KRISHNA CORIOLIS#3: Flute of Vrindavan

by Ashok K. Banker

  The tree trunk split with a resounding crack.

  She gasped and reared back. For an instant, she thought the tree itself was about to tip over. The cracking sound was followed by a rending, groaning sound and the tree itself swayed and shook. Monkeys and birds resting on the branches above cried out and leaped away or took flight in alarm. Then, with a deep moan the tree seemed to settle and held still.

  She swallowed nervously, wiping the sweat from her face with a fold of her garment. Krishna lay back against the tree trunk, sound asleep, his lips pouting slightly as if they had just left off suckling.

  She glanced around. The bodyguards were coming towards her, having heard the sound of the tree and the commotion of the wildlife. One raised a hand questioningly. She shook her head, indicating that nothing was wrong. And it was true: nothing was wrong. Yet something had just happened here. What? She realized she suddenly felt lighter, much lighter than when she had begun climbing the hill. She stood warily to her feet and yes, she was feeling so much lighter she could have run up to the top of the hill and down the other side, as her friends had done. But how was that possible? What had changed?

  Krishna stirred a little in his sleep, making that baby-snoring nasal sound he sometimes made, and the tree groaned again. A few more birds that had just begun to resettle took off again. A monkey screeched indignantly some distance away, complaining about these two-footed strangers who came and disturbed the peace.

  In a flash, Yashoda understood.

  Krishna! She had been carrying him when she had begun feeling heavier. He had been falling asleep at the time and as he had fallen deeper asleep, he seemed to grow heavier.

  And when she put him down against the tree trunk, the tree itself had cracked at the touch of his head. Just now, when he had shifted, the tree had protested.

  Somehow, her Krishna had increased in weight.

  But how was that possible?

  He was just a babe, asleep. Even if he was touched by divinity, what did that have to do with his weight?

  The sound of a flute came to her from over the hill, followed an instant later by the sound of laughter and other music and the clacking of sticks. So. The ras-lila had begun.

  She bent down and took hold of Krishna as she usually did, gripping him under the arms. He had grown too big for her to pick up with one arm around his back as she might have done a year ago, but now, even with both hands gripping him firmly and using all her strength, she could not budge him! She strained, using her back to exert force, the way she did when pulling a heavy object. Yashoda was not a delicate woman. Like any Vrishni Yadava, she had always done her share of the work and cattle herding and dairy farming required strong hands and an even stronger back. Apart from that, she had always been athletic and good at games as a girl, especially games like kabbadi and lathi wielding. If anything, she had only grown stronger since then, with a mother’s workload and a baby to carry around everywhere.

  Yet, try as hard as she might, she could not budge little Krishna. It was all she could do to try to lift his chubby little finger off his lap, and even that was as hard as lifting a heavy grinding stone!

  She slumped back, staring in wonderment at her little wonder. He remained sound asleep, leaning back against the sala tree trunk - which had bent at a noticeable angle by now but still sustained his weight - puckered mouth issuing a faint whistling sound every time he exhaled.

  Something flashed inside his mouth.

  Her heart leaped in her chest.

  She leaned forward, watching closely. In the distance, the sound of the ras-lila increased in intensity. But her entire attention was focussed on her little beauty. He continued sleeping soundly but she was sure she had glimpsed something inside his little mouth.

  There! She saw it again. Like a tiny light flashing.

  There was something in his mouth. She was certain of it now.

  Her heart pounded as she reached for his lips. They were already puckered, so she instinctively touched the tip of her little finger to the conjunction. At once, he reacted, pushing his lips outward then pulling them inward again. She withdrew her finger, and his lips parted at once, seeking the source of nourishment with the instinct of infants since the beginning of time. When he did not find it, his dark face crinkled in a disapproving frown.

  Then he yawned.

  His mouth opened wide, revealing his baby teeth and pink gums and the inside of his mouth and the passage of his throat.

