KRISHNA CORIOLIS#2: Dance of Govinda

by Ashok K. Banker

  Kamsa saw from Jarasandha’s face that he too had read tension in the room, and come to the same conclusion. The cool grey eyes remained placid, the attitude stayed nonchalant.

  ‘Perhaps it may be more pertinent if you were to ask me specific questions, so I could answer to the point.’ Jarasandha gestured to the chamber at large.‘One would not wish to bore the entire nobility of the kingdom, after all.’

  ‘Of course,’ Kamsa responded, carefully mirroring rather than mimicking Jarasandha’s polite coolness. The game was on.

  Kamsa rose to his feet and stepped a few yards ahead. Jarasandha’s coterie instantly grew suspicious and alert: from the corners of his eyes, Kamsa glimpsed hands reaching for sword hilts, feet muscles clenching, eyes narrowing. He kept his movements casual and relaxed, even as he walked to and fro in front of the throne as he spoke. It was unorthodox in the extreme, could even be considered an affront to the throne, but after all he was the prince regent, was he not? And he was speaking not only to the ‘god emperor’ but also to his father-in-law. The informality could hardly be constructed as an insult when Jarasandha himself had encouraged the casual attitude and emphasized their personal tie!

  ‘What steps do you intend to take to find this so-called Slayer?’ Kamsa asked. It was important to start with a hard- hitting question, to gain the upper hand from the very outset. The collective nobility of the kingdom was watching, after all. He would ram question after question up Jarasandha’s slender throat, until the so-called god emperor’s gullet was too full for him to even take a breath! Then he would go in for the kill and tear the man’s innards out with a single slashing accusation. So much for dear loving father-in-law. Before this sabha session ended, he, Kamsa, the rightful king, would be on the throne of the Andhaka nation once more.

  However, a faint niggling doubt reared its head in his conscience, suggesting that perhaps he ought to tread carefully.

  After all, irrespective of his arrogant treatment of him, Jarasandha was one of the most powerful warlords in the world at present, as well as a harsh and unforgiving enemy. It might perhaps be wise not to antagonize him completely.

  But he had already dealt the first punch and now waited to see his opponent reel and rock.

  Jarasandha smiled and spread his hands, frowning as he did so.‘What slayer?’ he asked with convincing perplexity.

  Kamsa resisted the urge to snort. Somehow, without living beings dropping from one’s nostrils, snorting and sneezing were no longer as much fun.‘The prophesied Slayer of Kamsa, of course! The one told of by Sage Narada so many years past, and whose coming has been awaited by his people for over a decade.’

  Jarasandha chuckled. ‘Rumours. Gossip. Idle chatter. Nothing more.’

  Kamsa stared at him, dumbfounded. ‘You would question the prophecy of a deva-rishi? Brahmarishi Narada himself stated that—’

  ‘Stated to whom?’

  Kamsa blinked, unused to being interrupted.‘What?’ Jarasandha smiled indulgently, as if addressing a feeble friend.

  ‘You say this Narada stated this alleged prophecy.Towhomdid he state it?’

  Kamsa looked around, wondering what was happening. ‘What do you mean to whom he stated it! Everyone knows about the prophecy. The whole kingdom has been clamouring for the “Deliverer” to be born and now they say he has been born and that my days on earth are numbered! Everyone knows this! Where have you been, Jarasandha? How do you not know of the Slayer? I thought you knew everything!’

  Careful, don’t get carried away. Winning petty points here won’t help your score in the final quarter of this game. This was Kamsa’s inner voice of conscience and good sense, advising him again. He ignored it. It felt far too good to be slapping the great ‘god emperor’ around. His larger, dominating, demoniac side might not have been able to display itself through the use of power and force, but it could still unleash some much-needed anger: Take that, Jarasandha! Yes!

