KRISHNA CORIOLIS#4: Lord of Mathura (3 page)

No other fighter in his ranks matched the power and ferocity of Kamsa in battle. Certainly none matched his tally of kills to date. The King of Mathura took lives like a force of nature, reaping like a whirlwind or monsoon typhoon. 

Even Jarasandha sometimes found reason to marvel at his accomplishments. The sheer volume of death inflicted by his son-in-law was prodigious. Kamsa had already become a legend in the ranks of the Magadhan army. Once written off as a mere stripling Yadava capable of being taken down by a handful of Mohini Fauj, the son of Ugrasena and Padmavati had now earned the respect of even Jarasandha’s most renowned champions. Almost all had come to accept and befriend him, some more closely than others. A few, very few indeed, had made the mistake of antagonizing or opposing him and had suffered the price for their folly: mostly on the akhara, the wrestling field which was the only place Jarasandha permitted his own soldiers to resolve their internal differences. There, as on the battlefield, Kamsa fought with a ferocious single-mindedness that was unmatched, dispatching those foolish enough to oppose him with mortal blows or crippling injuries. Those who played against him sportingly, he dismissed from the game with a mere broken limb or two. 

From a stripling of a boy unable to overcome his own base desires and lusts to a true warrior and leader of armies, Kamsa had come a long way. 

Even his governance of Mathura had improved considerably. While the resentment remained and pockets of resistance continued to defy his claim to the throne, the overall situation had calmed down. No more open defiance and challenging of his authority. No more martyrdom and suicidal frontal assaults on his soldiers or himself. Political backbiting and character vilification were not things that troubled Jarasandha overmuch: they were a part of public life and even he knew how bitterly the people of his dominions must speak of him behind closed doors. So long as that bitterness was restricted to backdoor gossip and mere talk, it did not bother him. If anything, it only proved that Kamsa was maturing as a politician and statesman: every successful ruler had people who resented him. It was only when that resentment boiled over into open sedition that it became a cause of concern. 

Jarasandha had risen and come forward to gain a better view of Kamsa’s triumph in battle. Now he regained his seat, gesturing to his lackeys to fetch him choice sweetmeats. He always enjoyed sampling the local specialities of each region he conquered. For some reason, eating their food made the conquest real and memorable. The fact that he literally ate choice portions of meat carved from the bodies of victims in each region, prepared by their own cooks in the style of the region, lent a new meaning to the term ‘sweetmeat’. It also added to his awe-inspiring reputation as the ‘eater of nations’. 

As he snacked on some delicious spiced cuts taken from the living body of the chief of chiefs of the region he had just invaded and was in the process of conquering, Jarasandha considered Kamsa again. 

He knew that the main cause of the change that had overcome his son-in-law stemmed from diverting Kamsa’s rakshasa prediliction for violence and lustful living into more managable diversions. Cooped up in Mathura all year long, Kamsa had taken to unleashing his appetites on his own people. That was not an advisable course of action for a long-sitting monarch. The old Yadava who had trained him in the use of his newfound abilities had clearly understood this and had successfully showed Kamsa how to divert his considerable power and strength into more sporting pastimes. 

Jarasandha had then taken Kamsa to the next level: turning him into a yodha in his own ranks, using him as a tool of conquest and expansion, while providing Kamsa a natural outlet for his aggression. Better that Kamsa batter the brains of enemies in the battlefield than the heads of his own citizens in the streets of Mathura. Jarasandha had encouraged and enabled Kamsa to wrest the throne from Ugrasena for his own ends and a kingdom weakened by internal strife was not what he desired. He wished Mathura to remain strong and resilient so that when he sidelined Kamsa and effectively governed the region, it would be a valuable part of his greater plan. 

Thus far, the plan had succeeded magnificently. Kamsa had performed brilliantly and Mathura had settled into the routine of bureaucratic torpor that was the usual condition of most capital city-states. The bitter strife that had threatened to plunge it into civil war only a decade earlier had settled into a series of disgruntled factions jockeying for power positions and seeking to ingratiate themselves with Kamsa and his powerful father-in-law. 

