear away, the sky becomes clean and blue, the lakes fill with lotuses, and the entire natural beauty of Vrindavan reaches its peak.

Shukadeva described how this season itself seems to reflect the Lord's own beauty and qualities — clear moonlit nights, fragrant breezes, and blooming water-lilies and lotuses all together create an atmosphere that makes the gopis' love for Krishna in their hearts even deeper and more intense, preparing the emotional ground for the coming Rasa-lila.

On these enchanting autumn nights, Krishna, tending the cattle with his cowherd friends, began playing the otherworldly, sweet melody of his flute, whose sound echoed throughout Vrindavan, enchanting even the trees, vines, rivers, and birds and animals.

The gopis, upon hearing this flute-sound, left all their household tasks unfinished, unmindful even of their husbands and families, and were spontaneously drawn toward Krishna. This chapter describes their moving "Venu-gita," in which, addressing Krishna's flute, they express their love, longing, and yearning.

This song is regarded in Bhagavata literature as a symbol of the highest, purest form of devotion, prema-lakshana bhakti, in which the gopis' love is a symbol not of any worldly attraction, but of the highest, purest metaphor for every soul's natural, eternal longing for the Supreme Soul.

In the month of Margashirsha, the unmarried young gopis of Vrindavan, desiring to obtain Krishna as their husband, began bathing in the Yamuna every dawn and performing special worship and a vow to the goddess Katyayani, leaving their garments on the bank and bathing in the water while chanting mantras.

One day, Krishna quietly came and took away all their garments, then climbed a nearby kadamba tree and, laughing, called them one by one to come out to retrieve their garments. The gopis, shrinking into the water out of modesty, threatened angrily to complain to Kansa, but, shivering in the cold water, were at last compelled to come out, covering their bodies with both hands.

Krishna explained to them that bathing unclothed before the water-gods violates the vow, and so they should join their hands and bow to him; the gopis did so, and Krishna, pleased, returned their garments and granted them the boon that their heartfelt wish, to obtain Krishna himself as their husband, would surely be fulfilled — this pastime is understood by devotees as a profound symbol of casting off every covering of ego before the Lord without hesitation.

Once, Krishna and his cowherd friends, playing in the forest, grew exceedingly hungry, and went to some brahmins nearby who were performing a great sacrifice, asking them for food. But those ritualistic brahmins were so absorbed and bound in the rules of the sacrifice that they completely ignored the boys' humble request.

Disappointed, Krishna sent his friends to the wives of those very brahmins, knowing that women's hearts are naturally more tender and devoted. The brahmins' wives, upon hearing Krishna's name, were exceedingly delighted, and without waiting for their husbands' permission, immediately ran to Krishna carrying an abundance of delicious food.

Krishna, exceedingly pleased by this sincere, unhesitating devotion, granted these brahmins' wives an infinite, eternal blessing, and later, when their husbands realized their mistake, granted them too the fortune of forgiveness and his vision — thus this story shows that the heart's natural, selfless devotion is far more valuable than dry ritualism.

After the autumn season, when the people of Vrindavan began preparing, as they did every year, for the sacrifice to worship Lord Indra, Krishna asked his father Nanda and the other elder cowherds the purpose of this worship.

He explained in an exceedingly reasoned manner that every being reaps the fruit of its own deeds, and that Indra, who is merely an instrument for the arrangement of rain, is far less worthy of worship than Mount Govardhana, which directly provides them with pasture, water, and shelter.

Persuaded by Krishna's reasoning, all the residents of Vrindavan abandoned their traditional sacrifice to Indra and instead performed a magnificent worship of Mount Govardhana, offering mountainous heaps of grain, and Krishna himself assumed a vast form, as Mount Govardhana itself, to receive all these offerings.

Indra, exceedingly enraged by this disruption of his worship and by this insult, immediately ordered the deluge-bringing clouds called Samvartaka to pour such a terrible rain and storm upon Vrindavan that all of Gokul would be flooded, punishing the people of Vraja for their prideful act.

For seven days and nights, relentless, torrential rain continued, hail fell, and a terrible cold wind blew; the cowherds and their animals began shivering with fear and cold, not understanding how to escape this calamity, looking hopefully toward their beloved Krishna for help.

Krishna, without any special effort, lifted the entire vast Mount Govardhana upon his smallest finger, and, holding it like a great umbrella, gave all the cowherds, their families, and their animals complete, safe shelter beneath it for seven days, without experiencing the slightest fatigue or difficulty himself, thereby revealing both his boundless power and his unbroken commitment to protecting his devotees.

After this unprecedented event of lifting the mountain, Father Nanda and the other elder cowherds, in their conversations with one another, began recalling Krishna's many earlier extraordinary events — the slaying of Putana, the overturning of the cart, the falling of the twin arjuna trees, and now this lifting of Govardhana.

Nanda particularly recalled how the great sage Garga had long ago prophesied that this child would perform extraordinary, otherworldly deeds, and now, seeing this chain of events, he began gradually to sense profoundly that this beloved son of his was no ordinary human child, but some extraordinary, divine being — though out of paternal love he still hesitated to accept this fully.

Indra, realizing his defeat and the futility of his prideful anger, exceedingly ashamed and repentant, appeared before Krishna himself mounted upon the elephant Airavata, and, prostrating himself fully, begged forgiveness for his offense.

Indra offered Krishna a profound, heartfelt prayer of praise, recognizing him as the Supreme Lord, and, acknowledging his error, begged for forgiveness. On this very auspicious occasion, the divine cow Surabhi also appeared there, and the sacred celestial river Ganga also anointed Krishna with her waters.

Indra and Surabhi together performed, with this sacred water, Krishna's formal coronation with the title "Govinda" — Govinda, meaning the supreme protector and master of both cows and the senses — this title later became one of Krishna's most beloved names.

Once, Father Nanda, observing the Ekadashi fast, went at night to bathe on the bank of the Yamuna, where the servants of Lord Varuna mistakenly seized him and carried him to the realm of Varuna, believing that bathing in the water at night was a violation of Varuna's jurisdiction.

When Krishna learned of this, he himself went to the realm of Varuna, where Lord Varuna, recognizing him at once, immediately released Nanda with the utmost reverence and shame, bidding him farewell while begging forgiveness.

On this very occasion, Krishna also gave his cowherd friends an otherworldly glimpse of the abode of Vaikuntha, causing them all to marvel and realize that their beloved friend Krishna was a being beyond even any boundless, divine realm — this vision deepened their devotion and wonder toward Krishna even further.

