KRISHNA CORIOLIS#2: Dance of Govinda

by Ashok K. Banker

  ‘Bhraatr, we understand your plight,’ said Chitraketu. ‘You and your goddess-like wife Devaki have suffered immeasurably. We are proud and honoured to be graced even by your presence at this sangha.’

  Vasudeva shook his head.‘Do not speak to me as if I am some visiting lord or purohit, Chitra. I am just a gopa at heart, like all of you. I endure because that has been our way since the days of our great forebear Yadu himself. We learned this from the most beautiful and sacred creature of all on Sri’s holy prithviloka, goumata. As the humble cow endures through all seasons and all climes, so do we.’

  ‘True,’ said the chief of the Kannars. ‘True indeed. But there comes a time when we, as mere mortals, can endure no more. Some would even say we passed that point long ago. What good will enduring do now? It will only enable Kamsa’s soldiers to continue slaughtering our newborn babes unopposed.’

  Uddhava raised a hand in a calming gesture. ‘The slaughter has ceased. Things have changed greatly in Mathura. The army itself has been reorganized. Those two butchers of Kamsa, Bana and Canura, have disappeared to places unknown. The new guard that now runs Mathura is a different beast altogether. It is nowhere near as bloodthirsty and mindless as the White Marauders.’

  ‘Or that awful Hijra Fauj,’ said another councillor, shuddering at the memory.‘What Uddhava says is true. Things do appear to be changing. For one thing, instead of sword blades and lance points, Mathura seems to be attempting to win us over with gold and silver!’

  ‘Beware,’ said old Kratha shakily, leaning on his crook.‘Gold and silver can cut a man as sharply as bronze and iron. Kamsa’s new advisors are shrewd as yaksas. They seek to buy our loyalty with coins. But where do you think those riches come from? From the coffers of Ugrasena! They are depleting the stored wealth of generations of Yadava kings.’

  ‘Perhaps they are only seeking to make reparation for all the damage and killing of the past ten years,’ suggested someone. It was instantly shouted down with noises of friendly disagreement.

  ‘Nothing like that! Their goal is to weaken the Yadava people by spreading wealth and luxury around. When you beat a dog for days and then suddenly begin feeding and petting it lovingly, it becomes willing to do anything to earn your affection. That is the tactic they are employing!’

  Kratha pointed a shaking finger. ‘The Kannar chief speaks wisely. Everything Mathura does is but a tactic or a part of some larger plan. Beware!’

  Satvata shook his head, looking confused and angry.‘None of this can be disputed. But the question still remains, what are we to do? For now, the giant sleeps, or is listening to different advisors who have convinced him to try new tactics that are apparently peaceful but are in fact devious. So be it. But we cannot wait for another cycle of slaughter and genocide to begin. We must take action now, while Mathura is still quiet and non- combative. This is the time to raise an army and march towards the capital! And who better to lead us than Lord Vasudeva himself !’

  Cheers and yells of approval met this last comment.

  With an effort, Vasudeva shushed and silenced them so that he could be heard.‘We have a plan of our own.’

  The murmurs died down at once, and every pair of eyes turned to him, attentive.

  ‘All of you are right in saying that it is time to act. What is more, I agree that the present lull is little more than a ploy on the part of Mathura. There are strange rumours afloat in the royal enclave. Rumours too frequent and similar to be mere gossip. These have been confirmed by my own observations over a period of time.’ He paused, looking around at each one. He had their complete attention now. ‘For one thing, Kamsa has changed.’

  ‘How?’ asked the Kannar chieftain whose farmlands were too distant for accurate reports from Mathura to reach often.

  ‘He appears to have lost his demoniac powers,’ Vasudeva said.

  The peace of the barn was disrupted at once.

  ‘Please,’ Vasudeva said patiently,‘hear me out. I know what all of you are thinking, that if Kamsa is no longer capable of supernatural feats such as expanding himself to the size of a giant or rampaging across entire cities, what better time to attack? But there is a story behind his newfound vulnerability and that story is of great concern to us.’

  The gathered Yadavas listened without interrupting Vasudeva.

  ‘I suspect his food and drink are being doctored. Or perhaps some potent mixture or compound is being fed to him without his knowledge. Perhaps in his food, or drink, or some other way ... it does not matter what method is being used. But this diminution of his powers is deliberate.’

