KRISHNA CORIOLIS#5: Rage of Jarasandha Read online

  The battle would be over in a matter of hours.

  Mathura would be overrun and taken within the day.

  And there appeared to be nothing Krishna, Balarama or any of their elders and associates could possibly do to prevent it.

  Even so, Daruka did not panic or fret. He felt utterly confident in his lord’s ability. He knew that Krishna was no ordinary man.

  He believed in him.

  21

  Jarasandha laughed at the sight of the Mathuran forces. Encouraged by their Emperor’s rare good mood, his soldiers laughed as well, the sound traveling along their ranks to carry all the way around the great circle of attack. Only the Mohini Fauj, their ranks aligned in perfect rectangles on either side of Jarasandha’s own retinue, remained impassive and emotionless.

  ‘It is an insult to Magadha,’ he said, his words passed on from man to man all the way around the great ring, most of them heard by the Mathurans as well in the process. ‘We have faced great enemies, worthy opponents. Now, we are reduced to slaughtering untested novices and spineless reserves! See how Mathura’s standards have fallen after the death of Kamsa.’

  The Magadhan army voiced its agreement hoarsely. The sound was loud enough to be heard miles away. Entire flights of birds diverted their path to avoid flying directly overheard the tumult. All except the birds of carrion, who converged eagerly, their circular flights crisscrossing as they awaited the feast at the end of battle.

  ‘I say “death” but it was murder,’ Jarasandha continued. ‘Murdered by his own nephew no less. That spineless coward Krishna who dared not even fight him fairly on the akhada field. For how else could a mere stripling of a boy have brought down the greatest wrestler of the civilized world?’

  They roared in agreement. In the Mathuran ranks, men glanced angrily at each other, frustrated at hearing their beloved champion called such names. But they did not break rank or disobey their orders which were to wait until told to attack.

  ‘Last night the same murdering nephew of Kamsa came to my tent to beg mercy and forgiveness. He even offered to marry my widowed daughters but they spurned him out of hand. Enraged, he threatened me in my own tent after I had received him hospitably. His brother skulked around in my private chambers like a common thief.’

  The Magadhan army booed and hissed at these reports.

  ‘And today, those same two thieves and skulking spies are on this battlefield, presumptuous enough to challenge the might of Magadha…with that!’ Jarasandha pointed at the meagre lines of the Mathuran defense. ‘They might as well have drawn their swords and fought me in single combat last night itself, and saved their people undue suffering.’

  He paused, watching as two chariots approached from the direction of the city. He didn’t need his spasas to bring him word that those two cars were bringing Krishna and Balarama.

  ‘But because of their arrogance and stupidity, today Mathura will burn to the ground. Every last man will be killed. Even last child enslaved. Every woman appropriated. Every house burned. These are my commands. Because my beloved son-in-law Kamsa was murdered here unjustly, I will not annex Mathura to my empire. Instead, I hand over its possessions to all of you, my soldiers, as spoils of war. Take what you will, for your ourselves. Land, belongings, slaves, valuables. Whatever you find is your’s. Whatever you do not desire, you shall burn or put to the sword on the spot. No mercy! Death to the killers of uncles! Death to the murderers who slay their own kin! Death to Krishna and every last Vrishni.’

  ‘DEATH!’ returned the Magadhan army. And even in the heart of the city, the single word could be heard, like a bell tolling.

  ‘But I have decided that due to his actions against his own blood kin, Krishna is not worthy to face me in combat. I shall not fight one who murders his own family. It would be beneath me. Therefore, the rules of war shall be relaxed for today. Instead of leaving the Lord of Mathura for me to kill, he shall be fair game for any and every man here today. Consider it your mission, your duty, your dharma, to slay the Slayer of Kamsa on this battlefield and avenge my murdered son-in-law. And he who avenges Kamsa’s death by slaying Krishna shall have the hands of both my daughters in marriage, with a dowry to boot! All he has to do is bring about Krishna’s death!’

  ‘DEATH!’ roared the army with even greater vigor for now the prize was rich indeed. To be married to the Emperor’s daughters? To secure a dowry? To be son-in-law to Jarasandha himself? It was beyond imagining. Every man in that great circle of attack turned his eyes to the Mathuran side, seeking out the chariot of Krishna. Those who were within sight of it eyed it greedily, seeing in that dark form the possibility of their own future transformed.

  Jarasandha turned the head of his horse to face Mathura. ‘Leave only one Mathuran for me to kill by my own means. And that is Balarama, bhraatr to Krishna. I will fight him today if he dares to face me in battle. I shall take great pride and pleasure in slaying him before his brother’s eyes. Let Krishna watch as Balarama’s body, riddled with my arrows, ascends to the celestial realms. For he will not leave this battlefield alive today. Leave only him for me. The rest of them all, give them death.’

  ‘DEATH!’ cried the Magadhan army one final time.

  Jarasandha raised his hand, preparing to give the signal to start the battle.