On an exceedingly enchanting night of the autumn full moon, when the moon was bathing Vrindavan in its full, brilliant radiance, Krishna played upon his flute such an otherworldly, entrancing melody that the gopis' hearts, upon hearing it, grew restless with love.

The gopis, without any concern for all their household tasks, their husbands, or their families, immediately abandoned whatever they were doing — some even while milking, some while cooking — and ran toward the forest; this symbolically represents that purest, all-renouncing longing of the soul for the Supreme Soul, which rises even above worldly duties and bonds.

Krishna, at first, urged some of the gopis to return home, saying that it was not proper for married women to come to the forest at night in this way, but the gopis, through the depth and sincerity of their love, made clear that this love of theirs was inspired by no worldly desire, but was pure, desireless devotion — seeing which, Krishna was pleased and began the Rasa-lila with them.

In the midst of the Rasa-lila, when the gopis began to feel a certain pride in their special, personal attraction to Krishna — each thinking that Krishna held particular affection for her alone — Krishna, to calm this subtle ego of theirs, suddenly vanished from before them.

The gopis, sinking into unbearable anguish of separation at Krishna's absence, began searching for him here and there through the forest in deep distress, asking the trees, vines, flowers, and even the deer and peacocks about their beloved, whether they had seen their dark, beautiful one pass this way.

In this search, the gopis became so absorbed in Krishna's various pastimes that they themselves began enacting his gestures — this profound state of separation shows that highest level of devotion in which the devotee, even in the beloved's absence, remains continually absorbed in thought of him alone, never feeling separated from him.

During their anguished search, the gopis together sang an exceedingly moving, heartfelt collective song, the Gopi-gita, in which they described Krishna's boundless qualities, his enchanting form, his sweet smile, and the unbearable pain of separation caused by his absence, with the utmost tenderness.

In this song the gopis also complained to Krishna that he had first completely captivated their hearts with his smile and sweet words, and now had left them alone, separated in this way — this song is regarded as one of the highest and most beloved expressions of the sentiment of separation in Vaishnava devotional literature, giving words to the pain of divine separation felt by every seeker.

Exceedingly pleased by the gopis' sincere, unbroken, desireless devotion and their profound song of separation, Krishna at last reappeared before them with his enchanting smile, wearing yellow garments and a garland of forest flowers, exactly as an actor appears upon the stage.

The gopis, seeing Krishna again, forgot their entire anguish of separation in an instant, their hearts filling with boundless joy; some, in the excess of their love, took hold of his hand, others sat close beside him, each expressing the joy of this reunion in her own way, and Krishna too consoled them affectionately.

Thereafter began that otherworldly, world-renowned Rasa dance, in which Krishna, by his yogic power, expanded himself into as many forms as there were gopis present, Krishna himself standing and dancing beside each gopi, so that every gopi felt that Krishna was dancing with her alone.

In this divine dance, moving in a circle, the sweet melody of the flute, the jingling of anklets, and the gopis' sweet singing together created such an otherworldly atmosphere that the gods themselves gathered in their celestial vehicles in the sky to watch this sight and showered flowers.

Shukadeva particularly warned King Parikshit that this Rasa-lila should never be viewed through the lens of ordinary worldly love or sensory enjoyment, but is the supreme symbol of that most complete, purest, divine union between the soul and the Supreme Soul, which can be understood only with complete devotion and reverence — otherwise, any attempt to imitate it proves ruinous for oneself.

After this divine night of the Rasa-lila, on one occasion, a yaksha named Shankhachuda, a servant of Kubera, seeing the gopis alone, attempted to abduct them, daring in the pride of his power to forcibly carry them off.

Balarama, hearing the gopis' cries, arrived at once, pursued Shankhachuda, and, catching him, severed his head from his body with his own strength, and offered to Krishna, as a gift, an exceedingly valuable jewel that had adorned his head.

Some time after this, another demon sent by Kansa, Arishtasura, took the form of a gigantic, enraged bull and began wreaking havoc in Vrindavan, digging up the earth with his hooves and terrifying everyone with his roars; Krishna advanced fearlessly, seized his horns, hurled him to the ground, and, crushing him beneath his foot, silenced him forever.

This chapter describes some more beautiful, heartfelt songs of the gopis, which they sang upon seeing Krishna and Balarama going toward the forest each morning to graze the cattle, describing the sweet sound of his flute, his enchanting gait, and his boundless beauty.

In these songs the gopis also expressed how even the animals and birds of the forest, even the trees and rivers, became stunned and enchanted upon hearing Krishna's flute-sound, and how, for the gopis themselves, this moment, when Krishna, covered in dust, flute upon his shoulder, set out for the forest, was the most precious and eagerly awaited moment of the day.

Kansa, enraged by the failure of all his previous attempts to destroy Krishna, now sent an exceedingly powerful demon, Keshi, who took the form of a vast, maddened horse and began wreaking terrible havoc in Vrindavan.

Krishna, without fear, stood before Keshi, and when that horse opened his vast mouth to swallow him, Krishna thrust his own arm into his mouth and expanded it so greatly that Keshi's throat became blocked, and he choked and fell dead instantly.

After this, another demon named Vyomasura, using his magical power to disguise himself as a cowherd boy, began abducting the cowherd boys one by one during play and imprisoning them in a mountain cave; Krishna, recognizing this in time, pursued Vyomasura, caught him, killed him, and safely freed all his companions.

During this time, the celestial sage Narada Muni himself came to Kansa's court in Mathura and revealed to him in detail this secret, startling truth: that Krishna and Balarama, whom Kansa until now regarded as mere ordinary cowherd boys of Vrindavan, were in fact the eighth and seventh sons of Devaki and Vasudeva themselves, secretly sent to Gokul with Yogamaya's help.

Hearing this, Kansa sank into exceeding fear, rage, and confusion, realizing that the very death he had killed his sister's six sons to escape had still not been avoided, and now, driven still more frantic by this fear, he began devising a final, decisive plan to destroy Krishna and Balarama.

Kansa, on his ministers' advice, devised a wicked plan: he sent his own cousin, the supreme devotee Akrura, to Vrindavan to invite Krishna and Balarama to Mathura under the pretext of a grand bow-sacrifice.

Behind this invitation lay Kansa's true, wicked purpose: that upon their arrival in Mathura, he would have them killed in wrestling by his powerful wrestlers Chanura and Mushtika, or, should they escape, have them crushed by his maddened elephant Kuvalayapida.

