KRISHNA CORIOLIS#5: Rage of Jarasandha Read online

Jarasandha leaned back, sipping from an odd shaped goblet. It took Krishna a moment to register the fact that it had been carved from a human skull—a very small skull, just large enough to fit in a man’s cupped palm. ‘My daughters are home. They are with me, their father.’

  ‘They are daughters of Mathura by marriage. Their home is in their husband’s family residence. Their father-in-law and mother-in-law miss them dearly. There is much work to be done, much planning and service to occupy their time, many decisions that require their attention. I have come to escort them home.’

  Jarasandha was silent. In the silence, the unmistakeable sound of women whispering excitedly could be heard from behind the curtained section of the chamber.

  ‘That will not be possible,’ Jarasandha said at last. ‘You see, my daughters were left widowed and childless. Under Arya law…’

  Krishna broke in. ‘Arya law does not forbid them from staying in their husband’s home. It merely removes any legal requirement for his family to continue to support them or share any part of his inheritance.’

  Jarasandha raised his hands to chest level. ‘You speak my mind. The law itself fails to recognize them or grant them their legitimate rights—in their own home, no less.’

  ‘So then you acknowledge that it is their home.’

  Jarasandha folded his hands across his chest. ‘What I acknowledge, or you proffer, is irrelevant. The law casts them off as heartlessly as discarded garments after use. That is the legacy of millennia of brahmin-dominated culture! The law itself is designed to suit the interests of brahmins at the expense of so-called ‘lower’ castes.’

  Krishna smiled. ‘Perhaps you forget. I am not a brahmin. By birth I would have been a kshatriya at best. But by upbringing I am a vaisya. I have no vested interest in serving the so-called ‘brahmin-dominated’ culture as you put it.’

  Jarasandha snorted. ‘You? You are not even fit to sit here in my chambers and speak with me on these matters.’

  Krishna was dead silent for a moment. Then with careful calmness he asked, ‘That is a rude thing to say to a visitor.’

  Jarasandha rose from his seat and strode over to the table where several dozen varieties of liquid refreshment were available. He waved back a eunuch who stepped forward to help. ‘I am being overly gracious merely by receiving you…Slayer.’ He turned to look directly at Krishna. ‘That is what they call you, is it not? The Slayer of Kamsa? And who was Kamsa? The same late husband to my widowed daughters? My son-in-law and beloved protege? Your own maternal uncle?’ Jarasandha snorted again. ‘Slayer of Uncles, they should say.’

  Krishna leaned forward. ‘I did not hear of you protesting thus when Kamsa killed my six newborn brothers years ago. Or ordered and participated in the execution of thousands of other infants as well. Childslayer is what they called him for that very reason.’

  Jarasandha shrugged. ‘What he did, he did. It does not justify your doing the same. Is that your rationale for murdering your uncle? Is that what you call dharma?’

  ‘Dharma is a word best left unspoken by you,’ Krishna said, rising to his feet slowly. ‘I came here with an offering of peace. I am still willing to take your daughters home to their husband’s family where they will be treated with great respect and love to the end of their days. They shall even be offered the opportunity to remarry if they so desire and if they choose to remarry, they shall be given handsome dowries of property and possessions to take with them to their new homes.’

  Jarasandha waved his empty goblet dismissively. ‘My daughters don’t need your dowry or your charity, whatever you choose to call it. Nor are they interested in being turned into royal whores to serve the political interests of Mathura. They are Empresses of the Magadhan Empire. They are Queens of the World. Come tomorrow, they shall step on the ruins of your proud family’s palace and build their own empresses’ palaces on that very spot.’

  Krishna bit back a retort then said more calmly. ‘I see that you are not amenable to peaceful discussion.’

  Jarasandha laughed. ‘I don’t speak with low-castes like yourself. I may have been born in your wretched brahminical caste system but I freed myself from the chains of that spiritual oppression along with millions of others. I look down on low men like yourself, murderers of their own kith and kin. You are nothing but a Gupt!’

