KRISHNA CORIOLIS#4: Lord of Mathura

by Ashok K. Banker

  Balarama let out a whoop of satisfaction and started up the path. The other boys all called after him, alarmed.

  ‘Balarama-bhaiya, the demon!’ one said.

  Sridama looked at Krishna. ‘He’s going inside the grove, isn’t he?’

  Krishna shrugged.

  ‘To find the demon and fight it himself, yes?’

  Krishna shrugged again.

  Sridama covered his face with his hands. ‘My father will kill me if anything happens to Balarama! He’ll say it was my fault!’

  Krishna put his arm around Sridama’s shoulders. ‘Nothing will happen to Balarama. I’ll make sure of that.’

  And Krishna went up the path too, following behind his brother.

  The other boys all looked at each other, scared witless and wondering what to do.

  There was nothing to do really, except wait.

  4

  Balarama and Krishna looked around, astonished. ‘There’s enough fruit here to feed everyone for a year!’ Balarama said.

  And there was. The Palmyra grove was an idyllic place: fruit trees of every description grew all around. It was impossible for such a diverse variety of fruits to grow together in one place, many required different soil or sunlight or water, yet here they were, all clustered together like one enormous tribe, growing side by side, shoulder by shoulder. The sticky sweet aroma of fresh fruit was everywhere, sometimes pungent, sometimes sweet, sometimes mingled as different trees exuded different scents.

  Krishna plucked an orange from a low-hanging branch. He tore a piece of the peel off and juice squirted out, almost hitting Balarama’s eye.

  ‘Ow!’ Balarama exclaimed, rubbing the juice from his eye, the eye watering at once. ‘You did that on purpose!’

  ‘Sorry, bhaiya,’ Krishna said innocently. ‘Here, have some of the fruit. It’s delicious!’

  Balarama took a quarter of orange and popped it into his mouth. Tangy nectar exploded on his tongue. He blinked and chewed. ‘It really is, bhraatr! This is the best orange I’ve ever eaten!’ He crunched a seed by mistake and made a face. ‘And I don’t even like oranges!’

  Krishna pointed. Growing close beside the orange tree was a jackfruit tree, enormously tall and massive and ancient-looking. ‘Look. That’s impossible. Orange and jackfruit never grow together.’ He turned around, pointing this way then that. ‘Nor do banana and strawberry. Or jambun and sweet lemon!’

  Balarama looked and shrugged. ‘There must be magic at work here. Maybe the demon who lives here loves fruit. Maybe he used his magic to make these trees grow together.’

  Balarama stopped and looked around.

  ‘What is it?’ Krishna asked, finishing the last of the orange.

  ‘Listen. What do you hear?’

  Krishna listened. ‘Nothing. Not a sound.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s impossible too. In a grove like this, there should be any number of birds, animals, insects, all consuming the fruit openly or secretly, and they would make some noise. But I don’t hear so much as an ant nibbling on an orange peel.’

  Krishna didn’t need to point out that ants didn’t make much sound nibbling on orange peels: Balarama was merely trying to make a point. He nodded, looking sombre. ‘You’re right, bhaiya, somehow this demon has scared off every other living creature.’

  ‘Yes,’ Balarama said, bending low to the ground and sniffing. ‘He must be very powerful to keep this beautiful treasure trove of ripe fruit all to himself.’

  ‘And very dangerous,’ Krishna added.

  ‘I don’t care,’ Balarama said at once, spinning around. He pointed a finger at Krishna. ‘This time, I’m going to face the demon, Krishna. You owe me this one. You promised!’

  Krishna grinned. ‘And I intend to keep my promise, bhaiya!’

  Balarama narrowed his wide eyes suspiciously. ‘You mean it?’

  ‘Of course,’ Krishna said, spreading his arms in invitation. ‘Be my guest, brother. This demon is all your’s to deal with.’

  ‘And you won’t interfere if the fight gets rough? You promise to let me deal with him on my own entirely?’

  ‘Well, I can always come to assist you if you need me,’ Krishna said.

  Balarama bristled. ‘I don’t need any assistance! I can handle any asura on m own.’

  Krishna raised his hands in surrender. ‘Okay, okay. Let me go look around. You start shaking the trees so we can collect the fruits that fall.’

  ‘And if you hear anything or see the demon, you shout out and call to me,’ Balarama warned. ‘Don’t engage him yourself. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ Krishna called back over his shoulder.

  He smiled a secret smile as he went, but Balarama didn’t see the smile.

  ***

  Balarama went up to an apple tree, took hold of the trunk and shook it hard. Scores of apples rained down, most of them on his head and shoulders. Balarama grimaced and kept his eyes shut, peering out when the deluge was over. One errant apple thudded down on his head and bounced off. He caught it in mid air, looked at it carefully. It looked beautifully ripe, red, and luscious. He wiped it on his anga-vastra till it shone waxily. Then he took a bite. The crunching sound it made was delicious in itself; the juicy pulp that he bit into was sugar sweet and of the perfect consistency. It had been awhile since Balarama had eaten an apple at all, let alone one this tasty. He chewed his way through the whole apple in moments, then picked up another one, bigger and juicier looking than the first. He bit into this one too, sweet sticky juice spattering his own cheeks. He wiped it away as he demolished the second apple.

