AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2)

by Anand Neelakantan

  “How is that possible, Krishna? We are but human and creatures of frailty.”

  “Just as a tortoise withdraws its limbs into his shell, the yogi withdraws his senses from the objects of desire. Just as the tortoise thus becomes strong, a man also gains strength when he withdraws from desire and steadies his mind in contemplation.”

  “Krishna, if you have reached that much-desired state, why does it matter to you whether Yudhishtra wins the war or Duryodhana? Why not keep your mind steady in contemplation instead?”

  “Brother, I do my karma without attachment, free from its results. The destruction of evil is my duty. I do not relish violence, but I do what is necessary.”

  “A convenient argument, Krishna, and a recipe for a heartless world. It is a mantra for a conscienceless society.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Krishna, a tyrant can unleash a pogrom and say it is his duty as a ruler to cleanse his kingdom. We can justify any violence in the name of duty and dharma. Any war can be justified as both sides consider they are following their dharma in butchering each other. Even a bandit can claim that robbing is his dharma.”

  “Brother, he who performs action without worrying about the results is sinless. Those who perform actions with passion should be ready for the bitter or sweet fruits of those actions.”

  “That is an even more dangerous argument. Is misery the result of the karma of the miserable? Then compassion would have no meaning.”

  “You do not understand, my brother, because your eyes have yet to see the vision of divinity.”

  “Krishna, such ideas can only create a callous and indifferent society. If someone is wretched, it can be explained away as the result of some past action, if not in this life then in some other birth. Why help the miserable and get entangled in their karma?”

  “Brother, you have taken my words too literally – it was just an allegory.”

  “Krishna, allegory is an old trick of philosophers and prophets. Their words are like scattered clouds in the sky, according to one’s power of imagination, one can see any shape in the clouds. Allegory is a safe bet for prophets and Gurus. When caught, they can claim that was not the right meaning. If you want to say something, why not say it in plain language, without ambiguity?”

  “Hear it then, brother. I allude to men like Duryodhana, who are deluded by their evil desires. Their passionate actions cause misery.”

  “So desire and passion are the greatest evils of man?”

  “Brother, by desiring an object, attachment is born. From attachment, wrath is born. From wrath comes want of discrimination. From want of discrimination arises ruination of intelligence. From loss of intelligence springs loss of understanding, and then man is ruined.”

  “Krishna, from desire, life is born. From attachment, love. From passion, beauty. From compassion, humanity. Desire is the very foundation of nature.”

  “Desire is the offspring of a base nature. Duryodhana is the epitome of tamo guna. Such men claim life is created from lust. They are deluded by ignorance and tossed about by a million thoughts.”

  “Thoughts are what make a man, Krishna.”

  “The right thoughts, brother. Men like Duryodhana can only sink into a foul hell. They are wedded to vanity, power, pride, lust and wrath. In every life, they repeat the same mistakes and their path spirals down and down instead of up and up.”

  “Krishna, if you are the Supreme Soul hurling these unfortunate men and women into demonic wombs, how are they to blame? By your own admission, you have made them that way.”

  “There are three qualities in nature, brother – satva, rajo and tamo. All three are present in all of us. But it depends which one we nourish. Satva is the quality of light, knowledge and equanimity; rajo is the quality of bravery, chivalry and power; and tamo is passion and desire.”

  “Show me one person who is not passionate about something.”

  “Yudhishtra.”

  “Ah, the man who gambled away his wife. Was it because he was detached about her or the kingdom he wanted to win by dicing?”

  “Yudhishtra is a true yogi, a man of knowledge. I have to protect such men, who follow the right path.”

  “But you have not answered my question, Krishna. I fail to see the Pandavas as detached yogis or seekers of knowledge. They appear to be nothing more than seekers of power.”

