KRISHNA CORIOLIS#4: Lord of Mathura (25 page)

But the only thing she truly longed to see was the sight of Krishna. She had been aching for him ever since he had ridden away on Akrura’s chariot. Every yard of the way, she had hoped they would catch up, even though she knew that a chariot traveled much too quickly for an uks cart to match, and they had started off hours later in any case. Still, she had hoped and prayed. After all, her heart had no idea of the difference between the speed of an uks cart and a horse chariot. Her heart only knew that it longed for Krishna. 

She saw him now. And was overjoyed. 

‘Krishna!’ she shouted, her voice drowned in the sudden roar of the crowd. The roaring had a peculiar tone to it, not the overjoyed happy roaring and cheering to greet the arrival of the Deliverer that they had heard until now. This was ominous, frightened almost. 

Then she realized that the crowd wasn’t cheering Krishna’s arrival, they were cheering him on. 

He was about to face some enemy. 

Radha had seen enough fights with asuras to know when Krishna was under attack again. The only difference was that this time it was taking place in Mathura city, not Vrindavan hamlet. And there were great numbers of people standing by and watching. 

Good
, she thought,
they will see the strength and wit of my beloved as he faces this new challenge. 

But another part of her, the same part that could not tell the difference between an uks car and a chariot, cried out silently.
Krishna! Take care, my love!

Both parts of Radha collided together, even as Krishna and Hathi-Yodha collided. 

***

It was a giant among elephants, he saw, a great white beast. 

It was old too, its eyes rheumy and heavily wrinkled. Its hide was scored in a hundred places with scars of old battles in which it had fought: spear marks, lance scratches, sword cuts, javelin holes, arrow punctures…it was impressive that the beast still lived, let alone had such energy and strength. 

It moved with the ponderous gait of a large heavy beast, and he estimated it must weigh twice or thrice as much as most local bull elephants. Its enormous ears flapped like fans held by royal servants serving a king. Its eyes were red and blazing with feverish rage, its mouth slobbering, its enormous tusks yellowed with age but still whole, still sharp enough to gore and kill. 

Several Mathuran Imperial guards followed in its wake, trying to subjugate it and failing, and as he watched, the beast turned its head disdainfully and gored another one, the poor man crying out as he was impaled on one deadly tusk, then trampled underfoot as the elephant freed itself of his body. He lay in the dust of the avenue, bleeding out pitifully. 

It had already killed several others, he saw. Their blood was smeared on its tusks and armour. The armour itself was designed to drive fear into the hearts of its enemy and bristled with sharp jagged metal points and edges. Clearly, even friendly soldiers must stay far from this beast in battle, or else they risked being cut to ribbons on its armour inadvertently. Krishna could easily imagine Kamsa riding atop this monster, matching its destructive power with his own killing rage. And being Krishna, in a flash, he saw the entire life-history of the beast pass through his consciousness, every act it had committed since leaving its mother cow elephant’s womb decades ago. 

Airavata raised his trunk and trumpeted at the sight of Krishna approaching. The sound rang out across the city like a war horn announcing the start of battle. The immense crowds that had thronged the streets to greet the procession had fallen silent as news of the mad elephant travelled through the city. Krishna knew that people were watching from behind him, and would pass on every detail of what happened next to be spread by word of mouth like wildfire. 

Hathi-Yodha reared up and thudded back to earth with a force that even Krishna felt, dozens of yards away. It made the ground underfoot shake, and plaster dust fell from the walls of the buildings on either side of the avenue. With the crowds on either side, he could not afford to tempt the animal into turning head, for it would then rampage through the people and cause terrible casualties. 

Either Krishna had to come forward and face the elephant or turn back and be seen retreating. 

There was no question of retreating. 

He came forward slowly, walking as if he were walking in Vrindavan by the lake, along the pastures, overseeing his father’s herd. 

The elephant trumpeted its displeasure at this insolence, lowered its head, and charged. 

Krishna stopped walking and faced the elephant. Behind him, he could hear Radha’s cry, as well as the voices of Yashoda and his aunts and uncles all voicing their concern. He had known they had arrived long before Radha had set eyes on him. He knew their concern was not entirely misplaced. 

After all, even if he was a god and would eventually triumph, he did feel pain and trauma and more than once in his battles with asuras he had come close to having his mortal form destroyed—everyone understood this now and knew that ‘invulnerable’ was only a word used by those ignorant of the laws of nature. All that was born must die. All that is created can be destroyed. 

Hathi-Yodha bellowed like a bull as it charged, head lowered to aim its deadly tusks at man-level. Its feet pounded the dirt road, raising a cloud of dust. Its fury was prodigious. It meant to kill or be killed, there was no mistaking that fact. 

Krishna neither moved nor budged. He stood his ground and let the elephant charge directly at him. Every pair of eyes in Mathura was watching. It was important to send a message loud and clear. Krishna would not be intimidated or turn away from threat. He was here to make a stand. 

The elephant’s pounding caused the ground beneath his feet to shudder as if in the grip of a tremblor. The great white body loomed before him, moving at the speed of a horse’s fastest gallop, and those massive deadly tusks pointed straight at his belly and vitals. 

Man and beast met in a head-on collision. 

11

RADHA
suppressed a scream by stuffing her fist into her open mouth. She bit down on the knuckle hard enough to draw blood. In the wagon beside her, Yashoda and Krishna’s aunts reacted in similar ways. All down the road, those watching reacted as well, shaken by the sight of a man standing still before a charging elephant—then at the sight of that elephant colliding with the man. 

She watched as the great white bull elephant rammed straight into Krishna with all the strength and power it could muster. 

And nothing happened. 

