Krishna has come home — and the evidence won't hide: Subal carries in a huge, jewel-studded chamara. "This, Nanda Maharaj, speaks for itself." Krishna balks, unwilling to step forward — but Balaram can always be counted on: he shoves him from behind, and Krishna stands before his father with his head hung low. "Tell me the truth, Krishna," the father demands, already braced for a lie. And here his friend Madhumangala pushes forward: "I saw it all, I'll tell it all! There stood a giant — a thousand eyes all over his body. Beside him another with four heads. And one more with five. And a talking cow. And elephants chattering on and on like rabbits!" The grown-ups throw up their hands: "Oh God, just stop!" — not one of them believes a word. Yet the boy invented nothing: the devas really did come down — Indra, Brahma, Shiva, Surabhi — to perform Krishna's abhisheka. Never does the truth about Krishna sound so unbelievable as when you tell it exactly as it is.