  22

  Balarama cursed loudly and instructed his sarathi to bring his chariot closer to Krishna’s. ‘I cannot stand by and listen to that liar spout insults at us,’ he said. ‘Give the word and I shall crush him like I crushed Kamsa’s champions on the akhada field that day.’

  Krishna looked as calm as ever. ‘Warriors who resort to words must not trust their own swords,’ he said. ‘Why trouble yourself over a few insults? He is only trying to rouse his own troops into a battle frenzy. It’s a common tactic.’

  ‘Well, he’s succeeded. Look at that Magadhan line. They’re chaffing at the bit to come at us, like winter wolves on the mountain with the scent of nubile calves. Our forces cannot withstand such numbers. And once our line breaks…’

  ‘Our men know what is at stake better than we do,’ Krishna said. ‘They will fight to the bitter end.’

  ‘And that bitter end will come in moments,’ Balarama said. ‘And after they are dead, the Magadhan forces will roll over their corpses like an elephant wading through a stream and smash Mathura. You heard Jarasandha’s words. No mercy. He will not accept a graceful surrender now. He means to slaughter every last one and enslave and abuse the rest. We cannot stand by and let this happen, Krishna.’

  ‘And we shall not.’ Krishna said. He gestured at the sky. ‘Look, bhraatr, our chariots approach.’

  Balarama frowned, squinting up at the sky. ‘We already have chariots…what do you mean…?’

  He trailed off, staring from beneath his palm which he held up to shield his eyes from the morning sun.

  From that burning orb itself came two specks that grew larger rapidly. As the specks resolved into recognizable objects, both their charioteers exclaimed softly. The Mathuran soldiers who saw the approaching objects reacted as well, exclaiming and pointing.

  Even the Magadhan forces stopped their self-rousals and turned their heads to peer suspiciously at the newly risen sun. They gaped as well.

  Two chariots flew out of the sun and descended on the field, just before Krishna’s and Balarama’s chariots.

  They were like no chariots ever seen on earth before. Golden in hue, gleaming all over, bejewelled and studded with glittering gems, each had a weapon. Krishna’s was drawn by two beautiful sleek black mares, Balarama’s by two resplendent white steeds.

  Daruka exclaimed. ‘I have never seen the likes of it before.’

  ‘Nor will you ever again, not on earth at least,’ Krishna said. He snapped his fingers and in a blink of an eye they were standing on the celestial chariot.

  Daruka gasped and looked down at the golden reins in his hands and at the new garb he was wearing. ‘My Lord!’ he cried. ‘I do not know how to drive a cele
stial chariot.’

  ‘It is a chariot, Daruka. Fly it the usual way.’ Krishna patted the man’s shoulder. ‘I am sure you will master in moments. Just remember that it also goes up and down.’

  Balarama and his sarathi had transferred to the other chariot at the same time as Krishna. He picked up an object which was leaning against the well of the chariot. It was a great mace studded with precious gems and stones. ‘I shall show that rascal why I was named Balabhadra,’ he said. He swung the mace around his shoulder, testing it.

  Daruka exclaimed and bent down to pick up an object lying in the well of Krishna’s chariot. ‘My Lord, it is a bow…’ He started then controlled himself and handed it to Krishna with an effort before rubbing his hands and examining their palms. ‘It feels like…living…fire.’

  ‘It is,’ Krishna said, testing the pull of the bow. ‘The fire of Brahman. This is the legendary celestial bow Saranga.’

  Daruka looked at it with awe. ‘But there are no arrows with it, Lord. Shall I go fetch your quiver from the other chariot?’

  Krishna grinned. ‘There will be no need. Prepare to ride out when I blow the shell.’ He turned and gestured to Balarama. ‘Bhraatr, shall we begin?’

  Balarama put down the mace, face already sweating from working the heavy weapon. ‘Anytime you are, bhai. But tell me, does this not defy Narada-muni’s instruction?’

  ‘It does. But we have no choice. I will not stand by and watch Jarasandha slaughter the Vrishni, enslave the Yadava nations and destroy our culture. This is the only way we can fight back.’

  Balarama grinned. ‘You will not get any argument from me, bhai. But will not the brahmarishi be very angry at us? Or rather,’ he added as after-thought, ‘won’t the forces he serves be angry at us?’

  Krishna spread his hands. ‘Whatever the consequences, they cannot be worse than watching our people and civilization destroyed. Are you ready?’

  Balarama hefted his mace. ‘Readier than I’ve ever been in my life before. To hell with asuras. Let’s kill some Magadhans today!’

  ‘Not just some,’ Krishna replied. ‘Let’s kill all of them. We have to make sure Jarasandha is so thoroughly beaten that he does not dare to raise a finger against us or Mathura ever again.’

  Balarama nodded. ‘Works for me. Slaughter as planned…but them, not us. Ready when you are, bhai.’

  Krishna placed his hands before his lips as if holding a conch shell, and blew. To Daruka’s astonishment, the outline of a conch shell appeared out of thin air. The more Krishna blew, the more clear and solid the shell appeared. Krishna blew a long sounding note on the shell, the sound trumpeting around the battlefield and carrying all the way across the city and the far side.

