KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka

by Ashok K. Banker

  Seeing their three mothers, the brothers immediately tried to look contrite and sociable. “Maatr,” they both sang out together gruffly, bending to touch each mother’s feet in turn and receive her blessings. “We brought home some friends to play!”

  And then the “friends” began to emerge from the chariot, grunting and lowing and snarling, and Devaki, who was still the most impressionable of the three, fainted dead away.

  18

  Dwarka was at peace and so Krishna was at peace.

  The people flourished.

  They lived in the most beautiful city on earth, enjoying the perfect life, free of sickness, disease, war, crime, poverty, exploitation, abuse. Apart from the vagaries of wind and weather and the occasional sea storm that sent people indoors for the duration, there was nothing that could threaten them. The young respected the old because the old respected the young: brought up with love and respect, every child reciprocated the same to his elders. The high caste and low caste forgot their divisions and mingled freely, retaining their traditions only inasmuch as it related to their culture and work, not as superior or inferior levels. The prosperity of Dwarka and the stern governance of Krishna-Balarama ensured that even those with the slightest bias in their upbringing quickly learned to regard all living beings as brothers and sisters on earth.

  Food was plentiful. Every family was rich enough to sustain them for several lifetimes. They worked because they enjoyed the occupation, not to earn a living. In a society of equals, there was no place for money men. Neither money lenders nor keepers could go about their dubious business: when every one of your neighbors has as much as you have, whom will you lend to and why should they borrow from you? Anyone in need could go to Krishna directly and he would always assist in whatever way was required. Because the sons of Yadu had been outcaste by their patriarch Yayati, Krishna emphasized to everyone the importance of equality. There was no question of upper or lower caste or class when everyone pooled resources and shared the rewards equally.

  No doors were locked in that great city. Yet every heart was open to entrants. With the lust for greed, profit and money mongering eliminated, love proliferated. Those who sought to resort to unfair practices to accumulate the wealth of others were sternly but gently reprimanded and corrected. No profiteering, hoarding or excessive accumulation of resources was permitted by law. None were permitted to exercise power over others. Even Krishna and Balarama, as well as their parents and the rest of the Council of Ministers moved freely among the people and were afforded no additional privileges: whatever adulation they received was earned, not mandatory.

  A season of peace settled over the Yadava nation. After decades of strife and struggle, war and violence, the people were content merely to live and prosper, work and progress. With all the usual obstacles removed and all the necessary protections provided, mortals had no reason left to exploit or abuse one another and were content to live in harmony. This was the natural state of all beings: for nature’s way is peace by default. Only those who are not strong enough to sustain themselves prey on others or seek the artificial advantages of competition. And in Krishna’s age of Dwarka, there was no room for competition, nor any reason to pursue it.

  In time, he came to be known by a new name, one that recognized his achievement not only in saving the people from the Slayer and the numerous threats that had plagued them over the decades but also in building this island utopia. Dwarkadish was the name. It meant simply First Citizen of Dwarka. But in Dwarka every citizen was as a lord so it could be interpreted to mean First Lord of Dwarka as well. After all, if there was a person deserving of the title in that sacred sanctuary, who else could it be but Krishna?

  Dwarka flourished and so Dwarkadish was content.

  For a while at least.

  KAAND 3

  1

  Vidarbha. A nation neither great nor small. Neither rich nor poor. Neither famous nor infamous.

  Its chief claim to fame was that it was the first kingdom one came across after crossing the vast Dandaka-van, the dreaded forest region that was the dark heart of the Arya sub-continent. Prone to droughts and famines, as well as periods of fecund fertility, it was a small yet proud kingdom that had perforce built strong alliances with other kingdoms of similar ilk. Just as large nations will acknowledge and ally with one another out of political expediency, so also kingdoms that are neither large nor small will link themselves with other similar nations.

  The king of Vidarbha was named Bhishmaka and he was a robust and rowdy elder statesmen, given in his youth to much warring and raiding, his hide toughened by the frequent forays of the bands of bandits and outlaws who lived in exile or hiding within the confines of the Dandaka-van.

  He had learned long ago that the only way to survive in the Vidarbha was to walk tall and roar louder. Just as even a lion will shy away from a monkey that screeches and throws itself about furiously, so also most attackers will back away from a foe who creates too loud a ruckus. Bhishmaka’s bark was worse than his bite, and like most who grow accustomed to barking loudly, he often forgot that one had to bite occasionally, if only to remind one’s enemies that one still had teeth.

  But of late, Bhishmaka’s days of barking as well as biting were in the past. Stricken by a condition that left half his body and face dysfunctional, he was literally half a man now. He spent his days wining and carousing and making threatening gestures that he could never hope to follow through on.

  But if he could no longer bite, that did not mean he no longer had teeth.

  Bhishmaka had five sons and a daughter in his house.

