KRISHNA CORIOLIS#4: Lord of Mathura (20 page)

Kamsa put the raised foot down, straightened himself and came towards Akrura once again. 

Now, he will finally spill his guts,
Akrura thought,
or he will spill mine.
He had already listened to more praises from Kamsa’s lips than he had heard spoken aloud in such an august gathering from any of his dearest friends in his entire lifetime. Perhaps it was true what the wise said:
Nobody can praise you the way an enemy praises you…just before he slips the knife between your ribs. 

Now, he waited for the knife to pierce his skin. 

Instead, Kamsa stopped before him and raised both hands, in a gesture that could be interpreted as welcoming as well as pleading: ‘Act now in the interests of all Yadavas everywhere,’ Kamsa said. ‘Do what is best for us all. Perform a small favor for this humble servant of our great nation.’

Humble servant of our great nation?
Kamsa?
Phuargh!
Akrura was glad he had not eaten before coming to Kamsa’s court. If he heard one more sentence like that last one, he was sure he would regurgitate his stomach’s contents. 

‘What is your desire, my lord?’ Akrura asked aloud, speaking in as pleasant a tone as he could muster. This was a play being enacted for the benefit of Mathura after all. He would play his part as well as Kamsa did. It was the reason why he had been tolerated and permitted to live in Mathura and stay alive all these years, while so many others as patriotic than he had been executed summarily or forced into exile. 

Kamsa beamed a boyish smile, even though the first signs of grey were already visible at his temples. ‘Most charitable Akrura. Giver of gifts and doer of deeds. I ask you a boon just as a tapasvi asks a boon of the Devas after decades of penance.’

Akrura’s heart began to beat faster. Suddenly he thought he knew what was coming next. Some sixth sense gained from a lifetime in politics warned him. Yet when the actual words were spoken aloud they still came as a shock. 

‘Go to Nanda-Maharaja, master of Vraj-bhoomi. Lord of the Vrishni. He has two sons, Krishna and Balarama.’

Akrura heard his voice speak as if from a great height high above his own body. ‘Yes, my lord, what of them?’

‘Bring them here to Mathura,’ Kamsa said, smiling. ‘Take my finest chariot. Return with them as fast as my horses will carry you there and back.’

Akrura swallowed to buy himself a moment, glanced around at the enraptured court. ‘Forgive me, but may I ask why, my King?’ he said, careful to make the question sound as innocuous and non-threatening as possible. 

Kamsa grinned broadly. ‘So that I may kill them both.’

34

‘And
then he said, after he had killed you both, he would slay every last one of your family members and relatives, even the most remote, distant of relations by blood or by marriage. And when he was done killing them, he would slay the entire Vrishni, Bhoja and Dasarha clans, followed by his father, the old King Ugrasena, his mother Padmavati, his uncle Devaka, and all other Yadavas who could threaten his power, now or in future.’ 

Akrura stopped speaking and remained silent as the roomful of people absorbed his words. Outside the door of Nanda’s house, the chariot in which he had just arrived was still visible, for he had given instructions that the horses were not to be unhitched as he would return within moments. The animals snorted and stamped their feet, flanks steaming from the heat of their long run. Barely a few hours had passed since he had stood in Kamsa’s court and heard those terrible words, yet the world had changed entirely since then. 

‘It has come then,’ Nanda said sombrely, ‘the day we have long dreaded.’

‘We knew it would, father,’ Krishna said. ‘It is the only way this can finally end.’ 

Even at 15, Krishna was more than a young man. His face shone with the glow of a superior being. His pitch-dark face appeared almost deep blue, the blue of the sky at midnight in certain seasons. His crow-black eyes were soulful, intense, yet smoldering with a quality that was similar to human emotion yet transcended human emotion. A light gleamed deep within each eye, like the promise of lightning in a thundercloud, flashing deep within. Or like the threat of a gharial lurking deep within still waters, capable of rushing up and wresting away life before thought could comprehend the action. 

