KRISHNA CORIOLIS#4: Lord of Mathura (23 page)

Laying upon Vishnu’s broad chest was Sri, bracketed between his long arms. The goddess of fortune. She lay at his disposal yet possessed a dignity and pride of her own. She was a goddess in her own right. But the details of her appearance were not as clearly visible to Akrura. He could not understand why this should be so, but it did not matter. It was Vishnu/Krishna on whom his attention was fixated, as it was meant to be. 

Then, as Akrura continued to pay darshan to the Lord of Lords, he saw that there were attendants close by, each paying homage to Vishnu depending on his mood. Sunanda and Nanda were at their head. Then there were Sanaka and others with Sanaka. Brahma was there. Rudra tatwa Shiva was present too. The nine twice-born brahmins who were sometimes seven, but here in the heavenly realms were nine, headed by Prahlada, Narada and Vasu. 

There were others attending Vishnu too, Akrura saw, as his mortal brain began to absorb more of the infinite detail being portioned out. 

Apart from Sri herself who represented Affluence, there was Pusti, Nourishment. Gir, Speech. Kanti, Beauty. Kirti, Fame. Tusti, Satisfaction. Ila, Earth. Urja, Vitality. Vidya, Knowledge. Avidya, Ignorance. Sakti, Power. And Maya, Illusion. 

At this point, Akrura could absorb no more. His mere mortal mind was filled to the brim with devotional ecstasy and wonder. The hair on his body was standing on end, his eyes were weeping tears copiously. He was sweating from every pore. He felt as if his heart were filled with more love and devotion than it could contain. It poured out like the river itself, an endless current of ecstasy that could wash away all cares, worries, anxieties, doubt…

With a supreme effort, he regained his presence of mind, joined his hands in supplication, bowed his head and offered obeisance to the Lord. 

6

AKRURA
emerged from the river a different man from the one who had entered only moments earlier. To him, his vision appeared to have lasted an eon, infinite and timeless, just as the devotional ecstasy that filled his being seemed sufficient to fill the entire universe, yet he had spent only a few scant moments in the waters of Mother Yamuna. His eyes shone with joy, his face and body were moist, his complexion clear and aspect rejuvenated. He appeared ten years younger, invigorated as if infused with new energy and strength. All the gunas shone forth from his being. 

He walked up the riverbank to where the chariot still stood and upon it, Krishna and Balarama. He folded his hands as he approached, bowing his head as if in devotion to Vishnu again—as indeed, he
was
bowing to Vishnu. 

Krishna and Balarama exchanged a knowing glance then Balarama spoke. ‘What is it, Akrura? You seem altered.’

Akrura nodded. ‘I have seen a revelation in the river.’

Krishna smiled. ‘It must have been a wonderful revelation, judging by your aspect.’ 

Akrura turned his eyes up to Krishna, bowing before him in humility. ‘It was yourself I was privileged to be shown, my Lord. In your true aspect.’

Balarama glanced at his brother, smiling and said nothing. 

Akrura went on. ‘Indeed, I see that it was both of you together, for while here upon Earth you appear as separate beings, in fact in your true state of existence, you are both one, the Lord and the Serpent who is his constant companion and mate. If Krishna is Vishnu then you Balarama are Ananta himself, as much a part of the Lord’s being as a brother is to a brother.’

