KRISHNA CORIOLIS#2: Dance of Govinda

by Ashok K. Banker

  ‘Yes, he is, praise be to Devi,’ she said, turning to glance over her shoulder.

  I didn’t mean to break it, Maatr. Please don’t be upset with me.

  ‘I’m not upset, Son,’ she said, then remembered that Nanda was within hearing range, as were his companions. I just can’t understand it. Surely your little foot could not have kicked over the whole cart and shattered it to bits in this manner?

  I just wanted to sit up, that’s all! I wanted to sit up and play with my little plough. I like ploughing. Some day I shall do it with a big plough as Pitr does.

  So you shall. But I still cannot understand how you broke the big cart. Are you sure that was all that happened? You can tell me the truth, my son.

  I only tell you the truth, Maatr. What else would I tell you?

  ‘Yashoda?’ Nanda asked again, concern audible in his voice. ‘What has happened here? Has there been an attempt on Krishna’s life? Or was it a strike of lightning?’

  Can you explain it to your father as well? So he can know from your own mind what happened?

  I wish I could, Maatr. But it would not be wise of me to talk to Pitr the way I do to you. It would make him vulnerable if he encounters certain demons who may be able to read his mind.

  She balked at the thought of Nanda encountering mind- reading demons, but put her fears aside to be dealt with later. And you are sure this is exactly what happened?

  Yes, Maatr. There was a trace of weariness in the child’s tone now.

  She turned to face Nanda. He looked more concerned than she had seen him in a long time. Behind him, their anxious and curious relatives and friends as well as the larger crowd of other guests looked on expectantly, pointing happily at little Krishna in her arms even as they muttered and whispered amongst themselves.

  ‘He is well,’ she said.‘There is nothing to fear. I admit I was anxious too. But it was a false alarm. Our son is quite safe and hale and hearty.’

  Nanda sighed audibly. He turned and raised both hands to the crowd:‘He is well!’

  A great murmur of relief rippled across the guests. As the news reached the ones at the far end, a smattering of applause and cries of commiseration broke out, breaking the mood of tension that had engulfed them.

  Nanda turned back to Yashoda.‘What happened here? Was it an elephant in masti?’

  ‘We have no elephants in this part of the country, Nanda. You know that,’ she said.‘No, it was simply our little Krishna. He kicked out too hard and broke the cart. That is all.’

  Nanda looked at her for a long moment, the muscles on his face flickering as they tried to summon up the right expression. ‘It was lightning then, was it? It isn’t altogether unheard-of, after all, for lightning to strike down unexpectedly at times.’ He glanced up at the clear azure sky.‘Although it isn’t the monsoon season and there isn’t a cloud in sight ...’

  She smiled, shaking her head gently.‘No, dear husband. As I said earlier, it was just our little Krishna.’

  Nanda stared at her again. Then he looked around at the wreckage, at the large block of jaggedly splintered wood embedded in the ground.‘I don’t understand,’ he said.‘Is this a jest of some sort? How could our baby son break a whole cart laden with heavy metal vessels? It is simply not possible!’

  She sighed. What do I do? He does not believe me.

  There is nothing you can do, Maatr. Such things must be taken on faith alone. Besides, you are telling the truth. Nothing else matters.

  If only it were that simple, my son. Aloud she said: ‘That is what happened. Our son is quite extraordinary, you know. He possesses abilities beyond his age.’

  Nanda smiled quizzically.‘Beyond his age? At what age does any human – man, woman or child – possess the strength to demolish a laden uks cart with a single kick? Not even after a hundred years of training and exercise, I would say!’

  ‘Yet he did, my beloved. Please, just accept it and let us continue our lives.’

  Nanda shook his head gently. ‘Why are you insisting on this absurd explanation, Yashode? You were not here when the incident occurred. You cannot possibly know what happened!’

  ‘I know, because Krishna told me.’

  Now he stared at her with renewed surprise.‘He told you? Yashoda, our son cannot sit up or stand, let alone speak whole words!’ ‘He communicates with me through the mind. He projects his thoughts into my mind where only I can hear his voice. I can do the same with him.’

