KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka

by Ashok K. Banker

  It was Krishna who spoke, acknowledging him without looking at him or addressing him directly. It was as if Krishna spoke to the forest itself, to the world at large, to all Creation. It was like the voice of the wind whispering through trees, the ocean singing in her bed of sand and shale.

  “What do we come for?” said Krishna’s voice, to nobody and nothing in particular, yet therefore to everyone and all things at once. “What is it we seek here? What do we hope to accomplish? The cycle of life and birth will go on after we have come and gone, regardless of what we do. The world will turn and. turning, return again to where it once stood, then turn again. This is the song of eternity, we are merely instruments in the background, playing our part. We can neither change the song itself nor write its ending. All we do is play and then depart and another takes our place. The song goes on with or without us, it neither belongs to us nor is changed by our playing.”

  A small breeze sprang up, rustling dried leaves on the ground, churning them into a small spinning vortex. Krishna’s finger rose a few inches to point to the vortex, controlling it, raising it above the ground. The leaves and particles and debris churned in the air, spinning faster. “The earth has her movement. She spins one way and the force of her spinning causes the oceans and wind currents to spin another way. But there is also a force, another undefinable force, that spins water and wind on earth in one direction in half the world and the opposite direction in the other half of the world. Northern hemisphere, it causes tornadoes and whirlpools and storms and even dogs and cats to spin in one direction. Southern hemisphere, it spins them the opposite way. It is as if an invisible line were drawn around the waist of the world, and all things north of it turn one way, all things south of it turn the other way. This is the coriolis effect.”

  And now Krishna raised his eyes to gaze at Balarama. And Balarama saw that the pupils of his brother’s eyes were planets in their circuits, spinning around suns, and that the entire universe was reflected within those eyes—contained within those eyes. And all that had ever existed and would ever again exist was inside those eyes.

  “So this thing we do, this game we play, this life we live, what else is it but a coriolis? A turning this way then that way then the other way again. Like a dog spinning to catch its own tail but never succeeding. Like a tornado churning and bellowing yet accomplishing nothing. Like a whirlpool sucking down the ocean or a river to no end at all. We have power and it is formidable, unimaginable power. The power to make and end. The power to create and destroy and everything between. Yet after all is said and done, the collective sum of all our deeds is nothing more than a coriolis effect. Turning and endless churning that accomplishes nothing. Not even Amrit Manthan but mere Manthan, and more Manthan. An aimless wandering across the map of time that marks the boundaries of our existence. A journey to nowhere. And I, even Krishna, even Swayam Bhagwan, can accomplish only a Krishna Coriolis. Epic sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

  Krishna lowered his finger. The small vortex subsided. Silence lay over the clearing like a dense canopy. The chatter and shrieking of the parrots had ceased. The gurgling of the brook continued but no small creatures splashed about in its waters. The distant shirring of the ocean was a dreamlike rhythm. Sunlight trickled and dripped through the dewy fronds, setting wet earth on fire.

  Balarama dared to look at Krishna again. The celestial system in his eyes were gone, replaced by the normal human eyes of Krishna, his brother in flesh and spirit, son of Vasudeva and Devaki and also Nanda and Yashoda, Slayer of Kamsa, Govinda of Gokuldham, Flute of Vrindavan, Lord of Mathura, Rage of Jarasandha, and Dwarkadisha.

  “She is here, bhai,” Krishna said. “My Lakshmi is here upon earth, among us, in the flesh. She has taken rebirth to be with me in this life as in all others. I must go to her.”

  3

  Rukmini woke from strange dreams of oceans and islands, flying chariots of gold and utopian cities. There were other things too in her dream that she could not name or describe, even to herself. Strange sense-memories of encounters she knew she had never had. How could she? They were all involving a person she had never actually met.

  Of course, she had seen him. Once.

  At the historic wrestling tournament in Mathura on the day that Kamsa son of Ugrasena had grappled with and been defeated by the young Vrishni. She had watched in amazement as the young dark-skinned cowherd had faced and fought a man twice his size and allegedly tenfold as strong, thanks to some mysterious potion he had drugged with by the sorcerous Jarasandha, or so she had heard. When Krishna broke Kamsa’s back and she saw the son of Ugrasena drop to the dust, she had been among the many tens of thousands who had gasped and clutched her chest and risen to her feet, raising her voice in amazement.

  But her entourage had been compelled to depart almost immediately afterwards. She had never had a chance to actually meet Krishna in person. Though she dearly wanted to. So how could she be having memories of him…touching her, caressing, embracing…? She blushed, looking down at the red-tiled floor of her bed-chamber, embarrassed at the audacity of her own dreams. It was quite scandalous. Or was it? She wondered if she was perhaps simply besotted with the new Lord of Mathura. After all, it was only natural for her to be attracted to him.

