KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka

by Ashok K. Banker

  Jarasandha laughed and continued roaring insults, enjoying the response from his soldiers. It helped keep them in good spirits after their realization that all the spoils of Mathura had been taken from them, robbing them of the customary prizes of battle that they were long accustomed to by now. The armies of Magadha always won eventually, and to the victors went the spoils. To have neither won nor lost, and to find that the enemy had not only fled the field but had taken all their treasure with them was an experience they were unaccustomed to and not a man among them could make sense of it. They had shared some of their god emperor’s rage, feeling his frustration too.

  Sighting Balarama and Krishna and chasing after them helped relieve some of that anger and frustration. The fact that the great duo, champions of their people, were fleeing instead of standing to fight, itself suggested that something had changed in the balance of power. Why else would Krishna and Balarama be running away if not out of fear? Perhaps their powers had been fleeting, illusory, mere conjuror’s tricks? Perhaps they were nothing more than puppet champions, standing and posing and relying on hearsay and false reputations while the other champions did the real fighting?

  After all, for this army of Magadha, the siege of Mathura had never taken place. They had never encircled the city and attacked it arrow storms. Nor had Krishna and Balarama ever ridden forth and engaged them in battle. To them, this was not the 18th day of battle but the 1st. They were fresh, untested and unchallenged as yet. And as such, they were spoiling for a fight. So all they knew of Krishna-Balarama were the stories they had heard. And stories could be made up or exaggerated or mere propaganda.

  The reality was before their eyes: running away and showing their backs and bums like rabbits fleeing foxes.

  So they laughed. And followed with great zest and eagerness, looking forward to the moment they caught up with the fabled Slayer and his brother and did unto them what they had come to do unto Mathura. If they could not do battle with Mathura’s armies, they would settle for slaughtering her champions at least.

  “Look!” cried a cavalry officer to his companions. “They slow now. They are tiring.”

  “We will have them soon,” cried the mounted officer to his right. “They cannot outrun horse and elephant and chariot for long. These Yadavas are not known for their running.”

  “Except they will be famous for it after today,” quipped a third officer.

  They all laughed and spurred their mounts.

  ***

  “Bhraatr,” Balarama gasped. “I cannot run anymore. We must stand and fight now.”

  Krishna looked back at his brother. “We are almost there. Only a short distance further, to those large rocks. Do you see?”

  Balarama nodded, his breath hitching as he struggled to keep pace with Krishna’s easy loping gait. “I see. But I cannot…run!”

  Krishna smiled and winked. “Very well. We have come far enough to convince them of the illusion. Let’s shorten the distance left.”

  Suddenly, Balarama found himself running between the giant boulders that had seemed at least half a mile away a moment ago. He ran around one of the boulders to find himself in a narrow cul de sac surrounded by closely growing trees on every side. Krishna had stopped in the shade of a tree and was munching an apple as if he had been standing beneath the tree all afternoon.

  Balarama gasped and bent over, resting his palms on his thighs. “This is a good place to make a stand.” He glanced around as he recovered. “But I like fighting out in the open. More place to move around—and move them around!”

  Krishna shook his head. “We will not fight, bhai. We keep running. Remember? Fighting is what Jarasandha wants us to do.”

  Balarama straightened up slowly, his breath slowing to a near-normal pace. A supermortal body of his bulk and muscle mass tired fast—but recovered faster. “Just a little skirmish? Just half a dozen akshohini? You can stay here if you don’t feel like it. I’ll take care of them myself.”

  Krishna grinned and started through the thicket. “Keep moving. They will be here soon. I want them to see us on the mountain before they reach.”

  Balarama followed sulkily, still absorbed with thoughts of a fighting opportunity missed. Suddenly, Krishna’s last words struck him and he blinked. “Mountain?”

  ***

  “God Emperor Jarasandha,” said one of his aides. “They are climbing the mountain.”

  Jarasandha raised his line of sight to watch the two figures climbing up the steep face of the mountain. He had already spotted them earlier but had continued to examine the surrounding terrain and pay heed to his scouts who had gone circling around to ensure that no ambush or trap lay in store for them here. “Yes, so they are.”

  He watched the two figures climbing as he waited for confirmation from the scouts and outliers. They were climbing manfully up the mountain as if pursued by wild beasts. In a sense, they were. He knew that his army would tear them to shreds once they caught up. But if his instinct and military assessment was accurate there would be no need to catch up or tear them to shreds. For while he had been willing to follow them across open country, he had no desire to put his forces in a down-hill position, climbing up on foot while the Yadava brothers rained down boulders for days. It was a desperate but shrewd tactic. Climb to the highest ground and make a stand. Futile, yet shrewd. If nothing else, they could cost him a great deal of wasted time and troops.

  The scouts and outliers returned shortly with the word that not a soul was to be sighted on the horizon for as far as could be seen. Apparently, the Yadava brothers were alone and for some reason feared to stand and fight back as they had before.

