In the ancient city of Mathura, the air was thick with anticipation. The hour of destiny was upon the mortal realm as Devaki, imprisoned in Kamsa's iron fortress, carried the divine essence of Shri Hari (Narayan) within her womb. Kamsa's cruelty had destroyed seven of her previous pregnancies, but this time, the holy will of the universe had intervened. On that very day, far away in the tranquil pastures of Gokul, Yashoda, wife of the noble cowherd Nandagopa, too conceived—her womb graced by Nidra Devi, who had emerged from Vishnu's divine form to fulfil her cosmic role.

The cosmos held its breath as the eighth month approached, and both women were brought to the threshold of the miraculous. At the stroke of midnight, when the Abhijit Nakshatra graced the heavens with its auspicious light, the veil between the divine and mortal realms was lifted. Narayan, the preserver of the universe, took birth as Krishna, the eighth child of Devaki, in the Vrishini lineage. Simultaneously, Yashoda gave birth to a radiant girl child, Nidra Devi, incarnate.

That night, the universe witnessed a phenomenon it had never seen before. As Janardhana (Krishna) arrived, the oceans trembled with reverence, their waves rising and falling in divine rhythm. The immovable mountains shivered as though bowing to the celestial presence. Flames of fire, often untamed and wild, softened and burned with a serene glow. A gentle breeze of auspiciousness swept through the land, carrying with it the scent of celestial flowers while the dust of the earth settled as if nature herself prepared to welcome her Lord.

The stars in the sky radiated with an otherworldly brilliance, forming patterns that seemed to chant praises to the divine. Without warning, the celestial drums of the heavens began to play, their sound reverberating across dimensions, announcing the arrival of the Supreme Being. Flowers rained from the sky, showered by unseen hands of Gandharvas and Apsaras, while Maharishis recited hymns of praise. The night was alive with the energy of the divine—a cosmic celebration for the birth of Krishna, who would be the harbinger of hope and the liberator of the oppressed.

Far away in Hastinapur, the air was filled with an inexplicable sense of wonder. As if pulled by an unseen force, Satyavati, the matriarch of the Kuru dynasty, walked into the royal court. Curious, her eyes sparkled as she questioned Bhishma and Vidura, "What is this magical midnight, Bhishma? The heavens seem to rejoice, and the air is charged with something... divine. Could it be that the gods themselves have descended?"

Bhishma, the son of Ganga, stood tall, his gaze unwavering yet thoughtful. Sharing a glance with Vidura, he said, "Mata, the cosmos has shifted. I feel the presence of something transcendent, something sacred in the air. It seems the balance of the world is being restored. A divine entity has surely graced the mortal realm this night. The days to come will be unlike any we have seen—both challenging and yet filled with the promise of liberation."

Vidura, wise beyond measure, added, "The birth of the divine often comes with trials for the world, but it also brings redemption. We must prepare, for the course of destiny has changed tonight."

As the court fell silent, awe and reverence lingered in the air. In that moment, the Kuru dynasty, and indeed all of Aryavarta, stood on the cusp of a transformation that would forever alter the fabric of existence. Krishna had been born, and the world would never be the same again.

The Revelation of Divinity

The dim light of the prison cell in Mathura flickered, casting long shadows on the cold stone walls. Devaki and Vasudeva, their hearts still heavy with the memories of their lost children, looked down at their new born son. But before they could fully comprehend the miracle, a radiant glow emanated from the infant. In an instant, the child transformed into his Supreme form, the resplendent Narayan, his four arms adorned with the conch, discus, mace, and lotus, and his presence filled the cell with divine brilliance.

Depressed by the sight, Devaki and Vasudeva prostrated before the Supreme Being, their eyes brimming with tears. The divine child spoke, calm yet commanding, filled with infinite love and wisdom.

"O Devaki and Vasudeva, do not be afraid. I am none other than Narayan, the protector of the universe. You both are no ordinary beings; you are the reincarnations of Prajapati Sutapa and his devoted wife Prsni.

As Sutapa and Prsni, you worshipped me with unparalleled devotion in your first birth. When I appeared before you, your hearts, overwhelmed with love and longing, asked thrice, 'We desire a son who is like you, O Lord.' Moved by your sincerity, I granted you a boon that I would take birth as your son for three lifetimes.

In your first birth, I appeared as Prsnigarbha, your son who spread righteousness across the cosmos. In your next birth, you became Aditi and Rishi Kashyapa, and I descended as Upendra, your son in my Vamana avatar, the dwarf who restored the balance of the three worlds.

And now, for the third time, I am born to you as Krishna, fulfilling my promise. I have revealed this form to reassure you of my divine origin. Had I remained as an ordinary child, you might have doubted that.

I, the Supreme Personality, have entered your womb once again."

Hearing these words, Devaki wept, both in reverence and sorrow. "O Lord, though I am blessed to see you in this divine form, my heart trembles with fear for your safety. Kamsa, the tyrant, will not rest until he destroys you."