  ‘Who do you think is doing it?’ asked Chitraketu, with open-mouthed wonderment. None of them had as close a view of the inner workings of Mathura’s administration as Vasudeva.

  Apart from the godlike adulation they had for him, he also had the best ringside view of the inner circle. What they heard as rumours or gossip weeks, even months after, he saw occurring before his very eyes every day.

  ‘Jarasandha,’Vasudeva replied simply.‘For it is an open secret now that he controls Kamsa and that my brother-in-law is but a tool in the hands of the Magadhan king.’

  ‘He calls himself emperor of Bharat-varsha now,’ Uddhava said derisively.

  Satvata made a rude gesture and sound. ‘He isn’t fit to be emperor of my toilet.’

  ‘Even so,’ Vasudeva continued, ‘his control over Kamsa is now complete. I suspect that for too many years, he was busy with his other campaigns of conquest and it is only now that he has found the time to take a personal interest in the affairs of the Yadava nations.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he simply march in and invade us as he has so many other nations?’ asked Brihadbala.

  They all grew sombre at this. Each one of them had heard the horrific stories of Jarasandha’s campaigns of conquest across the Aryavarta subcontinent. The thought of him unleashing his brand of devilry was a sobering one; more frightening than even the worst excesses of Kamsa and his White Marauders a decade earlier.

  ‘Because he wants the Yadavas intact,’ Vasudeva said simply. ‘We are great in number and strong in spirit. Our combined armies are a formidable force in the world. If we were not facing these internal strifes, or even despite these strifes, we could very well resist Jarasandha’s forces to the point where they get decimated trying to defeat us, or we might even win out over them altogether.’

  There was no response to this explanation. It made sense as a well-thought-out strategy of the Magadhan emperor, or any emperor for that matter. Destroying the biggest workforce and military force in a region did not exactly make sense from a strategic point of view. Even the most rapacious emperor wanted to leave something to rule over when he was done conquering. And the Yadavas, despite being peace-loving, cow- herding people who were more fond of music and dance and laughter and honey wine than anything else, were fierce when provoked.

  ‘But if he thinks he can set Kamsa up to subjugate us, he is wrong,’ said Chitraketu, his red-rimmed eyes – not reddened by drink or emotion, but by a condition he had had since childhood – flashing.‘We shall rebel against the Usurper until the end of our days.’

  ‘Exactly,’ responded Vasudeva. ‘But the question is, how should we rebel? For the greatest number of able warriors are engaged as cowherds and farmers. If every gopa and gopi leaves aside his or her work, drops the crook and the plough and takes up the sword and the bow instead, all of Vrajbhoomi shall be turned into a battlefield. All the Yadava kingdoms shall be set ablaze in the subsequent conflict. Our lands, our herds, our families, our future ... it shall all be forfeited in the madness of war.’

  The gathering fell silent again, considering this equally unpalatable vision.

  Old Kratha, who had been listening to the discussion with closed eyes, now opened them and shook his crook at Vasudeva querulously: ‘You say that Jarasandha will not invade us. And that we ought not to rebel against his stool pigeon Kamsa. Then what should we do? Nothing?’

  Vasudeva went
over to the old man, lowered his crook gently and placed the wrinkled bony hands upon it again. ‘No, old father. The time for waiting and watching and doing nothing is long past. The hour is grown late and the wolf is already in the herd. We must act before Jarasandha does. And we must have a long-term plan and strategy. That is the only way to win this war.’

  He turned to the others.‘We cannot fight here on our lands for fear of destroying our entire livelihood. And I do not believe Jarasandha will bring his armies here to invade us and risk everything he has gained over the past decade. This leaves only one final option if we are to fight this menace and root it out from the heart of our nation.’

  The congregation waited, listening with a rapt expression.

  ‘We must go into exile,’ Vasudeva said, ‘and draw the enemy to us, so that we may fight him on our own terms and at places and times of our choosing, not his. If we cannot chase the wolf out of the herd, we must move the herd itself to another pasture, forcing the wolf to expose himself to our attack. And when he is exposed, we shall attack him in unexpected and unthought-of ways, with the help of our new allies.’

  ‘Allies?’interjectedUddhava.‘Whatalliesdoyouspeakof? Which Arya nation dares challenge the might of Jarasandha’s Magadhan Empire today? And even if there are some stray recalcitrants, why would they support us if we go into exile and rebel against the seat of our own nation?’