  The term was intended to be a double insult: a vaisya merchant who eked out his living by taking a portion of other people’s earnings as well as ‘one who remained gupt or hidden’ for Krishna had remained hidden from Kamsa for the first fifteen years of his life.

  Krishna took a step towards the entrance of the chamber. ‘Nevertheless, you shall face this Gupt on the battlefield tomorrow since you leave me with no other choice.’

  Jarasandha shook his head vehemently. ‘Never! I shall not fight you, boy. It would be beneath me to even acknowledge you on the field of battle. At best, I may be willing to face your bhraatr Balarama. I hear impressive things about him as a warrior.’

  Krishna nodded slowly. ‘In that case, it will not trouble you that he too is gupt like me?’

  Jarasandha was about to say something when Krishna gestured and Balarama appeared, approaching not from the entranceway where Krishna had entered, but from the interior of the chamber. Jarasandha started, eyes popping. The Hijras in the chamber all drew their swords, alert and shocked.

  Balarama made no threatening gestures or actions. He merely stood beside Krishna, looking steadily at Jarasandha.

  ‘To face me is to face Krishna,’ he said. ‘We fight as one.’

  ‘Where…how…’ Jarasandha gestured at his guards. ‘Remove them! Remove them at once!’

  The Hijras moved forward aggressively, swords drawn, converging on Krishna and Balarama. There was commotion behind the veiled curtain as Jarasandha’s daughters parted the curtain to see more clearly.

  Krishna raised his left hand, Balarama his right, cautioning the approaching Hijras. ‘It would not be good for your army’s morale if we were to kill you all and leave your master’s tent in shambles,’ Krishna said. ‘But if you wish us to do the honors…’

  The Hijras hesitated, glancing back at their Lord.

  Jarasandha flung the goblet across the chamber. It struck a sculpture of a man writhing in the rictus of a horrible death and shattered to pieces. ‘Let them leave,’ he said, gritting his teeth.

  Krishna and Balarama made their way toward the entranceway. ‘We can find our way out by ourselves, thank you,’ Balarama said. ‘As you saw, we had no trouble entering.’

  Krishna paused to look at Jarasandha one last time. ‘You have said much tonight, Magadhan. Perhaps too much. Fortunately for you, I do not heed the words of those who are about to lose a battle or be killed. The rest shall be said without words on the battlefield tomorrow. Magadhans, vaisyas, guptas or kshatriyas, on the battlefield we all speak the language of the sword. Let us see how eloquent you are in that dialect of steel.’

  Krishna turned and exited the tent with Balarama.

  19

  The people of Mathura cheered as Ugrasena, Vasudeva and the other aging ministers rode through the streets, dressed in full battle armor. The mood was one of nervous anticipation. Ugrasena and Vasudeva spoke few words as the carriage wound its way to the city walls. When they reached, both men dismounted in similar silence.

  ‘Father,’ Krishna said, greeting Vasudeva. ‘Grandfather.’

  Balarama and he both sought the blessings of their forebears in a ritual public display. The watching spectators and soldiers cheered lustily.

  ‘Would that we had time to wait for Bhoja to arrive with his army,’ Ugrasena said regretfully. ‘His seven akshohini would help balance the odds.’

  ‘We cannot wait, grandfather,’ Balarama said. ‘Therefore we must fight.’

  ‘You mean Jarasandha will not wait,’ said the old king. ‘That tyrant has no sense of dharma. If I were forty years younger…’

  ‘Then we would lack your maturity of vision and great store
of wisdom,’ Krishna said gently. ‘Do not fear, grandfather, we shall teach the tyrant a lesson in dharma today.’

  Ugrasena patted both young men emotionally then retired to the pavilion where he and the other elders would monitor the progress of the battle and oversee the management of the city’s defenses.

  Vasudeva took hold of Krishna as he regained his feet. ‘My son, I shall ride with you into battle.’