Akrura continued speaking. ‘Until now, I had only known from afar of the deeds and exploits of the Deliverer. And like all such things, they appear as distant dreams viewed by another. However fantastical one’s own dreams are, they are nevertheless linked to oneself intimately, intricately, and one clings to them as an infant to sensations and sights and sounds it can experience but never wholly comprehend. True miracles are like another person’s dreams. They can never be wholly accepted because they lack the personal details and interweaving of experience and memory that makes one’s own dreams intimate. Thus I heard and acknowledged but never truly accepted the stories of your exploits. It was not that I doubt them, merely that I regarded them as perhaps exaggerated in detail, possibly even wholly made up. I did not doubt their veracity, merely their detail and substance. There was no doubt that you slew those demons, merely a question of how you did so, and whether the demons were indeed as fantastical as described. We of this earth are compelled to live among the dirt and grime of everyday reality. We are not built to easily accept that which we cannot touch, feel, see or hear with our own senses first-hand. Therefore we doubt. Therefore when I was bringing you to Kamsa, I believed I was carrying you to certain death. Now, having seen your true aspect, I know how foolish I was being. For you are Infinite, Incomparable, Invincible. Whatever struggles you have upon this mortal realm are struggles of flesh and blood, limitations of the physical form you inhabit. Yet in the end, you will triumph. For what can resist your power? I see that now. And I see how foolish and impetuous I was to want to turn back. This is destined. This is the prophecy of the Slayer. It must be fulfilled.’

Akrura went on in this tone for a while, praising Krishna in more detail than could be summarized quickly. The gist of it came to his acceptance of Krishna’s divinity and invincibility. At the end, he prostrated himself upon the grassy field and paid homage to his Lord God. 

Finally, Krishna bent down and raised Akrura to his feet. 

‘Good Akrura, you served my father Anakadundubhi and mother Devaki well, you serve your people honorably, and now you serve me well. Your service will be rewarded. Come now, the time approaches for my encounter with the Childslayer. We must continue to Mathura.’

Akrura wiped his eyes clear of tears. ‘I shall harness the team and hitch the chariot at once.’

‘There is no need,’ Krishna said. ‘I meant what I said. We must go on by foot from this point. You may proceed with the chariot. We shall aid you in hitching and harnessing, then you must ride ahead and inform all of our impending arrival. We shall come on foot after you by and by.’

Akrura glanced at Balarama who was already harnessing the team, using his powerful muscles to compel them to return to their duty. Knowing they could not resist his strength and will, the horses submitted meekly. ‘But Lord, how can I ride when you walk? I was blind before but now my eyes have been washed clean. Permit me to take you to my house. Blessed shall we be by your presence. I shall wash your feet clean of the dust of the road and serve you refreshment and we shall be eternally graced.’

‘I shall come to your house,’ Krishna said, ‘and to every house in Mathura, but only after I have performed my dharma by killing the Childslayer and fulfilling the prophecy.’

Still Akrura found it hard to accept Krishna’s instructions but he did not argue further. Finally, somewhat dejected and sad, he bowed his head and joined his hands in acceptance. 

‘I shall do as you say, Lord,’ he said. 

With these words, Akrura mounted the ready chariot and turned the head of the team leader, riding back to the road and then down to the ferry. He looked back dolefully at the two figures on the riverbank, and his desire that they ride with him was palpable. But under the Lord’s command, he continued on his way. 

7

Vasudeva
reached the top of the hill overlooking the Yamuna and paused the uks wagon. Beside him, Devaki clutched his arm. Both gazed down at the vista, enraptured. 

Vasudeva was seeing the Yamuna for the first time since the night of his son Krishna’s birth. Yet he recalled her colour, her fragrance and the sound of her voice as only a child can recall his mother. 

He recalled the parting of the waters and the peculiar fish smell of the riverbed as he had carried his newborn infant across. He remembered the sight of fish and crustaceans trapped in the parted waters, still alive and swimming and gawking at the sight of Vishnu incarnate in human form. 

He recalled wishing his newborn son could stay in Mathura, grow old enough to stand on his own two feet, run, play and swim like other Yadava children. He recalled thinking sadly that he would never be able to watch his Krishna do all those things and many more. 

He remembered hearing from his friend Akrura about Krishna’s first days in Gokul, how green and blue and beautiful the trees and sky were and how happy the little boy had been, how much he had loved this new world and wanted nothing more than to frolic and play and explore it. He had taken satisfaction in the knowledge that at least Krishna was safe and well and happy. If he and Devaki had to sacrifice the joy of parenting him in order to keep him from harm, so be it. 

Yet he missed the years he had never spent as a father. And he knew that Devaki, seated beside him on the wagon, missed them too. 

