KRISHNA CORIOLIS#5: Rage of Jarasandha Page 13

  He stood his ground, not literally, but by continuing his charge while instructing his charioteer exactly what to do next. In the normal course of things, Balarama and Jarasandha would have charged at one another, then passed close by, firing arrows as they went. But there seemed to be no point in even loosing an arrow at this armored beast before him. It would be like throwing pebbles at an elephant. Which left the only other thing to do with a chariot.

  ‘Ride straight at him,’ Balarama instructed his charioteer.

  The man did as he said, adjusting the team to put them on a direct collision path.

  ‘When I say the word, jump clear,’ Balarama ordered. There was no point in the sarathi dying as well. ‘Tie the reins to the stanchion before you do.’

  The sarathi shook his head. Nervous though he was, he looked at Balarama squarely. ‘I am your sarathi,’ he said in a quavering voice. ‘I ride with you wherever you go.’

  Balarama looked at the man. He nodded, grinning without humor. ‘Good man. Ride on at them with all the speed you can muster. Smash into him.’

  The charioteer did as Balarama said.

  Jarasandha leered down from his seat in the center of the bizarre vehicle that only vaguely resembled a chariot now. He seemed to know and to welcome Balarama’s tactic. ‘Come, Mathuran,’ he roared. ‘Come embrace your death!’

  Balarama grinned back, raising and opening his own arms wide in the gesture of an embrace.

  With a resounding impact, both vehicles met and collided like stars smashing into one another.

  25

  KRISHNA flew at the oncoming lines of Magadhan troops charging downhill towards Mathura. His chariot passed just over the heads of a company of elephants, startling the beasts. They trumpeted their anger, rolling their small red eyes wildly at the creature that had evaded them so closely. Come down to earth and face us, they seemed to cry out. Fight us face to face.

  ‘I shall,’ Krishna said grimly. ‘I shall fight every last one of you. But first, I must secure the safety of my people and loved ones.’

  He turned to Daruka. The charioteer was white-faced from the speed and height at which they were flying. Krishna felt sympathy for the man. He was doing the best he could under the circumstances. In fact, he was driving the chariot itself perfectly.

  ‘Take us higher, Daruka,’ Krishna said. Daruka complied, causing only a single wobble when the chariot hit an air pocket and was shunted sideways a yard or so. He recovered at once and regained control of the vehicle, steering it artfully if somewhat jerkily upwards at a genial rising trajectory.

  Krishna noticed the sarathi glancing sharply sideways at something in the sky from moment to moment and turned his own head, frowning, to see what Daruka was looking at. He could see nothing at first then noted the presence of the carrion birds, circling above the battlefield. He understood at once: the charioteer was watching the pattern of the birds to gauge the direction and force of the wind, thereby improving the flight of the chariot. Krishna nodded, impressed. That was sharp thinking!

  ‘This is high enough,’ he said after a moment. ‘Hold her steady and take her in a circular pattern, follow the lines but remain in the center.’

  Daruka did exactly as he said. From time to time a gust of wind buffeted the chariot, trying to push it out of its chosen path, but the sarathi made subtle adjustments to the horse team, coaxing one, then the other with brilliant timing to keep them on track.

  Krishna looked down from the chariot. They were just about a hundred yards above ground now. The two lines of opposing forces resembled hand-carved wooden toy soldiers at this height. The Magadhan lines were fast approaching the Mathuran lines. In another moment, they would clash—and almost certainly break through. Krishna had given orders for the Mathuran defenses to hold the line, not to charge. He had hoped that perhaps Mathura might hold off a few charges before falling back to reform the line, repeating the process and reducing the enemy numbers through steady attrition: a charging army usually lost more soldiers than a defending one, if the defenders were well equipped.

  But Mathura wasn’t equipped at all for this attack. There had been virtually no time to dig defensive ditches or a moat nor to place siege defenses around the city. All that stood between the Magadhans and the city was a pitifully thin wall made up of human muscle, flesh and bone and the weapons that wall of bodies possessed.

  It would not hold up to a single assault, let alone a battery of charges.

  If that line of Magadhans charging at the Mathuran forces struck them in the next few moments, they would break through the defensive line and carry on into the city. After that, there would be no defense at all left. The city would be lost.

  Unless Krishna could prevent the Magadhans from smashing into the Mathuran defensive line altogether.

  ‘Hold us steady now,’ he said to Daruka, raising the bow Saranga. ‘Keep us as still as possible.’

  Daruka swallowed visibly, clearly wondering if such a thing was even possible with a flying chariot. But credit to the man, he spoke to the horses in his cajoling soothing voice, and held the reins lightly but firmly in place.

  Krishna waited as the chariot slowed and remained steady, watching as the Magadhan frontline drew closer to the Mathuran defenses. If that charge struck, it would be too late. This tactic could only be deployed before they struck. He had only one shot at this and he had to make it count. Each passing instant seemed to measure off the time Mathura had left before certain destruction.

  ‘Steady!’ called Daruka at last. The chariot was rock steady. Even Krishna would have been impressed by the charioteer’s ability to accomplish such a feat the very first time he had flown. But he had no time to lavish compliments.

