In plain words
Kaṇṇaṉ, says Yaśōdā, you bewitched the simple cowherd girls with kohl in their eyes, went after them, caught hold of their fine pleated saris and, standing apart with them, did mischief upon mischief. False one, I have heard enough tales told against you to fill a book. Master of mischief, I know you now for what you are [the Lord, not my child]. I am afraid to give you my milk.