KRISHNA CORIOLIS#4: Lord of Mathura (28 page)

Chanura roared with rage and kicked out at Krishna’s lower abdomen, striking his enemy’s softest part with the hardest part of his own body, his heel. He felt the heel strike home, expecting it to rip through Krishna’s body and emerge from out his back as usually happened. 

Instead, he felt his own heel shatter, the bone crushed and fragmented, and the shards sent back into his own flesh. 

His roar of rage turned to a whimper of agony. 

He screamed again. 

Krishna pounced on him, grabbing him with both hands. Krishna’s teeth suddenly flashed bright white in his dark face, predatory and menacing. 

‘I like your garland, my friend,’ Krishna said. ‘Let me pick some of the flowers.’

Krishna reached out and snatched a flower from the garland, tearing it out of the string and holding it up. He pressed it between his fingers and smelled the pressed petals. Even Chanura could smell the fragrant scent of the marigold blossom. ‘So refreshing, isn’t it?’ Krishna asked. ‘And so soft and gentle and easy to take apart, petal by petal. The way you took apart so many hundreds of opponents, using your superior shakti to cheat them of a fair fight, using superhuman strength against ordinary brave warriors.’

Chanura snarled and struck hard at Krishna’s elbows with the strength of desperation. He hoped to crack the bone and cartilage there, disabling his opponent. It had worked for another fellow strongman who was equally as empowered as himself. With both hands broken and dangling from the elbows, the man could hardly fight back effectively. Chanura had then proceeded to make mincemeat of him. 

Krishna reached up and rubbed his elbows at once, making a face in reaction. 

Chanura grinned, pleased at his own presence of mind. So! The invulnerable Deliverer had a weak spot after all. Two of them in fact! Now, it would be easy as pie to turn the tables. Even with a shattered heel, he could still take care of this slip of a lad on his own. 

Krishna dropped his arms and grinned. ‘Just fooling you!’ he said, moving his arms to show that his elbows were fine. ‘Now where were we?’ he said, frowning, then remembered. ‘Ah, yes, flowers.’

He reached down. ‘I was saying, it would be quite fitting, given the way you made so many of your opponents suffer in the past, to treat you like this garland of flowers, and take you apart, piece by piece. What do you think?’

Chanura kicked out and struck out blindly, roaring and fighting as hard as he could, knowing now that this was his last chance, that he was indeed fighting for his life. 

His blows battered a body as hard and invulnerable as he had once believed his own to be. They had no effect. Or if they did—for he did see Krishna grimace once or thrice—then his opponent must possess the ability to knit broken bones together at once, or somesuch miracle. For Krishna took everything he had and more. 

Finally, it was Chanura himself who gave up, ceasing his rain of blows and kicks, sobbing with exhaustion and fear. ‘Spare me,’ he cried out, weeping openly, not caring that everyone could see his humiliation. ‘Mercy, lord, mercy!’ 

‘Of course,’ Krishna said, ‘the same mercy you showed all those who begged you for mercy. Once for each life you destroyed.’

And Krishna reached out and plucked the flowers of Chanura’s life, one by one, piece by separate piece, tearing them out as easily as he had plucked the marigold blossom from the garland around Chanura’s neck. 

16

Balarama
felt each blow that fell on Krishna’s body as if it had struck his own body. He felt the pain of impact, the agony of tearing tissue, muscle, tendon, the excruciating pain of broken bone, cracked cartilage, everything. It was no less than if Chanura had been striking him. In a sense, it was worse because while Krishna could feel anger in response and act on that anger, Balarama was standing on the field and forced to watch without acting. He could not violate the rules of the game. It was vital that they played this out exactly as Kamsa dictated and still triumphed. It was not enough merely to win, but to win fairly and squarely. That was dharma. 