Krishna remained standing exactly where he was. He did not budge an inch, not even when one of the elephant’s tusks struck his abdomen with a force enough to punch through a solid brick wall. Instead, the tusk itself broke off with a resounding crack that could be heard several streets away. People exclaimed with wonderment. 

The elephant’s entire body shuddered at the moment of impact, as if it had indeed struck a brick wall, but one so thick that even its formidable weight and power in that headlong rush could not overcome. It uttered a bleating sound, almost like a dog’s yelp, and backed away, shaking its head and rolling its eyes. It was stunned by the collision. Nothing in its long life had prepared it for such an experience. To charge at a mere man and to meet resistance greater than a stone wall was not something it had expected nor knew how to deal with. 

After a moment, it turned around on its four legs, clearly too stunned to walk straight, then sat down on its hind legs as it bleated again. The loss of its tusk had evidently caused it some distress for it kept rolling its head and waving its trunk around, seeking out the missing trunk. 

The trunk itself was in Krishna’s hands. He held it up for the elephant to see. It had snapped off cleanly almost at the point where the root emerged from the elephant’s body. Barely a few inches of its base were left on the animal. The entire length of it, all one dozen or more feet of ivory tusk as thick as a wrestler’s thigh, lay in Krishna’s hands. 

Krishna waved the tusk, showing the elephant that he now possessed a part of its body. 

The elephant remained seated on its hind legs, resembling a dog that had received a sudden blow to the tip of its nose. Its eyes watered profusely, issuing a whitish gummy substance that Radha thought might be masth or something similar. 

Krishna stepped forward, walking over to where the elephant sat. Radha held her breath as she watched. The elephant reacted at once: seeing its intended prey still alive, still hale and hearty, approaching, it rose up, shaking off the stupefaction that had overcome it, trumpeted once again, although nowhere near as confidently as before, and reared up on its hind legs, bringing the mighty fore legs and the weight of its upper body down on Krishna with bone-powdering force.

Krishna raised a hand and took the weight of one elephant foot entirely on that hand. 

The elephant’s foot bent and broke. 

The sound was unmistakable, the sight distinct. 

The elephant bleated in distress, then fell back at once, breathing heavily. 

It hopped on three feet, trying to put the fourth foot down and bleating at the pain. 

Krishna looked up at the elephant and spoke. Radha was too far away to hear what he said clearly but it sounded more like a gentle conversation rather than an angry threat. What could Krishna possibly be saying to the elephant? 

After a moment, the elephant trumpeted at Krishna, clearly rejecting his offer. It attempted to use its trunk to strike at him, then waved its head to try to stab him with the other whole tusk. 

Krishna stood his ground, neither avoiding nor fending off the blows. This went on for several more moments, during which the elephant seemed to force himself to overcome the agony of the injured foot and stomped about on all four feet again, trying its best to smash, crush, gore, and harm Krishna in every way possible. 

***

Krishna smelled the madness in the Hathi-Yodha’s blood and sweat and knew that the creature was in great torment. He reached out a hand, not actually touching its hide but making a gentle stroking movement to show he meant it no harm. 

‘I know you,’ he said softly. ‘Your true name is Kuvalayapida. You were reborn in this form to serve Kamsa against your will. Your rage and violent temperament stem from your desire to be killed quickly and be rid of this chore you did not desire.’

The elephant listened with suspicion in its eyes. 

‘He treats you cruelly, so that you may treat his enemies cruelly as well. That is a tyrant’s way, the asura way. Even though you are an asura now you were not one always. You resent being forced to enact this violent behavior. You seek to return to your old peaceful way of life. Like an elephant in the wild, you are not violent in spirit, and seek only to feed and love and live out your life in serenity. I can free you from this cycle of misery. I can liberate your soul so you will return to the great grasslands of your true home. Is this what you desire?’

The elephant had raised his trunk and curled it, reaching out with it to sniff at Krishna’s face. He snuffed at Krishna, pushing out a blast of rancid breath. Krishna didn’t wince or grimace, even though the smell was awful. He knew that this was Hathi-Yodha’s way of replying in the affirmative. 

‘Then rise up and attack me one last time so that you may die with honour in this life. Attack me with all your might and prepare to be liberated from the cycle of birth, death and rebirth forever.’

At once, the great white bull rose up, standing on all fours as if his injury did not matter, and attacked again. 

As he had done before, Krishna permitted the beast to strike at him several times, then, when the opportune moment came, he raised the elephant’s own broken tusk, and stabbed it beneath the forelegs, hard enough to punch through the tough hide and formidable breastplate, piercing its aging heart. The animal released a sigh of deep relief, then sank to the ground, blood spreading from its fatal wound and dampening the dust. It lay down on its side and died in moments, eyes turned to Krishna in baleful apology. 

‘I understand,’ Krishna said. ‘You are forgiven for all the lives you destroyed. Now go. Take moksha and be free eternally.’

The elephant’s trunk curled around Krishna’s wrist weakly, releasing one final puff of rancid air. Then it lay still. 

Krishna turned and raised his hands in the universal gesture of triumph. 

He did so with no desire for self-aggrandizement or glory. It was necessary to let the people see and know that the Deliverer they had awaited for so long was real and effectual. That he was here and ready to fight. And that they had a chance at last to free themselves of tyranny. If nothing else, it would compel them all to focus their energies on letting him deal with today’s challenges rather than take matters into their own hands. The situation in Mathura was volatile and could explode into civil violence at any instant: Krishna wanted to let them know that he could and would resolve the problem of Kamsa on his own, thereby defusing that volatile situation. 

The immense roar of jubilation and support he received told him that he had accomplished one part of the challenge. He had won the people’s approbation and trust. 

Now all he had to do was kill Kamsa.