KRISHNA CORIOLIS#5: Rage of Jarasandha Page 10

  Ugrasena spoke wearily. ‘Indeed. And Kamsa’s wives Asthi and Prapthi, my own daughters-in-law, were left widowed when their husband died. Under Arya law, they had no choice but to return home to their father, severing all ties with the House of the Andhaka Suras. They are now relegated to lives of misery and humiliation as a result.’

  Everyone contemplated this for a moment. Under Arya law, dharma demanded that childless widows of a deceased kshatriya were no longer considered part of their husband’s family. This was intended mainly to help in the estimation of estate inheritances and wills, since a childless widow might then remarry and take the family’s wealth with them, leaving the dead husband’s remaining family bereft. But some aristocratic families, willfully misinterpreting this statute, chose to turn childless unfortunate widows out of doors, forcing them to eke out their lives in humiliation and abject poverty, or take up prostitution to survive. This abuse of the law of inheritance was one of many minor and major ills in Arya society that Vasudeva had once promised to correct before Kamsa and far more pressing crises pushed all other concerns aside.

  ‘Kamsa’s widows are not going to become street whores,’ the old war minister said hoarsely. ‘Their father will care for them as he always did. They will live out the rest of their lives in debauched luxury like the princesses they are.’

  ‘Even so,’ Ugrasena said, ‘It provides Jarasandha with a good excuse to find fault with Mathura and consider the alliance officially ended. He can use a father’s anguish at the plight of his childless widowed and homeless daughters to justify this invasion.’

  Vasudeva spread his hands in despair. ‘I never asked Kamsa’s widows to leave. In fact, I would have let them continue to stay here to the end of their lives had they wished. And I know King Ugrasena would have sided with me on that point.’

  ‘Without a doubt,’ Ugrasena said. ‘But the point is moot now. Whether Jarasandha himself summoned his daughters back home or they left and ran home to spread false claims of mistreatment and abuse does not matter any more. They are gone and will never return. We can be certain of that. They were always pawns in this game of thrones and one way or other they were being used to further their father’s own selfish interests.’

  ‘I agree with my old friend Ugrasena,’ said the ancient war minister. ‘He cuts to the quick. Discussions of causes or motives are irrelevant at this point. All that matters is that the wolf is at the door and will be at our throats in a flash of an eye blink. What are we to do to save Mathura?’

  ‘I wish Akrura were here,’ Vasudeva said. ‘He is the best diplomat among us. Perhaps he might gone to Jarasandha and spoken for us.’

  ‘Akrura will be at the doors of Hastinapura Palace by now,’ Pralamba said. ‘Even if we send word to him and he gets in a few days, it will be too late for talk by the time he returns. But the idea is a good one. We are better equipped to talk than fight at present.’

  Balarama looked at the chief minister. ‘What is our fighting strength and state of preparedness?’

  Pralamba sighed. ‘The Imperial Army was disbanded after Kamsa’s death. Your and your brother’s absence these past few months left a void. Good kings Ugrasena and Vasudeva had their plates full simply dealing with matters of administration. 23 years of misrule is not easily remedied in a few weeks. We had not even begun reassembling the new army. Many hundreds of thousands of forcibly conscripted Yadavas chose to go home at last, after years spent serving a cruel tyrant. Who knows how many of those may never wish to return to active combat after the abuse they were forced to mete out to their fellow Yadavas?’

  Krishna said gently, ‘Even so, pradhan mantri, you must have some figures to give us.’

  ‘Perhaps three akshohini, mostly reserves and new recruits who signed on with a desire to serve under you, Lord Krishna,’ said the chief minister. ‘But many are not trained fully, some are not even effectively equipped or armed. Our resources are diverted into dispensing medical aid and food rather than military mobilization.’

  ‘To put it bluntly, we’re about as ready for war as a wingless bat is ready to leap off a tree,’ said the laconic war minister.

  Ugrasena sighed. ‘And that is not even taking into account our lack of defenses in the city itself. Kamsa changed the very geography of Mathura during his reign. We have virtually no fortifications. The majority of the citizens will be exposed in the event of a siege.’

  Vasudeva nodded sadly. ‘Worse. There are yawning gaps in our defensive walls. If Jarasandha surrounds and besieges Mathura, his forces can be inside the city within hours. We will be fighting with our backs to our own homes and in the streets.’

  Everybody was silent as they considered the horror of this possibility. There was no worse nightmare for a king than to have the enemy within his walls, his citizens forced to fight to defend their homes and families. It was a king’s job to keep the enemy outside and at bay at the very least, if not prevent him from invading at all.

  ‘Then it is clear,’ Krishna said grimly. ‘We must attempt to parlay with Jarasandha first, before he attacks. Attempt to find some way to settle this without outright war or siege. And if that fails…’

  ‘If that fails,’ Ugrasena said in his faltering voice, ‘Then God help us all.’

  Balarama raised an eyebrow as he looked at Krishna.