  Yashoda peered inside, trying to see what it was she had glimpsed, flashing or blinking.

  She froze, staring.

  Her breath paused in her throat.

  Her entire being ceased.

  She stumbled back, almost falling over, then caught her balance and rose to her feet. She stared down at her little baby, asleep against the sala tree, his mouth now closed, the yawn completed. Her palm was clasped across her own mouth, covering it in the universal gesture of shock.

  ‘Yashoda!’

  Someone was calling her name.

  She turned and looked uphill, and saw Nanda, silhouetted against the top of the hill, waving.

  ‘Yashoda, come on! The ras-lila has started!’

  She started towards Nanda, wanting to go to him, to tell him what she had just seen inside their little babe’s mouth. The incredulity of the sight she had witnessed made her head reel. It was all she could do not to break into a run and sprint uphill to her husband, to fall into his arms, gasping and crying and unburden her mind of the impossible sight that she had seen.

  She took several steps uphill, her feet moving of their own accord. Then realized that she could not simply leave Krishna lying there asleep under the sala tree - which was bent over at an alarming angle now, as if even in his sleep he had pushed it back until the angle suited his comfort. The bodyguards were nearby, watching her in puzzlement, unable to understand what was alarming her so, yet realizing that something was amiss.

  ‘Yashoda? Everything is well, no?’ called Nanda from the top of the rise. He sensed something amiss as well.

  Yashoda turned to call to her husband, to beckon and ask him to come down so she could speak with him. She wanted to show him what she had just seen, to confirm that she had not simply imagined it, that it was real and not a product of her hysterical imagination.

  But before she could call out or say a single word, a whirlwind struck.

  10

  Kamsa was wakened by the sound of someone trying to break down the doors of his bedchamber. He staggered out of bed, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the gaudy sunlight streaming in through the uncurtained verandah doors and unbolted the door. Four tall bald heads glared menacingly at him. Mohinis.

  ‘The Emperor wishes to see you at once.’

  Kamsa blinked. ‘Jarasandha? In Mathura?’

  ‘No. We are to take you to him at once.’

  The quad of eunuchs was in his bedchamber, watching and following as he moved around, trying to awaken his sleep-deprived mind. Water, he needed water right away. He had been up till early this morning. Even now, his body ached and protested with every move. That old syce! Of course, he reflected sombrely, he had not been merely an old syce at all. He had been something quite different. But he had no time to reflect on that now. The hijras were hustling him with their customary aggressive efficiency.

  ‘Must it be today itself?’ he asked, already knowing the answer.

  ‘His orders were to take you to him immediately,’ they said. ‘It is most of a day’s journey. We must leave this very instant.’

  Ever since his ability had manifested, he had taken to storing at least three large pots of water in his bedchamber, ensuring they were kept filled at all times. Often, after a hard session working out with his ability in the wilderness, he was stricken by a prodigious thirst. He would often awake at night with the same parched sensation. His denser body required more water to slake its needs, and food as well. His consumption was enormous by any standards yet not an ounce of it showed
on his body.

  One pot was half empty. He picked it up anyway, and drained the contents in a moment. When he lowered it and reached for the next, he noticed the hijras watching with interest. He knew they were impressed by his ability to lift the heavy pot one-handed but would never show it. When he drained the first pot, he used his free hand to pick up the second one, which was so full that a little water sloshed over the side when he picked it up. He straightened it and raised it up as he lowered the first one. He saw their eyes cutting to one another. Now he knew they must be impressed by his ability to balance one full pot weighing at least a hundred kilos in one hand with an empty one in the other hand, without spilling another drop.

  He put the first one down and picked up the third with that hand, holding it at arm’s length as he drank the entire contents of the second pot, then switched hands and drained most of the third as well. It was one of those mornings.