Akrura, though fully aware of Kansa's wicked conspiracy, nevertheless, obeying his king's command, and also driven by his own profound longing for a vision of Krishna, set out toward Vrindavan mounted upon his chariot.

While returning from Vrindavan to Mathura with Krishna and Balarama seated upon his chariot, Akrura paused along the way to bathe in the Yamuna river, and the moment he dove into the water, he received an exceedingly wondrous, otherworldly vision — within the water he beheld directly the Lord's own cosmic, thousand-hooded form reclining upon Sheshanaga, exactly as Krishna appeared visibly seated upon the chariot.

Seeing this wondrous, miraculous vision, Akrura was stunned, and, immediately coming out of the water, saw that Krishna was simply sitting on the chariot as usual; this experience established in his heart the unbreakable conviction that this child was no ordinary human but the Supreme Brahman, the Supreme Lord himself, and he was overcome with tears in the excess of his devotion.

Overwhelmed by this extraordinary vision, Akrura stopped the chariot, fell at Krishna's feet, and offered an exceedingly profound, moving, and philosophical prayer of praise, accepting him as the supreme cause of creation, maintenance, and destruction, the original source of all incarnations.

He humbly asked Krishna's forgiveness for taking him to Mathura as Kansa's messenger, carrying a wicked purpose, but Krishna affectionately reassured him that he was fully aware of this entire plan, and that the time for Kansa's slaying was now near; after this, the three of them continued on their way toward Mathura.

Upon entering the city of Mathura, Krishna and Balarama, enchanting all the city's residents with their beautiful, attractive form, began wandering through the streets of the city, where every man and woman thronged to the windows and rooftops to see them.

Along the way, they met a hunchbacked maidservant named Kubja, who was carrying sandalwood paste for Kansa. Krishna affectionately asked her for some sandalwood, and she, enchanted by Krishna's extraordinary beauty, gladly offered him all of it.

Krishna, pleased by her sincere spirit of service, pressed her feet with his toe and, lifting her chin with his fingers, pulled her upward, whereupon this hunchbacked maidservant, who had suffered for years because of her crooked back, was instantly transformed into a beautiful, straight, attractive woman, her long-standing physical pain ended forever.

Continuing on, Krishna and Balarama arrived at the place where Kansa's vast, powerful bow had been set up for the sacrifice, guarded by strict sentries. Krishna easily lifted the bow, and in the very act of stringing it, broke it into two pieces, whose roar made the entire city tremble.

The soldiers guarding the bow attacked, but Krishna and Balarama easily defeated them. Afterward, along the way, Krishna asked a proud washerman, who was washing clothes for Kansa, for some fine garments, but the arrogant washerman harshly refused and insulted him.

Enraged, Krishna severed the washerman's head from his body with a single blow of his hand and took his fine garments for himself and Balarama; in contrast, a humble garland-maker willingly offered them beautiful garlands, for which Krishna blessed him with boundless prosperity, showing that humility is rewarded while pride is punished.

Before entering the vast wrestling arena, Kansa had stationed his most terrible weapon, the maddened, gigantic elephant Kuvalayapida, at the gate, specially incited to crush Krishna and Balarama.

As Krishna and Balarama approached the gate, the mahouts signaled the elephant to charge at them. The elephant tried to seize Krishna with his trunk, but Krishna, nimbly slipping between his legs, grabbed his tail and began spinning him around, throwing the elephant into complete confusion.

At last, Krishna tore out the elephant's tusks, and with those very tusks killed him and his mahouts with such ease as though it were a simple child's game; thereafter the two brothers, carrying those tusks stained with the elephant's blood upon their shoulders, advanced triumphantly toward the wrestling arena, leaving the entire assembled crowd stunned with wonder and fear.

Upon entering the wrestling arena, Kansa ordered his most powerful, professional wrestlers, Chanura and Mushtika, to fight Krishna and Balarama, believing that these massive, experienced wrestlers would crush these two adolescent boys in a moment.

Krishna fought a fierce duel with Chanura, and Balarama with Mushtika, and the hearts of all the spectators present, especially the elder people of Vraja and Vasudeva-Devaki, who were secretly watching this scene, filled with fear and anxiety. But Krishna and Balarama, by their divine power, felled both wrestlers to the ground, killing them.

Seeing this, the enraged Kansa ordered Krishna to be killed at once and Vasudeva and Nanda to be imprisoned, but Krishna, with the speed of lightning, leapt onto the stage, seized Kansa by his own hair, dragged him down from the throne, and, throwing him to the ground and mounting his chest, slew him — thus that prophecy which had set this entire epic story in motion was at last fulfilled. Devaki and Vasudeva were immediately freed from prison, Krishna touched their feet and received their blessing, and the elderly Ugrasena was honorably restored to the throne of Mathura once again.

After the slaying of Kansa and the establishment of peace in Mathura, Krishna and Balarama, following the sacred-thread ceremony, went to the hermitage of the sage Sandipani Muni in Avantipura (Ujjain) to study the Vedas, beginning their education there as ordinary students serving their guru, even though they themselves were the source of all knowledge.

In a short time, both brothers acquired the complete knowledge of the sixty-four arts and all the Vedas and Vedangas within sixty-four days, leaving Guru Sandipani exceedingly astonished and reverent.

When their education was complete, as guru-dakshina, Sandipani asked for the return of his son, who had died by drowning in the sea at Prabhasa. Krishna and Balarama went to the sea-god, who told them that the boy had been taken by an asura in the form of a conch shell named Panchajana. Krishna slew that demon and obtained his conch (the Panchajanya), and then, going himself to the abode of Yama, asked Yamaraja for the return of his guru's son, and, bringing him back alive, gave this extraordinary proof of his boundless gratitude toward his guru.

Even after settling permanently in Mathura, Krishna's heart was never free of the memory of his beloved parents Nanda and Yashoda, and the gopis, in Vrindavan. In order to soothe their anguish of separation, Krishna specially sent his most beloved friend and minister, Uddhava, to Vraja.

Uddhava, carrying Krishna's message and his garments and ornaments, reached Vrindavan, where he delivered a message of affectionate consolation to Nanda and Yashoda on Krishna's behalf, though Yashoda's heart still filled with tears at the separation from her son.