Not only had they had their first six children taken from them and destroyed by the heartless rakshasa Kamsa, they had lost the seventh and eighth voluntarily. Saved, yes. But lost as children to Vasudeva and Devaki. 

The joys of parenting, the heartache of nursing a sick child, the sweet sad pain of watching the changes of growth and knowing that that stage, that age, was now gone forever and would never come again, of knowing that with each passing day, this being was becoming an independent person who would one day leave home and go about his own life and that the intimacy of those early years of childhood and parenting would then be gone forever…the thousand aches and joys, cares and pleasures of being a father, a mother, a guardian. 

He had been deprived the opportunity to experience those feelings forever. As had Devaki. 

That was one of many things Kamsa had to answer for today, apart from the reign of terror he had brought to Mathura from the very first day. Those atrocities against the people inspired great anger in Vasudeva as well. He thought he had left that anger behind when Devaki and he had departed Mathura and gone on their years-long pilgrimage, a veritable exile of sorts. But now, looking down upon the great city of the Yadava nation, he found them rising in his breast again. 

Yet in the end, it was not vengeance he craved, but peace. 

He had never truly stopped feeling those things and a part of him still wished the fighting and warring and crises could just end, once and for all, and all beings live in peace, enjoying the fruits and repast of their shared world. Why was it so hard for living beings to understand that together, they were one whole being symbiotically interlinked through food, weather, biology, and a thousand other intricate interdependent systems, while individually they were nothing but strays, incapable of sustaining or surviving? Why did beings like Kamsa even exist? Why had they been created? Why was it necessary for a Slayer to be born at all? Why could the Creator not avoid creating cruelty and pain and violence and war? Why could the gods, in which category he knew his own Eighth Child himself was included, not rid the world of such things forever? 

But these were questions for gods and seers, prophets and pundits. 

He was merely Vasudeva of Vraj. Once King Vasudeva. Now merely husband to Devaki. 

And birth father to Krishna. 

Today, here, he was present in his capacity as father to Krishna, Slayer of Kamsa, come to face his nemesis at last, and he had returned with Devaki as soon as they had received the news brought by one of Akrura’s trusted associates. 

Today, the history of the Yadava nation would change forever, thanks to their son Krishna. 

An entire nation looked to his son to Deliver them from evil. 

A world watched, holding its breath as it waited to see if the devas still held sway over the mortal realm or if they had finally surrendered it to the asuras, abandoning their creations and children.

Finally, it was Devaki who wiped her face clean of tears and looked at him. 

‘Come, Vasu,’ she said, touching his arm. ‘Let us go meet the Usurper and witness the end of this tale. I am impatient to meet our little Ganshyam after this long while.’

Nanda wiped his face roughly in the manner of a man who is not accustomed to crying openly or showing much emotion. 

He nodded silently and restarted the uks wagon, urging the animals to move forward and downward, down the long trundling raj-marg. 

8

‘SENAPATI
Bana, the Vrishni are entering Mathura,’ cried the captain of the outer gate. 

General Bana of the Imperial Mathuran Army already knew the Vrishni had entered the city. He could hear the roaring of the crowds. It was so immense, it seemed to come from everywhere, from all around the world. Even on this narrow street, people had filled the houses overlooking the way that the procession would pass, crowded the rooftops and were leaning out of windows, eager for a glimpse. He had never seen Mathura so excited and happy in all his years. Not even the day of the peace accord had witnessed such a turnout or such adulation. 

The Deliverer was here. 

The same child who had been born in this very city, under lock and guard, heavy sentry watch, surrounded by a hostile army and a demonaic king who had killed his earlier born brothers. 

He had returned now to wreak his vengeance and fulfil the prophecy. 

Bana felt the stirring of emotion in his own heart as well. He had never failed to feel it each time he heard the people speak of the Deliverer. He had felt it when a condemned man prayed to the Deliverer at the moment before his execution, when a child had died of yellow fever with the name “Krishna” on her lips, when he saw the misery and suffering and pain inflicted by Kamsa and all those who served him these past twenty three years.