KRISHNA CORIOLIS#4: Lord of Mathura

by Ashok K. Banker

Suddenly, the cave collapsed, engulfing the Mohinis standing closest to it, even though they were at a distance of several yards from the cave entrance.

  Kamsa watched as the roof of the cave fell in upon the unfortunate Hijras, then drew back, shuddering. And then the cave opened again, wider than before. Within its gaping entrance he saw the half-broken bodies of the Hijras, screaming in agony. Then the cave shuddered again, violently, and they were swallowed into its depths. The remaining Mohinis had moved as far away from the cave entrance as possible, weapons drawn and ready. The cave mouth turned this way then that way, seeking fresh victims, before it raised itself up to point at the sky and roared a deafening blast.

  The cave was not a cave at all, Kamsa realized. It was an asura. A snakelike being as large as a small hillock, curled upon itself, with a maw as enormous as a cavern. Most unnerving of all was its effective camouflage that enabled it to lie so close to the Mohinis that even they had not suspected its true nature.

  ‘Agha,’ Jarasandha said pleasantly, introducing their guest. ‘Meet Kamsa Childslayer. It is at his bidding that you undertake this mission we entrust unto you. Go to Vrindavan, find the Child Avatar of Vishnu, and eat him as well as all the young children around him.’

  A stench of rotting flesh such as he had never experienced before wafted out, carrying the memory of a thousand carcasses consumed and half-digested within that gargantuan belly. A sound filled the air like a deep bass trumpeting that caused his very bones to vibrate within their sockets. A deep redolent rumbling intonation tha was closer to thunder than to any voice spoke then, at a pitch so low, dogs began barking and baying across the land in panic:

 

  Kamsa grinned at Jarasandha who smiled back.

  All three of them laughed, Jarasandha, Kamsa and Agha.

  The sound of their laughter echoed like distant thunder. It carried a long, long way.

  KAAND 1

  1

  ‘KRISHNA!’

  Balarama looked at him and raised his eyebrows. Then he wiggled his eyebrows so they danced like caterpillars. It was a habit he had developed recently—mainly because he knew it annoyed Rohini-maata.

  It didn’t have the same effect on Krishna. His younger brother ignored him and continued walking, using the crook to nudge a calf that had lagged behind the herd. The calf lowed softly in protest then trotted dutifully to catch up with his mother, his hindquarters swaying, little tail twitching.

  ‘Krishna! Wait for me!’

  Balarama began dancing from foot to foot, the way the gopas did while playing ras-garbha. Because of his bulky body, the dance looked funny rather than graceful. It took all of Krishna’s self-control not to burst out laughing. Balarama would do anything to be noticed by Krishna!

  ‘Krishna!’ This last call was plaintive, almost complaining.

  Balarama now combined the wiggling of the eyebrows with the dancing from foot to foot, and added another gesture to the mix—stretching out his arms, palms upwards, as if asking for help. He somehow managed to keep moving sideways and downhill while doing all this, almost keeping pace with Krishna who was walking normally. It was impressive, considering Balarama’s usual lack of physical grace and his girth. Balarama began mouthing the word ‘Krishna!’ with an accompanying expression that imitated the caller who, from the sound of her voice, was fast catching up with them.

  The total effect was hilarious and had Krishna not been determined to keep from laughing he would have been in splits, rolling on the ground. It was certainly one of Balarama’s best performances in his teasing mode.

  Krishna casually stuck out the crook and tripped Balarama up. His brother stumbled with a ‘Uff!’ and somersaulted downhill, rolling over and over several times before crashing into the trailing calf and his mother cow. Both raised angry moos and were joined by the rest of the herd. Balarama landed on his rear and sat up, grass on his face and hair and more than a little cowpatty all over. He spat out a mouthful of grass and glared uphill at his brother.

  Krishna spread his hands apologetically and shrugged as if to say, What else to do, bhai? You were being a pain!

  Balarama grinned and waggled his eyebrows again, looking at a point just behind Krishna.

  Krishna sighed.

  The sound of female feet padding across the grass approached and then little Radha’s pretty face popped up beside him. ‘Krishna, I’ve been following you for yojanas!’ she said breathlessly.

  Since the distance from the village to these pasture hills was barely three miles and a yojana meant a distance of roughly nine miles, it was hardly likely she had actually run for even one yojana, but Radha always liked to exaggerate.

  Krishna smiled indulgently at her. ‘Why are you following us, Radha?’

  ‘Not us, silly,’ she said, still breathless. ‘Just you. I want to keep you company while you graze the herds.’

  He smiled, shaking his head. ‘I have Balarama to keep me company. And aren’t you supposed to be milking and mixing curds and making buttermilk and things like that?’

  She grinned impishly, the solitary dimple appearing in her right cheek as she turned her round face up to him. ‘I won’t tell if you won’t tell!’

