In plain words
The poet, in wonder: The Lord who drank the milk of the demoness [Pūtanā] with teeth like swords: where he went to rest was the serpent bed; what he waged fiercely, long ago, for the five [Pāṇḍavas], was the cruel Bhārata war; and what he trembled before, how wondrous, was only the churning staff in the hand of the cowherd woman [Yaśōdā]!