  ‘Nay, father,’ Krishna said. ‘There is no need. Balarama and I shall deal with this nuisance ourselves. Besides, you must remain in Mathura to oversee the city defenses in the event that some of the Magadhan forces break through.’

  Devaki looked concerned as the boys took her blessing as well. ‘I shall pray for a miracle, for that is the only thing that can save us.’

  Balarama comforted her. ‘Maatr, do not fret. Krishna and I shall take care of Jarasandha.’

  She smiled through eyes brimming with tears. ‘You make it sound so easy, son.’

  ‘But it is,’ Balarama said sincerely. ‘All in a day’s work!’

  They took their leave of the elders and strode over to their chariots.

  ‘How are we to fight this battle without revealing our true forms?’ Balarama asked.

  Krishna sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘We cannot.’

  ‘But then…’

  ‘We shall do whatever needs to be done to win this battle,’ Krishna said. ‘With the odds against us, it is the only way.’

  Balarama nodded in agreement. ‘For a mere six akshohini of unprepared, half-trained Mathuran to face 23 akshohini of battle-hardened Magadhan would be suicide. We would be wiped out to the last man.’

  ‘Or worse,’ Krishna said. ‘Remember that Magadha takes slaves, brain-washes them into joining its cause and then integrates them into their own forces.’

  Balarama winced. Jarasandha’s method was to separate families and marry a wife off to another husband, a husband to another woman, give a son to a third family, a daughter to a fourth, and so on, while simultaneously punishing those who attempted to regroup with unspeakable torture and abuse. He called the process ‘integration’.

  ‘If their forces take the city,’ Balarama said. He didn’t need to spell out what would happen. Magadha was notorious for erasing all trace of entire kingdoms and nations, then using the local populace as hard labour to raise entire new metropolises. Mathura would be turned into another Magadhan city, all traces of Yadava culture stamped out forever.

  ‘That can never happen,’ Krishna said grimly. ‘When we go into battle, you shall keep one eye on the city. Your job is to ensure nobody breaks through into Mathura.’

  Balarama shrugged. ‘As usual. Protect the people. What about you?’

  ‘I shall try to lead the fight away from the city.’

  ‘How will you do that?’

  This time it was Krishna’s turn to shrug. ‘I’ll find a way.’

  They continued walking the rest of the way to their chariots. Daruka was waiting before Krishna’s, looking calm and relaxed. Balarama glanced at him.

  ‘I hope you trust your new sarathi,’ he asked Krishna in a soft tone so his voice would not carry.

  ‘Yes,’ Krishna said.

  ‘You do know he is a foreigner, not a Yadava,’ Balarama pointed out archly.

  Krishna smiled. ‘Even our ancestor Yadu was a foreigner when he was exiled from his father Yayati’s house and came to reside here. Mother Yamuna did not turn him away, did she?’

  Balarama sighed, shaking his head. ‘Your heart is bigger and softer than Mother Yamuna’s.’

  He climbed aboard his chariot.

  Krishna did the same with his own chariot. Daruka already held the reins in his hands lightly yet with a sharp look of alertness.

  Balarama’s charioteer waited for Balarama to give the word to ride. Balarama waited for Krishna’s chariot to move. Daruka waited for Krishna to give the word to move.

  Krishna waited several moments, glancing up at the sky.

  Finally, he nodded. ‘Ride,’ he said to Daruka.

  His chariot shot forward. Balarama’s followed.

  Vasudeva and Devaki watched their chariots ride to the city gates and exit. The gates were shut behind them and barred, and then a number of defensive items were placed to bolster the gates and block any ingress. Several company of foot-soldiers and elephants stood behind these defenses, ready to take on any enemy that broke through.

  Mathura waited.

  9

  Daruka was impressed by the quietude of his lord as they rode along the winding raj-marg through the royal forest preserves that surrounded the city. The field of battle was perhaps half a yojana from the main city walls. During the ride, he could not help glance at his master’s face and admire the calm he saw there. Finally, sensing his frequent glances, Krishna smiled and turned to him.