  He dropped the third empty pot to the ground with a resounding echo and patted his flat, empty abdomen, making a show of turning around as he pulled off his upper garment and pulled on a fresh one. He saw the hijras eyes widen and noted their exchange of looks and secret gestures: a touching of one finger tip to another, a jerk of a chin in a certain direction, the rolling of one’s head at an angle. They were expressing astonishment at how any being could consume that much water without revealing any sign of it upon his body. They had no notion that he could read their secret sign language - it was one of the things he had picked up during his stint with Jarasandha’s army, and had been shrewd enough to keep to himself. Good to be able to interpret the secret coded communications of your enemy; better yet to be able to do so without their knowing you can do so. They must surely be aware of how he had despatched three of their comrades in this very chamber not many moons ago: he sensed that awareness in their eyes as well. It was the reason why they had been relatively polite with him. Had they thought he was merely human, they would have hauled him away by now like an errant dog. But now, word of that incident coupled with their watching him drink close to three hundred liters of water without his belly expanding by even a millimeter had earned their respect. They were impressed despite themselves: that was saying something, for Jarasandha’s Hijras weren’t easy to impress.

  He smiled. ‘I believe I shall eat before we leave,’ he said aloud. ‘I have a great appetite in the mornings.’ He didn’t wait for them to protest. He felt ravenous enough to put away at least as much food as he had drunk water. He doubted they had ever seen anyone consume two or three hundred kilos of food - still without showing any sign of it upon their body. He had a feeling these Hijras would think very carefully before disrespecting or questioning his authority. To complete the victory, he said casually, ‘Do join me at table.’

  The journey was by riverboat. Jarasandha was at a place a few score yojanas upriver. He would move on the next day. This was why Kamsa had to be brought to him today itself. By this time tomorrow, Jarasandha would move onto another city, another battle and once out of reach of the river, it would take days to reach him. The boat was like nothing Kamsa had seen before. The Yadavas, like most Aryas were not seafaring or even river-faring people. They preferred traveling with solid ground underfoot, not over water. But he had heard tell of cultures further south in Aryavarata where entire nations used river concourses the way most others used roads. He assumed that this craft was of their design. Long, sinuous as a serpent, it stretched for at least four score yards, maybe a few more, and was about barely seven or eight yards wide. There were two rows of eunuchs with unusual long rowing poles on each side of the boat’s length, perhaps eighty on each side. The craft’s sides curved upwards from the water as if seeking to complete a circle. Running the length of the center of the craft from one end to another was a platform elevated about a yard from the boat’s inner base. Upon this were affixed seats and tables. Foremen walked the length of this platform, wielding whips. The quad that had fetched Kamsa led him aboard the snake boat without a word to anyone and indicated a seat for him to rest. He eschewed the seat and remained standing, wishing to see how such a craft was worked.

  The foreman at the end of the snake boat called out a command and at once the teams of Hijras came alert, taking up their oars. A drummer started a martial beat, slow but precise, and the foreman gave commands for the rowers to angle their oars, then to begin rowing. Kamsa felt the surge of power as the boat leaped forward almost at once, against the current. The powerful muscles of the eunuchs glistened in the morning sunlight as they worked rhythmically in perfect unison. A foremen or two cracked a whip in the air beside the ear of anyone not able to keep perfect rhythm and the marginal error was instantly corrected. Knowing how disciplined Jarasandha’s Hijras were raised to be, Kamsa thought that there would probably be few occasions to actually punish them with those whips. Their efficiency and coordination was quite extraordinary. He had never thought it was possible to move upriver at such a pace, at this point in the Yamuna’s course. Yet the snake boat’s canny design and construction coupled with the Hijras excellent rowing were carrying them forward at a pace even a 4-horse chariot team would be hard-pressed to match. He saw Yadava soldiers, commoners and children pointing and gesturing at the snake boat as it sped past them. He developed a new admiration for his father-in-law’s shrewd military mind. It was the use of such ingenuity and ramrod discipline that made Jarasandha the most formidable conqueror this part of the world had known.