His voice had deepened a little, though not as much as Balarama’s, whose voice matched his bulk and breadth. Krishna’s voice was still a tenor, a flute-player’s voice, soft and clear. Yet the authority in that gentle voice was impossible to ignore: even the cows paused in their chewing to pay heed when Krishna spoke, as if they could understand his human words. Perhaps they could. Perhaps all creatures could. 

Yashoda could not brook his meaning. 

‘You will not go,’ she said, rising from the floor where she had been sitting cross-legged since Akrura’s unexpected arrival moments earlier. Beside her, Rohini also rose, but said nothing, her face speaking volumes. ‘I will not let you go, neither of you,’ Yashoda said. 

With age had come a greater dignity. Even as her features had thickened alongwith her waist, her maternal appearance had grown matriarchal. She moved and spoke with the authority of the legendary matrons that had founded the Arya clans in ancient ages, those great dams that had sired the more famous princes and kings who were more often the subject of portraits and epic ballads. At this moment, Yashoda’s face and manner matched the mythic power of those legendary kings. 

‘Mother,’ Balarama said in his deeper voice, placing a large fair hand on her back. ‘It was foretold even in the prophecy of yore.’

‘Then untell it!’ she cried. ‘Cancel the prophecy. Erase destiny. Forget the foretelling. Ignore the summons. Remain here. Just for a while longer!’

‘How long, mother?’ Balarama asked kindly. To Krishna and he, both Yashoda and Rohini were mother, as was Devaki whom they had seen but once in their lives. ‘How long will we bide our time and wait and slay the asura assassins that come. First they only threatened Krishna. Now they come to do harm to all of you. Last time it was father Nanda’s turn. Next time…’

‘Let the assassins come,’ Yashoda said. ‘We will fight them.’

Balarama shook his head. ‘Sometimes, one has to take the fight to the enemy. One cannot simply wait.’

‘But he has called you! You heard what Akrura said. This is his plan. To summon Balarama and you to Mathura and kill you both. After which he intends to kill everyone else.’

‘Yes,’ Balarama acknowledged. ‘And now that he has issued a summons in this fashion, publicly, before the court of Mathura and in full hearing of all the clans, we must go, or we shall lose face.’

‘But he is a demon of demons,’ Yashoda said. ‘A master of evil. What does it matter what he says or does? Ignore him. Stay home. You are safe here.’

‘What good is it if we are safe when Mathura remains unsafe for our people, mother?’ Balarama asked gently. ‘We must go.’

‘It is a trap. He tries to trick you into coming. His assassins have all failed so now he resorts to this last desperate effort. Because he lacks the courage to come himself and face you both. So he seeks to lure you into his domain where he can attack you in devious treacherous ways.’

‘Perhaps,’ Balarama agreed. ‘But still we must go.’

‘He has promised to kill you. He cannot go back on such a promise without losing face himself. He means to follow through this time. To destroy you both!’

‘Then we must give him the opportunity to prove his own promise right—or prove him wrong ourselves.’

Yashoda joined her hands together towards Balarama, then turned and gestured towards Krishna as well, tears spilling freely down her lined cheeks, dampening the strands of white hair that lay upon her face. ‘I beg of you. If you love me, do not go!’

Krishna came forward and clasped Yashoda’s hands in his own. ‘We love you mother, just as we love our mother nation. For the sake of our mother, we must go. All that Balarama has said is right. We cannot refuse this invitation. This is the very day for which we have both been waiting, for which we have prepared. For which we have been born and put upon this earth. This is our mission. This is the purpose for which we came. This is what we must do in order to rid the world of Kamsa’s evil.’

‘But you are still only two young boys, barely young men. He is a great and powerful rakshasa, surrounded by other rakshasas. He has laid a terrible trap for you. If you go to Mathura, he will use some deceit to overcome you. He will do everything possible to destroy you.’

‘That is how it must be,’ Krishna admitted. ‘It is how it has always been. But we have one thing that he can never have, has never had, and will never have.’

