But when Chanura lashed out mercilessly at Krishna, Balarama was hard-pressed to put dharma aside and go to his brother’s aid. For the sheer agony of the blows was unbearable. How was Krishna tolerating it? The same way he had tolerated the attacks and blows and bites of asuras in the past. By enduring. Knowing that his super-mortal divinity would repair the mortal flesh and bone, restore it in moments to its former state of perfect vigor and health. It was only the pain they must endure and survive. Although to call it ‘only’ the pain was itself an euphemism. For there were times in battle when the pain of the wound was worse than the wound itself. If Balarama felt such pain, then how much worse must Krishna himself be feeling?
Still, Balarama had no choice. He stood his ground and gritted his teeth discretely as he watched his brother take the blows of his opponent, knowing that Krishna could have despatched the man in the first strike or two but was deliberately giving him fair chance to fight back so that all would see and know that the game had been played out fairly and squarely. Such was dharma, such were her demands.
Now he watched as Krishna’s turn finally came to strike back and he went in for the kill. As promised, he all but tore the man apart into pieces. It was a horrifying sight, mitigated no less by the fact that the man being torn apart was a demon in human form, a rakshasa among mortals who had wreaked terrible suffering and punishment on numerous innocents as well as other warriors by taking advantage of his unfairly produced strength, the result of Jarasandha’s arcane potions and sorcery.
Balarama wondered if anyone who had been related or cared about any of Chanura’s former victims was present to watch the man’s brutal end. He hoped so.
For his part, he watched to the very end, dispassionate and calm. The reactions he had felt to Balarama’s injuries had dissipated instantly, as quickly as Balarama’s wounds had healed.
He saw a flicker of movement to one side and saw one of Kamsa’s team rush forward at Krishna who had his back to that side.
It was the tall powerfully built giant with the oddly shaped face, the one they called Crooked Jaw. Mustika. Apparently, he could not bear to see his mate torn apart by Balarama and with a roar of fury he flung himself at Krishna.
***
Kamsa watched with utter disbelief as the Deliverer took one of his best men and dearest friends apart, piece by piece, quite literally. He could not believe that this slender stripling of a boy possessed such shakti. How was it possible?
Because he’s Vishnu incarnate, you fool! said a voice in his head. It was the voice of Yadu, his old stable-hand, royal syce, and sometime trainer. The man who had become his guru and transformed Kamsa after Putana’s death into the most formidable man-on-man fighter in the entire kingdom.
Suddenly, Kamsa wished Yadu was here, telling him what to do, how to handle this, what moves he might use that would counter this brutal attack by the Slayer.
But Yadu was dead of course. Died only recently. And he, Kamsa, hadn’t bothered to grant him so much as a decent cremation.
Kamsa was jolted out of his stupor when Mustika roared in fury and charged forward. Either Crooked Jaw had forgotten that this was strictly a man-on-man bout, or he did not care. He had been a dear friend of Chanura, and apparently he couldn’t bear the sight of his team mate torn to pieces by this young cowherd. He knew and cared nothing about the Prophecy or the Deliverer. To him, Krishna was just an opponent who had killed a team mate and friend and must be destroyed.
Kamsa watched hopefully as Mustika threw himself at Krishna. Perhaps Mustika would fare better than Chanura. And that would mean the end of Krishna.
But as he watched, Krishna did not defend himself against Mustika’s assault. He merely side-stepped smartly, letting Mustika’s own weight and momentum carry him forward.
That was the amazing thing. How could Krishna be so thin-limbed, slender-bodied, agile and athletic, yet capable of withstanding the full force of Chanura’s blows? It was beyond Kamsa’s comprehension. All he knew was that a person could make himself denser, packing his cells closer and tighter together even as they expanded, until they were as hard as iron itself, or even harder. Or he could loosen them, allowing himself flexibility. Like a scale ranging from Black to White, Kamsa could range across the various shades of gray, choosing to make his body denser and less flexible in movement, or less dense and more flexible in movement. The same held true for all his team mates who had been empowered by Jarasandha’s potions.
But Krishna was not subject to the same limitations. He was apparently stronger and denser of body than any of them—or more than Chanura at any rate—while remaining as agile and flexible as any normal man.
Kamsa watched as Mustika turned around with some difficulty, trying to charge at Krishna again. But Krishna danced around behind Mustika, managing effortlessly to keep himself behind Crooked Jaw as the giant turned round and around, seeking his vanished opponent. Krishna even waggled his eyebrows and made faces at Mustika’s back as they went round and round together, sending the crowd into splits of laughter and dissipating the mood of horror that had greeted the slaying of Chanura.
Then Balarama entered the field. Since Mustika had joined the fray, it was within Balarama’s right to do so. Kamsa thought of protesting then stopped himself. Instead, he turned to Sala.
‘Sala, you take Krishna. Go on.’
Sala glanced at him sideways, then flexed his powerfully muscled arms and moved forward, building up speed as he reduced his body density for the attack.