  But this was something more than mere attraction. It was like the memory of a relationship, a much deeper, darker, more serious and enduring relationship than a mere infatuation based on a single glimpse of a prince performing a heroic act. And the details were so…specific! It was like remembering, not dreaming or imagining. That was what confused her now.

  What did these strange dreams and sense-memories of Krishna of Mathura mean? Why did she think of him so intimately as if they had been…lovers. This time she did not blush for despite the inappropriateness of such intimate fantasies, the term seemed apt. Almost perfect. As if, they had indeed been intimately entwined. But of course, that was hardly possible. She was only a virginal young woman. She had refused her brother’s offers of suitors time and again, even refused to exercise her privilege to hold a swayamvara to select her own husband. For reasons even she could not explain she had not been ready to engage in a relationship.

  This was unusual as her mother and aunts and cousins and everyone else constantly saw fit to remind her. An Arya princess possessed of such beauty and position had no reason to stay unmarried. Indeed, the fact that she remained unattached itself begged the question. Another year and people would start wondering and asking Why? Why indeed. She didn’t have the answer. She hardly understood the question.

  It was as if she felt…previously committed. As if she had given her word and must wait for it to be accepted or denied.

  Her eldest brother Rukmi was the only one who seemed to understand her, showing his cracked upper tooth and grimacing his bearded bear-like features in what passed for a smile by Rukmi, winking broadly at her as if they shared some common secret. She knew he was misinterpreting her lack of desire to be married. That he misread it as being on account of his old promise made to Prince Kamsa of Mathura, back when she was but a child and Rukmi and Kamsa barely young men themselves. She knew that Rukmi still hoped secretly to forge an alliance based on marriage and as his only sister, she was his only chance of forging such an alliance.

  She was content to let Rukmi assume what he assumed: it did not directly affect her in any way. He could not simply give her away without her expressly acceding to a match. That was Arya law and custom, apart from being dharma. Rukmi might do many things in private or off in the Dandaka-van—rumors of his atrocities and brutal methods against the outlaw tribes were legendary—but he was always careful to give the appearance of upholding dharma in public. Vidarbha was not a large and powerful enough kingdom that it could risk its reputation or attract controversy for any reason.

  And besides, he knew that his sister would sooner haul off and deal him one tight slap across his ear than simply go off and marry any man he picked out.

  It was this latter fac
t that probably made him grin when she refused the many offers and earnest requests to court her that streamed in constantly from numerous other kingdoms of similar size and stature. He thought her stubbornness was a sham; that she secretly desired Kamsa and would agree to marry him someday, but did not want to be seen to be pushed into the alliance by her brother or parents or anyone else, because of her pride. And if that was the way she wished to play it, Rukmi was willing to accept that.

  But that was not the case at all, of course. And now, in the wake of Kamsa’s death, Rukmi’s smile had vanished. As the offers and proposals and suggestions continued to stream in, he merely looked on as she steadfastly but politely refused them all, neither commenting nor showing his cracked upper tooth again. With Rukmi, it was difficult to tell. Perhaps he was unable to understand now why she kept refusing offers and so kept his cool. More likely, he simply didn’t care anymore. His great ambitious plan had been wrecked and he had nothing to replace it. With Kamsa gone, his opportunity to ally with mighty Mathura—and through Kamsa, with mammoth Magadha and Jarasandha as well—was gone forever. Old King Ugrasena and young King Vasudeva had no need of Vidarbha and the Slayer of Kamsa was said to not care one whit for politics.

  So it was shocking when, as she was still musing over the strange dreams of the night before, she received a summons to attend her father the king in the sabha hall. She stopped the guard who brought the message.

  “Was it my father himself who summoned me?” she asked her.

  “Nay, my princess, it was your brother Prince Rukmi,” the guard replied before turning smartly and exiting her chambers.

  ***

  She smelled the set-up the instant she entered the sabha hall. Unlike other larger kingdoms where the princesses were often overly protected and shielded from daily politics, the women of Vidarbha waded straight into the everyday muck and ruckus of court intrigues and double-dealings. She had seen women aristocrats hold their own against their male counterparts in the sabha no less ferociously than they did on the battlefield. Vidarbha women often bore actual scars on their faces, unafraid to sully their feminine aspects by taking up arms. More often the scars weren’t visible. Rukmini was no whiplash-tongue or politician but she had seen and heard enough to know what went on.

  So when she entered the court hall and saw Sisupala, King of the Chedis, laughing uproariously and quaffing wine with her brothers and father as if a great trade treaty had just been struck, she knew exactly what it meant. The only trade that interested Shushu, as she had called him during their playtime games since childhood, was the trade of bodily fluids in private chambers.