  Jarasandha looked as calm as Kamsa felt angry.‘Where have I been? Consolidating a hundred divided tribal principalities and minor kingdoms into a cohesive collective. Building an empire, in other words. Possibly the greatest empire ever assembled in this subcontinent, if not the world.’ Then he smiled disarmingly, as if embarrassed at the sheer scale of his own achievement.‘But let’s stick to the point, shall we? This Slayer you speak of, am I to understand that only you heard this alleged prophecy being pronounced? Didn’t anyone else see this Narada-muni when he is said to have made this outrageous claim of a deliverer being born, etc, etc? A serving girl, perhaps? Or a sarathi on his way to the stables? A cook, a thief, his wife, her lover? None of the above? How odd!’

  Titters of amusement rippled through the sabha hall.

  Kamsa looked around, furious.‘Silence when the king speaks!’ he roared.

  He turned back to Jarasandha, arm outstretched, finger pointing accusingly. ‘Stop trying to twist this around. What difference does it make whether Narada-muni made the prophecy to one man or a hundred thousand? The point is, he prophesied that the Slayer would be born, that he would be the eighth son of my sister Devaki by her husband Vasudeva.And that prophecy has in fact come to pass! The Slayer has been born! What I want to know is what the bleeding hell you intend to do about it! Answer me, Father-in-law dearest!’

  The last title was emphasized with more than a little contempt. In fact, Kamsa said it with a sneer so pronounced, it was almost nasally intoned.

  Jarasandha sat back on the throne, crossed one leg over the other, and rested his elbows on his thighs, then put the tips of his fingers together. It was the posture of a man in complete control of his faculties, calmly contemplating before speaking his mind.

  Utter silence prevailed in the sabha hall.

  Kamsa realized that he had openly confronted Jarasandha now. That last outburst had verged dangerously close to a challenge. He felt sweat pop from the crown of his head and trickle down copiously from his skull. The nape of his neck prickled with a sense of impending threat. You’ve pushed him too far now, you fool, warned his sensible side. So be it, laughed the demoniac side scornfully. Let’s have it out right here and now!

  There was little doubt about which side ruled Jarasandha. The Magadhan replied with unctuous calm: ‘I intend to do absolutely nothing, Son-in-law.’

  Kamsa laughed. The sound rang shockingly hollow in the vastness of the sabha hall. ‘Nothing? That’s all I expected of you!’

  ‘But I expected far more of you, Kamsa,’ Jarasandha went on. Now he stood, slowly and with great dignity, moved with fluid grace to the end of his dais, then paused to face outwards towards the spellbound audience. ‘When I sent you here to Mathura ten years ago, I expected you to take a very different course of action. Instead, what did you do?’

  Kamsa stared up at him, puzzled. What was the man talking about? What was this new ploy? Kamsa had just outwitted him by making him admit he could do nothing to stop the Slayer! He had won, dammit! Why wouldn’t Jarasandha shut up, or at least apologize and offer his regrets to him now? Why couldn’t he just lose gracefully?

  ‘You usurped your father’s throne, imprisoning the great King Ugrasena, perhaps the greatest ruler of this nation since the great Yadu himself.’

  Excited murmurs coursed through the court at this unexpected praise of the nation’s rightful king. ‘Then, under the pretext of an alleged “Slayer” that you claimed had been prophesied, you embarked on a mindless rampage of death and destruction for over a decade. But who was this Slayer intended to kill? You, of course! Because as an immature, thoughtless, patricidal and matricidal boy, you assumed that you were the most important person in the whole universe! So you created this myth of a fictional Slayer who would rise one day from your sister’s womb and destroy you, and through the perpetuation of this myth, you brought this proud kingdom almost to its knees.’

  Jarasandha gestured to the audience with one hand, as if asking, is it not so? Kamsa glanced around with startled eyes and saw several heads bobbing, faces r
apt with admiration for Jarasandha’s brilliant politicking and shrewd calculation. The erstwhile king and supreme commander of Mathura could not believe this was actually happening. Yet it must be, for there were several hundred witnesses to it!