Meanwhile, Balarama came before Mustika who stopped trying to turn around and grab hold of Krishna and directed his fury at Krishna’s brother instead.
Sala came running fast at Krishna, so fast that even Krishna, who was briefly distracted by Balarama’s arrival, failed to notice him until the last instant.
Balarama saw Sala bearing down on Krishna, and called out, ‘Bhai!’
Even as Balarama took the instant to call out, Mustika swung his upper body and struck out at Balarama as hard as he was capable.
Both Balarama and Krishna were struck by Mustika and Sala at the exact same moment. The sounds of impact were like explosions of lightning striking tree trunks.
The crowd gasped in reaction, the Vrishni rising to their feet.
Kamsa grinned and laughed aloud.
17
Balarama felt the blow by Mustika like the kick he had once received from Donkey Asura, except that Donkey Asura’s kick had sent him flying several dozen yards. Mustika’s blow spun him around and off-balance, feeling as if his skull had shattered into fragments and every bone in his face and neck had cracked into pieces. In a sense they had. But due to his divine essence, they knitted together almost immediately. Even so, for the fraction of a moment when the bones were shattered, the sensation was indescribable. It disoriented Balarama for a moment.
At the same instant, Krishna was struck from behind by the charging Sala. The wrestler’s rock-solid head was lowered and it struck Krishna’s spine with the force of a giant battering ram striking a castle gate. It shattered Krishna’s spine into two halves and each half into splinters, and Sala’s head ought to have continued through Krishna’s body, tearing a hole in it the way a flung javelin would tear through stretched canvas. But Krishna’s divinity caused his body to heal instantly, preventing Sala’s stone-hard skull from penetrating farther and doing further damage.
These two attacks, brought simultaneously, almost ended the fight that day for the brothers. Nobody would ever know for certain how close they had come to defeat in that particular instant. Radha, who was watching intently, suspected, but she was reacting emotionally, fearing so much, that she thought every blow that struck Krishna would harm him beyond recovery. So she could not tell that this one was the very blow that almost killed her beloved. Because she was watching only Krishna, and did not realize that Balarama was being struck as grievously at the exact same instant.
What caused the crisis were not the blows themselves but the fact that they
came at the exact same instant, and that both brothers were looking at one another when they came.
Krishna was so preoccupied with warning Balarama and Balarama with warning Krishna that they both forgot about their own selves for an instant. Even though their bodies healed of their own accord, they continued to watch one another out of concern, in case the other should require help.
In that instant, had Kamsa also attacked them, either one of them, he would have had an upper hand.
He might even have injured one sufficiently to cause him serious harm. Permanent harm.
Or worse.
But Kamsa was afraid by then. Afraid of the Slayer’s power. Of the prophecy. Of the assassins who had been sent to defeat the infant Krishna, then the child Krishna, and had failed.
And so he remained where he was and watched instead.
And so Krishna and Balarama both had a moment to recover, and each had only one opponent to fight back against. And each one saw that the other was hurt but could survive and fight back.
And the moment of vulnerability passed.
And then both were back in the fray.
Balarama was furious at being struck unawares by Mustika and struck back with his open palm, literally slapping the giant. Because of the considerable difference in their respective heights, he could not slap the giant’s face or shoulders or back. Instead, his slaps landed on Mustika’s backside. He slapped giant again and again and again, relentlessly, intending to show that his open hand alone was sufficient to fight this opponent.
Krishna in turn was angry that he had almost let himself be bested in that moment of vulnerability. As a result, he struck out with a single kick at Sala’s head. Krishna’s foot struck Sala’s forehead. In fact, only the tips of two of Krishna’s toes struck Sala’s head.
They were sufficient to decapitate Sala.
The crown of Sala’s head was smashed to a pulp and torn from his head and body. It splattered across the dust of the field.
Sala’s body stood swaying for a moment. Then collapsed like a sala tree chopped at the trunk. It fell, spewing brains and blood into the dirt.
Balarama’s slaps shattered Mustika’s thighbone, hip, ribs, legs.
The giant roared with pain and fell to his knees.
Balarama continued slapping him relentlessly.
Mustika’s shoulders were shattered, his collarbone broken, his chest punctured and reduced to a pulp.
Then Balarama slapped his jaw, smashing the legendary Crooked Jaw to smithereens.
That was the end of Crooked Jaw Mustika.
Both Krishna and Balarama turned and looked at the remaining opponents.
Tosalaka was directly ahead of Krishna, in the next rectangle. Krishna charged at him.
Kuta was confronting Balarama and filled with foolish fury. He saw Balarama charging and charged back at him.
All four fighters met in an explosive collision on the field.
Balarama struck Kuta with his left fist, a single blow. It tore through Kuta’s body, shattering the petrified flesh to pieces. Kuta’s corpse sprawled on the ground.
Krishna caught hold of Tosalaka by the waist in a wrestler’s hug, moved his hands so one was gripping Tosalaka’s upper body and the other hand Tosalaka’s lower body, and literally tore the man into two halves.