  “Brother, you have chosen to close your eyes to the truth. The Pandavas are my devotees. They have chosen the path of bhakti. They regard me as the highest object of attainment and worship me with devotion. I am their deliverer from the ocean of this sad world. I give you this great mantra as well, the path of yoga and the imperishable system of devotion. I declared it to Vivaswat eons ago and he declared it to Manu, who passed it to Ishvaku, and so it has reached this age.”

  “You are talking about Kings of the distant past, but you live today, Krishna. You are even younger than me.”

  “Many births of mine have passed. Many lifetimes of yours have passed too. I know it, you do not.”

  “I do not understand your words, Krishna, how will others do so?”

  “Then know that I am the Unborn. I am the Lord of all creatures. Whenever there is loss of piety and evil men like Duryodhana rise to power, I am born, again and again, age after age, for the protection of the righteous and the destruction of evil; to establish piety and devotion to God.”

  “Krishna, you are merely deluding yourself. I have known you since the day of your birth,” Balarama said, shaking his head in amusement at the thought of his naughty little brother being the saviour of the world.

  Krishna smiled. “Brother, I am offering the human race the chance of redemption from misery. He who knows this truth will achieve moksha. He will not be born again but become one with me. Forsaking everything, let my devotees come to me as their sole refuge and I will deliver them from all sin. Surrender to me with complete devotion.”

  “Krishna,” Balarama said, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “the world is indifferent to the petty travails of men. The search of an individual for self or God, within or without, is an insignificant event for the universe.”

  “Brother, many who have believed in me have been freed of attachment and passion. In whatever manner people come to me, I accept them. All paths lead to me. Your path too.”

  “Why should one seek God and try to escape from this beautiful world? Why exchange a hypothetical moksha for the real world? Jagat satyam, Brahma mithya.”

  Balarama had many questions for his brother but before he could voice any of them, Krishna said, “To those who worship me in any form, I give gifts and preserve what they deserve to have. Even if they revere other Gods and worship me irregularly, I bless them. But since their devotion is incomplete, they take birth again and again, after enjoying a place in heaven. Do everything as an offering to me. That way, you will be detached from your actions and come to me. Brother, know that even if a wicked person worships me alone, he is regarded as good.”

  “If you are the Supreme Being, indifferent to the results of your actions, why are you so obsessed with whether someone worships you or not? And you say worshipping you will redeem any sin?”

  Krishna ignored the incredulity in his brother’s voice. “None devoted to me is lost, even if they are sinful. Even women, Vaishyas and Shudras can attain moksha if they worship me. In this transient and miserable world, be engaged in my worship. Fix your mind on me, be my devotee, bow to me, take refuge in me and you shall come to me.”

  “Who are you, Krishna?”

  “Brother Balarama, you do not know who you are or who I am. You are infinity, ananta. But I am beyond infinity. We are one, yet we are different. The difference lies in realization.”

  “Whoever you are, Krishna, you are bringing war and death to thousands,” Balarama said, his shoulders drooping in defeat.

  Krishna’s eyes looked at Balarama but gazed beyond him. “Know that I created the universe at the beginning
of kalpa. As all creatures who take birth, live and die, the universe, too, has a lifespan. This is not the first universe you are living in, nor will it be the last. I will destroy it when the time comes and create a new one. That, too, will be destroyed in due course. This cycle will continue eternally. I only perform my karma here, detached. It does not affect me.”

  “Everyone has to eat the fruits of karma, Krishna. It does not matter whether the actions were performed passionately or in a detached fashion. We still have to eat the bitter fruit. Now, brother will fight brother. You have encouraged it. War will come, Krishna, and then none of these fancy words will help. I am afraid of what will come...”

  “Brother, you do not know me and my Supreme nature as Lord of all entities. Ignorant people disregard me. I am the Supreme Soul and I have assumed this human body. Only noble souls know me, they glorify and bow to my divinity.”

  “Is that Duryodhana’s sin – that he does not bow to you? If you are indeed the Supreme Soul, why not gift him understanding and devotion? Why bring death and misery to innocents who have nothing to do with either of you? Why not destroy the evil man alone, instead of dragging all of Bharatavarsha into a war?” Balarama asked his brother.