The Lord's radiant form softened as he addressed her fears. "Mata, your concern is born out of love, and I am grateful. But know this—Kamsa's end is near, and I shall fulfil my purpose. To ensure my safety and the fulfilment of destiny, I command you to take me to Gokula. There, exchange me for the newborn daughter of Mata Yashoda, who was born at the same moment as me. She will play her part in the divine plan."

Vasudeva, though awed, found his voice, "O Lord, your words fill us with courage, but this prison is guarded, and the city is locked. How can I take you to Gokula unnoticed?"

Krishna, now serene, smiled. "The path will clear before you, Pita Shree. Trust in my divine will."

Narayan's brilliance slowly dimmed, and in a moment, he returned to the form of a tender infant. But the air in the cell still carried the sanctity of his revelation, as if the walls themselves had been witnesses to the divine truth. Devaki and Vasudeva's fears calmed, yet their hearts were heavy with the knowledge of their duty, prepared for the task ahead.

The Divine Journey Across the Yamuna

Commanded by Narayan, Vasudeva felt a newfound resolve fill his heart. He clutched his new born son to his chest and prepared to fulfil the divine mandate. The weight of destiny rested in his trembling arms, yet an inexplicable calm spread through him, as though the child radiated warmth and boundless assurance.

At that moment, Yogamaya (Nidra Devi), born from Yashoda, wove her mystical influence over the palace. A deep, impenetrable slumber fell upon the guards and every inhabitant of Kamsa's fortress. The great iron chains and locks securing the prison doors unravelled and fell to the ground with a faint clink. The doors, which moments before had been impassable barriers, now swung open silently as if the universe was conspiring to aid the Lord's escape.

The night outside was dense with darkness, and storm clouds loomed, threatening to shroud the world in chaos. Yet, as Vasudeva stepped out carrying Krishna, the shadows receded, and an ethereal glow emanated from the child. The world around him became illuminated as if bathed in the golden light of dawn.

Thunder rolled ominously in the heavens, and the rain began to pour in torrents. But even as the storm grew fiercer, Vasudeva felt no fear. Adi Shesha, the eternal serpent who serves Vishnu, appeared as he walked into the tempest. Unfolding his great hood, he arched it over Vasudeva and the divine child, shielding them from the downpour. The raindrops fell harmlessly around them, unable to breach the protective canopy of the serpent.

When Vasudeva reached the banks of the Yamuna, he was met with a daunting sight. The river was wild, its waters frothing with ferocity, the roar of its waves echoing like a primal cry in the night. The banks trembled, and the swirling currents seemed determined to bar his passage.

Yet, a miracle unfolded as Vasudeva placed his foot into the churning water. The mighty Yamuna, recognizing her Lord, calmed her rage. Her waters stilled and parted, creating a clear path that stretched across the river's breadth. Foam and ripples moved aside as though bowing in reverence. It was a sight reminiscent of the Indian Ocean parting for Lord Rama when the seas themselves yielded to the divine will.

The moment was imbued with profound mysticism. The roaring of the storm, the glowing form of the infant Krishna, the protective presence of Adi Sesha, and the obedient retreat of the Yamuna all spoke of a world in awe of the divine. Even the forces of nature seemed to proclaim the arrival of a saviour.

As Vasudeva stepped onto the far bank, the river gently resumed its course, the path disappearing behind him as though the Yamuna sought to conceal this sacred journey. Vasudeva moved toward Gokula with unwavering steps, knowing that each stride carried his son and the hopes of a world awaiting deliverance.

The Silent Exchange and Reunion

As Vasudeva approached the peaceful village of Gokula, the sight was surreal. The moonlight bathed the humble homes in a silvery glow, and the rhythmic sound of cattle breathing in their sleep filled the air. Outside Nandagopa's house, the world was still as though nature had conspired to ensure no interruptions. The cowherds and their families, under the influence of Yogamaya, lay in a profound slumber.

Vasudeva entered the home, his steps as light as whispers, and approached Yashoda's bed. There, nestled beside her, was a baby girl, her tiny form radiant, an embodiment of divine energy—none other than Yogamaya herself. Without hesitation but with immense reverence, Vasudeva gently placed Krishna beside Yashoda and lifted the baby girl in his arms.

As he prepared to leave, fate guided him to an unexpected encounter. Rohini, his other wife, who had been staying in Gokula under Nandagopa's care, emerged from the shadows. Their eyes met, and in that moment, emotions overtook them. While carrying the divine child in one arm, Vasudeva embraced Rohini tightly with the other.

Tears streamed down their faces, speaking of the unspoken anguish and longing of years spent apart. Breaking the silence, Vasudeva whispered, "Rohini, you, too, have played a part in this divine plan. This child, Krishna, is none other than the Supreme God, Narayan, born to deliver the world from evil. And your child—our child, the one born to you—is His elder brother, Balarama, the seventh son of Devaki. It was Narayan's will that your womb sheltered him with the assistance of Yogamaya."