Even Yashoda was silent, wondering what Krishna meant. 

Then, in the dialect of a distant tribe, the Marathas who inhabited a region farther South and on the westward coast of the Bharata sub-continent, Krishna said, ‘Aaichi punyaaii.’

Mother’s good karma. 

And he bent low and touched his forehead to Yashoda’s feet.  Balarama did the same, both brothers prostrated before Yashoda and Rohini. 

‘Bless us, mother,’ they said together. 

Yashoda cried as she blessed them. 

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‘Krishna,’
she cried out. 

Krishna paused in the act of climbing aboard the chariot. Radha came running barefoot down the central road that ran the length of Vrindavan hamlet. She stopped several yards away, as if afraid to come closer. 

‘I will follow you, alongwith the rest of our people,’ she said. It had been agreed that all the Vrishni would go with their two best sons to witness the encounter and ensure that some fair balance was maintained, if such a thing was possible. Already, the hamlet was a bustling scene of chaos as people loaded uks wagons, dogs barked, children ran helter skelter, and men and women alike cried openly as they contemplated the possible end of their entire community and more heart-rending, the possible end of their two best-loved sons. After all, however remote the possibility, it could not simply be discounted. When a warrior went into battle, no matter how great a yoddha he might be, he could not presume himself invincible, he had to prove it so: that was the difference between a warrior and a trader of goods. A trader could promise anything and deliver another thing altogether and still get away with it; a warrior paid for over-confidence with his life and limbs. The atmosphere in Vrindavan was one of great alarm, as of a mighty disaster that had befallen the Vrishni. 

Krishna turned and nodded to Radha, acknowledging her words.  He waited for her to say more. She too waited for him to speak. 

Finally, Balarama said, from atop the chariot. ‘We are ready, bhaiya.’

Krishna looked at Radha. She remained standing where she was, yards away. Children ran between them, dogs scampered, and even a calf bounded past. The whole world seemed to come between them. 

‘Fight well,’ she said. 

He nodded. ‘I shall do my best.’

She hesitated, then said, ‘I understand now what you tried to tell me once, on the hill overlooking the lake.’

He waited for her to continue. Balarama waited on the chariot for Krishna. Akrura waited for them both. Around them, the Vrishni hurried to leave for the greatest mass move of their community since the exile to Vrindavan. 

‘You came here for a reason,’ she said, gesturing mildly, indicating the sky, the forest, the ground…the world. ‘To fulfill a purpose. Today, you go to complete that purpose. You belong to everyone, not just to any one person. I was wrong to want you only for myself. You cannot belong to me or to any one person. You serve a higher purpose, a larger karma. You are everybody’s Krishna.’

He looked at her for a long moment. 

He said softly: ‘I am your Krishna too. I shall always be.’

Then he turned, climbed aboard the chariot and nodded to Balarama. 

Balarama nodded to Akrura who started the horse team moving. The chariot began rolling away, down the pathway, up the long road to Mathura, away from Radha. Krishna stood with his back to the chariot, looking at Radha as he was drawn away. 

She remained standing in the middle of the road, goats and calves and dogs and children and people running to and fro and around her. She remained there, watching as the chariot drew farther and farther away, taking Krishna away from her.
Her
Krishna. 

When he had gone too far for her eyes to see anymore, she followed him with her heart. 

KAAND
3

1

TWENTY
three years had passed since Kamsa had usurped his father Ugrasena’s throne, fifteen since the birth of Krishna. 

In that period, tens of thousands of Mathurans had fled the city-state and chosen voluntary exile over life under the yoke of tyranny. Others had joined the rebellion, either openly taking up arms against the Usurper and harrying his armies on the borders and other vulnerable areas, or choosing to join the forces of those who resisted Jarasandha’s armies and the onslaught of the Magadhan empirical juggernaut; they preferred to die fighting against their mutual enemy rather than for a Mathuran army led by Kamsa.