  Jarasandha mulled his options. Sending soldiers up that mountain was pointless, because even ordinary mortal warriors could fend off an akshohini once they found a suitable position on the peak. From the looks of it, the mountain was so heavily wooded, there could be an entire army concealed there and he would not know it until it was too late.

  No.

  The Brothers had climbed that mountain for a reason, assuming Jarasandha would make his army follow them up as well.

  Therefore that was exactly what he should not do.

  He could climb the mountain himself and face them on his own. But once he did that, there would be no turning back. He would have to confront them on his own. And he knew better than to do that. Whatever the reason for this strange change of tactics on the part of the sons of Vasudeva, he was not foolish enough to disrespect their powers and strength. No, there was a simpler way to flush out prey that had climbed a tree—or a wooded mountain, as in this case.

  “Fire,” he said. “Fetch me fire.”

  17

  Krishna and Balarama stood on the peak, watching as entire legions of Jarasandha’s men rode about on horses, flinging blazing torches into the woods that ringed the bottom of the mountain. The rest of the army had encircled the mountain, watching the spectacle. The fire caught hold easily and spread quickly, lapping at the foot of the great rise in a short time, growing like a bonfire fed on dry twigs.

  The smoke began to rise in a great thick mass overhead, like a brooding monsoon cloud. Ganshyam watched with a smile on his handsome face as the fire began to crackle and speak like a living thing.

  Balarama swore and glanced down. “That blaze will run all the way up to us,” he said. The entire mountainside is wooded and the trees and foliage are dry as cotton after the summer season, they’re going up like tinder in a firestove.”

  “Yes,” Krishna said. “It will be quite a fire.”

  Balarama glanced at him. “You knew this would happen? You meant to run and climb up here, leaving Jarasandha with only this option? You knew he wouldn’t be foolish enough to try to come up himself after us, and he wouldn’t waste his soldiers and time trying to get us down. Fire was the obvious tactic and he took it.”

  Krishna shrugged. “He took it. He didn’t have to but he did. It was his decision. Free will. Every mortal has it, remember?”

>   Balarama laughed. “Yes, of course, every mortal has free will—after you arrange events and things in a certain pattern! But Jarasandha is no mortal. You and I both know that.”

  Krishna nodded. “And his death is not meant to be at our hands. You and I both know that as well.”

  Balarama started to say something then stopped and nodded as well. “Yes. I do. So what happens now? We stay and inhale some smoke? If you had told me earlier, I would have brought something to roast! We could have had a nice picnic up here. We could even have invited your old gopi friend.” He winked at his brother.

  Krishna smiled back good-naturedly. “My days of frolicking with gopis in Vrindavan are long gone, bhai.” He sighed and looked to the horizon wistfully. “Wonderful days they were. And wonderful gopis. But all good things must come to an end someday.”

  Balarama stepped back from the edge of the mountain face as smoke began to drift up in great gouts. The heat of the fire was already reaching them and as the afternoon turned into evening and the sky grew darker, the blaze illuminated the land like a gigantic torch set in the middle of the great grassy plains. “Time to roast now, bhraatr. Do you mean to make us tidbits for Jarasandha to feast on tonight?”

  Krishna slapped his brother’s broad back. “Not a chance, bhai. I intend for us to spend the night back in our comfortable beds in Dwarka, sleeping the sleep of the just.”

  Balarama thought about that for a moment. “Oh well. If we won’t be fighting today then I’ll take sleep instead.”

  ***

  Jarasandha waited until the fire had consumed the entire mountain. His entire army was watching the spectacle, enjoying it. The Magadhan Imperial Army was weaned on blood and destruction. Usually, they burned cities—after sacking and ravaging them. Burning a mountain was a first, even for them. But it wasn’t uninteresting in itself. For one thing, they got to watch enormous numbers of birds rising up and quitting their nests in great hordes, then flying round and round in circles screeching and calling in dismay as they found the land occupied for miles around by two-legged animals. The archers busied themselves by loosing arrows at the birds, dropping hundreds. The cookfires would be busy tonight with fowl.

  Then came the animals. Such a densely wooded mountain had an entire eco-system of fauna. Large, small, medium, furry, clawed, predatory, prey…all manner of beasts dwelled there. And as the fire began, they panicked. The fire ringed the entire foot of the mountain, leaving them no choice but to climb the mountain itself to reach higher ground. They did so. Through the trees, they were visible as furry hides undulating as they climbed and struggled in common misery, lion and deer, bear and antelope climbing side by side. Many stumbled and fell to their death. Some froze in fear as the flames enveloped them and were charred to death.