  Vasudeva smiled. ‘These are all excellent questions. But I am not the one to answer them.’ He gestured to a dark figure standing in the shadows. Everyone gasped as the new face emerged into the light. None had realized that one man had arrived long before the others and waited silently through the sangha’s discussions for the moment when he would be called out by Vasudeva.

  ‘Akrur!’ they said, recognizing their countryman at once, clapping hands on his shoulders and back as he joined them.

  ‘Akrur will tell you of these allies and how our plan of exile and rebellion also ties into their long-term strategy of keeping Jarasandha at bay.’ He gestured to Akrur to take up the thread of the discussion.

  Akrur nodded and turned to the sangha. ‘In one word, Hastinapura. The seat of Hastinapura itself wishes to align with us and aid us in our rebellion against Jarasandha. Taking into consideration Hastinapura’s offer of cooperation and by taking a long-term view, I too believe as Vasudeva does, that we shall eventually achieve our goal – of ridding the Yadava nations of the menace of Kamsa the Usurper as well as his puppet-master, the so-called “Emperor” Jarasandha himself.’

  eighteen

  Jarasandha coolly occupied the throne of Mathura. He looked relaxed, calm, as if he belonged there and had been sitting upon this very seat of power for years. Arrayed around him were several other familiar faces that Kamsa recognized. Hansa and Dimvaka were on either side, as always, like pillars framing the royal personage. Bana and Canura were there as well, standing behind the throne and off to one side. They avoided meeting Kamsa’s gaze though Hansa and Dimvaka had no compunctions about staring arrogantly back at him. A few others he knew were Trnavarta, Agha, Vatsa, Baka, Dhenu, his own chief advisor Pralamba, a woman he recognized as the wife of the captain of the guards Pradyota, and of course, the recent thorn in his backside, Bahuka.

  Bahuka did exactly what he had been doing these past several months – he told Kamsa what to do.

  ‘Prince Regent Kamsa,’ he said in a voice loud enough to carry across the sabha hall and to be heard by every one of the most powerful and wealthy nobles of not just Mathura, but of the entire Yadava race assembled there,‘will you not show your allegiance to your benefactor and mentor, who also happens to be your illustrious father-in-law, the honourable god emperor of all Bharat-varsha, Aryavarta and prithviloka?’

  God emperor? Bharat-varsha, Aryavarta and prithviloka? The subcontinent, the Bharata nations who resided on that subcontinent and the entire mortal realm as well? It would need a ‘god emperor’ indeed to govern that ambitious a principality!

  By exhorting him in front of every last person whose opinion – and power – mattered in this part of the world, the shrewd old tactician had outwitted him once again. He had compelled Kamsa to adhere to protocol since not doing so would be seen as being churlish and rebellious, if not outright insulting. Kamsa knew Jarasandha’s methods too well; tolerating insubordination or insults was not part of the Magadhan lord’s world view. He had seen him kill men closer to him than Kamsa for lesser infractions.

  Seething inwardly with pent-up frustration and fury, he bowed and bent his knee in obeisance. Bowing before my own throne, here’s a royal irony!

  ‘My lord,’ he said. That was as much as he was willing to do. If Jarasandha expected any more, he could come kiss his royal seat.

  Instead, Jarasandha surprised him by leaving the throne and coming down the dais steps with arms outstretched in an attitude of dramatic majesty.

  ‘My son!’ he cried with redoubtable sincerity.‘Kamsa, my eyes have ached to look upon you these past years. Too long have you kept yourself from me. My heart languishes without your youthful exuberance and energy. Come, embrace me.’

  Kamsa let his former friend enfold him in the same lean yet whip-taut arms that he recalled from a decade ago. Jarasandha looked as if he hadn’t aged a day since. The grip that held him was powerful enough to snap his back easily, and the squeeze Kamsa received was clearly a reminder of that. He half expected Jarasandha to pull him close and whisper some snarling threat that could not be caught by the rest of the sabha. But the ‘god emperor’ did no such thing. He behaved as if he were genuinely pleased to see Kamsa again after their long separation. Kamsa recalled his wives, Jarasandha’s daughters, with a vague twinge of not-quite-guilt. It had been a fair time since he had seen them last. Perhaps there was as much of the father-in-law’s sentiments of wrath and reluctant tolerance in Jarasandha’s attitude to him as that of a conqueror seeking new territories. It also gave Kamsa a sense of righteous indignation: Jarasandha should be treating him with more respect than he was at present!