  The five sons were each a young replica of their father, all given to loud and incessant barking as well as brawling. They roamed the Vidarbha like young lions, and none dared cross their path.

  Rukmi was the eldest son and he was twice the man his father had ever been as a warrior as well as a reaver. He was not content with merely resisting the forays of the bands of outlaws that came out of the Dandaka-van to sting and retreat hastily with whatever they could lift. He took fighting men into the dark and dreaded jungle, rooting out and harrying the outlaws in their own territory, so to speak.

  The battles were bloody and brutal, for the outlaws had nothing to lose and the jungle was a grim and hostile place where few survived let alone thrived, and it could be argued that Rukmi paid a far more dear price in men’s lives as his kingdom would have paid in lost booty to the outlaws, but his methods were successful. The forays ceased almost entirely. Even the outlaws had no desire to provoke all-out war. They withdrew and exerted their efforts elsewhere.

  Rukmi’s brothers were all bigger and stronger than he in body. Which was why, as eldest, he had to prove himself over and over again. This had made him stronger, faster, shrewder and a better fighter than all four of them. And as time went by and their father’s capacity diminished further, they came to respect and accept his superiority. While not a just prince, he was smart enough to let them have their own share of the kingdom unofficially, so long as they left him alone to rule as the official heir-in-waiting. It was a better balance of power than most houses and the brothers soon settled into their own minor pockets of power, preferring to enjoy what they had than risk losing all to face Rukmi.

  And they respected him even more when Rukmi found a powerful ally and friend in none other than Kamsa, son of Ugrasena, king of the Yadavas.

  During his youth, Kamsa and his Marauders roved far and wide, building rough friendships with anyone and everyone whose purpose was even remotely beneficial to his own. This was before he met Jarasandha and much before the peace alliance that his father forged with Vasudeva of the Suras. Indeed, it was during the earlier bloodier era when Kamsa roved freely, wreaking havoc and sowing his wild oats where he pleased, that he met Rukmi and befriended him. They were less friends than drinking companions and fighting partners. Their entire alliance lasted barely a few months, less than a season, but the fighting was bitter and the odds vexing and they had bonde
d closely.

  At one time, Kamsa had promised Rukmi his own sister Devaki in marriage. And Rukmi in turn had promised Kamsa his sister, Rukmini. Neither promise had been formalized or solemnized but it had formed part of the bond that linked the two men and neither forgot the promise.

  Once Kamsa had taken up with Jarasandha, he had taken a different path, his life changing to follow a course unlike that he had envisaged for himself. Rukmi, on the other hand, had continued in much the same way, living and brawling, fighting and drinking, and in time, as he continued to hear the infamous exploits of the legendary Usurper, he felt proud that he had once known Kamsa as a friend and fighting partner. It was one of the stories he told often to those he met, and it added to his fame in the remote Vidarbha region, making him somewhat famous as ‘the friend of Kamsa’.

  As time passed, the very lack of contact with his former friend only seemed to strengthen the bond rather than weaken it. At some level, he probably knew that if he and Kamsa had continued to ride together, they would have fallen out sooner or later, perhaps even become bitter enemies themselves. But by preserving their former friendship in the statuary of past memory, it was solid and immutable: friends forever, in their minds.

  Naturally, being a friend of Kamsa, it was only natural that he would regard Kamsa’s enemies as his own. And so he came to loathe the fabled Slayer and his legendary exploits. The bond between him and his former friend was almost renewed afresh when he received the formal invitation to attend the great celebration in Mathura. Ostensibly a wrestling tournament, Rukmi’s advisors informed him that it was in fact a show of strength by Kamsa son of Ugrasena, demonstrating how powerful he had become and how futile it would be for anyone to continue to oppose him.

  Rukmi had been pleased by the invitation, far more pleased than he could display outwardly. He had insisted on his sister accompanying him, the memory of that earlier promise to his old friend still in his mind. And he had set forth for Mathura with an entourage designed to show his own kingdom and lineage in its best light. He was proud to be associated with the son-in-law of the legendary God Emperor of Magadha, Jarasandha himself and after all, Arya society allowed for a king to take as many wives as he desired. His first hope was to renew his old friendship and build an alliance that would profit Vidarbha and align it with the powerful military forces of the Yadavas, Magadha and their allies. His second, secret wish was that Kamsa would find his sister Rukmini appealing and desire to have her as his wife.

  But of course, that was the fateful tournament where Kamsa was slain on the wrestling field by Krishna. Even before Rukmi could meet with his old friend personally and shake his hand, the King of Mathura lay dead and broken in the dust of the akhaada field. When Jarasandha left in a huff, Rukmi and Kamsa’s other allies and friends had no choice but to do the same.