  ‘If you wish to ask me something, Daruka, you have but to speak.’

  ‘My Lord,’ Daruka said, turning the team deftly around a sharp curve. The road to the city gates was designed to prevent riders and chariots from approaching too quickly and was a winding one. ‘Forgive my curiosity. I was only admiring your calm in the face of such certain destruction.’

  Krishna grinned broadly at the sarathi’s choice of words. ‘Destruction is certain only when Lord Shiva opens his Third Eye. All other calamities may well be avoided.’

  Daruka thought on that a moment. ‘Yet our forces are so drastically outnumbered. Even King Sudas with the aid of Indra could not turn the tide in this battle.’

  He was referring to the great battle of Ten Kings, the story of which was taught in the Vedic teachings.

  ‘Sudas had a few thousand against ten times as many,’ Krishna said. ‘We are only outnumbered three to one.’

  Daruka chuckled. ‘You make it sound as if those are not difficult odds at all!’

  Krishna shrugged. ‘All odds are difficult…until you win.’

  Daruka had nothing to say to that. He only smiled.

  ‘How many battles have you been in, Daruka?’

  The charioteer shook his head at the notion of him being in battle before. ‘This is the first time, sire. I am not a man of violence.’

  ‘Yet you are close to animals. Is not the animal world a violent one?’

  ‘Not truly, lord. Animals live for the most part in peaceable harmony. For that is nature’s normal state. Without lasting peace there can be no growth, no progress, no beauty. Animals only resort to violence when absolutely essential—and only those animals that have no choice but to kill in order to survive. The vast majority shun violence.’

  Krishna nodded. ‘If only we mortals could learn from them. But then, as Pashupati once said, “Animals are what people should aspire to be yet can never become.”’

  Daruka nodded slowly, musing on that thought. ‘It is a profound thought, my lord. Lord Rudra understands that it is we who appear civilized and educated who are the real animals in this world. Whereas they, even without the benefit of education, religion or civilization and its laws, can co-exist indefinitely in perfect harmony.’

  Krishna placed a hand on Daruka’s shoulder. ‘Well spoken, Daruka. That is why, despite our great pride in our religion, civilization, laws, education, society, we still invoke violence and we still go to war.’

  They rode in comfortable silence the rest of the way. Balarama’s chariot brought up their rear, the well-oiled chariot wheels spinning smoothly on the well-planed king’s road. A mile or three farther, the sound of the wheels altered significantly as both chariots left the raj-marg and turned off the highway towards their destination.

  Moments later, they came within view of the great plains. The angle at which they approached brought them between the two opposing forces. On the Mathuran side was the army of the Yadavas, their back to the forest preserves that encircled the main city walls. They formed a line barely one score thick, because all six akshohini were spread out to encircle the whole city in a great defensi
ve ring. It was the only way to prevent the Magadhans from breaking through but it meant that the line of defense was barely enough to hold back an elephant regiment.

  In contrast, the Magadhan line was three score thick and circled the entire city as well. Jarasandha had deliberately set up this battle formation, thereby forcing the Mathurans to defend their capital on all fronts in a gigantic circle. With 23 akshohini at his command and 23 senapatis to lead those 23 akshohini, he could afford to place his leaders at precise intervals around the great circle of attack. But for Mathura, with Krishna and Balarama the only two commanders at the helm, it appeared impossible that they could defend the city on so many fronts.

  Even Daruka could see that all Jarasandha had to do was press forward on the full circle at the same time. It was inevitable that Magadha would break through in several places at once and no matter how diligently Krishna and Balarama and their deputed lieutenants rode and led, it was physically impossible for them to monitor or defend so many points at the same time. And once Jarasandha’s forces broke through, they had only to repeat the same tactic while breaking into the city. With every last fighting man outside the walls and great gaps and omissions in those walls themselves, the city was virtually indefensible.