  Jarasandha regained his seat upon the throne, gesturing to Kamsa to be seated on another silk-cushioned gold-limned stool that was quickly brought forward by attendants and placed close to Jarasandha’s – yet slightly behind it and much lower in height. He gestured to other waiting serving staff.

  ‘Come, partake of refreshment with me. You must be tired after your tax-collecting trip. If you will excuse me, I shall finish dealing with some minor administrative matters.’

  Tax collecting? Was that where he was to have been? Perhaps he had been expected to collect the manure the horse had dropped on the field – was that the ‘tax’ Jarasandha had in mind? Horse droppings?

  Kamsa sat with a goblet of honey wine in his hand as Jarasandha issued a few formal proclamations, signed several agreements, armistices, trade deals and other such ‘minor administrative matters’ with efficient ease.

  Go on, thought Kamsa sourly as he watched over the rim of his brass goblet, be comfortable, dearest father-in-law. Consider this your own kingdom. It was also clear that all these deals and agreements were the culmination of months of diplomacy, negotiations and tough talk. He glanced at Bahuka who was supervising the formalization of each scroll, instructing the munshis and generally overseeing the whole process. Bahuka sensed him looking in his direction and glanced up, grinning broadly. Kamsa looked down, disgusted.

  At one point, Jarasandha looked over at him with a shrewd, knowing glance. He turned to look at Bahuka, then Hansa and Dimvaka and finally included his other cronies and associates in his cryptic glance. Some silent communication passed between them as all of them turned to look at Kamsa. Then, as one man, they all burst out laughing. Jarasandha looked at Kamsa again, his thin lips pursed, eyes half-lidded, a faint shadow of a smile sketched on his sharply malevolent features.

  Kamsa fought mightily the desire to dash the goblet of wine at the ‘god emperor’ and throw himself at the man who had reduced him from a king of kings to a mere
puppet figure and a laughing stock in his own court.

  Jarasandha saw the change come across his features and read Kamsa’s mood accurately.

  ‘Does something trouble you overmuch, my son?’ he asked, taking a sip from his goblet. ‘I trust you will not mind my calling you son? After all, a son-in-law is like a second son in our culture.’

  ‘Not at all, father dearest,’ Kamsa said, seething within but smiling pleasantly. ‘I was merely wondering what our plans are?’

  Jarasandha nodded in response to some query whispered in his ear by Pralamba before glancing casually at Kamsa again. ‘What plans do you refer to, Kamsa?’

  ‘For Mathura, of course,’ said Kamsa, using every ounce of his willpower to keep himself from shouting and throwing things. He wanted to, but with merely mortal strength and body, he knew that he would be crushed in a moment. But there were other weapons in his armoury. So if it’s talk and public displays you want, let’s do it your way, mighty ‘god emperor’!

  ‘Mathura is your kingdom, Kamsa,’ Jarasandha said condescendingly.‘Surely you know what your own plans are?’

  ‘Of course,’ Kamsa agreed.‘But your overview and grasp of the entire socio-political climate is so much superior to my own, I would be foolish not to ask you to lend your expertise to the welfare of my people.’

  Jarasandha looked out across the lake of upturned faces. The backchat in the sabha hall had risen to a gentle lulling background noise while Jarasandha was sealing the treaties and attending to other formalities, but now it had died out altogether. Clearly, the court sensed some animosity between father- and son-in-law and was eager to see what transpired. There was also the fact that Kamsa’s reign of terror had not yet been completely forgotten and from the looks he received daily, he knew that everyone was expecting him to return to that old demoniac form at any moment. Perhaps they even thought that this human and vulnerable Kamsa was but a ploy, some tactic designed to appease and lull the citizenry. They were rich and powerful, lazy and self-indulgent, but not fools. And Jarasandha’s own reputation preceded him across the length and breadth of the civilized world – and beyond; his cruelty was renowned, his own demoniac origins legendary. A clash between these two titans would be a sight to see, and the rich always enjoyed spectacles, especially the gory, brutally violent kind. Here we are now, said the rapt silence of the hallful of nobles, entertain us!