But when Chanura lashed out mercilessly at Krishna, Balarama was hard-pressed to put dharma aside and go to his brother’s aid. For the sheer agony of the blows was unbearable. How was Krishna tolerating it? The same way he had tolerated the attacks and blows and bites of asuras in the past. By enduring. Knowing that his super-mortal divinity would repair the mortal flesh and bone, restore it in moments to its former state of perfect vigor and health. It was only the pain they must endure and survive. Although to call it ‘only’ the pain was itself an euphemism. For there were times in battle when the pain of the wound was worse than the wound itself. If Balarama felt such pain, then how much worse must Krishna himself be feeling? 

Still, Balarama had no choice. He stood his ground and gritted his teeth discretely as he watched his brother take the blows of his opponent, knowing that Krishna could have despatched the man in the first strike or two but was deliberately giving him fair chance to fight back so that all would see and know that the game had been played out fairly and squarely. Such was dharma, such were her demands. 

Now he watched as Krishna’s turn finally came to strike back and he went in for the kill. As promised, he all but tore the man apart into pieces. It was a horrifying sight, mitigated no less by the fact that the man being torn apart was a demon in human form, a rakshasa among mortals who had wreaked terrible suffering and punishment on numerous innocents as well as other warriors by taking advantage of his unfairly produced strength, the result of Jarasandha’s arcane potions and sorcery. 

Balarama wondered if anyone who had been related or cared about any of Chanura’s former victims was present to watch the man’s brutal end. He hoped so. 

For his part, he watched to the very end, dispassionate and calm. The reactions he had felt to Balarama’s injuries had dissipated instantly, as quickly as Balarama’s wounds had healed. 

He saw a flicker of movement to one side and saw one of Kamsa’s team rush forward at Krishna who had his back to that side. 

It was the tall powerfully built giant with the oddly shaped face, the one they called Crooked Jaw. Mustika. Apparently, he could not bear to see his mate torn apart by Balarama and with a roar of fury he flung himself at Krishna. 

***

Kamsa watched with utter disbelief as the Deliverer took one of his best men and dearest friends apart, piece by piece, quite literally. He could not believe that this slender stripling of a boy possessed such shakti. How was it possible? 

Because he’s Vishnu incarnate, you fool!
said a voice in his head. It was the voice of Yadu, his old stable-hand, royal syce, and sometime trainer. The man who had become his guru and transformed Kamsa after Putana’s death into the most formidable man-on-man fighter in the entire kingdom. 

Suddenly, Kamsa wished Yadu was here, telling him what to do, how to handle this, what moves he might use that would counter this brutal attack by the Slayer. 

But Yadu was dead of course. Died only recently. And he, Kamsa, hadn’t bothered to grant him so much as a decent cremation. 

Kamsa was jolted out of his stupor when Mustika roared in fury and charged forward. Either Crooked Jaw had forgotten that this was strictly a man-on-man bout, or he did not care. He had been a dear friend of Chanura, and apparently he couldn’t bear the sight of his team mate torn to pieces by this young cowherd. He knew and cared nothing about the Prophecy or the Deliverer. To him, Krishna was just an opponent who had killed a team mate and friend and must be destroyed. 

Kamsa watched hopefully as Mustika threw himself at Krishna. Perhaps Mustika would fare better than Chanura. And that would mean the end of Krishna. 

But as he watched, Krishna did not defend himself against Mustika’s assault. He merely side-stepped smartly, letting Mustika’s own weight and momentum carry him forward. 

That was the amazing thing. How could Krishna be so thin-limbed, slender-bodied, agile and athletic, yet capable of withstanding the full force of Chanura’s blows? It was beyond Kamsa’s comprehension. All he knew was that a person could make himself denser, packing his cells closer and tighter together even as they expanded, until they were as hard as iron itself, or even harder. Or he could loosen them, allowing himself flexibility. Like a scale ranging from Black to White, Kamsa could range across the various shades of gray, choosing to make his body denser and less flexible in movement, or less dense and more flexible in movement. The same held true for all his team mates who had been empowered by Jarasandha’s potions. 