After this, Uddhava went to meet the gopis, who were in such a profound state of separation from Krishna that they had become almost one with Krishna himself; seeing this unbroken, sincere devotion, Uddhava, himself a great man of knowledge, was deeply astonished and moved.

Hearing the message brought by Uddhava, the gopis began expressing the depth of their love through an exceedingly moving, symbolic song, the Bhramara-gita, addressing a bumblebee, whom they saw as Krishna's messenger, just as Uddhava too was a messenger.

In this song the gopis compared the bumblebee's fickleness to Krishna's seeming heartlessness, asking whether men are always like this, first awakening love and then forgetting it; yet, at the end of this very song, they also made clear that there was no real complaint or anger in their devotion, only the natural expression of profound love, and that they gave no room in their hearts for any thought other than Krishna.

The gopis also sent Krishna, through Uddhava, the message that the paths of yoga and knowledge were meaningless to them, for they longed only for the direct vision of Krishna's feet — this profound, sincere devotional sentiment deeply stirred Uddhava's own heart as well.

Overwhelmed by the gopis' extraordinary, unbroken devotion, Uddhava openly acknowledged that his own knowledge and yogic practice seemed trivial before this sincere love, and expressed his heartfelt wish that in his next birth he might be born as some vine or plant of Vrindavan, so that he too might obtain even the dust of the gopis' feet.

During this same period, Uddhava, at Krishna's instruction, also visited the house of Kubja in Mathura, to whom Krishna had already promised, according to his word, that he would visit her. Krishna himself also came there some time later, honoring her sincere devotion and service, showing that the Lord gives equal honor to the devotion of every devotee, whether a gopi of high birth or an ordinary maidservant.

During this time, Krishna sent Akrura toward Hastinapura, to learn the current state of the growing dispute and tension between the sons of Pandu (the Pandavas) and the sons of Dhritarashtra (the Kauravas) over the kingdom, and especially to learn of the Pandavas' welfare.

Akrura, reaching Hastinapura, found that, even with wise elders such as Bhishma Pitamaha and Vidura present, Duryodhana's jealousy and malice were continually growing, and his conspiratorial behavior toward the Pandavas was also becoming increasingly evident — this journey and the information gained from it become deeply connected to the background of that great war of the Mahabharata that was to come, in which Krishna himself would play a central role.

Jarasandha, the powerful, tyrannical king of Magadha, whose two daughters had been married to Kansa, began repeatedly attacking Mathura with vast armies to avenge Kansa's death, forcing the Yadu people to face continual war and instability.

Krishna realized that for the long-term security and prosperity of the Yadu dynasty, it was necessary to establish a new, more secure capital in place of Mathura, especially since Mathura was geographically exceedingly vulnerable to Jarasandha's attacks.

On Krishna's order, Vishvakarma reclaimed land from the sea and built the exceedingly magnificent, well-planned, and secure city of Dvaraka, surrounded on all sides by the sea's natural protective barrier; the Yadu dynasty moved permanently into this city of palaces inlaid with gold and jewels and broad streets, which in due course became the principal center of Krishna's pastimes.

Jarasandha, despite the failure of his previous attempts, continued attacking Mathura again and again on the strength of his vast army and countless allied kings — seventeen times in all he invaded, and each time Krishna and Balarama defeated his vast armies, though Jarasandha himself succeeded each time in escaping alive.

Amid these very struggles, another exceedingly powerful king of the Yavana land, Kalayavana, who had heard from Narada that Krishna was the greatest warrior in all three worlds, began advancing toward Mathura with his vast Yavana army, challenging Krishna to fight him directly.

Krishna, understanding that fighting simultaneously against the vast armies of both Jarasandha and Kalayavana would cause improper and unnecessary loss of life, resolved to adopt a clever, new strategy, described in the next chapter.

Krishna, instead of confronting Kalayavana in battle, began feigning flight, drawing him toward a mountain cave. Kalayavana, believing that Krishna was fleeing out of fear, pursued him and entered that very cave.

In that dark cave, Kalayavana, mistaking a sleeping man for Krishna, angrily woke him with a kick. But this man was in truth King Muchukunda, who, after a long period of service to the gods, had received the extraordinary boon that any being who disturbed his sleep would be reduced to ashes by his first glance alone.

The moment Muchukunda awoke, he cast his glance upon Kalayavana, who was instantly reduced to a heap of ashes. Krishna then appeared and revealed his true identity to Muchukunda, blessed him, and Muchukunda, understanding the nature of the coming Kali Yuga, departed for the forest to practice austerity — through this clever plan, Krishna ended an invincible enemy without fighting him himself.

Rukmini, princess of the land of Vidarbha, who, hearing again and again of Krishna's wondrous qualities and beauty, had already accepted him as the lord of her heart, was exceedingly grieved when her elder brother Rukmi, holding enmity toward Krishna, arranged her marriage to Shishupala, king of Chedi.

As the wedding date drew near, Rukmini, with exceeding courage, sent Krishna a secret, heartfelt letter through a trusted brahmin, in which, expressing her unbroken love, she pleaded with Krishna to come to the sacrificial site on the day of the wedding, save her from Shishupala, abduct her, and marry her.

Krishna, reading this letter, resolved without delay to accept Rukmini's courageous plea, and set out secretly from Dvaraka toward Vidarbha to help her, as described in the next chapter.

Reaching the wedding site, Krishna, with exceeding cleverness and courage, lifted Rukmini, who was going toward the goddess's shrine for worship, onto his chariot and formally abducted her before all the assembled kings — this abduction was considered entirely legitimate according to the kshatriya tradition of that age (rakshasa-vivaha).

Rukmi, insulted and enraged by his sister's abduction, pursued Krishna with his army and waged war. Krishna easily defeated Rukmi's army and also defeated Rukmi himself in battle, and was about to take his life.

But at Rukmini's sorrowful plea and Balarama's request, Krishna spared Rukmi's life, though he humiliated him by shaving off parts of his beard and hair — an insult Rukmi could never forget, and this event established a lasting bitterness between Rukmini and her brother, though Rukmini now happily settled in Dvaraka as Krishna's chief queen.

Krishna and Rukmini were blessed in due time with an exceedingly radiant, beautiful son, named Pradyumna; tradition regards him as an incarnation of Kamadeva himself, reborn in this form after having been reduced to ashes by Shiva's wrath.

But on the very tenth day after his birth, an exceedingly powerful, magical demon named Shambarasura, who knew the prophecy that this very child would in due course kill him, abducted the infant from the birthing chamber and threw him into the sea, where a huge fish swallowed him.

