Akrura and Vasudeva. Amongst the wives of the citizens appeared Devaki,
mourning for her son, whose lovely face she longed to behold, even in the hour
of his destruction.
When the musical instruments sounded, Chanura sprang forth, and the people
cried, “Alas!” and Mushtika slapped his arms in defiance. Covered with blood
and mud from the elephant, which, when goaded upon them by its driver, they
had slain, and armed with its tusks, Balabhadra and Janardana confidently
entered the arena, like two lions amidst a herd of deer. Exclamations of pity
arose from all the spectators, along with expressions of astonishment. “This,
then,” said the people, “is Krishna. This is Balabhadra. This is he by whom the
fierce night-walker Putana was slain; by whom the waggon was overturned, and
the two Arjuna trees felled. This is the boy who trampled and danced on the
serpent Kaliya; who upheld the mountain Govardhana for seven nights; who
killed, as if in play, the iniquitous Arishta, Dhenuka, and Kisra. This, whom we
see, is Achyuta. This is he who has been foretold by the wise, skilled in the sense
of the Puranas, as Gopala, who shall exalt the depressed Yadava race. This is a
portion of the all-existing, all-generating Vishnu, descended upon earth, who
will, assuredly, lighten her load.”
Thus did the citizens describe Rama and Krishna, as soon as they appeared:
whilst the breast of Devaki glowed with maternal affection; and Vasudeva,
forgetting his infirmities, felt himself young again, on beholding the
countenances of his sons as a season of rejoicing. The women of the palace, and
the wives of the citizens, wide opened their eyes, and gazed intently upon
Krishna.
“Look, friends,” said they to their companions; “look at the face of Krishna. His
eyes are reddened by his conflict with the elephant; and the drops of perspiration
stand upon his cheeks, outvying a full-blown lotus in autumn, studded with
glittering dew. Avail yourself, now, of the faculty of vision. Observe his breast,
—the seat of splendour, marked with the mystic sign,—and his arms, menacing
destruction to his foes. Do you not notice Balabhadra, dressed in a blue garment,
—his countenance as fair as the jasmine, as the moon, as the fibres of the lotus-
stem? See how he gently smiles at the gestures of Mushtika and Chanura, as they
spring up.
“And now behold Hari advance to encounter Chanura. What! Are there no
elders, judges of the field? How can the delicate form of Hari,—only yet in the
dawn of adolescence,—be regarded as a match for the vast and adamantine bulk