He has lured our children and driven our daughters-in-law mad, O Yashoda. Tell him properly to behave, or else there will be no mercy left; our very lives are at stake. We women will all unite and confront you; the friendship between you and us will be broken. He knows no boundaries, no propriety, no social custom; he does whatever he pleases wherever he goes. When we are not watching our homes, he makes his entrance there. He kisses and embraces everyone, rolls on beds and benches, smashes the pots on the ceiling hooks, and empties every vessel of buttermilk; no one can catch him. We have endured this too long and been too patient, thinking he is your only child. But now we will bind him to a post with all our strength, and nothing he does will save him. Even if it costs us everything, we will not let go. Then Mother Yashoda takes the Lord of the Discus in her hands and presents him to the milkmaids. Do not speak harshly, all of you, or my little one will be hurt. Says Tuka, wherever his hands touch, fresh butter springs up in streams of nectar. Seeing my Lord, the whole country forgot every other awareness.