This fish, by coincidence, arrived at Shambara's own kitchen, where a woman named Mayavati (who was in truth an incarnation of Kamadeva's own wife, Rati) cut it open and found within it a living, radiant infant. Learning the child's true identity through Narada, Mayavati raised him secretly, and when he grew up, Pradyumna himself defeated Shambarasura in battle and slew him, then married Mayavati (Rati) and returned to Dvaraka to a joyous reunion with his parents.

This chapter describes the world-famous story of the Syamantaka jewel. A Yadava named Satrajit received this wondrous jewel from the sun-god, which produced abundant gold each day, but which could be worn only by a pure, righteous person, otherwise it became a cause of destruction.

Satrajit's brother Prasena, once wearing this jewel while going hunting, was killed by a lion, which seized the jewel, but the bear-king Jambavan himself killed that lion and obtained the jewel.

When Prasena did not return, Satrajit, without any proof, accused Krishna of killing Prasena out of greed for the jewel; hearing this false, insulting accusation, Krishna resolved to go himself in search of the jewel to prove his innocence.

Krishna, following Prasena's footprints, at last reached a cave where he learned that the jewel was with Jambavan. Entering the cave, Krishna fought a fierce, prolonged duel with Jambavan, which continued unbroken for twenty-eight days.

At last, Jambavan, seeing his strength fail, recognized that this was no ordinary warrior, but the very Lord Rama himself, whom he had served in the Treta Yuga, and whose vision he had long awaited to see again.

Recognizing him, Jambavan offered Krishna an emotional prayer of praise, honorably returned the jewel to him, and also gratefully offered him the hand of his exceedingly beautiful daughter Jambavati, which Krishna gladly accepted. Krishna, returning to Dvaraka, himself returned the jewel to Satrajit and revealed the entire true story, proving his innocence.

Ashamed of his mistake and his false accusation, Satrajit, as a form of repentance, also gave his exceedingly beautiful daughter Satyabhama in marriage to Krishna, and wished to offer him the Syamantaka jewel as well, though Krishna humbly let it remain with Satrajit.

Thus, after his marriages to Jambavati and Satyabhama, Krishna went on to marry many other princesses as well, each marriage with its own special, interesting background and circumstance; thus his vast, well-ordered, and entirely harmonious family continued to expand, each queen experiencing Krishna's direct, loving presence in her own palace, even though he remained one in body — this too was further proof of his inconceivable, otherworldly power.

Bhaumasura, also known as Narakasura, the tyrannical king of Pragjyotishapura, had grown so proud of his extraordinary power that he tormented even the gods, and had abducted sixteen thousand one hundred princesses from various kingdoms, holding them captive in his inner chambers, and had also seized the earrings of the gods' mother Aditi and even the wealth of Indra's own royal capital.

Indra, tormented by this tyranny, took refuge with Krishna and prayed for help. Krishna, mounted on Garuda with his wife Satyabhama, reached Pragjyotishapura, where, after a fierce battle, he slew Narakasura; according to one interesting detail of the story, Satyabhama also actively took part in this battle.

After the slaying of Narakasura, Krishna freed all sixteen thousand captive princesses, and, since their reputation and marriageability had come under threat in society because of their abduction, Krishna, in order to grant them social honor and a secure life, married all of them himself, and gave them an honored place in Dvaraka.

This chapter describes an exceedingly affectionate, playful yet profoundly philosophical conversation between Krishna and his chief queen Rukmini. Krishna, to test the depth of Rukmini's devotion and love, described himself as insignificant, poor, and unworthy, and asked why she had chosen him as her husband over other great, powerful kings.

Rukmini, hearing this, grew exceedingly distressed and frightened at first, thinking that Krishna was in truth speaking of abandoning her, and came to the brink of fainting, expressing the deep, unbroken truth of her love in a choked voice.

Krishna, seeing his beloved's profound distress, immediately smiled and consoled her with an affectionate embrace, making clear that this entire conversation had been merely a loving, playful pastime meant only to reveal the depth and unbroken loyalty of her love even more clearly, nothing more.

Shukadeva gave King Parikshit a brief, glorious account of the countless sons born to Krishna's sixteen thousand one hundred and eight queens, among whom Rukmini's son Pradyumna was foremost, considered the most radiant and closest to his father's qualities.

He related that the sons of each queen were endowed with their own distinctive qualities, valor, and beauty, showing how rich, well-ordered, and harmonious Krishna's vast family life, with its countless members, truly was, each member receiving equal affection and attention.

Among these countless sons, Pradyumna's son Aniruddha was particularly notable, whose own exceedingly interesting love story is described in detail in the chapters that follow.

Banasura, a descendant of Hiranyakashipu and a supreme devotee of Lord Shiva, was an exceedingly powerful but proud demon king, whose supremely beautiful daughter Usha saw an exceedingly handsome young man in a dream one night and instantly fell deeply in love with him, waking to find him gone and becoming exceedingly distressed.

Usha's friend Chitralekha, exceedingly skilled in painting, drew portraits of many gods, gandharvas, and princes to show Usha, until Usha recognized the portrait of Aniruddha, Pradyumna's son, and confirmed that this was the very young man she had seen in her dream.

Chitralekha, by her yogic power, secretly brought Aniruddha that very night from Dvaraka to Usha's palace within the inner chambers of Banasura's city of Shonitapura, where the two were secretly married in the gandharva manner, and Aniruddha began living there secretly for some time.

When Banasura learned of this secret relationship between his daughter and Aniruddha, he grew exceedingly enraged and imprisoned Aniruddha, binding him with serpent-nooses. When this news reached Dvaraka, Krishna, Balarama, and Pradyumna set out toward Shonitapura with a vast Yadava army.

Since Banasura was a supreme devotee of Lord Shiva and had received from Shiva the boon that he himself would protect his city, Lord Shiva himself and his son Kartikeya also fought in this war on Banasura's side, making this conflict exceedingly fierce and cosmic in scale.

After a prolonged, terrible war, Krishna pacified Shiva with his Yoganidra weapon, and at last cut off Banasura's thousand arms one by one with his Sudarshana chakra; yet, at Shiva's own humble request, to protect his supreme devotee, Krishna spared Banasura's life, punishing only his pride, and Aniruddha and Usha were brought honorably back to Dvaraka.

This chapter describes an exceedingly instructive story of King Nriga, an exceedingly righteous, generous king who once, unknowingly, gave in charity to another brahmin a cow that had already been given in charity to a first brahmin.