But Krishna was not subject to the same limitations. He was apparently stronger and denser of body than any of them—or more than Chanura at any rate—while remaining as agile and flexible as any normal man. 

Kamsa watched as Mustika turned around with some difficulty, trying to charge at Krishna again. But Krishna danced around behind Mustika, managing effortlessly to keep himself behind Crooked Jaw as the giant turned round and around, seeking his vanished opponent. Krishna even waggled his eyebrows and made faces at Mustika’s back as they went round and round together, sending the crowd into splits of laughter and dissipating the mood of horror that had greeted the slaying of Chanura. 

Then Balarama entered the field. Since Mustika had joined the fray, it was within Balarama’s right to do so. Kamsa thought of protesting then stopped himself. Instead, he turned to Sala. 

‘Sala, you take Krishna. Go on.’

Sala glanced at him sideways, then flexed his powerfully muscled arms and moved forward, building up speed as he reduced his body density for the attack. 

Meanwhile, Balarama came before Mustika who stopped trying to turn around and grab hold of Krishna and directed his fury at Krishna’s brother instead. 

Sala came running fast at Krishna, so fast that even Krishna, who was briefly distracted by Balarama’s arrival, failed to notice him until the last instant. 

Balarama saw Sala bearing down on Krishna, and called out, ‘Bhai!’ 

Even as Balarama took the instant to call out, Mustika swung his upper body and struck out at Balarama as hard as he was capable. 

Both Balarama and Krishna were struck by Mustika and Sala at the exact same moment. The sounds of impact were like explosions of lightning striking tree trunks. 

The crowd gasped in reaction, the Vrishni rising to their feet. 

Kamsa grinned and laughed aloud. 

17

Balarama
felt the blow by Mustika like the kick he had once received from Donkey Asura, except that Donkey Asura’s kick had sent him flying several dozen yards. Mustika’s blow spun him around and off-balance, feeling as if his skull had shattered into fragments and every bone in his face and neck had cracked into pieces. In a sense they had. But due to his divine essence, they knitted together almost immediately. Even so, for the fraction of a moment when the bones were shattered, the sensation was indescribable. It disoriented Balarama for a moment. 

At the same instant, Krishna was struck from behind by the charging Sala. The wrestler’s rock-solid head was lowered and it struck Krishna’s spine with the force of a giant battering ram striking a castle gate. It shattered Krishna’s spine into two halves and each half into splinters, and Sala’s head ought to have continued through Krishna’s body, tearing a hole in it the way a flung javelin would tear through stretched canvas. But Krishna’s divinity caused his body to heal instantly, preventing Sala’s stone-hard skull from penetrating farther and doing further damage. 

These two attacks, brought simultaneously, almost ended the fight that day for the brothers. Nobody would ever know for certain how close they had come to defeat in that particular instant. Radha, who was watching intently, suspected, but she was reacting emotionally, fearing so much, that she thought every blow that struck Krishna would harm him beyond recovery. So she could not tell that this one was the very blow that almost killed her beloved. Because she was watching only Krishna, and did not realize that Balarama was being struck as grievously at the exact same instant. 

What caused the crisis were not the blows themselves but the fact that they came at the exact same instant, and that both brothers were looking at one another when they came. 

Krishna was so preoccupied with warning Balarama and Balarama with warning Krishna that they both forgot about their own selves for an instant. Even though their bodies healed of their own accord, they continued to watch one another out of concern, in case the other should require help. 

In that instant, had Kamsa also attacked them, either one of them, he would have had an upper hand. 

He might even have injured one sufficiently to cause him serious harm. Permanent harm. 

Or worse. 

But Kamsa was afraid by then. Afraid of the Slayer’s power. Of the prophecy. Of the assassins who had been sent to defeat the infant Krishna, then the child Krishna, and had failed. 

And so he remained where he was and watched instead. 

And so Krishna and Balarama both had a moment to recover, and each had only one opponent to fight back against. And each one saw that the other was hurt but could survive and fight back.