  Nanda laughed. Then he shook his head and sighed again.

  ‘You have been fasting and working too hard, my love. Come, be seated and rest a while.’

  Is Pitr upset with me for breaking the cart? I don’t want him to be upset with me.

  Pitr is merely ... confused, she tried to explain. He cannot understand how the cart could have been broken by a human child as young as you.

  Is that all? I can remedy that quite easily.

  She frowned. How—? then stopped.

  Around her, the field exploded with cries of consternation, shock, disbelief and other sundry expressions of amazement.

  ‘Devas protect us!’ Nanda exclaimed, staring at something behind Yashoda.

  In her arms, Krishna giggled happily, bringing his chubby palms together.

  There! Is that better? I made it all well again. Now Pitr and you can be happy again!

  Yashoda turned and looked.

  All the debris strewn across the field had vanished. From everyone’s reaction, she guessed that it had all disappeared in the wink of an eye – Krishna’s eye!

  Not a trace remained of the scattered pieces of broken wood and mangled metal.

  Instead, the uks cart with its entire load of metal vessels had been reassembled exactly as it had been before, untouched, unbroken. Perfectly whole.

  It was as if the cart had never been broken.

  See? I put it back the way it was. Are you happy now, Maatr? I want you and Pitr to always be happy!

  And little Krishna grabbed her sari tight, drooling all over her in his apparent attempt to raise himself and kiss his mother.

  Please, Maatr. Can I have my milk now? I’m very very hungry! Playing is such thirsty work.

  three

  Kamsa was in a state of shocked bemusement. Shocked because he could not begin to fathom the machinations of Jarasandha’s politicking – his mind was not built to comprehend such things. Bemused since he didn’t know what to expect next from his father-in-law. The confrontation in the sabha hall and Jarasandha’s masterful handling of the event had turned his head around and spun it like a top until his entire world view was blurry.

  The time leaps he experienced further addled his brain. He never knew if he would be able to complete a conversation or finish eating a mouthful of food before he was overtaken by the lack of consciousness. The irregular pattern confused him even more. Sometimes he lost months, and just a week or three on other occasions. But some leaps were only a few minutes or even a few hours long, leaving him in a constant state of disorientation and readjustment. He went through his days feeling as if he had not slept or eaten or rested properly, meeting palace staff who greeted him with condescending familiarity while he had no recollection of ever having met them before. Even the stable dogs who had always feared and respected him now barked and bared their teeth to threaten him; one even attacked him viciously, mauling his arm as the watching guards only looked on and laughed as he cried out for them to put the damn beast down.

  Within hours of the end of the sabha session in which Jarasandha had so graciously granted Kamsa his own throne back, the sham of that show had been obvious. The real power was still wielded by Jarasandha and his cronies, and Kamsa was barely tolerated as the pale silhouette of a king. Through Chief Minister Pralamba, and using Captain Pradyota to maintain law and order, it was Bahuka who ran the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom now. There was an elaborate hierarchy filled entirely by new faces loyal only to Jarasandha. And Bahuka was little more than a spare tongue and pair of ha
nds for Jarasandha.

  The only faint flicker of hope was the public announcement by the ‘god emperor’ that he would be departing shortly, coupled with the messages that arrived each day, usually requiring Jarasandha’s urgent attention. Kamsa realized that sooner or later, Jarasandha would have to leave Mathura to join his armies and continue his campaign or risk losing the valuable ground he had gained. But until such time, each day was sheer agony to Kamsa. The manner in which the Magadhan king wilfully excluded Kamsa from any discussion or decision of importance, while continuing to be patronizing and demonstrating his fatherly affections was infuriating.

  Nights and nights he lay awake on his silken sheets, ripping them apart with frustration as he tried to think of a way out of his predicament. How had he lost so much power so quickly? Or perhaps he had never had the power. Perhaps he had always been just Jarasandha’s stooge, but hadn’t realized it. He had heard of puppet kings and child-emperors whose kingdoms were actually run by shrewd ministers, mothers or preceptors. But a father-in-law? Well, why not. One backroom kingmaker was as likely as any other.