  When he returned home to Vidarbha with his entourage, he was infuriated, even swearing aloud that he would take every fighting man he could find and ride back to Mathura to avenge his dear friend by slaughtering that upstart cowherd. He had no intention of actually doing so of course, and everyone around him understood that. Merely saying so was sufficient in Vidarbha. As time passed, he adopted and wait and watch attitude and that still held true, particularly in light of the strange rumors filtering through from Mathura these days.

  As fate would have it, Rukmi’s path was indeed destined to cross that of his friend’s Slayer. And it would not be on account of the dead Kamsa that Rukmi would face and fight Krishna.

  It would be on account of Rukmi’s sister.

  Rukmini.

  2

  Balarama had searched everywhere for Krishna. He was nowhere to be seen in the city. Finally, puzzled and starting to get a little concerned, he located Daruka who told him that Krishna had taken his pushpak and gone somewhere.

  “Without you?” Balarama asked.

  “Yes, sire, I was aboard already when Dwarkadisha asked me to step off. He took off without saying anything further.”

  Balarama looked around. It was early morning and a beautiful autumn day was breaking. The sea glittered with a million sparkles as the first rays of sunshine caught the waters east of the island city and many people were already out on their terraces and verandahs, women drying their hair, men perambulating in the parks, children playing with each other and grandparents. Accustomed to a hardy life, the people continued to work and play as vigorously as ever, determined to earn their place as citizens of this island paradise.

  “Did he seem to be in a hurry?” Balarama asked. “Or troubled? Disturbed?”

  “Lord Sankarshan,” Daruka said gently, using Balarama’s other name, “If our Lord is troubled, anxious or agitated, I have never seen it on his face or in his behavior. He is always the same, always equitable. He seemed the same this morning as well, except…” The charioteer paused.

  Balarama looked keenly at the sarathi’s round, trustworthy face. “Yes? Go on.”

  Daruka frowned, thinking back. “There was something that made me feel he was…sad perhaps? Morose? Melancholy? It was not anything he said or did, but an air about him. Like the sound of a flute. So sweet, so beautiful, so haunting. But also—”

  “But also so sad and lonely,” Balarama finished. “Yes, I do know what you mean, Daruka. Thank you.” He started to leave then turned back. “Oh, one more thing. Did you see which way the chariot flew?”

  “To the east, I think, sire. But if you wish to follow him, it is a simple enough matter.”

  “How?” Balarama asked.

  “Your sky chariot, my Lord. It will take you to its brother chariot in moments.”

  Balarama nodded. “I knew that. Of course I knew that.”

  He was in the chariot and off moments later.

  ***

  Balarama’s chariot took him in a wholly unexpected direction. He had thought it would carry him back towards Mathura perhaps, Gokuldham, or Vrindavan. But instead it flew to the east, angling to the north. The risen sun was in his eyes, blinding him and turning the world into a dazzling wall of gold but the pushpak dipped as it approached its destination within moments, and when he glanced back, he saw that Dwarka was long out of sight.

  Shortly after, the chariot dropped to just above tree height, skimming the tops of endless rows of palmyra trees marking the coastline. It dipped sharply, wheeling about to the right, then landed on the banks of the confluence of the Gomati River and the sea. Balarama disembarked and looked up the length of the river, winding its way up between rows of palm trees and dense groves. He saw the sibling to his chariot, resting on the muddy bank just above the water line, and the tracks that led away into the palm forest.

  He found Krishna standing in a clearing, surrounded by bars and pillars of sunlight streaming through dew-drenched palm fronds. The treetops were filled with squabbling parrots and myna and all manner of other birds, chattering and screeching to one another like a parliament of ministers. A brook gurgled past noisily, splashing sounds suggesting some manner of small animal sporting about out of sight.

  His brother stood in the center of the clearing, drenched in sunlight, face raised to stare at nowhere in particular. He was as still as an ebony statue, face relaxed in the unguarded ease of deep contemplation and in that moment the older man he would someday be was visible. It was difficult to believe that he was still only a young man of barely sixteen years age but that was the fact. Balarama was barely seventeen. Yet he felt as if he had lived far more than those many years and knew that if he felt that way, then Krishna had lived lifetimes in comparison.

  The souls of men grow older than their faces. It was a thought that came to him unbidden. Yet it felt not like a quotation of someone else’s words but a memory of something he had himself thought once, a long time ago. Yet how long ago could it have been if he was only seventeen years old?

  He remained standing beside Krishna awhile, not wishing to disturb his brother’s solitary contemplation. There was no crisis to deal with, no urgent decision
to make, no message or summons to deliver. He would not even have come here had he known that all Krishna wanted was to stand alone in a riverside grove and think awhile. A man was entitled to his own time. It was only his concern that had brought him here to check on Govinda. Now that he had seen he was well and safe, he wanted to turn back and return to Dwarka at once. He regretted intruding upon this moment of idyllic privacy.