Only a few pockets of outright resistance remained, buoyed by their delusional faith in their supernatural savior, the legendary Slayer of Kamsa. But thus far, the Slayer hadn’t so much as dared to harm a hair on Kamsa’s handsome head. Jarasandha had long since relegated that myth to the back room of his attention: if and when the mythic Deliverer truly lived up to his name, he would be dealt with swiftly and firmly. Like most myths, he probably thrived on half-knowledge and shadowy rumor. The instant he stepped out into the clear light of day he would be vaporized like mist. The only danger, if one might perceive it even as that, was the growing cult of believers who regarded the mythic Eighth Child as some kind of avatar of Vishnu, or even, Jarasandha chuckled to himself softly, as God Incarnate! These foolish superstitious peasants. They would believe anything fed to them by their brahmin oppressors. 

In any case, Jarasandha had a plan for dealing with the so-called Deliverer. Supernaturally empowered or no, God or mere myth, the plan Jarasandha had in mind would put paid to him once and for all, both the Child and the Myth. He dismissed the irritating distraction of the Slayer and turned his thoughts back to the main preoccupation that required his attention. 

Jarasandha’s main focus was on building Kamsa’s strength and reputation, both as a yodha in battle and as a king. Among the Yadavas, the two were always interdependent. While he enjoyed Kamsa’s participation in his own ongoing campaign of conquest, he also ensured that Kamsa returned to Mathura regularly enough to establish his dominance and leave no doubt about his kingship. The day-to-day governance was ably handled by veterans like Pralamba and his own minions and hand-picked loyalists but even though he was mostly a figurehead it still was important for Kamsa to be
seen
governing. It was time now for Kamsa to return and be seen again being Lord of Mathura. That was what he had decided after viewing the battle: Kamsa had earned sufficient valor points these past weeks. Now, he must be sent home. 

He watched now as the familiar chariot wound its way up the hillside, bringing Kamsa to him. 

Moments later, Kamsa stepped off the chariot and bowed before Jarasandha, grinning as he presented his father-in-law and emperor with the severed head of the chieftain he had just defeated in today’s battle. ‘My Emperor,’ he said. ‘A little something for your stew tonight!’

Jarasandha chuckled. ‘Well done, my son. Come, sit with me. You have done well today.’

Kamsa inclined his head graciously. Along with other graces, he had come to accept his position visavis Jarasandha as well, which was also pleasing to the Magadhan. It was tiresome to have to keep swatting down the younger man and remind him who was top dog in this pack. Better by far to accept one’s position and enjoy the fruits of grace. 

‘By your grace, father,’ Kamsa said as if echoing this very sentiment. 

Jarasandha smiled. 

Yes. 

Kamsa had turned out quite well after all. 

4

KAMSA
noted that Jarasandha had set up his observation post before a cave mouth. The interior of the cave was dark and forbidding. He had heard rumours about the being that dwelled within that cave. He was curious about it but this was not the time to ask Jarasandha. Perhaps later…. 

Jarasandha was silent awhile. Then he broached the subject that truly concerned him. The one problem that Kamsa and he had yet to conquer. Kamsa had been expecting him to bring it up and was not surprised when Jarasandha spoke. 

‘I wish to speak with you about the Deliverer. It is time we dispatched that problem once and for all.’

Jarasandha’s tone was casual, as if speaking of a troublesome chieftain of a small tribe that still refused to yield despite the rest of the nation surrendering. Just another gnat to swat. 

Kamsa did not take the problem of the Slayer as lightly. He felt his own grin vanishing and his face hardening at the mention of the old nemesis. 