Rohini, overwhelmed, stepped back and beckoned Vasudeva inside. There, in the glow of a small lamp, rested Balarama, his serene face glowing with a celestial brilliance. Vasudeva knelt and gathered his elder son in his arms, tears of gratitude and joy streaming down his cheeks. "Balarama," he whispered, "you are destined to be the protector, the strength that upholds this divine mission."

With heavy hearts but a shared sense of purpose, Vasudeva and Rohini parted. Vasudeva carried Yogamaya and made his way back to Mathura. The journey seemed shorter, as though the world itself hurried him along.

Upon returning to the prison, Vasudeva placed the baby girl on Devaki's lap, completing the exchange. As Devaki looked at the infant, her heart sank. She knew her brother's ruthlessness and feared for the child's life. Tears welled in her eyes, and she clutched the girl tightly, her maternal instincts desperate to protect her.

Sensing her turmoil, Vasudeva spoke gently, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions within him. "Devaki, do not despair. Narayan has assured our children's safety. Our seventh child, the one we believed lost, lives—safe and loved in Rohini's care. He has been named Balarama and will grow to be Krishna's protector. This girl," he gestured to the divine infant, "is no ordinary child either. She is Yogamaya, and Narayan sent her to ensure this plan unfolds as it must."

Hearing this, Devaki's tears fell silently. She held the child close, a mix of relief and sorrow engulfing her. As Vasudeva resumed his place beside her, the shackles that had fallen earlier returned to their original state, binding them once more. The cell once again appeared as though nothing had changed, masking the monumental events that had just transpired.

The night continued, heavy with the weight of destiny, as the divine plan moved one step closer to fulfilment.

The Wrath of Yogamaya

The air in the chamber was suffocating with tension as Anakadundubhi—Vasudeva, named for the resounding drums that heralded his birth—delivered the chilling news to Kamsa, the tyrannical son of Ugrasena. "A daughter has been born to us," he declared, his voice heavy with anguish. The women around him, led by Devaki, wept openly, their lamentations echoing against the cold stone walls of the prison.

Devaki stepped forward, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her voice, though trembling, carried the weight of a mother's unrelenting grief. "O brother, O Kamsa," she pleaded, "six of my beautiful sons—infants, innocent—have already perished at your hands. This is just a daughter, weak and almost lifeless. If you must, look upon her. She poses no threat to you."

Kamsa's face twisted into a cruel smile as he leaned closer to see the child. "A daughter?" he mused, the tension in his body momentarily easing. Yet the wicked gleam in his eyes returned as his paranoia consumed him. "It matters not. The prophecy foretold an eighth child—boy or girl, it is still a threat. She must die!"

The new-born lay on the ground, fragile and vulnerable. Her tiny form bore the wetness of the womb, her hair disheveled, clinging to her delicate head. She lay motionless like the earth, silently bearing the burden of humanity's sins. Kamsa reached down, his fingers tightening around her tiny ankles. With a savage roar, he raised her high into the air, his strength a grotesque display of cruelty.

He swung the infant violently, whirling her tiny form in the air before hurling her with all his might toward the unyielding stone floor. The act was monstrous, a moment frozen in time as the women in the room screamed in horror.

But fate had other plans.

The frail body did not shatter upon the stone. Instead, a blinding light engulfed the child, consuming her mortal form. Before their astonished eyes, the infant transformed, rising majestically into the air. Her fragile body dissolved, replaced by a celestial, resplendent form.

Yogamaya, the divine incarnation, stood before them in all her glory. Her flowing hair cascaded down her back, adorned with celestial garlands and divine scents. Her robes shimmered in hues of blue and yellow, and her radiant complexion outshone the sun. Four arms extended from her powerful form, holding sacred symbols of divine authority. Her eyes blazed like the rising sun, her voice thundered like storm clouds at dusk, and her aura was a tempest of light and power.

She laughed—a chilling, echoing sound that sent waves of terror through Kamsa and all who witnessed her ascension. Her laughter carried both divine mockery and the promise of vengeance.

Her voice, filled with divine wrath, boomed across the chamber. "O Kamsa! You dared to kill me. You lifted me and sought to crush me against the rock, but you have only awakened your doom. Mark my words, tyrant! When the time of your reckoning arrives and your enemy stands before you, I will tear your body apart with my hands. I will drink the blood that flows warm from your lifeless form."

The terrible goddess danced in the air, her movements a mesmerizing blend of beauty and terror. Her radiant form lit the prison like a second sun, yet the shadows that danced around her seemed alive with malice. Her laughter echoed across the land, shaking the hearts of even the bravest. The gods above watched in awe as their emissary issued her curse.

Then, as suddenly as she appeared, Yogamaya ascended to the divine realm, her terrible laughter fading into the ether. Surrounded by her celestial attendants, she disappeared into the heavens, leaving a stunned and terrified Kamsa behind.

The news of the miraculous event spread like wildfire. From Mathura to the farthest corners of Aryavarta, people whispered of the curse bestowed upon Kamsa by the goddess herself. It was a divine warning, a celestial proclamation that the time of the tyrant's reign was nearing its end.