“Because I wish to show them that I possess the means to destroy their precious Mathura city and all the Yadava nations, to grind them into the earth from whence they once rose. To destroy them as a race entirely. The army is here to attack the people, not the Brothers Krishna-Balarama.”
“Forgive my stupidity, God Emperor,” cried the vampish Interrogator, “I have no brains to speak of. If the army is here to attack the people, why do we not attack? Why do we simply stand by and let the Brothers demolish our forces thusly?”
Jarasandha rolled his eyes impatiently before responding: “Because I already know the outcome of this and every possible battle on this ground. No matter what stratagem I adopt, the Brothers will destroy my army and, if pressed too hard, slay me as well. I cannot win this war merely through use of brute force or military acumen.”
“Then pray tell, God Emperor my beautiful one, how will you win it?”
Jarasandha smiled a sneering malevolent smile. “By proving to them that they cannot win it either.”
“But that would result in a…”
“A stand-off, yes,” Jarasandha said, flicking his hand to dismiss the imaginary Interrogator and continuing the rest of the ‘discussion’ himself. “That is exactly what I seek, to repeat this battle over and over again until the day comes when the Brothers realize for themselves that I can continue doing this forever and they can destroy my armies innumerable times, and yet I can come back the very next day with the exact same force and yet they can never defeat me in battle. For how can you defeat an enemy that returns to do battle the next day, and the next and the next…unto infinity.”
He chuckled and raised a finger, questioning himself now. The generals exchanged a troubled glance. Bad enough that the enemy was demolishing their armies single-handedly, but now their leader had apparently lost his mind as well. Still, they had no choice but to listen patiently. They each knew the fate that would befall them if they dared to interrupt or question Jarasandha themselves. And so they listened, only comprehending half of what he said.
“No matter how many times they wipe out my forces,” Jarasandha went on, “I shall be back the next morning, with the exact same army, ready to threaten Mathura with annihilation once more.”
He chuckled to himself. “Of course, I won’t actually be coming back to the same Mathura, not precisely, nor will the army be exactly the same, not precisely, no. But it will take them some days to figure that out as well. And even then, there is nothing they can do really. In the end, I will triumph…by doing nothing!”
He looked around at his silent audience, then smiled impishly. “Sometimes, we also serve who only stand and wait.”
12
DARUKA was waiting outside Krishna’s bed chamber when he emerged. The sound of trumpets announcing a war alert rang through the city. Courtiers and palace staff were rushing to and fro on various errands. There was a sense of chaos and near-panic in the royal complex. Krishna looked at Daruka’s grim face and frowned as he adjusted his anga-vastra.
“My Lord,” Daruka said, bowing. “I apologize for starting your day with such bad news, especially as I have been in your employ only since yesterday and have yet to prove my mettle.”
Balarama came out of his bed chamber, struggling with an anga-vastra. His fair handsome face was twisted in a scowl. He looked around, saw the chaos, then caught sight of Krishna and Daruka and came over. “What the devil—” he began.
Krishna held up a hand to cut him off. “Speak, Daruka. Give us your news.”
Daruka turned to greet and acknowledge Balarama as well who grunted in response, still struggling with the knotted anga-vastra. “My Lords, Princes of Mathura, there is an army at the gates. Jarasandha of Magadha has invaded our lands with an army of some 22 or more akshohini.”
Krishna and Balarama exchanged a wordless glance.
“How do you know there are 22 akshohini?” Balarama asked, “Did you see them yourself?”
“Indeed, sire, I did,” said the charioteer. “I was driving Lord Krishna’s chariot on the raj-marg in order to familiarize the horses with my driving style and scent when I perceived the great host amassed on the horizon. Their generals were at the fore, as is usual before an assault, and it was not difficult to count their krta-dhvaja and know the sum of their forces. There were 22 akshohini or…” he hesitated, “It might perhaps have been 23. You see, there was one banner that was either tangled or unfurled and I could possibly have missed it in my count. I would have recounted but felt it was more imperative to ride back to inform you.”
“You said the host were amassed the horizon?” Krishna asked. “Then they are some distance from Mathura yet?”
Daruka shook his head regretfully. “Nay, my lord. By the term ‘on the horizon’ I meant the extent of their forces. They extend as far as the eye can see. The front lines were within striking distance of Mathura City. They are as good as at the gates.”
Krishna and Balarama exchanged another glance. Balarama grew disgusted with his knotted anga vastra and tore it off his body, intending to throw it aside.
“Permit me, sire,” Daruka offered, holding out his hand. Balarama dropped the knotted bundle in his hand and Daruka patiently began sorting out the knots.
“And you informed the rest of the palace as well, I see,” Krishna said, still trying to work out what was happening.
“Nay, sire,” Daruka replied as he worked at the knots. “That was another witness who also happened to be on the road at the time. An uks cart carrier who was on his way outwards.” Daruka glanced up at Krishna briefly. “I am told he is a former general who served under the Usurper.”
“Bana,” Krishna said.