  “I am the Father and Mother of the universe, and I am the Creator. I am Immortality. I am Death. I am that by which this universe is held. I am the life force, the source of evolution and dissolution. There is nothing greater than me. I am Om.”

  “Krishna, what has happened to you, my brother?” Balarama cried.

  “He who knows me as the Supreme Lord of the worlds, without birth and beginning, is free of all sin. Behold my glory of a thousand splendid suns. Behold my infinite energy. I have no beginning, middle or end. Behold my blazing radiance and many-hued eyes.”

  Balarama watched in horrified silence.

  “I am Death, the destroyer of worlds. Behold the sight of the sons of Dhritarashtra, Bhishma, Drona and the great warriors from both sides entering the mouth of Time. See how their heads are crushed, their limbs torn apart. Behold the future and the spectre of the past. Behold me for I am TIME.”

  “Krishna...” Balarama’s voice shook. “Because of your actions I fear something terrible will befall Dwaraka. That is the law of karma, the law of the universe. It does not spare any man, even an avatar.” Balarama turned away. He had lost the argument. There was nothing left for an ignorant and deluded man like him to argue about. He did not have the intellect to understand the divine song of God. Outside, the ocean had turned blue-black, like the colour of his brother’s skin. The waters beat restlessly against the rocks.

  “I am TIME...” Krishna’s voice echoed in Balarama’s ears and fear of the future chilled his heart.

  *****

  47 THE SONG OF MAN

  BALARAMA’S GAZE ALIGHTED ON THE YOKE in one corner of the small room. There was a time when, as a young man, he had carried it over his shoulder every day, to teach his people about agriculture and irrigation. He caressed its woody contours and then placed it on his shoulder, feeling its familiar weight. He would walk through the dusty streets of Bharata, from the Himalayas in the north to the city of Devi, where the three seas met in the south. He yearned to lose himself in the vastness of the land, far from the madness of men and their calls for dharmayudha.

  Balarama heard someone behind him and turned. Duryodhana’s daughter stood in the doorway, tall and graceful. Ever since she had arrived in Dwaraka, following her marriage to Krishna’s renegade son, she had been a silent presence in the palace, much like the shadows that graced its walls at night.

  Lakshmana spoke softly. “Uncle, why are you leaving us?”

  Balarama looked at her sorrowfully. “I do not know, daughter.”

  “May I accompany you?”

  Balarama was tempted to ask what her husband would say. Samba was unpredictable and dangerous.

  “My husband will not even notice,” Lakshmana said, as if reading his mind.

  “Daughter, the path will be too rough for a Princess’s soft feet.”

  “It would be an honour to walk barefoot with you.”

  “It will be a very long walk, daughter. People may jeer or throw stones at us.”

  “I am not afraid.”

  Balarama smiled as he ran his fingers over his now bald head.

  “Someone else wants to come with us, too,” Lakshmana said.

  Valsala, his beautiful daughter, stepped out of the shadows and touched her father’s feet. “Take me too, Father.”

  “But Abhimanyu?” Balarama asked.

  “His new bride, Uttara, is beautiful. He has no time for me now.”

  Balarama’s heart ached for his child as she rested her head on his chest. He put his arms around her gently, wishing he could protect her forever.

  “I wronged Lakshmana Kumara, Father. Now, I am tasting the fruits of my own karma. Uncle Krishna was not to blame. I was blinded by my love for Abhimanyu and we compelled him to help us. That is why it happened. Look at us now. Abhimanyu and I rarely see each other and when we do, silence is the only language we speak.”

  Lakshmana Kumara’s perplexed face rose before Balarama’s eyes. Would he ever be able to forgive himself and find peace? He began walking, ignoring the bowing guards and looking straight ahead. He was no longer their King. The two women hurried to keep up.