  But a great number managed to climb all the way to the peak. Jarasandha had eyes watching every inch of that mountain, but a great many were watching only the peak, keeping those two tiny figures atop that great rise firmly in their sights. However, the smoke from the fire soon obscured even the vision of the sharpest men, cloaking the mountain in an anga-vastra of living flame and rippling smoke. Soon, it was impossible to see anything except flame and fire. Even the animal sounds ended although the sweet aroma of roasting meat drifted down to the ever-hungry martial forces and stomach juices churned in anticipation of the evening meal. Like Balarama, if they could not fight, they would settle for food and drink. And after food and drink, then sleep. A soldier’s only immediate desires.

  Night fell and the fire blazed on. Jarasandha stood watch all night, not willing to take the slightest chance that the Brothers might escape. He could not believe they would simply remain up there and die in the fire. Yet how else could they possibly escape? If the pushpak came to receive them, it would be spotted. If they tried to jump out of sheer desperation, they would be seen. He had scouts riding at breakneck speed, carrying minute to minute updates from every one of the tens of thousands of pairs of eyes he had set to the task of watching. Whatever Krishna and Balarama did, it would be seen and reported.

  Only when night had passed and daybreak came and the fire smoldered to a smoking cindery mess and there was no sign of any movement at the peak.

  Finally, he began to allow himself to believe that somehow, just possibly, he had succeeded in slaying the Slayer. He could not understand how or why exactly but after all, even the greatest warriors must die someday and even gods can be slain by one means or another. From all appearances, Krishna and Balarama had perished in the fire. And sometimes, appearances were more important than facts. Jarasandha’s army rose to greet the next day with a wistful sigh at all the lost booty and the lack of a battle, but their wistfulness was leavened with the satisfaction of having slain the legendary Lord of Mathura and his brother.

  “We burned them like corpses,” his men said to one another.

  And even Jarasandha permitted himself a smile and nodded.

  At least he had slain the Slayer.

  ***

  But of course, he had not.

  Krishna and Balarama waited until the smoke was dense enough to blot out all sight of the peak on which they stood. This meant standing and harboring a great number of panicked and stricken animals that had bravely climbed to the peak in a desperate bid to escape the fire. They herded the animals just like they were Nanda-Maharaja’s cows, keeping them safe from the fire and in the center of the peak where they were least visible from the ground. All around them, fire and smoke rose up in a great dense pillar, rising for hundreds of yards above the mountain itself.

  Down into this pillar, his celestial chariot descended when summoned by Balarama. Dropping down as instantly as it had risen up, it seemed to miraculously appear on the peak, shielded by flames and smoke on all sides. Perhaps a sharp-eyed archer among Jarasandha’s scouts saw a glint of reflection as the flames reflected off the golden chariot but it was no more than a mote of yellow light in a blazing mountain of yellow light.

  Krishna used the Pushpak’s ability to expand itself from within, while appearing to remain the same size from the outside. Balarama and he herded all the animals into the celestial vaahan, knowing that if they remained here, they would not survive. Even if the fire did not reach the bald top of the peak, the smoke would kill the creatures. And afterwards, when the fire was spent and they descended the mountain to the plains again in search of food and water, Jarasandha’s armies would slaughter them just for the sport as they had slaughtered those birds from the sky.

  So they took them aboard the pushpak and then they climbed aboard themselves. As the animals had been herded on board, Krishna and Balarama had rubbed soot onto the golden chariot’s gleaming exterior, deliberately soiling it until it was as black as a charred ember. Then, under Balarama’s instruction, it rose, drifting and floating just like a charred ember, rising and hovering and floating with the rising smoke and flames, higher and higher, until not one watcher from the ground far below could distinguish the chariot from an actual ember or ash. Once it was high enough, the chariot shot up at blinding speed, too quickly to be seen by the human eye, and then proceeded westwards. Home to Dwarka.

  ***

  Yashoda and Devaki were both astonished when Krishna and Balarama stepped off the chariot on the roof of their residence. They had been waiting for their sons all day, just as Vasudeva and everyone else in Dwarka had been waiting too even while they went about their daily chores. As far as they were concerned, the brothers were equally the sons of Devaki as well as Yashoda. Their bond of shared Krishna-motherhood was already a strong one, strengthened further by their proximity in Dwarka. Rohini came running up to join them, breathless from climbing the stairway to the terrace so fast; she had been spending the time with her sister-mothers as well, but had gone down to take care of the other household chores for a while.

  All three mothers were taken aback when Krishna-Balarama stepped out looking like they had been cleaning fireplaces, sooty and grimy. But they were even more astoni
shed when she saw what followed them from the chariot. Not having watched the boys grow, Devaki had nothing to compare the sight to but Yashoda had seen her two little rascals trundle home in worse wear more times than she could remember, usually with this same nonchalant attitude, that she immediately thought of them as being five years old once again—or 9 at most. And Rohini sighed and shook her head in exasperation as she recognized that particular sheepish expression on Balarama’s face that told her he was about to confess to something truly outlandish.