  His eyes turned the instant she entered the hall and the way he appraised her lecherously as she walked the dozen or so yards to the throne area told her the rest of the story. Rukmi had found his next-best alliance. It was basic politics. If one could not ally with a larger power, then ally with an equal who needs you as much as you need him. The Chedi kingdom and Vidarbha shared many common goals and common enemies. An alliance made through marriage would double the strength of each instantly, making them the biggest player in the region.

  The rest was noise. She listened as Rukmi and her father droned on in their nasal way about how Sisupala had so graciously come forward with a most excellent proposal of betrothal and of course, she was free to choose whom she wished but surely she could not find any fault with her childhood sweetheart and best friend. She almost laughed aloud at that part—so the little fat boy who had once harried her and her friends until she was forced to turn on him and push him down hard enough to break his wrist was now being elevated to the stature of ‘childhood sweetheart and best friend’. How absurd!

  And yet, that farce pushed something free in her mind, something that was even more absurd and senseless than the thought of marrying Shushu, something that solidified the confused feelings and fantasies floating about in her head since the night before.

  She spoke aloud, startling the hall with her tone and volume. “This alliance is unacceptable,” she said. The hubbub died away into a stunned absence of sound. She looked at her brother directly, meeting his eyes and showing him that she meant what she said and would back it up with the full force of her will and strength. “I have already chosen the one who is to be my husband for life.” Then she paused, giving everyone a moment to absorb what she had just said. Her next words came from a place within her that even she did not know existed: the same deep primordial part that housed those sense-memories of dalliances with the Slayer of Kamsa. When, where, how, she knew not. Only that she spoke the truth. Heart’s honest truth.

  “His name is Krishna,” she said. “Lord of Mathura.”

  4

  Bana rubbed his eyes again, then took a little water in his hand from the nearest waterskin and splashed it on his face to clear away any doubt.

  What he saw was no trick of the eyes: it was right there before him, plain to see. Still, he could not credit the evidence of vision. Perhaps it was some form of asura maya, perhaps the illusion was designed to delude them into revealing themselves?

  When he had volunteered for the post of Watcher, Krishna had informed him and the other Watchers that even if a fishing vessel or passing trade ship happened to come upon their position accidentally, defying the odds and pushing against the currents, the island would appear to be just a blob of land cloaked in a perpetual ocean mist. Only eyes that knew Truth could see it for what it was.

  Krishna had used those exact words: “Only eyes that know Truth will see Dwarka, for as the name suggests, it is the dwar or doorway to heavenly realms and only those whose karma makes them worthy of entering swarga can see the doorway.”

  Yet here was a boat. Bobbing on the ocean. Plain as the daylight all around, as clearly visible as the stones of the promontory wall upon which Bana stood, and unmistakably real. It had approached so close to the island-fortress, he could even see the cracked timber of the boat’s hull and meagre tattered sail that had apparently been the only means of propulsion for the craft.

  “I saw we heave javelins at it until we blow a hole in it and sink it,” said the young volunteer Watcher under Bana’s guidance. The young man looked more nervous than aggressive as he said it, and Bana knew that his bravado was motivated by uncertainty and distrust rather than any confidence in arms.

  Bana had given the young man some training in arms - alongwith a number of other men who made up the volunteer Protectors that drilled and trained more out of a desire to maintain discipline and fitness than to actually prepare for war. The Yadavas, like all sane beings, were peaceful people but they had suffered enough torment inflicted by aggressors to simply lie back and enjoy their lives anymore. There were always young men and women who wished to be ready in any eventuality.

  Young Jigneshwara was one such young man. Unfortunately, his talent for throwing the javelin did not even extend to holding it correctly. If he began throwing javelins at the boat—which was quite out of javelin throw, incidentally, Bana mused—they might still be here when the End of Days came and the gates of heaven truly opened to receive them all.

  He did not say this aloud: young men must be permitted their over-confidence. At least until they have an opportunity to prove themselves justified or not in asserting the same.

  Instead he said: “Take word to our Lord. Fetch him directly here. Do not stop to tell anyone or do anything else. Do you understand?” He looked directly into the young man’s startled brown eyes. “Jigneshwara? Are my instructions clear?”

  “Yes, General Bana,” the young man said earnestly. “But surely we should inform as many people as possible, perhaps sound a general alarum? After all, this could be the start of a major invasion of asuras?”

  Yes, of course, Bana thought to himself, because asuras always like to come in little boats with tattered sails, one at a time: it’s the latest trend in major invasions, haven’t you heard?

  He kept that thought to himself and said aloud: “Not a word. Not one stinking wor
d. To. Anyone. Am I clear yet, Jigneshwara?”

  The young man hesitated. He might be a military recruit in his own mind but in truth he was only a cheese-maker’s son. Makes fine cottage cheese too, Bana thought: he had enjoyed sampling some during the mid-day meals which they had shared often while on duty on the Wall. The cream of Bana’s message finally filtered through the muslin cloth of Jignesh’s brain and reached his consciousness.