  Several hours later, they disembarked at a point where the river widened briefly to one of its enormous delta-like patches. Here the flow was relatively slower, but the sheer width of the course was enormous, almost a full kilometre from bank to bank. There were small islands in the center of the river, and he could see armed men on each of them.

  As they approached their destination, he saw the results of Jarasandha’s recent campaign. There were dead bodies everywhere on the eastern bank, human as well as elephant, horse and camel. Fires burned in pockets across the land, some several yojanas away, others only a few dozen yards from the bank. From what he could make out of the closest ones, they were piles of corpses being unloaded from uks wagons and heaped on pyres. The stench of burning flesh carried for yojanas around - he had smelled it an hour before they reached this part of the river. At another point, there were soldiers still fighting in a clump of trees. He could see the glint of the setting sun reflecting off armor and weapons. Faintly, the sounds of men screaming and dying came and went as they sped past. At one point, a hail of arrows came out of nowhere and splashed into the water yards behind their boat. Kamsa was unable to tell where they had come from but a moment later a javelin, beautifully thrown, came swishing through the air and would have hit the main foreman at the front of the boat. The eunuch saw the javelin but ignored it and it narrowly missed him by perhaps an inch. There were no more missiles aimed at them.

  When their boat began to slow, he understood that they were about to disembark. He could see the unmistakable signs of a large army presence - krta-dhvaja flags flapping in the strong evening river breeze, lances reflecting sunlight as riders rode by on a nearby road, the stench of dead flesh from somewhere nearby, suggesting a battlefield. Most peculiar was a place they passed, a large makeshift construction from which great roars could be heard. It sounded like a stadium of some kind, with some sport in progress, and a great audience watching. He wondered what sport they were playing. At the thought, his aching muscles began to hurt again and he remembered the old syce and the activities of the night before.

  They disembarked on the eastern bank where a surprisingly large jetty served several dozen such snake boats. The constant coming and going of these vessels suggested a major troop movement. Kamsa understood at least one reason why Jarasandha’s enemies feared him so much: even when off conquering some new territory, his forces were never too far away from previously held kingdoms.

  He was taken by chariot to a staging area a mile or two eastwards. Here, a great encampment stre
tched out for as far as his eye could discern. Even though he had fought in Jarasandha’s army years ago, Kamsa was impressed by the new scale and precision of that army’s development. Then it had been an alliance of diverse kings with a common vested interest banding together to attempt to create a unified empire. Now, it was an emperor with his empirical host, building a world with his own personal brand on it. Everywhere he saw only a single krta-dhvaja, and that was Jarasandha’s banner. Apparently, the alliance had been reduced to a single sigil. Had the reduction been accomplished by attrition or infighting? Probably a combination of both. Jarasandha no longer needed anyone else’s help or support to continue his campaign.

  The emperor’s pavilion was an impressive sight from the outside, guarded densely by the largest eunuchs Kamsa had ever seen. They reminded him of the Hijras who had surrounded Jarasandha when Kamsa first went to meet him, back in Magadha. That was a long time ago and he had fought and bested a few of them through sheer arrogant luck and youthful speed. Now, he knew he could crush any of them. A part of him hoped he would have a chance to do so.

  Jarasandha was seated in dignity upon a throne dais in the center of an enormous tent whose interior rivaled the throne chamber in Mathura. He was surrounded by eunuchs as usual, Kamsa noted, many in various states of casual relaxation. These were Jarasandha’s inner circle, the giant cross-breeds he kept close by him at all times. They were the best fighters of all. But that was not the only reason he kept them close. They were also his companions in other pursuits. Jarasandha’s proclivities were wide and diverse and he made no secret of them.

  ‘Son-in-law,’ said the Magadhan, greeting Kamsa with his usual show of formality. ‘Welcome. It is good to see you once again. My daughters will be even more pleased than I. It has been awhile since they had the pleasure of your company. They are in separate quarters quite near mine. Would you like to see them first?’