If Vrindavan had learned one thing quickly, it was this:
Krishna did not play alone.
He organized.
By the third day, Vrindavan had factions.
Not clans.
Not families.
Butter gangs.
It began innocently.
Krishna sat beneath a banyan tree, surrounded by children, butter smeared unapologetically across his face. Radha stood with her arms crossed, watching him like a self-appointed supervisor.
"We need rules," she said.
Krishna blinked. "Rules?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "Otherwise you just steal everything."
"That sounds efficient."
"That sounds illegal."
The children giggled.
Krishna considered this very seriously.
"Fine," he said. "Rules."
The system perked up immediately.
«Leadership Structure Detected.
Suggestion: Chaos-Based Democracy.»
Krishna ignored it.
"Rule one," Krishna declared, standing on a rock. "Butter stolen must be shared."
Cheers erupted.
"Rule two," Radha added. "No pushing calves into pots."
Groans followed.
Krishna nodded solemnly. "Unfair but acceptable."
Thus, the Butter Gangs were born.
They moved like coordinated disasters—children darting through courtyards, distracting adults, creating elaborate diversions while Krishna slipped past defenses with supernatural ease.
Radha, despite her protests, became second-in-command.
"You're too obvious," she told him one afternoon, dragging him behind a shed just before Yashoda turned around.
Krishna smiled. "I wanted to be caught."
"Why?"
"So Ma yells."
"…You're strange."
He grinned wider. "You're still here."
She rolled her eyes, cheeks faintly warm.
The Yamuna soon became their next playground.
The river sparkled unnaturally when Krishna approached, currents adjusting themselves instinctively. Fish gathered near his feet. Lotuses bloomed where he stepped.
Children splashed freely, laughter echoing across the water.
Radha waded in cautiously. "Don't go too deep!"
Krishna was already standing midstream.
On water.
Radha stopped dead.
"…You're cheating."
Krishna looked down. "Oh. This?"
He deliberately sank.
Then resurfaced beside her, soaking wet, laughing.
Radha splashed him angrily.
"Stop doing impossible things like they're normal!"
Krishna splashed back. "Stop pretending you don't like it."
She sputtered, then laughed despite herself.
The system chimed dryly.
«Emotional Bond Strengthening.
Status: Stable.
Separation Probability: Zero.
Good Choice.»
Krishna approved.
From the treeline, unseen eyes watched.
Not hostile.
Curious.
Devas.
They whispered among themselves.
"He does not withdraw from joy."
"He does not isolate."
"He binds, not divides."
Mahadev watched silently, a small smile on his lips.
"He's doing it right," Shiva murmured.
Parvati nodded. "He's not repeating our mistakes."
Back in Vrindavan, the children sat drying themselves in the sun, sharing stolen butter openly.
Radha sat beside Krishna, shoulder brushing his.
"You know," she said casually, "if you ever leave…"
Krishna turned to her immediately.
"I won't."
She blinked. "You didn't even let me finish."
"You were going to say something wrong."
She laughed softly. "Then stay."
"I always do."
She studied his face, searching for something she didn't yet have words for.
But she felt it.
Safety.
Certainty.
Belonging.
That night, Yashoda scolded Krishna for returning soaked and muddy.
He listened politely.
Then stole butter again.
Balance.
Far away, in Mathura, Kamsa felt something twist painfully in his chest.
Joy.
The thing he had never understood.
And it terrified him.
--chapter 16 ended--