  16

  DARUKA saw the familiar dark form of his lord emerge from the vaulted archway entrance of the main palace building and came forward eagerly. At once, the palace guard lowered their spears suspiciously. Everyone was on high alert and nervous enough to strike without thinking twice. Daruka joined his hands together in a gesture of submission, lowering his head. ‘I seek only to speak with Lord Krishna, he knows me.’

  Krishna saw him and came over. ‘Daruka, the speaker to animals,’ he said, with barely a trace of a smile on his face. ‘I trust you have not brought further bad tidings to Mathura?’

  ‘Nay, my lord,’ said Daruka, stricken by the fact that Krishna associated him with the bringing of bad news. ‘I am only waiting to know how I may serve you next. I came to Mathura for this sole purpose. My life will not be fulfilled unless I serve you loyally. Pray, grant me leave to work in your employ.’

  Krishna looked around. A sarathi from the royal stables was bringing his chariot around. The sarathi appeared to be having some trouble. The horses were rearing, apparently made nervous by the number of armed soldiers gathered in the courtyard and the air of general anxiety. ‘I have enough servants, Daruka. You would be best advised to find work elsewhere.’

  ‘Please, my lord,’ Daruka said, falling to his knees. ‘I will do anything you ask. I have skills that may be of use to you. Just give me an opportunity to prove myself.’

  The horses were kicking now, white-eyed and panicky. The sarathi was having difficulty holding onto the reins. As Krishna watched, the horses kicked out, narrowly missing the sarathi who leaped out of the way just in time, but tripped and fell sprawling. A company of soldiers marched around him, in too much haste to slow or divert their progress.

  ‘Then tell me this,’ Krishna asked. ‘What ails my horses? Why are they reluctant to ride today?’

  Daruka turned and looked at the horses harnessed to Krishna’s chariot across the courtyard. He raised his nose and sniffed the air several times, turned his head this way then that, studying the horses keenly from afar. ‘They are not reluctant to ride, my lord. They are merely eager to carry you into battle. They sense the impending war and wish to serve you alone. That is why they reject anyone else who attempts to come near them. They wish to proclaim that they are loyal to Krishna and only Krishna, on pain of death.’

  Krishna looked at the man named Daruka. ‘You can tell all of that just by looking at the horses from three score yards away?’

  Daruka shrugged. ‘I smell what they smell, hear what they hear, see what they see around us. I share their desire to serve you exclusively. I know a war is coming. It is not difficult.’

  Krishna sm
iled. ‘Most men would disagree. But then, most men don’t think and feel like horses. Can you interpret the feelings of other animals too?’

  ‘Not all,’ Daruka replied seriously. ‘Dogs of course are very easy. They are like people at their best, open-hearted and generous of spirit. Predators are simple enough too. But some are more complex and not as easy to interpret. Elephants in particular…’

  Krishna raised a hand, indicating a pause. ‘Can you drive a chariot?’

  He gestured at his own chariot. ‘Into battle? Under fire? At threat to your own life?’

  Daruka shrugged. ‘Life is work. And work is worship. When one ends, the other must end as well. I could ride a chariot like that one when I was five years old, my lord. Now, if you wish to test my abilities—’

  ‘I wish to see you ride my chariot,’ Krishna said. ‘Go fetch it for me and drive me to my destination. Can you do that?’

  Daruka blinked. ‘Now, sire?’

  ‘Unless you have another interview with another lord for the same position.’

  Daruka smiled at Krishna’s jest. ‘No, my Lord. I shall fetch your chariot at once.’

  He sprinted across the courtyard, dodging marching soldiers and officers on horseback. Krishna noticed that he managed to touch the horses as he ran past them, and they tossed their heads and gave off peculiar expressions that did not seem threatening. Daruka reached the chariot and spoke quickly to the sarathi who had regained his feet and was staring tentatively at the reluctant team. The sarathi looked in Krishna’s direction and Krishna waved to indicate that Daruka had his permission.

  Moments later, Daruka brought the chariot smartly to a halt right in front of Krishna. Krishna had but to take a single step to climb aboard. He did so. He looked at the foreigner. Standing at the reins, caressing the haunches of the horses, Daruka looked perfectly in control, a man in his element.

  Yes, this man really does speak to animals. More importantly, he listens as well and understands what they feel. It was no coincidence that it was he who brought the news of Jarasandha’s invasion.

  ‘Where shall I take you, my Lord?’ Daruka asked. His voice was calm yet the eagerness was palpable.

  ‘To the enemy camp,’ Krishna replied.

  17

  Jarasandha’s daughters came running, squealing, into their father’s tent. Jarasandha was in the midst of a discussion on strategy with his senapatis and he did not take kindly to the intrusion.

  ‘Father, father,’ said Asthi. ‘The Lord of Mathura himself comes to beg your forgiveness.’

  Jarasandha smiled thinly. ‘How do you know it is the Lord of Mathura? And how do you know it is forgiveness he seeks?’

  ‘Because his chariot carries the krta-dhvaj of Krishna, and everyone knows Krishna is the true Lord of Mathura in all but name,’ said Prapti. ‘And why else would he come to your tent on the night before battle?’