‘The first group of assassins led by Putana were all defeated,’ he said. ‘And the Vrishni have gone into exile, taking refuge in a secret hamlet within the Vrindavan hills. Finding them is difficult enough, getting to the Deliverer is virtually impossible. And killing him…’ 

Kamsa clenched his fist tightly, crushing the goblet he had just drunk from without even realizing he was doing so. The metal crumpled like paper in his fist, blood-red wine spilling between his fingers and dripping to the ground. ‘If only I could face him once, myself. I would…’

‘You would endanger us all,’ Jarasandha said sharply. ‘I have told you this before and I shall say it again, Kamsa. A wise general does not go running himself to face his arch enemy. He uses his army, his captains, his akshohini, strategy and tactics, ruses and wiles, to achieve his ends. You are no longer a mere warrior prince. You are King Kamsa of Mathura. If this Deliverer comes to you, then you will have the chance to crush him. But it is not your place to go rooting in crannies and nooks for cowardly rebels.’

‘Then what would you have me do?’ Kamsa asked. 

Jarasandha carefully selected a choice item from the platter beside him, a delicacy left almost raw. He inserted it into his mouth and chewed slowly, savouring the exotic flavour. A trickle of blood escaped from the corner of his mouth and wound its way slowly down his chin. His tongue shot out, cleaning the trail, the tip of the extended organ lingering around his jaw and neck for a moment before retracting back into his mouth with a slurping sound.  

‘Childslayer,’ Jarasandha said. 

Kamsa frowned. 

‘That is the name by which you are known, is it not?’ Jarasandha asked. ‘The name by which you became famous amongst your kinsfolk?’ He smiled slyly, the twin tips of his forked tongue slithering in and out between his lips. ‘Or notorious, as some would say?’

Kamsa shrugged. He had long since inured himself to Jarasandha’s attempts at provocation. Besides, he didn’t mind that particular title. It was true after all. 

‘You earned that name because of your fondness for slaughtering newborn babes, infants, the first-born male child of every household. Is this not so?’

Kamsa nodded. 

Jarasandha sucked on another choice delicacy, something wet and pinkish that made a slurping sound as the Magadhan relished it. ‘It is time to resurrect that reputation. To unleash the Childslayer within you once more.’

The ground beneath them began to shudder. Kamsa saw that the Mohinis stationed near the mouth of the cave appeared nervous and unsettled. Several of them began to move away from the dark opening, leaving only their emperor’s immediate bodyguards at their posts. The shuddering continued, growing steadily in intensity as if something were approaching. Jarasandha himself appeared calm and unruffled. Kamsa took his cue from his father-in-law. He knew better than to show trepidation or nervousness in Jarasandha’s presence. When with men, one must behave like a man, Jarasandha always said. 

‘Unleash…?’ Kamsa asked. 

Jarasandha smiled again slyly, dabbing at the corners of his lips where pinkish juices were smeared. ‘You sent Putana and Baka to assassinate the Deliverer. Their failure has upset Baka’s brother-asura greatly. He desires vengeance.’

Suddenly, Kamsa understood the meaning of the cave and the shuddering and the fearful attitude of the Mohinis—they who never showed fear even in the face of certain death. ‘Agha,’ he said. ‘I recall Putana mentioning him at the same time when she recommended Baka. He was unavailable at the time for some reason.’

Jarasandha chuckled. ‘Unavailable. That would be one way of putting it. Yes, Putana assumed that she alone would be more than sufficient to deal with the Eighth Child. To have sent Agha would be like sending a lightning bolt to kill an ant. But now we see that the Deliverer is not to be underestimated. Therefore I have summoned Agha. He is eager to undertake this task in your name. To carry on the work of Childslaying for you.’

The rumbling was reaching a crescendo. Kamsa could see something approaching from deep within the dark maw of the cave, as if some mighty creature were rushing up to the surface from deep within the bowels of the earth where he dwelled. It would arrive at any moment now. 

Kamsa nodded. ‘So Agha will go to slay the Deliverer.’

Jarasandha beamed. ‘Not just the Deliverer.
All
the children of Vraj-bhoomi. There has been talk that the Deliverer has at least one sibling, empowered with supernatural abilities as well.’ 

The skin on the back of Kamsa’s neck prickled but he said nothing. He had heard the rumors too. They made him uneasy. How many Slayers of Kamsa were there? What were these supernatural abilities? And what of the conviction, so deeply rooted in some of his citizenry that they would not renounce it even under extreme torture, that the Deliverer was in fact Vishnu Incarnate himself?