  Jarasandha acknowledged his audience’s response and stepped down from the dais. For a moment, Kamsa saw his intent set eyes and felt sure that this was the moment in which his father-in-law would attack and kill him without compunction. But Jarasandha opened his arms in a clear gesture of peace and conciliation as he descended each successive step, choosing his words carefully and delivering them to match his actions in rhythm and pace:‘Now it is time for you to put this mad delusion out of your head, my son. There is no Slayer of Kamsa! It is a product of your fevered imagination. You were in the grip of demoniac forces all these years and they worked their will through you. But I have released you from their grip. You have been exorcised by Bahuka and his powerful ayurveda. The results are there for all to see.’

  Jarasandha reached the bottom of the dais and gestured at Kamsa, showing him off to the court. ‘What was once monstrous and bestial is a man once more. Celebrate your return to humanity, Kamsa! Once I have fulfilled my promise to your late pitr and completed my work here, I shall leave Mathura to continue my imperial expansions and consolidation. As it is, I am neglecting my own empire to aid my friends, the Yadava nations here. I am an outsider and will soon be gone. You, however, are a son of this nation, a lord of this great court, master of the Yadus. You are the rightful heir to the Andhaka throne and a potential ruler of all the Yadava kingdoms. History is yours for the making. Give up these foolish delusions, these fruitless quests for this mythical Slayer. There is no Slayer! The people desire a deliverer, that is true. They are weary of the constant rebellions and uprisings by various Yadava factions. It is time to breathe life back to and complete the great initiative to which your father devoted his last years before his unfortunate demise, and to consolidate this great race into a united coalition. The very republic that Yadu envisaged! You can be king of that nation, Kamsa. You can be the deliverer they desire. Be a man, step up and grasp your future with both hands. The world awaits you.’

  And in a gesture that Kamsa could never have expected or foreseen had he lived a thousand lifetimes, Jarasandha gripped Kamsa’s shoulder tightly with an iron fist and pointed the lean fingers of the other towards the dais, at the Andhaka throne itself. ‘Go on, my son. Seat yourself in your rightful place. Yesterday, you were cursed as a demon. Today, you are a man again. It is time you became the king you are destined to be.’

  The roar of approval that met the end of Jarasandha’s speech drowned out everything else for the next several minutes.

  Jarasandha smiled at Kamsa, his brow lowered in that peculiar way he had of looking down while looking up at the same time; between his slightly parted lips, the tip of a divided tongue flickered and snapped as tautly as a whip.

  Kamsa stared into the translucent grey eyes of his father-in- law and realized with awe and more than a little admiration that he had just been outwitted brilliantly by the cleverest politician on earth.

  He also realized that he had only two choices left now: to bow gracefully to Jarasandha, acknowledge him as the superior man and accept his magnanimous ‘gift’ of Kamsa’s own throne and crown; or attack, attempt to kill Jarasandha, and most likely die in the attempt. He had only a split second to make the choice, but in a sense that had already been made the day he left Mathura in search of the man who would become his guru and his guide. The events of today and of the past several months were merely a seal of authority placed upon that choice he had made. A formalization. It was only his own seething rebelliousness that insisted he could still choose between the two options available to him: bow. Or die.

  He bowed.

  Kaand 1

  one

  Yashoda admired each tiny well-oiled limb as she massaged it firmly but gently, pulling and exerting just the right amount of force needed to strengthen the baby’s muscles without straining the tender flesh. Krishna giggled and squirmed as she massaged his belly and moved her hands up and down against his sides, and squealed uncontrollably when she touched his underarms.

  Tickles you, does it? she thought, smiling. She had realized that there was no need to speak the words aloud, and that the bond between them went far deeper than words could express.

  Yes, Maatr. But it also feels very nice. Please don’t stop.

  She smiled and continued.

  Beside her, Gargamuni and his entourage of Brahmins continued the padapad recitation of the mantras appropriate to the occasion of the bathing ceremony. Around her were the women of the family. Rohini and Balarama were not present of course, for the pretence of the two boys being just friends rather than brothers had to be maintained. Just because Mathura had changed its political approach of late did not mean that everything was well again. The Usurper still sat upon the Andhaka throne. Word was that Jarasandha the Magadhan controlled Kamsa’s every word, action and decree, and that he and his allies had some elaborate game plan that was yet to be revealed. The year of peace had lulled most of the aristocracy and nobility into believing that the worst was past, and being rich and powerful and therefore detached from the woes of the common people, they had formed alliances and bartered deals with the Magadhan and his demon dog in human form, as Kamsa was often called.