  Jarasandha smiled and embraced his daughters, one on each side, with as much affection as he could muster. In fact, whatever little affection he was capable of displaying was reserved for these two. They clung to him adoringly, looking up at their father’s face.

  He recalled what one king with a ready wit had commented on their features: “One looks as if she is about to sneeze, the other as if she has just sneezed.”

  Jarasandha had made that particular royal wit suffer a long screaming series of tortures to which the unfortunate man had eventually succumbed. The fool’s words were harder to erase. At unguarded moments, looking at his daughter’s features, he had to admit to himself, secretly, that the fellow had been right. They did have somewhat unfortunate features.

  Still, at least they had buxom and shapely bodies that compensated for their facial shortcomings. For Kamsa that had been more than sufficient compensation, especially since he had been well-dosed with Jarasandha’s potions when the marriage had taken place.

  But eventually, even that compensation seemed to have proven insufficient. Despite all his macho bravado and apparent virility, Kamsa had left his daughters childless widows. It was the worst possible fate for a young princess. And now, they would have to live their lives as widows, for no self-respecting prince or king would want to take them as wives. They were already the gossip of the royal grapevine: Kamsa’s Widows!

  Jarasandha’s fingers curled around his daughter’s shoulders, drawing cries of protest. ‘You’re hurting us, father!’

  He released them at once. ‘Remove yourselves from here.’

  ‘Please, can we watch from behind the curtain?’ Prapti asked plaintively.

  ‘Please, father!’ Asti piped in.

  ‘Very well, but remain silent. Only observe.’ He hesitated. ‘And keep your faces veiled as well.’

  They made groans of protest. He had showered so much affection on them as children growing up, both sincerely believed they were the most beautiful princesses in the world. He had even convinced them that their odd facial expressions only made them all the more attractive to virile young men. He guessed that they had hoped to reveal themselves to the visitor, catch his male eye, perhaps even seduce him a little. It was a widow’s only means of restitution.

  He caught their hands before they could leave. ‘No matter what happens, remember, I will ensure that you both live as queens all your lives. Empresses even!’

  They smiled at him with the same adoring glow that had lit up their faces as children before turning and running to place themselves behind the hanging translucent curtain that divided the private section of the tent from this public chamber.

  He turned away to look at the Hijra bowing his bald head at the entrance of the tent. ‘Great God-Emperor, forgive the intrusion, there is a visitor from Mathura who wishes to see you. He says his name is Krishna.’

  18

  Krishna heard the faint sound of feminine laughter as he entered Jarasandha’s tent. Like everything else Magadhan, the tent was an aggression demonstration of Magadha’s wealth and power, excessively so for a war commander’s tent on a field of battle. He guessed that there was an element of over-compensation in this vulgar display of luxury and ostentation.

  Like all kings who rose from humble origins, Jarasandha clearly wished to let the world know that he had arrived. The luxury did not bother Krishna. It was deliciously decadent, sensual even. He admired the figurines and embroidered upholstery as he was escorted through more passageways and corridors than he would have believed possible in a tent. The oblique approach to the main chambers was obviously designed to thwart assassins but he still found it amusing to be marching left then right then left again endlessly, surrounded by a phalanx of massively built eunuchs with shaven pates.

  Finally, the parade of bald heads ended and they emerged into a shockingly large chamber. Was this still within a tent structure? In the darkness, he had not guessed at its sheer size. This place was large enough for elephants to turn somersaults. Nor were the high vaulted ceilings left bare: there were sensual wisps of silks and precious fabrics hanging everywhere, and works of art displayed wherever one turned. The art all shared the same motif: War. Krishna suspected that the paintings used more than paint to capture those excessively realistic shades of violence and that the sculptures were formed of more than mere stone and metal.

  ‘Lord of Mathura,’ said a deceptively normal voice from behind him. Krishna turned, momentarily disoriented at seeing Jarasandha behind rather than before him. Had the Magadhan been following in his wake all this while? More likely he had stepped through some side-curtain to continue the process of deception. That way, even a visitor who sought to memorize the route into the tent could not be certain how Jarasandha might be reached.

  ‘Jarasandha of Magadha,’ Krishna replied.

  Jarasandha smiled wanly to acknowledge the lack of use of the words ‘Emperor’ or ‘King’. Jarasandha of Magadha could be used to address even an ordinary craftsman yet it was not inherently disrespectfully or ironic. He did not comment on the greeting and instead gestured to luxuriant s
eats.

  Krishna sat. Jarasandha, seemingly surprised, sat as well.

  Krishna was offered food and drink but declined politely. ‘Perhaps later,’ he said.

  Jarasandha smiled as if silently asking the question whether there would be a ‘later’.

  ‘So,’ Jarasandha said into the silence that followed. ‘You have come to parley.’

  Krishna raised his eyebow. ‘Parley?’

  ‘Yes, I presume that is why you visit me on the eve of battle?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Krishna replied. ‘I have come to ask your daughters to come home.’

  He thought he heard a sharp intake of breath by someone behind the veiled curtain at the far end of the chamber. He saw shadows moving behind the curtain and guessed that the ladies he spoke of were observing this entire conversation. All the better for what he intended to say.