  As soon as Krishna stopped blowing, the shell vanished back into thin air. Daruka swallowed and took up the reins of the celestial chariot. Even the silken ropes felt as if energy were coursing through them.

  Krishna raised his hand and pointed in front, at the Magadhan lines. ‘Attack!’ he said.

  Daruka started the chariot. He gasped as, instead of racing forward as expected, it rose up into the air.

  23

  JARASANDHA watched in rising anger as Krishna’s and Balarama’s chariots started forward then rose sharply in the air. So they intended to use divine powers against him after all. That meant that his information had been incorrect. He had been told explicitly that the brothers were forbidden to use divine powers or astras or reveal their divinity in any other way. He had predicated his entire plan based on that information. Yet here they were, summoning celestial chariots and weapons at the very last moment, defying their orders. It angered him beyond measure. This was one of the many things he despised about the race of Devas: they followed laws when it suited them and defied them when they pleased. So much for their great rule of dharma!

  But he was still not overly troubled. If they possessed supernatural powers, so did he. All they had done was level the playing field, balancing one great advantage he had had earlier. He still possessed other advantages: his forces still outnumbered the Mathuran defenses considerably. All he had to do was keep Krishna and Balarama engaged in battle while his army broke through the cordon of defense and overran the city. Once Mathura was taken, the battle was as good as won. He didn’t care whether Krishna or Balarama ended up dead or wounded or not, all that mattered to him was destroying Mathura and breaking the back of the Yadavas forever. With Kamsa gone he could never have the Yadava nations as his allies and if he could not have them then nobody would.

  He would wipe out their entire race. As Yayati should have done instead of simply exiling his son Yadu. He would correct that error and erase the name and memory of the Yadavas from the face of this earth. And by enslaving and bonding their women and children through his tried and tested process of integration, he would use their genetic line to strengthen his own dynasty.

  He started his chariot team forward, giving the gesture for attack at the same time. So suddenly did he charge forward that even his ensign took a moment to give the order. The trumpeter sounded the charge but by then Jarasandha was several dozen yards ahead, riding downhill towards the approaching chariots.

  ‘Balarama!’ he bellowed. ‘Fight me!’

  He had the satisfaction of seeing the chariot drawn by white horses turn and dip downwards again, heading towards him instead of towards his lines. That was exactly what he wanted. He meant to engage Balarama in single combat until he killed the Yadava or until his troops broke through, whichever came first. That left only Krishna to defend the line. And even Krishna and his celestial chariot and bow could hardly hold back a cordon of attacking soldiers this size and strength!

  Besides, Krishna would have his hands full defending himself. Jarasandha had seen to that already.

  He charged at Balarama whose chariot had descended and was running on solid ground again, no doubt to meet the challenger in a fair clash without the undue advantage of flight. Jarasandha grinned to himself. The fool. They thought to fight fairly against him? They had no idea what was in store for them!

  He focussed his energy on the chariot, transforming himself as he charged at Balarama.

  24

  Balarama watched with vexation as Jarasandha’s chariot suddenly altered shape and form without slowing its headlong pace. What manner of sorcery was this? It looked like…like the chariot and horses were all melding together then exchanging parts to form…something else altogether. The chariot was a strangely constructed one to begin with, like no chariot Balarama had seen before. It was too massively dense and appeared too heavy for quick movement. Which was why he assumed it required an eight-horse team. But the size of such a large team itself reduced the maneuverability of the vehicle on a battlefield, outweighing any advantages of armor or bulk. He could not fathom why anyone would want to use such a bulky impractical vehicle in war. Now he knew why.

  It was not just a chariot. It was some kind of sorcerous device. When positioned in a certain way, it resembled a chariot drawn by eight horses. But at the utterance of a mantra—he presumed—it transformed into a different vehicle altogether. Not only that, the new form it took incorporated a place for its master—and for the horses as well. As he watched, the chariot’s heavy armor plating swung up and sideways and around with a clanking and shirring of metallic parts, even as the horses were assimilated into this metallic structure. It was gruesome and disturbing to watch because at a glance it appeared as if the horses were being chopped and cut into myriad parts and the parts positioned in the metal structure to form a grotesque melding of metal and flesh. Balarama assumed that the mantra made it possible for the horses to be chopped up this way and reformed while keeping them alive. But from the pitiful equine cries and shrieks, he guessed that the process of transformation was not a pleasant one for the horses.

  In moments, the transformation was complete. Where Jarasandha had been driving a chariot towards Balarama, he was now riding a vehicle of a kind Balarama had never seen in his life
before, or even imagined possible. It was a horrific mishmash of horse parts and metal plates and wheels and spokes and numerous sharp edged blades and points all across its exterior, a kind of giant metallic-horse-porcupine device, with Jarasandha seated in the center, controlling it all with a handful of reins which he pulled on and twisted. The whole contraption continued to roll towards Balarama at the same pace, increasing in speed now that its transformation was complete. It roared and whinnied and shrieked as it came, and the sound itself was enough to make him want to turn around and flee.