  So absorbed was he in biting into the crunchy apple, he failed to notice the beast appoaching him from behind until it was upon him. The first inkling he had was a mighty blow to his back. It felt like two giant hammers pounding into his back, driving him forward. He fell against the apple tree hard enough that the trunk cracked and whatever few remaining apples remained on the boughs plopped to the ground.

  Balarama turned around and looked at the creature that stood before him, rearing up on its hind legs and revealing a mouthful of large jagged teeth. Its eyes glowed red, and it stank of a peculiar sweetish odour that he could not place at first.

  ‘A donkey?’ he said, unable to believe the evidence of his sight. That was what the demon looked like, a donkey!

  The creature reared up and lunged forward in a maneuver no mere donkey was capable of executing. Balarama rolled aside just in time. The donkey’s fore paws struck the apple tree with enough force to split the wood into splinters. The tree crashed to the ground. The donkey demon flipped over and swung around with an agility and peculiarity of movement that was impossible for any four footed equestrian. No doubt about it: this was an asura.

  In case Balarama still had any doubts, the creature opened its mouth and instead of the usual braying donkey sound, it let off a series of deep meancing growls more befitting a lion or tiger rather than a mere ass. Then it reared up again preparing to launch forward in that peculiar way, somehow able to leap forward only on its hind legs while attacking with its fore legs. Balarama saw that its fore paws had sharp talons in place of the usual cloven feet and if he had any reservations left about harming a mere donkey, they were dispelled at once by the sight of those deadly talons.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Balarama muttered. ‘Let’s see what you have.’

  The donkey demon flew at Balarama with a speed that was astonishing—and unexpected. It took Balarama by surprise, and he barely had time to dodge the attack. Even so, the left forepaw nicked his shoulder, tearing the muscle there and drawing a splatter of blood that stained the strewn apples on the floor, matching their ripe red colour.

  Balarama roared with displeasure. ‘Now you’ve sealed your fate!’ he yelled.

  He charged at the donkey just as the demon reared up again, flashing its deadly teeth and hammer-strong paws.

  Boy and donkey clashed with a resounding thud of flesh against flesh.

  5

  KRISHNA he
ard the unmistakable sounds of a fight and ran back to the spot where he had left Balarama.

  He arrived just in time to see Balarama grappling with a being that resembled a donkey but was clearly demonaic in nature.

  Krishna grinned and watched as Balarama took hold of the demon’s hind legs and swung the beast bodily around. The beast issued a resounding roar of outrage, a sound more suited to a predator than a donkey.

  Balarama swung the donkey demon around over his head, his upper body heaving with effort, legs planted firmly on the apple-strewn ground.

  Then he let go.

  This time the donkey asura screamed in terror, the unmistakeable cry of a creature that faces certain death. It flew several dozen yards high in the air before falling back to earth.

  Moments after its landing, it lay still, its body grotesquely sprawled in a manner that left no doubt about its state.

  Krishna approached Balarama, still carrying the armful of fruit he had found.

  Balarama dusted off his anga-vastra and arms. There was a wound on his shoulder which gaped open, the skin torn and hanging by a flap, the flesh visible and bloody. Krishna gestured at it with his eyes and Balarama shrugged and slapped at it casually as if to say it was nothing, but he did wince a little, belying his own bravado.

  ‘Nice fruit,’ Balarama said, pointing his chin at the armload Krishna was carrying.

  ‘Nice fight,’ Krishna said, jerking his head in the direction of the dead donkey. ‘Who was that?’

  Balarama shook his head. ‘Just some donkey!’

  They burst out laughing together.

  Just then the other boys burst into the clearing together, carrying sticks and slings and stones in their hands, eyes wild and ready to do battle but terrified at the possibility of facing another Aghasura or Putana-like gargantuan.

  ‘Krishna! Balarama!’ they cried. ‘Where is the demon? We will stand with you against it.’

  Krishna and Balarama exchanged a glance.

  Then, as one, the brothers rolled their heads and pointed at the dead donkey.

  ‘There. Be careful. It may only be pretending to be hurt.’

  The boys turned to stare wide-eyed at the broken body of the asura. As recognition of its form flooded their scared minds, their mouths opened and tongues lolled.

  ‘But…but…it’s only a donkey!’ cried one of them.

  Krishna winked. ‘Takes one to know one! Balarama fought it all by himself. I never lifted a finger, right bhaiya?’

  Balarama rolled his eyes but nodded. ‘Right, bhraatr.’

  Krishna burst out laughing as Balarama glared at him hotly. After a moment, Balarama’s temper subsided.

  ‘You knew all along,’ he said accusingly. ‘You knew the next demon would be an ass, not a real demon like Agha or Baka or Putana. That’s the only reason why you let me fight it alone.’

  Krishna chuckled. ‘But it was a real demon, bhaiya. You even have the wound to prove it. Besides, you made an ass out of it in the end.’

  Balarama glared at him again then shook his head and started chuckling, despite himself.

  In moments, both Krishna and he were laughing together.

  The other boys joined in.