  What truly maddened him was his lack of power.

  Rather than tolerate this treatment, the old Kamsa would have simply torn apart buildings, even taken on the whole Hijra Fauj, or Jarasandha’s entire army. But this Kamsa couldn’t even face Bahuka or Agha or any one of Jarasandha’s lieutenants or allies, let alone risk incurring the wrath of Jarasandha himself in an all-out physical confrontation.

  He had no friends or supporters who could foment and stoke a revolt or coup of some kind either. His decade of debauchery and butchery had made him the most reviled ruler of Mathura – and the most disregarded now. Imprisoning his father and mother, placing his sister and her husband under house arrest, murdering their first seven children and slaughtering countless other infants in the kingdom, and making even his most trusted aides and soldiers kill their own newborns had rendered his alienation complete. His campaign against the Slayer had resulted in his trusting nobody and allowing no one to come close to him. His desperate quest to prevent the birth of the Slayer had cost him everything.

  And ultimately, as he fretted and fumed and tossed and turned, one thought came to him over and over again: the Slayer was the one responsible for his plight.

  If not for the prophecy, he would have ruled Mathura with an iron hand, had a great time indulging each of his lusts as well as his love of violence, and eventually won the grudging and fearful respect of the Yadavas. A dictator was better befriended than antagonized; even he knew that much about politics. And he would have made a great dictator.

  In due course, once the Yadavas were united and in his grasp, he would have allied openly with Jarasandha and aided his father-in-law in his campaign of conquest. Together, they could have ravaged not just the subcontinent but other parts of the world as well. If Jarasandha sought to be ‘god emperor’, Kamsa could certainly have been ‘demi-god emperor’ alongside him. Like father-in-law, like son-in-law.

  But that damned prophecy had forced him to change his list of priorities.

  Because of his fear of the Slayer – a fear that wretched Narada had instilled in his heart – he had devoted most of his reign to the persecution of his sister and bhraatr-in-law and their supporters, leaving him with little time for or awareness of anything else. And what had he accomplished in the end? Nothing! The Slayer had still been born and was out there somewhere. Jarasandha could say anything he pleased, but Kamsa knew the Slayer existed, was real, and was growing in strength and manhood. One day he would be strong enough and powerful enough to come and destroy Kamsa. And in this all-too-pitiful mortal state, Kamsa would not stand a chance of survival.

  At times, he even wondered whether Jarasandha had wanted the Slayer to be born, and to escape unharmed. Then he dismissed that possibility as absurd. Whatever else Jarasandha might be, he was no fool.

  The Slayer was responsible for everything. Kamsa’s decline had begun the very day he had been born. He was also the Deliverer. That meant he would champion the rights of the people. And if the people did not want Kamsa to rule them, they desired Jarasandha even less. Kamsa knew he was not very shrewd or politic, but of this much he was certain: the Slayer was as much Jarasandha’s enemy as he was Kamsa’s nemesis. And once he was done with Kamsa, he would go after Jarasandha. And if he was powerful enough to escape Kamsa even while yet a newborn, how much more powerful would he be once fully grown?

  Kamsa did not know how long he had before the Slayer came for him. But he was certain it would not be very long.

  He had to act soon. Somehow, he had to find and assassinate the Slayer while he was still an infant, before he gained his full power.

  But how? He had no power himself!

  There is a way. But it shall require Jarasandha’s assistance.

  Kamsa started from his bed.‘Who’s that?’

  A shadowy figure moved through his darkened chamber. He could see it only by the way it cut the faint moonlight that came in through the verandah, but he could not see the person.

  It is I, Narada.

  ‘You!’ He almost lunged across the chamber in anger. ‘You ruined my life! Your prophecy—’

  —saved your life. Had I not forewarned you of the coming of the Slayer, you would have been destroyed by now.

  Kamsa had reached for a weapon. He had lost confidence to such an extent that he no longer bothered with a sword or even a dagger. Now, as his fear mounted, he found nothing on the bed or chair and had to grope around on the floor. In the darkness, he could find only a long wooden object of some kind. He wielded it but did not attack.