  But the people continued to resist Mathura’s overtures, and of all the Yadavas, the Vrishnis were the most stubborn. They could simply not forget the atrocities that Kamsa and his marauders had visited upon them and their fellow Yadava tribes and clans in the past decades, nor could they forgive those horrors. As far as they were concerned, there could be no real peace until Kamsa was removed and Ugrasena restored to the throne and, managed by Akrur in Vasudeva’s name, the rebellion continued to grow secretly. Nanda supported the rebels covertly as best as he could, but was hampered by the knowledge that he harboured the Deliverer in his own house. As Yashoda had often reminded him, he could not afford to do anything that might draw attention to Gokul. As it is, he had been trying to convince her to go with him to Mathura and let Devaki and Vasudeva meet their sons, if only for a brief moment. She had been horrified by the very thought. To take their infant child into the lair of the beast itself? Never! What sacrifices had been made, what terrible slaughter unleashed, how many innocent babes butchered, all so this one child, the one she was now massaging so lovingly, could survive. How could they risk all that? Much as she understood the longing of a mother and father separated from their own flesh, she was not willing to risk Krishna’s life in order to give them that pleasure.

  If you do not will it, I shall not go, Maatr.

  She almost laughed aloud. Of course you shall not go, my impudent son. You have not yet learnt to walk! I don’t expect you to go strolling off to Mathura on your own!

  His cherubic dark face, glistening with the massage oil, wrinkled briefly. He touched one chubby finger to his chin, considering seriously.

  It is true I cannot walk yet in this form, Maatr. But I can always fly if I desire.

  She turned him over briskly, setting him on her outstretched legs, and slapped him lightly on his buttocks. They jiggled.

  ‘Whether you desire or not is not the question. I am your maatr and I forbid it expressly.’

  Behind her, her sisters Dadhisara and Yasasvini glanced curiously at one another, wondering what Yashoda was up to. She heard Yasasvini lean over and whisper to Dadhisara,‘There she goes again, talking to Krishna.’

  ‘As if he can understand her,’ Dadhisara replied.

  They giggled. Yashoda smiled. If only she could enlighten her sisters about how wrong they were! But of course, none must know of the true identity of her beloved son. The moment word spread that the Slayer was in Yashoda-devi’s house, the whole world would beat a pathway to her threshold.

  Yes, Maatr, her child’s voice replied sombrely in her head. It shall be as you will. But you do unders
tand that sooner or later, I shall have to go to Mathura.

  She sighed, her heart leaping inside her breast at the thought of this little bundle of life facing the demon of Mathura. Not for a good many years yet, I pray. You must grow up to be a man before you face him.

  I do not mean my confrontation with Kams-mama. That is not due for a few more years. I mean going to meet Vasudeva-pitr and Devaki-maatr. I shall have to go soon, and Balarama shall also have to come with me.

  She stopped massaging the tiny body. ‘What?’ she said aloud. Hearing her voice rise above the litany of the Brahmins, she corrected herself. Continuing to massage his back and shoulders, she articulated the rest of her communication silently. What do you mean, go soon? Why would you need to go to Mathura?

  For the same reason Nanda-pitr wishes us to go. To see Vasudeva-pitr and Devaki-maatr.

  Yashoda glanced around, wishing she was alone with her child so that she could speak to him aloud instead of framing each word in her mind. It was difficult to control the outrush of emotions that flooded her mind along with the words this way, and she feared what she might communicate without meaning to by using this method. After all, he was but a babe.

  Not just a babe, Maatr. I have a larger purpose here on prithviloka. You of all people must know that.

  Yes, yes, of course, she responded. But her heart said, No, no, no, never.