Because of this unwitting yet grave religious error, Nriga was forced after death to endure a long punishment in the form of a lizard fallen into a deep well, though all his other meritorious deeds remained intact.

When Krishna once came near that well by Dvaraka, and, at his cowherd companions' urging, lifted the lizard out of the well, at the mere touch of Krishna, Nriga was instantly restored to his original, radiant divine form, and, offering Krishna a heartfelt prayer of praise, freed from his past sins, departed for heaven — this story shows the profound teaching that charity given to a brahmin or a saint must be given with the utmost care.

An exceedingly powerful, maddened ape named Dvivida, who was a friend of Narakasura, desiring to avenge his friend's death, began wreaking terrible havoc in Vrindavan and the surrounding regions, destroying fields, terrifying women, and disturbing the austerities of sages as his daily practice.

Balarama, who was at that time joyfully sporting with the gopis on Mount Raivataka, challenged this troublesome ape. Dvivida, mocking Balarama, threw fruits and stones at him, and the enraged Balarama killed him with a single blow of his club, thus freeing the region from his continual havoc.

Paundraka, an exceedingly foolish, arrogant king of the land of Karusha, egged on by his foolish flatterers, began declaring himself the true Vasudeva (Krishna), and, imitating Krishna's divine emblems such as the conch, discus, mace, and crown, sent Krishna an open challenge through a messenger to abandon his own emblems, or else be prepared for war.

Krishna, smiling at this foolish audacity, set out with his vast army toward Kashi, where Paundraka had taken refuge with his friend the king of Kashi.

On the battlefield, Krishna, mocking Paundraka's fake titles and emblems, slew him with his own true Sudarshana chakra, and on that same occasion also destroyed the king of Kashi, who had sided with Paundraka — this story teaches that falsely imitating the Lord's position and emblems ultimately proves ruinous.

Krishna's son Samba, exceedingly handsome and bold, once, during a visit to Hastinapura, made the daring attempt to abduct Duryodhana's daughter Lakshmana, desiring to secretly marry her.

The Kauravas, enraged by this audacity, imprisoned Samba, creating serious tension and bitterness between Dvaraka and Hastinapura, which had previously maintained friendly relations — this event also presents a glimpse of the future conflicts to come between the two kingdoms.

Upon receiving news of Samba's imprisonment, Balarama first went to Hastinapura in a peaceful, diplomatic manner to demand Samba's release and a proper marriage, but Duryodhana and the other Kauravas mocked Balarama and rejected his demand.

Exceedingly enraged by this disrespect, Balarama planted his plough (his principal weapon) into the ground of Hastinapura and declared that if Samba were not released immediately, he would drag the entire city into the sacred Yamuna river with his plough.

The moment Balarama began pulling with his plough, the entire city of Hastinapura began to shake and be drawn toward the Yamuna, at which the terrified Kauravas immediately acknowledged their error, arranged the formal marriage of Samba and Lakshmana, and honorably sent them off to Dvaraka — thus this crisis was peacefully averted.

The celestial sage Narada Muni, moved by curiosity to see directly the reality of Krishna's extraordinary, vast household life, came to Dvaraka and visited, one by one, the palace of each of Krishna's more than sixteen thousand queens.

In each palace, Narada found, with complete astonishment, that Krishna was personally present with each queen at the very same time — in one place playing with his children, in another accepting a queen's service, in another engaged in affairs of state, present everywhere with complete, undivided attention.

Seeing this, Narada was utterly astonished, and profoundly realized that this inconceivable, unique power of Krishna's lies entirely beyond ordinary human, even divine, limits — this was yet another direct, miraculous proof of his boundless, immense yogic power.

In this chapter Shukadeva gave an exceedingly detailed, beautiful description of Krishna's daily life in Dvaraka — waking at the auspicious pre-dawn hour, bathing and performing his evening devotions, then attending the royal assembly to resolve his subjects' problems, and fulfilling various royal and family duties throughout the day.

He particularly emphasized that Krishna, despite his boundless splendor and infinite power, as an ideal king and householder, fully and precisely observed all Vedic duties and social proprieties, showing that the Lord himself honors the bounds of dharma, even though he has no real need to, solely to establish an ideal for ordinary people.

Yudhishthira, eldest of the Pandavas, resolved to organize a magnificent Rajasuya sacrifice to declare himself a sovereign emperor, to which Krishna was specially invited, and it was on his counsel that obstructive enemies such as Jarasandha had already been dealt with beforehand.

At this magnificent sacrifice, when the question arose as to who should receive the first, highest honor (agra-puja), the assembly, on Bhishma Pitamaha's suggestion, unanimously decided to grant this supreme honor to Krishna himself, deeming him the greatest among all the kings and sages present.

Upon hearing this decision, Shishupala, king of Chedi, who already held deep enmity toward Krishna, flared up in rage and began grievously condemning and insulting Krishna before the entire assembly, calling him a mere cowherd, entirely unworthy of this supreme honor.

Krishna, who had promised his aunt (Shishupala's mother) that he would forgive her son's offenses one hundred times, endured with the utmost patience, without any anger, each of Shishupala's condemnations one by one, while everyone present in the assembly kept count of how many offenses had occurred.

The moment Shishupala committed his one hundred and first insulting offense, Krishna, fulfilling his promise, without any further delay, summoned his divine Sudarshana chakra, which in an instant severed Shishupala's head, stunning the entire assembly.

All those present watched in astonishment as Shishupala's life-force, immediately after death, entered Krishna's body as a radiant beam of light and merged into it — Shukadeva explained that this is proof that even in enmity, if the mind remains continually fixed upon the Lord, death at the Lord's own hands ultimately grants supreme liberation.

During the preparations for the Rajasuya sacrifice itself, it was felt necessary to defeat Jarasandha, who remained a great enemy of both the Pandavas and the Yadavas, since many kings, out of fear of him, hesitated to accept Yudhishthira's supremacy.

Under Krishna's guidance, Bhima and Arjuna, disguised as brahmins, reached Jarasandha's court, and Bhima challenged Jarasandha to a duel. An exceedingly fierce, prolonged wrestling match ensued between the two mighty warriors, continuing unbroken for many days.

