In the ancient age of Dvapara Yuga, the kingdom of Mathura was a place of both great splendor and profound darkness. It was ruled by King Kamsa, a man whose ambition was matched only by his cruelty. Kamsa had usurped the throne from his own father, the righteous King Ugrasena, casting the old man into a dungeon and declaring himself the supreme authority over the Vrishni and Bhoja lineages. Kamsa was not merely a mortal king; he was whispered to be the reincarnation of the demon Kalanemi, and his presence on the earth was a burden that the goddess Bhumi, the Earth herself, could no longer bear. Seeking relief from the mounting sins of the world, Bhumi took the form of a cow and pleaded with Lord Brahma and Lord Vishnu for an incarnation to restore balance and righteousness.
The catalyst for the miraculous events began on a day of supposed joy. Kamsa, who despite his wickedness held a deep affection for his sister Devaki, was driving the chariot for her and her new husband, the noble prince Vasudeva, following their wedding. As the procession moved through the streets of Mathura, a thundering voice echoed from the heavens. This celestial voice, unbidden and terrifying, addressed the king: 'O foolish Kamsa, the very sister you are driving so lovingly shall bear an eighth son who will be your slayer. He will take your life and end your tyranny.'
Panic and rage instantly replaced Kamsa's affection. He drew his sword, intent on killing Devaki then and there to prevent the prophecy from coming to fruition. However, Vasudeva, a man of exceptional wisdom and integrity, intervened. He promised Kamsa that he would hand over every child born to them if only Kamsa would spare Devaki's life. Trusting Vasudeva’s reputation for truthfulness, Kamsa stayed his hand but immediately cast the couple into the darkest, most secure dungeon of Mathura. He placed them in heavy iron shackles and stationed a legion of guards at every door, wall, and gate.
Years passed in the gloom of the prison. Each time Devaki gave birth, Kamsa would storm into the cell and ruthlessly kill the infant. Six children were lost this way, their lives sacrificed to the king’s paranoia. The seventh child was Balarama; through divine intervention and the power of Yogamaya, the fetus was mystically transferred from Devaki’s womb to that of Rohini, another wife of Vasudeva who was living in safety in the village of Gokul. To Kamsa, it appeared as though Devaki had suffered a miscarriage, and he waited with increasing dread for the eighth child.
As the time for the eighth birth approached, a divine aura began to permeate the prison. The atmosphere in Mathura shifted. The stars aligned in the auspicious Rohini Nakshatra, and a sense of expectant silence fell over the world. It was a dark, stormy night in the month of Shravana. The rain lashed against the stone walls of the palace, and the Yamuna River began to swell with a ferocious current. Inside the cell, the gloom was suddenly pierced by a brilliant, supernatural light. Lord Vishnu appeared before Devaki and Vasudeva in his magnificent four-armed form, holding the shankha (conch), chakra (discus), gada (mace), and padma (lotus). He was adorned in yellow silk and jewels that outshone the sun.
The divine presence spoke to the trembling parents, explaining that he was taking birth as their son to destroy evil and protect the virtuous. He instructed Vasudeva to take him across the Yamuna to the house of Nanda in Gokul, where a baby girl had just been born to Nanda's wife, Yashoda. He told them to swap the infants and return with the girl. Having given these instructions, the Lord transformed himself into a small, beautiful human infant, hiding his divine form behind the veil of Maya.
Then, the first of the miracles began. The heavy iron chains that bound Vasudeva and Devaki simply fell away, clinking softly on the floor. The massive stone doors of the prison, locked with heavy iron bars, swung open silently. The guards, who were seasoned warriors, fell into a deep, supernatural slumber, their heads lolling on their chests as they snored through the storm. Vasudeva placed the infant Krishna into a wicker basket and, balancing it upon his head, stepped out into the raging night.
As Vasudeva reached the banks of the Yamuna, the situation seemed impossible. The river was in full flood, its waves tossing like mountain peaks and its waters dark and treacherous. Yet, as soon as Vasudeva’s foot touched the water, the river recognized its master. The waters parted, creating a dry path through the middle of the torrent, reminiscent of the cosmic order. From the heavens, the great serpent Shesha, the five-headed king of snakes, descended. He hovered over Vasudeva and the baby Krishna, spreading his massive hoods like an umbrella to shield them from the torrential downpour.
Vasudeva crossed the river safely and arrived at the home of Nanda and Yashoda in Gokul. Everyone in the village was asleep under the influence of Yogamaya. He entered their house, found the newborn baby girl, and quickly swapped her for Krishna. He kissed his son one last time and hurried back to Mathura. As soon as he re-entered the prison cell, the doors locked behind him, the chains fastened themselves back onto his wrists and ankles, and the guards began to stir from their sleep.