  ‘What do you mean, would have been destroyed? Your prophecy is the reason why I am in this state! Stopping the Slayer became my obsession, costing me my throne, my powers, everything. Now I’m little more than Jarasandha the Magadhan’s pawn!’

  You are wrong. Had you not been so fierce in your efforts those many years, the Slayer would have been able to slay you the very day he was born. You have no reckoning of his powers.

  Kamsa rubbed his eyes, trying to see in the darkness. All he could make out was a faint vertical shadow against the patch of indigo blue sky visible outside the verandah. ‘Really?’ he asked.

  Have no doubt about it. I am a seer of the future and the past, I can track the movements of the great Samay Chakra itself, the primordial Wheel of Time. Everything you did served a purpose.

  ‘But the Slayer escaped anyway!’ Kamsa cried. ‘He is out there ... somewhere! Waiting to kill me.’

  That is why you must act now to stop him.

  Kamsa put down the length of wood which appeared to be a broom of some kind, left under his bed by the cleaners.‘How?’ heaskedmiserably,sittingonhisbedagain.‘Ihavenopowers left. I cannot even expand myself any more. And this wretched loss of time I experience ... even if I plan to do something, I can never be sure of seeing it through to the end. My life is a living hell!’ He buried his face in his hands, on the verge of tears.

  It is all Jarasandha’s doing.

  Kamsa jerked his head up.‘What?’

  He has a special compound that his henchman Bahuka puts in your food and drink. It causes the effects of which you speak.

  Kamsa got to his feet, his hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. ‘I WILL KILL HIM!’

  That is quite impossible. Jarasandha is beyond your ability to kill. Even the Slayer himself could not harm him if he desired. But I can show you how to regain your powers and control of your life once again.

  Kamsa thought about this briefly. There was something peculiar about the brahmarishi’s offer.‘Why?’ he asked at last, tilting his head suspiciously.‘Why do you assist me thus? What possible purpose does it serve you? What do you desire from all this?’

  That is not important. All that matters is that I help you. And I do not see anyone else willing or able to do that at the moment. Am I correct?

  Kamsa’s shoulders slumped.‘
No,’ he said miserably.

  Then sit quietly and listen while I instruct you.

  Kamsa sat. And listened.

  four

  Putana frowned when she received the message brought by an old stable hand who had been in service to the throne since the days of Ugrasena’s youth. She nodded brusquely at him, acknowledging the message, but the old Kshatriya still remained standing, ramrod straight despite his frail form and corona of white hair. ‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked sharply. She knew that the Yadavas, though wise enough not to say so openly, resented her and others who served Jarasandha. She had seen the way some of the men looked at her in passing, and the women too.

  The old syce’s eyes were dark but clear – a young man’s eyes in an old man’s face. The man within that grizzled face had no fear of her or of her husband’s position. She respected that. She was weary of being kowtowed to and bowed to only because she was the spouse of Pradyota, captain of the famed Mathura Guard. This was the first man she had encountered this closely since arriving in Mathura who looked at her as Putana, a person, not someone’s wife or daughter or sister.

  ‘I was told to await a reply,’ he answered. There was no insolence or affront in his tone; nor any humility or obeisance. She examined him sceptically. He did not flinch or back down, merely stood and watched her, waiting. She suspected he would wait thus for the rest of the day if required. She grudgingly admitted to herself that this was the kind of Yadavas she had heard of in the old legends and war poems. This man had been a warrior once – the fact was writ large in his every action and word, and also in the silences when he did not act or speak a word. He had stared danger in the face countless times and learnt the essential fact of life: death comes. One can fight it, one may resist it, one could amass skill and art and weaponry and defences, but eventually it comes and takes you. The day you understand and accept that fact, everything becomes clear. The world makes perfect sense. We live, we fight, we die. Everything else we do is just part of passing the time. What was that word the Yadavas liked to use? Leela. Play. Everything else was just leela.