  6

  Once the blighted land had healed itself, the new pastures were quite safe to travel to and back. Between the new pastures and the magical fruit grove, the Vrishni had ample nourishment. The lush supply of fodder and fruit energized the herds as well as the carers.

  For once, the Vrishni were well-fed, safe and relatively content. News from the outside world came rarely but what little news trickled in suggested that the Usurper had finally reduced his campaign of terror against the Vrishni and other clans still loyal to Ugrasena. Not quite a truce, but a political detente seemed to have fallen into place. A season of calm between storms. Nobody believed it would last or that the Usurper genuinely desired peace and prosperity for the Yadava nations. But they needed to rebuild their strength and prepare themselves for the final assault. Akrura and his associates send word across the land that everyone should lie low and bide their time.

  Kamsa himself seemed to be away from Mathura more often than present on the Yadava throne, busy with his endless wrestling tournaments in different parts of the Magadhan empire. Even when he was at court in Mathura, Magadhan ambassadors seemed to be hovering around every district of Mathura, never in official positions themselves but always watching over the shoulders of Yadavas who governed or adminstered various functions.

  In this manner, Jarasandha was controlling his interests in Mathura without overtly seizing power. It was a frustrating time for they were neither wholly free from tyranny nor were they being oppressed sufficiently to warrant an open rebellion.

  This was the genius of Jarasandha at work, Gargamuni said, to keep the Yadavas under his thumb yet never give them any justification to openly rise up and shed the blood of their own tyrant king.

  At such a time, the Vrishni and other loyalists had no choice but to wait things out. If they rose up or took any violent action, it would only seem churlish and spiteful on their part. The only thing to do was abide and await their moment.

  As cowherds accustomed to spending days simply waiting and watching over their flocks, waiting was something the Vrishni were good at doing.

  So they waited. And watched. And rebuilt their strength secretly.

  One day, the opportune moment would come at last and they would rise up and follow their Deliverer to freedom from tyranny.

  7

  Krishna was sitting on the hillside overlooking the lake near the new pastures, playing his flute.

  It was a feast day for the clan and everyone was gathered by the lake in their festive colours. Families sat and ate under the trees or on the meadows. The herds grazed freely over the new pastures, permitted to eat their fill today, for that was their way of feasting. Children played in the lake, splashing and swimming, the smallest ones ridng their father’s shoulders. The older children swung from a rope tied to the overhanging branch of a great banyan tree, letting go the rope to fall into the lake.

  Radha sat near Krishna, listening enraptured to his playing.

  She seemed to change a little more each passing day, growing before his very eyes. Since the time in the pastures, all the children of Vrindavan had grown closer to Krishna than ever before, but of them all, none more than Radha. She followed him wherever he went, often to his exasperation. Sometimes, when Balarama and he wanted to play rough games with the boys, she would insist on joining in, and the other boys would object vociferously, unwilling to be as rough with a girl as with each other. Krishna didn’t mind as much as Balarama did. Radha could outrun any boy or girl in the village and she could hold her own in virtually every game as well.

  Besides, he liked having Radha around. Ever since they had returned from the enforced exile, she had changed almost overnight. Before, she had chattered constantly, driving Balarama crazy at times. Now, she had a quietude that he found comforting. She never demanded that they talk and was content simply to sit and stare at the clouds or watch the birds or fish or cattle.

  Krishna took immense contentment from simply being one with nature. There was something about the natural rhythm of the world that he found very soothing. Whether it was rain falling on eaves, wind shirring across pastures of tall grass, koels calling to one another from high branches, or simply the sight and fragrance of flowers swaying in the breeze and surrendering their pollen to flitting bees, he could watch and listen for hours on end. It made him feel connected to the earth, to Bhoodevi herself.

  After all, it was at her behest that he was here on this mortal plane, doing her work, saving her children from the cruel tyranny of asuras. So, like any child, he was content to simply lie in Mother Earth’s cradle and watch her go about her work through infinite forms and means. And the new Radha seemed to enjoy it just as much as he did. Far from chattering away the hours, she could find contentment in simply lying or sitting nearby and imm
ersing herself in the sounds of nature just as he did, lost in the infinite song of the Earth.

  He lowered his flute at last.

  He loved the way the sounds of the world seeped back into his consciousness after a long session of flute-playing. It was like watching a new day dawn over the world: see the colours seeping into things, the earth become animate once again.

  He heard the voices and laughter of the people in the meadow below, the splashing of the children in the lake, the contented lowing of the herds in the pastures…it was a beautiful day, overcast with gentle thin clouds that obscured the direct sunlight enough so one could lay on one’s back in the lake and float, staring up at the powdery blue sky. The water in the lake appeared lighter hued than usual, not its usual dense greenish blue. Birds flitted through the branches of trees overlooking the lake. A pair of woodpeckers were at work on one immensely tall tree nearby on the hill, working steadily at pecking a hole large enough to accommodate their family. The rat-a-tat sound was musical and pleasing in its own way. Even nature’s stenches were just smells, her noises part of the music of life and Krishna embraced it all, the loud with the soft, the roar with the whisper, the humming with the growling, the swamps as well as the orchids.