At last, when Bhima could not understand how to fully destroy Jarasandha (for his body had been formed by joining two halves, and when split apart, they would rejoin), Krishna signaled by tearing a blade of grass in half and throwing the pieces in opposite directions. Bhima did the same, tearing Jarasandha's body apart and throwing it in opposite directions, so that it could no longer rejoin, and he met his death at last — thus this long-standing, terrible enemy of both the Yadu dynasty and the Pandavas was ended forever.

After the slaying of Jarasandha and the removal of all other obstacles, Yudhishthira's magnificent Rajasuya sacrifice, with Krishna's direct presence, guidance, and blessing, was completed exceedingly successfully, without any further hindrance.

Countless kings from all of Aryavarta attended this sacrifice and offered Yudhishthira their tribute and gifts, whereupon Yudhishthira was formally declared sovereign emperor, and the glory, honor, and power of the Pandavas were established at the highest level throughout all of Bharatavarsha — which, in due course, became one cause of further inflaming Duryodhana's jealousy.

Shalva, king of the city of Saubha and a close friend of Shishupala, firmly resolved to avenge his friend's death, and, taking advantage of Krishna's absence (who had gone to Hastinapura for the Rajasuya sacrifice) with an exceedingly powerful, magical, freely roaming aerial vehicle called "Saubha" received from Shiva, launched a sudden, terrible attack upon Dvaraka.

This magical vehicle of Shalva rained a terrible barrage of weapons upon Dvaraka, causing heavy damage to the city's buildings, gardens, and public places, and the Yadava army too suffered heavy losses, though Pradyumna and other Yadava heroes bravely attempted to defend the city.

Upon receiving news of Shalva's attack, Krishna returned at once from the Rajasuya sacrifice to Dvaraka, and, seeing his damaged, imperiled city, began a fierce war against Shalva without delay.

Shalva, invisible in the sky in his magical vehicle Saubha, continually rained weapons upon Krishna from here and there; at one point, through his magic, he even showed Krishna a vision of his own father Vasudeva being captured and killed before his very eyes, momentarily plunging Krishna into grief before he could recognize it as one of Shalva's magical tricks.

Krishna, with his divine vision and unparalleled skill, at last recognized the hidden mechanism of Shalva's vehicle, and shattered it to pieces with a blow of his mace; he then severed Shalva's head with his Sudarshana chakra, freeing Dvaraka forever from this terrible crisis.

Another close friend of Shishupala, Dantavakra, son of the king of Kashi, enraged by the deaths of both his friends, came alone, carrying only a mace, to challenge Krishna to a duel.

Dantavakra was in truth the third and final birth of Jaya and Vijaya, those very gatekeepers of Vaikuntha, who, because of the curse of the sages headed by Sanaka, had to take birth three times as enemies of the Lord — in their first birth as Hiranyakashipu and Hiranyaksha, in their second birth as Ravana and Kumbhakarna, and now in this third, final birth as Shishupala and Dantavakra.

Krishna accepted Dantavakra's challenge, and a mace-duel took place between them, in which Krishna, with a single decisive blow of his mace Kaumodaki, granted Dantavakra liberation; his life-force too, like Shishupala's, merged into Krishna's body and attained liberation — thus this cycle of Jaya and Vijaya's three hostile, curse-bound births was fully completed and brought to an end forever.

When the destructive Mahabharata war between the Kauravas and the Pandavas at Kurukshetra was about to begin, Balarama, who held equally deep affection for both sides — especially for Duryodhana (who had learned mace-fighting from him) and Bhima (who was also his beloved student) — began to feel unable to take either side in this unbearable family conflict.

To avoid this dilemma, Balarama resolved to abstain entirely from taking part in the war, and instead set out on an extensive, prolonged pilgrimage to the sacred places of all Bharatavarsha, bathing in various holy rivers, visiting sages, and giving alms, spending the entire duration of the war in this very pilgrimage.

During this long pilgrimage, at one place Balarama met some people engaged in a game of dice (gambling). Balarama joined in as well, and began playing a game of dice with Rukmi (Rukmini's brother, who had long held enmity toward Krishna).

During the game, Rukmi accused Balarama of cheating and publicly mocked and insulted him grievously, scorning him as an uneducated cowherd.

Balarama, enraged by this unbearable insult, killed Rukmi with a single blow of his club, though this event proved exceedingly sorrowful for Rukmini, grieving the death of her own brother; nevertheless Balarama held the protection of his own honor above all else.

One of the most moving and beloved stories of the Bhagavata Purana now begins: the story of Sudama. Sudama, Krishna's dearest childhood friend, had studied together with him as a fellow student at the hermitage of the sage Sandipani Muni, but in life he lived in extreme poverty, unable even to provide his wife and children with a full meal.

Sudama's wife, distressed by her children's hunger, repeatedly urged Sudama to go to his childhood friend, now Krishna, Lord of Dvaraka, and ask for help, for surely an old friend would help him.

Sudama, being of an exceedingly bashful nature, remained ashamed even at the very thought of asking, but at last, at his wife's repeated urging, tying a handful of flattened rice borrowed from neighbors in a torn cloth as his only gift, he set out on foot toward Dvaraka, not even knowing whether he would be able to summon the courage to ask Krishna for anything at all.

Reaching Dvaraka, when Sudama gave his name to the gatekeepers, Krishna, hearing that his childhood friend Sudama stood at the door, ran out barefoot and embraced this poor, tattered-clothed friend with the utmost warmth, tears of joy streaming from his own eyes.

Krishna, abandoning all royal formality, seated Sudama upon his own throne, washed his tired, dust-covered feet with his own hands, and applied that very water to his own head, utterly astonishing his queens and courtiers, who had never before seen Krishna welcome anyone with such humility.

Krishna fanned Sudama, bathed him in fragrant water, and affectionately recalled the sweet memories of their childhood, the days spent together at their guru's hermitage, the little mischiefs of that time; throughout all this, Sudama, comparing his own poverty to Krishna's boundless splendor, remained sunk in embarrassment.

Krishna, though well aware of what gift Sudama had brought for him, himself affectionately asked whether he had brought any gift sent by his wife. The embarrassed Sudama tried to hide his handful of humble flattened rice, thinking that offering such a simple item to the Lord of Dvaraka was not proper.

But Krishna himself snatched away his bundle of cloth, and began eating handful after handful of the flattened rice with the utmost love and joy, declaring that this small gift, given with true love, was far more precious and sweet than any royal, priceless gift.

Sudama became so immersed in the joy of this boundless friendship, affection, and honor from Krishna that he forgot to say even a single word about his poverty or his real purpose in coming, and after spending a few exceedingly happy days in Dvaraka, without asking for anything at all, filled only with the joy of meeting his friend, he set out on his way back home.