Balarama swore softly. “I don’t understand it. I destroyed every last one of Jarasandha’s forces yesterday. It is impossible that he could have raised a fresh army of the exact same size again today. Overnight!”
Krishna shook his head. “Not a fresh army, the same army.”
Balarama stared at him. “The same?”
Krishna looked at Daruka. “Good sarathi, what day is it today?”
Daruka asked without question or hesitation. “Mangalam, my lord.”
Krishna looked at Balarama who blinked rapidly, understanding. “It is Tuesday. Again.”
“For the third time in a row,” Krishna added. “And on each previous Tuesday, we woke and found Jarasandha at the gates of Mathura with an invasion force of 23 akshohini.”
“And twice on those Tuesdays, we destroyed that entire force! Wiped them out to the last man, sparing only Jarasandha himself since, as you said, he was ultimately related to the Yadavas through his daughters’ marriage to our late uncle Kamsa and therefore it was against dharma to kill him unless he attacked us himself.”
Krisha nodded. “Which he did not. He only sent his armies to threaten Mathura.”
“And we wiped out that army. Twice already!” Balarama said.
“And yet it is back again. And if we do not defend Mathura, I have no doubt it will invade and destroy the city and massacre all the people, enslaving the survivors and enlisting them the Magadhan ranks. Therefore we have no choice but to destroy it again or risk endangering all our people and cities.”
Balarama stared at him. “And then what? We wake up again tomorrow and…again, it will be Tuesday? Again, Jarasandha will be at the gates with 23 akshohini? Again, this whole farce repeats itself all over once more?”
Krishna nodded. “Except it is not a farce. It is deadly real. This is no game to the rest of our people. If we do nothing, Jarasandha will invade, destroy, rape, ravage, slaughter, enslave.”
Balarama swore again. “Then we will fight him again. Destroy his forces again.”
Krishna nodded. “We must. But then what?”
“Let him come back as many times as he wishes. We will fight again and again.”
“How many times, Balarama?” Krishna asked. Pradhan Mantri Pralamba had approached while they were speaking and was waiting to addre
ss them. “Pradhan Mantri, we have the news. Kindly inform the Council we shall be with them momentarily.”
Pralamba looked anxious but turned and returned the way he had come.
Krishna put his arm on his brother’s shoulder.
“How many times, Balarama?” he asked. “What if Jarasandha repeats this a thousand times? Each day we wake up, it is still the same Tuesday, the enemy is at the gates, we fight, we destroy them, we go to bed, and next morning it repeats all over again, with a few minor changes in detail. One time Bana brings word, the next time Daruka, the third time both of them see the approaching invasion force… But the main details are the same. 23 akshohini. Too great an army to ignore or for Mathura to defend itself against. Too great a threat for us to walk away from.” He paused, then went on, “And after doing it a thousand times, then what? We will wear ourselves down without accomplishing anything!” Krishna shook his head. “No, bhai, there is more to this than merely going out and slaughtering armies. We have to figure out Jarasandha’s larger game-plan. He must have a greater strategy in mind. We have to find out what that is and defeat him at his own game.”
Balarama’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t understand it. For one thing, if it’s the same day repeating, why are there differences at all? Why Bana one day, Daruka the next…shouldn’t everything be exactly the same?”
Krishna stared at him, his dark black eyes glittering with intelligence and wit. “That’s it, Balarama! You have something there. The difference in detail. That means it’s not the same day repeating, they’re different days…” He looked down at himself, “They must be.”
Balarama frowned. “I still don’t follow. What does that mean, exactly?”
Krishna looked down pensively. “I’m not entirely certain but we need to go through a few more Tuesdays and observe differences in detail closely. I think that may be the key to understanding what’s behind this.”
Balarama thought for a moment then grinned. “Well, looking on the bright side, at least I get to do a whole lot of fighting again…and again…and again.”
Krishna smiled at his brother’s enthusiasm. “Fight to your hearts’ content.”
Daruka stood up, handing Balarama the unravelled anga-vastra. “Your garment, Prince Balarama.”
Balarama took it, smiling. “You untied the knots! That’s a miracle!” He wore the anga-vastra with a flourish.
Krishna shook his head, slapping his brother’s back. “If only all knots were as easily unravelled.”
13
BALARAMA watched as Krishna stood upon the battlefield, surrounded by an ocean of enemies. Lances, javelins, spears, arrows, axes, and weapons of all kinds were being flung at him. Elephant regiments attacked in full charges. Cavalry thundered at him. Entire rivers of chariots rode towards him. Great masses of infantry swept across him. And yet, each time, he stood his ground, armed with only the weapon named Sudarshana. The celestial disc whirled and gleamed as it flew through the air at blinding speeds, seemingly everywhere at once. It slashed through regiments of elephants, akshohini of chariots, armies of infantry, hordes of cavalry…nothing could withstand its deadly spinning blade. It cut Jarasandha’s armies to pieces in moments, leaving Krishna like a bright and lustrous emerald island upon a crimson sea of the dead.