  Krishna grinned. Despite her tendency to follow him around like a new-born calf, he had to admit he found Radha endearing. While all the Vrishni gopis could be as boisterous and upstart as their male counterparts, Radha was bolder and more adventurous than most. She thought nothing of climbing trees or running races with the boys and was capable of winning at both! Even Balarama who was as instinctively chauvinistic as most Yadava males didn’t protest too loudly. What he did do, as he had done just moments ago, was tease Krishna about Radha’s obvious crush. More than once, Krishna had caught her gazing at him in frank adoration. And when he played his flute, no matter where she was or what chore she was engaged in, Radha would drop everything and come running to sit at his feet, rest her chin on her upturned palms, and listen in rapt admiration.

  There was no doubt that she was a fan of his flute-playing but it went beyond that. She would fetch and carry for him even when he requested her not to do so: Krishna didn’t like having others do his work as he didn’t believe in anyone being superior or inferior. Given a chance, Radha would act as his willing slave. It took several stern admonishments before she stopped. Now she settled for following him around wherever he went. It had started to become a bit of a nuisance especially during the times when Balarama and he liked to go off together in search of fresh pastures, or merely rove the wild unexplored backwoods behind the main hamlet. Radha was always so excitable and boisterous, there was no way to spend a quiet afternoon with her around.

  And here she was again, hot on their heels, breathless and excited.

  Krishna and she reached the bottom of the hill where Balarama was dusting off his clothes.

  ‘Balarama-bhaiya,’ she sang happily. ‘I was calling and calling, didn’t you hear me?’

  Balarama glanced at Krishna with a look that suggested that his eyebrows might venture skywards at any moment. ‘You never called out to me, Radha. You only called Krishna’s name.’

  Radha slapped her own forehead. ‘Of course! How silly of me! Next time, I’ll make sure to shout your name just as loudly. Maybe you’ll make Krishna walk a little slower so I can catch up. I can barely run as fast as he can walk. Isn’t he amazing?’

  Since Radha was one of the fastest runners in Vrindavan and Krishna rarely moved faster than a leisurely stroll, playing his flute as he went, there was nothing Balarama could say without contradicting her. So he settled for a shrug and a non-committal grin. But the instant, she looked away, he waggled his caterpillar eyebrows at Krishna again. Krishna sighed. It was going to be one of those days!

  They walked along quietly for a few moments, the only sounds the lowing of the cows and calves and the tweeting of birds on the treetops.

  Radha sighed heavily. ‘Great Vishnu in Vaikunta!’ she said, ‘it’s
so quiet and peaceful here. Not noisy and bustling like in the village all the time.’

  Krishna sensed Balarama turning his head to look pointedly at him. He could almost hear his elder brother’s unvoiced comment: The reason why the village is always noisy and bustling is because you’re there!

  Wisely, Balarama didn’t speak his thoughts aloud. They continued walking quietly for a while longer, and Krishna was just starting to think, Why, this isn’t so bad after all. Maybe Radha can keep quiet for a bit. She may finally be growing some patience and good sense.

  As if to prove him wrong, Radha screeched.

  The sound made Krishna and Balarama jump. Even the calves nearest to them jerked spasmodically in reaction. Several cow mothers turned their heads, their mouths having stopped chewing as they sought out the source of the distress signal. Their tails twitched in agitation. When Radha screeched, the whole world paid attention.

  ‘Look!’ Radha cried excitedly, ‘Marigolds!’

  And she was off, sprinting between the cows and calves, racing towards a patch of saffron-golden flowers about a hundred yards further on as it was the finish line of the most important race of her life.

  Krishna watched her heels kicking up dust as she sprinted away and finally permitted himself to look at Balarama. This time, both his brother’s eyebrows were raised high and Balarama had one arm crooked, the fist resting on his waist, head tilted disapprovingly in a deliberate parody of disapproval.

  Krishna sighed and nodded. ‘She can be quite a handful.’

  ‘You think?’ Balarama replied.

  They both burst out laughing, shaking their heads in despair.

  ‘She’s really not that bad,’ Krishna began, ‘She’s sweet and well-meaning. If only she wasn’t so loud—’

  Radha screamed.

  Balarama raised his eyebrows. ‘You were saying, brother?’

  Krishna grinned. ‘She must have found lotus flowers this time.’

  Radha screamed again. Then, plaintively, ‘Krish-na! Come quick!’

  Balarama said, ‘You have been summoned by the princess.’

  Krishna elbowed him affectionately.

  Radha shouted, her voice tinged with genuine panic this time, ‘Krishna! Balarama-bhaiya! Please come quickly. Something strange is happening here!’

  Krishna and Balarama exchanged a sharp glance then began sprinting towards Radha.

  2

  KRISHNA stopped short and looked around, expecting the worst.

  He could see nothing amiss.

  Radha was standing in a bed of marigold flowers, clutching a few to herself and staring at the ground a few yards further away.

  ‘What is it, Radha?’ he asked.

  She pointed. ‘There.’

  He looked. Balarama, who was a slower runner, came up beside him and looked as well. They exchanged a glance, frowning.

  ‘I don’t see anything,’ Balarama said.

  ‘There, silly!’ Radha said impatiently. ‘Use your eyes! It’s right in front of you.’

  They looked again.

  ‘I see grass, a tree, flowers, earth…’ Balarama shrugged. ‘I have no idea what she means.’

  Radha sighed loudly then came stamping up between them, pushing them aside.