Along the way, Sudama himself remained content with the thought that this very opportunity of meeting Krishna was itself the greatest achievement of his life, and, absorbed in this very thought, continued on toward his same broken-down hut.

But as he approached his village, he saw with astonishment that where his dilapidated hut used to stand, there now stood a magnificent palace adorned with gold-inlaid pillars, jewel-studded doors, and vast gardens, and his wife, dressed in divine garments and ornaments, stood at the door awaiting him.

Sudama, seeing this, understood that this was the silent, boundless, unasked-for grace of his friend Krishna — a grace he had never even asked for, but which flowed of its own accord in response to pure, sincere friendship and devotion. This story is regarded as the finest example in the Bhagavata Purana of the profound teaching that the true fruit of the Lord's friendship comes not from asking, but from sincere love alone.

This chapter describes an exceedingly affectionate, intimate meeting between Draupadi and Krishna's queens — Rukmini, Satyabhama, Jambavati, and others — when Draupadi came on a visit to Dvaraka.

In this meeting, Krishna's queens curiously asked Draupadi how she had come to obtain Krishna's friendship and closeness, and Draupadi asked them the very same question in turn; both sides warmly shared the interesting stories of their own marriages and their experiences of deep, unbroken love and devotion for Krishna — this meeting established a deep, lasting intimacy between them.

Vasudeva, on the advice of his sons Krishna and Balarama and under the guidance of Garga and other sages, performed many important Vedic sacrifices, fulfilling his religious duties fully in this latter part of his life.

On this very occasion, Krishna and Balarama resolved to fulfill a long-standing, profound wish of their mother Devaki: the two of them went by yogic power to the netherworld, where those six former sons of Devaki, killed by Kansa, who were in truth the cursed sons of Hiranyakashipu, dwelt temporarily.

Krishna and Balarama brought all six of them back to Devaki for a short time, giving their mother the long-awaited opportunity to hold these former sons of hers in her lap and cherish them, before the six sons returned forever to their true, celestial abode — thus soothing Mother Devaki's years-old sorrow.

Krishna also played an active role in arranging the marriage of his sister Subhadra; seeing that his sister held affection for Arjuna, Krishna, even going against Balarama's own wish (who wanted to marry Subhadra to Duryodhana), cleverly helped arrange the gandharva marriage of Arjuna and Subhadra.

This chapter also reverently recalls once again that famous episode of Draupadi's disrobing, when, at the cry of Draupadi being insulted by Dushasana in the full Kaurava assembly, Krishna, by his Yogamaya, extended her sari infinitely, thus protecting her honor and dignity — reaffirming once again that the Lord never fails to hear the cry of his devotees who take refuge in him, however impossible the crisis may seem.

This chapter presents an exceedingly profound, philosophical, and poetic prayer of praise offered to the Lord's glory by the Vedas themselves, personified — the Shruti-stuti — in which the Vedas themselves acknowledge that even they are entirely unable to give a complete, full description of the Lord's boundless, immense glory and his true nature.

This prayer describes the Lord's all-pervasiveness, his creative power, and his boundless compassion toward his devotees, establishing that devotion to the Lord alone, more than the study of the Vedas and ritual, is the supreme, simplest, and most universally accessible path to reaching the Lord, for even the Vedas themselves ultimately point toward this very devotion.

This chapter tells the story of a demon named Vrikasura, who, following the path shown by Narada, performed severe austerity toward Lord Shiva and obtained the terrible boon that whoever's head he placed his hand upon would be instantly reduced to ashes.

Tempted to test the power of this boon, Vrikasura immediately attempted to use it upon Shiva himself, at which the terrified Shiva fled and took refuge with Lord Vishnu.

Vishnu, with his unparalleled cleverness, appeared before Vrikasura in the exceedingly beautiful form of Mohini, and deceptively induced him, in a particular dance pose, to place his own hand upon his own head; Vrikasura, enchanted by Mohini's beauty and following her lead, unknowingly placed his hand upon his own head, and was instantly reduced to ashes and destroyed — thus Shiva was safely saved from a terrible crisis.

This chapter tells the sorrowful story of a brahmin of Dvaraka, whose many newborn sons, one after another, died mysteriously immediately after birth; the grieving brahmin, holding Krishna and Arjuna themselves responsible for this injustice, delivered a grievous rebuke in the royal assembly, saying that even in the king's presence his sons were not safe.

Arjuna, accepting this challenge, promised to protect the brahmin's next son, and created a protective shield with his divine weapons; yet that son too mysteriously vanished, at which Arjuna vowed to burn himself in fire.

At last Krishna and Arjuna, both mounted upon a chariot, crossed beyond the boundaries of the world and reached, within the waters of the cosmic deluge, the Lord's own divine form of Vaikuntha, from where they recovered all the brahmin's dead sons, alive and well, and returned them to their grieving father — this event shows that the Lord is fully capable of fulfilling every prayer and challenge of his devotees, however impossible it may seem.

In this final chapter of the Tenth Skandha, Shukadeva presented King Parikshit with a detailed, moving summary of Krishna's entire, magnificent life and his countless pastimes — from his otherworldly birth in prison to the sweet, innocent childhood pastimes of Vrindavan; from the end of Kansa in Mathura to the magnificent, prosperous royal life of Dvaraka; and to his countless marriages, countless children, and his innumerable, varied pastimes.

Shukadeva profoundly reminded Parikshit that this entire, vast story, despite its immense variety — war and marriage, royal celebration and the quiet help given at home to a shy, poor friend, the miracle of lifting a mountain and the childlike mischief of stealing butter — carries one single, unbroken, central message: that Krishna's boundless power and Krishna's boundless love are not two separate things, but two aspects of one and the same, indivisible, overflowing divine reality.

Whether he was lifting Mount Govardhana, dancing the Rasa with the gopis, or silently, without a word, transforming an embarrassed, poor childhood friend's home into a golden palace, the very same unbroken, boundless love flows through every pastime, knowing no limit either of power or of affection.

Thus this most extensive, most celebrated, and most beloved Skandha of the Bhagavata Purana comes to an end here, the story now advancing toward the Eleventh Skandha, where will be described the destructive curse that ultimately falls upon the Yadu dynasty, Krishna's final and most profound teaching given to Uddhava, and the moving story of the Lord's own return to his eternal, divine abode.