It was many Tuesdays since the first Tuesday. Eventually, even Balarama had tired of fighting. It had taken the slaying of several scores of akshohini, literally tens of millions of enemies, before he realized that the more one killed the less it mattered. Like any action repeated often, it became rote after a point. A day had come when he found himself slaughtering elephants and horses without compunction. That was the day he told Krishna that the next time, he would prefer it if Krishna did the slaughtering. Krishna had done so without comment or query.
He watched now as Krishna finished the day’s work, leaving the battlefield strewn with over 5 million corpses. That evening when they returned to Mathura, Balarama said mildly, “It isn’t really killing, because they will all be back again tomorrow, right, bhraatr?”
Krishna looked at him somberly and shook his head. “Nay, bhai. Tomorrow they may be back. But today it is killing. Nothing reduces its importance or reality today.”
Balarama thought about that for a moment, then quaffed the rest of his goblet of soma. He had taken to drinking a great deal of soma since the beginning of the Tuesday War as they had taken to calling it. “Even so,” he said, “The end justifies the means. We have no choice but to kill them. Otherwise they will kill our people. We know that already. Therefore it is our dharma to kill them before they attack Mathura.”
He knew this was right. He felt it was right. Yet, he still glanced at Krishna for confirmation.
Krishna sighed. “I can no longer say what is what, bhai. Right or wrong, justified or not. Dharma or adharma, they have all become meaningless in this endless repetition.” He started to bunch his fists then sighed and released his anger. “Perhaps that is what Jarasandha truly desires: to strip us of dharma itself by forcing us to spend our lives in this mindless slaughter until we lose all perspective, all hold upon sanity, until we lose our humanity itself.”
Balarama shrugged. “Would that be such a terrible thing? We are not entirely human, after all. We know this to be true even if we cannot go about freely as gods on earth.”
“Yes, it would, Balarama,” Krishna said. “Because although we are divine amsas, we are still in mortal forms and subject to certain mortal laws of nature. Besides, I do not speak of literally not being mortal anymore, I mean that we would lose sight of what it means to be mortal. No human being can continue killing in this way without losing the sense of what is right and wrong, and that, my brother, is the basis of human behavior.”
“Right and wrong?” Balarama asked, sitting up. “But that differs based on your point of view. In the view of the Magadhans, it is right to kill Mathurans because they impede the growth of the Magadhan empire! Whereas for innocent Mathurans living their lives in their own city, minding their own business, it is clearly the Magadhan invaders who are in the wrong.”
“Yes, exactly,” Krishna said, standing and walking about his bed chamber where they had come to talk and eat after the day’s battle. “And that dichotomy or plurality is the essence of humanness. You say White, I say Black.”
Balarama smiled wryly at his brother’s witticism: Krishna was as black-skinned as Balarama was fair. The legend went that Vishnu plucked two hairs at random from his head: one happened to be a a white hair and the other a black one. They provided the genetic material for the amsas that were reborn as Balarama and Krishna.
“So the essence of humanness is contradiction and controversy?”
“No, bhai,” Krishna countered. “It is struggle. The two opposing points of view represent humanity’s constant struggle for betterment, change, self-improvement, growth, development, whatever term you wish to use. Change, always change. That is what marks humanity apart from all other species. There are creatures upon earth that have not changed for arbo years. While human beings often develop alterations in the social structure, thinking, lifestyle, body shapes, garbs, and other things within the same lifetime. It is extraordinary, this constant drive to change. It keeps the race robust and virile.”
Balarama shrugged. “So what? What does that have to do with our Tuesday War?”
“Jarasandha seeks to strip us of our desire for change by forcing us to live the same day over and over again, fight the same battle each day. Eventually, if we continue down this path, there is only result possible.”
“Boredom?” Balarama suggested.
“Worse. Cynicism. All societies that stop changing, stop growing. They stagnate. And stagnation is decline, decay, destruction. That which is not growing is dying.”
“That which does not kill us makes us stranger,” Balarama quipped, refilling his goblet with soma. “I see what you mean, bhraatr. So Jarasandha intends for us to burn out by reliving this same battle, day after
day. But then what?”
“Then one day, when we are least expecting it, he will introduce a new element. Change. Radical, unexpected change. And because we have fallen into the trap of becoming cynical, of assuming we know what happens next, that we know everything…because we have relived this day’s events so often before, we will not be prepared. And that is when he will strike. And destroy us.”
Balarama stopped pouring and looked up. “And when you say ‘destroy’…”
Krishna shrugged and spread his hands. “I do not know what form that may take. Even my divine sight cannot penetrated the veil of Kala. That which has not yet happened can only be known in time.”
“Yet here we are speculating on it,” Balarama said. “While we could simply be asking the one person who already knows the answers to all these questions. Why don’t we do that, Krishna? Why don’t we just go and ask him the answers instead of sitting around and frying our brains by trying to figure out what his real plan is here?”
KRISHNA CORIOLIS#5: Rage of Jarasandha Page 24