  She leaned over and pointed at a plant growing between a clump of flowers.

  ‘There. Don’t you see that? That shouldn’t be growing there.’

  She was pointing at a perfectly ordinary looking plant.

  Balarama turned his back to her, rolling his eyes at Krishna.

  ‘Why shouldn’t it be growing there, Radha?’ Krishna asked as patiently as he could manage.

  She put one hand on her hip. ‘That plant doesn’t belong there! It’s just wrong.’

  Krishna resisted the urge to sigh and roll his eyes too. ‘Well, I’m sure Bhoo Devi has a good reason to make it sprout up in that spot.’

  Now it was Radha who rolled her eyes. ‘Bhoo Devi? The spirit of the planet couldn’t make that plant grow there. She wouldn’t make such a foolish mistake.’

  She went on for a while about how the plant was poisonous and posed a danger to the cattle and how they would have to watch for more like it in case one of the calves happened to munch it innocently. Krishna listened with only half his attention. He was more involved in helping Balarama steer the herd through the woods. Radha chattered nonstop all the way, not helping one bit with the steering, rattling off the many different ways in which young calves’ lives could be endangered by consuming the wrong fodder.

  They emerged from the woods into a vista of such perfection that even she was momentarily silenced. The three of them stood at the top of a rise, staring out at rolling hills covered with lush kusa grass of emerald green, even Krishna didn’t know what to say at first. A gentle wind blew softly across the undulating slopes, the grass rippling like waves on the Yamuna in the wake of a ferry boat.

  ‘It’s the perfect pasture,’ Radha said. ‘It really is! Look at that grass. I have never seen anything like it before. I must go tell my father.’ She bent down and pulled up a handful of the grass, taking care to uproot it with a little sod still clinging to the roots. ‘I’ll be back!’ she cried, racing back the way they had come, her feet making a swishing sound as they went through the grass.

  ‘Don’t hurry,’ Balarama muttered.

  Krishna elbowed him affectionately.

  Balarama pushed him back. Krishna almost lost his balance.

  ‘It is a great pasture,’ Balarama said.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Krishna admitted.

  The herd seemed to think so too. They were mooing and lowing to one another happily, munching away happily, tails flicking rapidly. The pastures closer to the village had been used up and it had been hard to find fresh feed for the herds of late. The cattle of Gokul-dham were used to roaming freely across the grass seas of Vraj-bhoomi, not being cooped into a bounded valley as they were now at Vrindavan. The village elders had been speaking of this more often at the meetings, wondering aloud how they would manage once the existing pastures were fully depleted.

  Now, it seemed, there was a solution. Krishna and Balarama had found new pastures, better than any other in Vrindavan. Perhaps even better than any in Vraj-bhoomi.

  3

  RADHA ran back the way they had come, through the woods.

  Passing the bed of marigolds she had spotted earlier, she slowed. She would break off a section of the plant she had seen earlier and take it back to show her mother; Maatr would know what the plant was called and might be able to understand why it was growing here, out of its natural environment. Despite her confident banter, all Radha knew for sure was that the plant was of a type that grew underground or in caves, never on open sunlit ground. Her mother would know much more about it. And both mother and father would be very pleased to hear about the discovery of the new pastures. To a cowherd, fodder was one of the most important things in life. Finding it, maintaining a constant supply, growing more…much of the art of herding had to do with ensuring one’s herds always had good fodder all year round. Especially when you cared for creatures that chewed constantly and needed to be fed every waking minute, that often proved to be a great challenge. They would be thrilled by the news, as would the rest of Vrindavan.

  She smiled as she waded through the marigold bed, careful not to stamp on even a single flower. Like anyone who loved plants, she treated them with respect and affection. She would never dream of plucking a flower unless it was needed and even when she did so, she always took care not to damage the plant itself.

  She stopped and looked around. This was the spot where they had stopped earlier. She could see the clumsy footprints left by heavy-footed Balarama and Krishna’s lighter-footed careful treads. The plant should have been right…here. But it wasn’t.

  The plant was gone.

  How was that possible?

  She looked around, puzzled. It was shady and cool here, the eaves of the overhanging branches providing considerable
shade. Further away, the early morning sun streaming down through interwoven branches left dappled patterns on the trunks of fruit trees. She realized that there was very little birdsong audible, almost none in fact. And she could neither spot nor hear many squirrels or other little creatures. That was odd but nothing extraordinary in itself. There was also a stench coming from somewhere on the wind that she could not place, a fetid odor, as of raw carcass. Perhaps some predator had killed nearby and the remains were upwind of where she stood. She glanced that way: the shade was so dense there, it was almost dark. Dusky, twilight dark.

  She peered, wondering just how thick the trees could be to block out the sunlight that effectively, then shrugged. All that Bhoodevi did served a purpose. Perhaps the poisonous plant she had spotted here earlier was the natural diet of some creature that lived in such shadowy wooded areas. Perhaps one such creature had come by and eaten it already. It was quite dark there in the shade between those two enormous trees, almost dark enough to be a cave entrance. The plant usually grew underground or in dark caves, so it wasn’t completely unreasonable for it grow here in a relatively dark shady spot.