Densified by the unnatural power, Tosalaka’s body broke rather than tore. Krishna threw both pieces aside disdainfully.
Then he looked at the rest of the fighters on the field.
One by one, each of them turned and looked at one another, unable to believe what they had just witnessed.
Some looked to Kamsa, others to Jarasandha.
But there was no help to be had from either one.
They made their decision instantly. They decided they would rather be labelled cowards for the rest of their lives than die right here and now.
They turned and ran, heavy feet pounding thunderously as they left the field.
They sounded and looked like a herd of baby elephants fleeing from a pair of angry lions.
In moments, only the dust of their passing remained to mark where they had stood.
Slowly, the dust cleared.
Only Krishna and Balarama remained on the field now.
And Kamsa.
18
Balarama looked at the wrestlers running away from the field and laughed. ‘I thought they were fighters. It seems they are runners as well, bhai.’
Krishna grinned. ‘So it seems. Who would have thought elephants could run that fast!’
Both brothers laughed, relieved at their narrow escape as well pleased as their victory. Hearing their laughter and seeing their change of mood, the crowd began tittering as well. The tittering spread across the field until it burst forth as full-blown laughter. Even the supporters of Kamsa laughed, embarrassed at how easily two stripling cowherd boys had defeated Kamsa’s greatest champions.
Far too many had watched these same champions strut arrogantly on the field of play as well as the field of battle, killing and maiming indiscriminately. They took satisfaction now in watching the arrogant champions themselves killed and maimed.
As one, the crowd rose to its feet, cheering the winners and shouting and celebrating. Assuming the tournament was at an end, the royal musicians began playing a merry tune which in turn led the crowd to dancing. Court dancers, groomed to come on the side field and dance for the audience’s pleasure the instant the game was over, came out and danced, adding to the festive mood.
The news of Krishna’s and Balarama’s success spread throughout the city. But those who waited in the streets, like the Vrishni contingent, did not rise to their feet and dance and celebrate. Not yet.
The Usurper was still alive. The Childslayer. The Demon King of Mathura.
Kamsa still stood on the field, very much alive, seething with rage and impotent fury.
As the dancers danced around him and the musicians played, he roared. At once, his aides passed on his commands, and in another instant the music stopped, the dancing ceased and everyone resumed their seats nervously, for nobody dared ignore Kamsa himself. Not so long as he lived.
‘Enough!’ Kamsa thundered. ‘Enough of this despicable spectacle.’
He stepped forward. ‘Seize those two murderers. They have violated the law of the land. I want them arrested and executed within the hour.’
He waited for the Imperial Army to do as he commanded. But no soldiers came forward. Nobody saluted or barked orders, following through on his command.
Instead, General Bana stepped forward, almost casually. ‘Apologies, my Lord,’ Bana said, loudly enough to be heard and for his words to be passed on to those too distant to hear them direclty. ‘But the Imperial Army has chosen to join the movement to restore the rightful King to his throne. King Ugrasena, your father.’
Kamsa raised both fists in anger. Had Bana been close enough to strike, he would have smashed Bana to pulp with a single blow for his impudence. ‘I demand that Ugrasena be executed at once as well. He is clearly siding with these rebels against the Empire!’
Akrura stepped forward, showing himself. ‘Ugrasena has no part in this. We the citizens of the land support his cause of our own accord. It is we who wish that he be released and restored to the throne as is his right.’
Kamsa pointed an accusing finger at Akrura. ‘You traitor. I will see to you afterwards. Right now, I will show you what it means to oppose the might of Kamsa and the Magadhan Empire.’
Kamsa turned to face the royal pavilion. ‘Emperor Jarasandha,’ he called out. ‘My father-in-law and father in truth, I ask that you unleash your Mohini Fauj upon the ungrateful citizenry of Mathura to teach them a lesson. Even my own Army has turned against me, clearly seduced by this Vrishni rebellion. Wipe them all out! Kill every last Vrishni man, woman and child. Exterminate the clan from this earth. Do all this and Mathura is your’s, a part of your great Magadhan Empire!’
Jarasandha rose from his seat and turned to go. A
ll his aides and advisors followed him without so much as a backward glance at Kamsa.
Kamsa’s face crumpled. ‘Father!’ he cried. ‘Where are you going? I have need of you! Please stay. Help me quell this rebellion. We shall achieve all your plans!’
Jarasandha’s chariot, clearly readied and kept waiting for just this moment, came briskly to a halt before the royal pavilion. The Magadhan paused and glanced scornfully at his son-in-law. ‘Mathura’s troubles are not Magadha’s troubles. You have made your bed here. Now lie in it.’
Kamsa’s face showed that he had never expected such treatment, not in a thousand years of imagining. ‘But you want Mathura! I know you do! It is the jewel in the crown of your empire. You said so yourself only last night.’
KRISHNA CORIOLIS#4: Lord of Mathura Page 22