  People on the street paused to watch the curious sight. Then a man joined them, and then a woman. One became two, two became ten and ten became a hundred. Soon, thousands were following the old man and the two young girls, without asking any questions.

  A few days later, an untouchable and his blind dog joined the strange procession. Ironically, the songs he sang were about Krishna’s love. The crowd sang with him as Balarama walked through the miserable villages of his country, carrying his yoke on his shoulder. The motley crowd stopped at hamlets to serve those forgotten by their rulers and forsaken by God. The Song of Man was composed without words.

  Near the banks of the Yamuna, they encountered a group led by Carvaka. The atheist Guru laughed when he saw Balarama. “Where are you going to, Sir?” he asked, gazing at Balarama’s entourage.

  “In search of God, Carvaka. Perhaps I have found him in you? And where may you be going?” the saint asked the atheist.

  “I am searching for Man, Balarama. I think I have found him in you.”

  The atheist and the saint laughed aloud. The crowd around them joined in the laughter without comprehending a word either had spoken.

  “That is a dangerous thing to do, Carvaka, searching for Man in a holy crowd could get you killed,” Balarama said, chuckling.

  “But you are walking an even more dangerous path, Balarama, if you have begun to see God in an atheist.”

  Balarama put his arms round the shoulders of his daughter and niece. “Carvaka, I have no great philosophy to offer except that of love. I know no mantras except that of peace. I am not an avatar, but an old man in a dhoti; an insignificant man in a land of dazzling Gods. But I will not give up. I will return in every age to walk with my children. I do not seek moksha from that. I have only one simple wish – to return to my country whenever she needs me.”

  “Balarama, they will come after you. Their intellects may be blunt but their arrows are sharp.”

  “I will suffer happily for my children, but I will not give up till I teach them the dharma of ahimsa and love.”

  The saint and the atheist, seekers both, bowed to each other and went their separate ways.

  *****

  48 THE GREAT SECRET

  “SOME OTHER DAY, JARA,” Vidhura said, trying to walk away.

  But the beggar blocked his path and pleaded with folded hands, “Please, Swami. Devi Kunti is sick with worry.”

  Vidhura had been quietly ignoring Kunti’s requests to visit her. He could not think of a way to avoid the visit now. Swallowing hard, he turned back and started walking towards the street where he had once lived. Everything looked familiar, yet strange. There were a few
new houses and the tree at the corner had grown corpulent with age. Some of the houses needed a new coat of lime and a few street lamps leaned at precarious angles. The smell of garbage permeated the air and a cat peered out of an overflowing dustbin. Nothing much had changed, yet everything had.

  “Ma,” Jara called.

  The door creaked open and Vidhura gasped as he looked at Kunti. She had aged beyond his wildest imagination. The once beautiful face was now a web of wrinkles, the long and glossy black hair, silver. He hoped the meeting would soon be over and he could leave.

  “Vidhura, how old you have grown!” Kunti exclaimed, drawing an answering smile from Vidhura.

  Vidhura touched his balding pate and said with a courtier’s grace, “Time has not been kind, Devi, yet you look untouched by its hands.”

  “Still the same sweet talker, Vidhura. Come in. I have been desperately trying to reach you for quite some time.”

  Jara walked away. The dog sniffed at Vidhura’s hands and then trotted off behind its master. Vidhura stepped out to the veranda and sat down. His son had once fallen here and they had rushed him to the palace Vaidya late in the evening. For two days the boy had cried in pain...

  “There is going to be a war.”

  Kunti’s words brought Vidhura back to the present. “Not if I can do something about it,” he replied.

  “You should visit me sometimes. No one comes here except Krishna.” Kunti dabbed her eyes with the end of her sari.

  Vidhura looked at the floor, not wanting to face her. “Devi, things have not been good for me, either,” he finally said.

  “I called you here for a particular reason. There was a time when I wanted my children to outdo Gandhari’s sons in everything. I was afraid to become the poor relation living on their charity. But when I look back now, it all seems so meaningless.”