  He summoned up the missile he desired, using Saranga’s power.

  At once, the device appeared, a golden spinning disk that spun at unimaginable speed, producing a keen singing sound. Its surface gleamed and shone, reflecting the sky above, spinning so fast that the light striking it was instantly refracted into a multitude of rainbow hues. Krishna’s face, hands, the chariot, the charioteer Daruka, all were bathed in the rainbow light of the divine weapon.

  He basked in the light, relishing the sense of power and comfort he felt in the presence of the disk. He longed to reach out and touch it, so hypnotic and enticing was its beauty, but he knew that at this speed, the disk could not be held or deployed by hand. That was why he had required the bow Saranga.

  ‘Sudarshana,’ he said, addressing the chakra by name.

  The chakra’s spinning song changed melody, acknowledging its master’s voice.

  ‘Fly straight and true now,’ Krishna prayed. ‘You are Mathura’s only hope.’

  And then, with a flick of the bow string, no differently than loosing an arrow, Krishna deployed the Sudarshana Chakra.

  KAAND 2

  1

  JARASANDHA roared with exultation as his vehicle collided headlong into Balarama’s celestial chariot. He had been prepared for the usual exchange of arrows and maneuvering of chariots round and round as was usual with most mortal warrior kings. But this was wonderful! He was weary of that slow tedious maneuvering and gentlemanly arrow fighting. This was the kind of fighting he enjoyed: head-banging full-impact no-restraints!

  The two vehicles smashed into one another with such force, he felt his teeth jarred in his mouth and his two halves shudder and almost split apart at the joint. That had never actually happened to him before: he didn’t think it was possible for him to come apart merely from a harsh impact. The nature of his two halves and the way the clung together, sharing bloodflow, organs, bones knitted together, muscles, and so much else, meant that there was a cohesion between the halves that could not be easily broken. It took great strength to physically tear them apart and he had not encountered more than one or two enemies who could do it.

  But even though the collision did not actually tear him into his two halves, it was still a tremendous impact. He felt the metal plates of his vehicle
shatter and buckle and bend in obscene ways, severing horse limbs and torsos and splashing blood and body fluids everywhere. The melding of living horses and the metal plates of his chariot was accomplished through asura maya, of course, and though it kept the pieces of the eight horses alive until reconstituted back into their normal forms, it did not render them invulnerable and immortal. The individual parts, though alive and sentient, could still be crushed, maimed, severed and otherwise destroyed.

  The collision killed all the eight horses on the spot, mashing the whole of his vehicle into a mangled heap of crumpled metal plating and slaughtered horse flesh. Somewhere inside that mangled bloody heap, Jarasandha himself was buried, upside down and with limbs sprawled, pinned into place by various metal angles and sharp edges, as well as horse limbs and bones and even the entire set of lower teeth of one horse embedded in his left bicep.

  He laughed. Ah, this was true sport!

  He took hold of the metal on either side and wrenched it apart, tearing it as easily as any strong man tears a length of fabric. He ripped his way out of the mangled mess and emerged into the morning sunshine. Ripping up a handful of kusa grass, he rubbed assorted unguent horse fluids and offal off his limbs.

  Then he laughed again merrily.

  Balarama’s chariot lay upside down, jammed into the remains of Jarasandha’s vehicle. It had not been crushed or destroyed as Jarasandha’s had been but the plating was buckled in spots and there were any number of dents and dings all around. But that was not the reason why it couldn’t be ridden: two of the horses were dead and another one was injured, lying on its side and whinnying pitifully. The fourth was standing on all four legs but seemed dazed and lost. The charioteer who had been driving Balarama’s chariot lay sprawled on the grass beside the surviving horse, clearly laying where he had been flung from the impact and just as clearly dead on impact.

  Jarasandha didn’t care about horses or chariots or charioteers. He was only interested in one thing.

  ‘Balarama!’ he bellowed. ‘Finished so easily? I haven’t even begun to fight yet!’

  A sound from behind alerted him. Jarasandha swung around to see Krishna’s brother rising to his feet, picking up the golden mace he had been wielding earlier.

  ‘What are we waiting for then?’ Balarama asked, and ran forward, swinging his mace.

  2

  DARUKA heard his lord speak to the spinning chakra before he deployed it. Daruka’s entire attention was focussed on holding the chariot rock steady in the sky as instructed. He dared not glance sideways or risk doing anything that might cause even the slightest motion. But he could hear well enough. The way Krishna spoke to the disk, calling it by name, made it evident that he knew the weapon. That it was a celestial weapon, he had no doubt. The way it had appeared, its gleaming perfection, the speed at which it spun with no visible cause, the rainbow light it gave off, all made it obvious that this was a weapon of gods. And Krishna was God incarnate, after all. Daruka had heard many express doubts about this last fact, some even wonder aloud whether Krishna had possessed divinity only upto the time he killed Kamsa after which he had become a normal mortal. But Daruka had never doubted his Lord’s true eternal nature and power. And he was proved right.

  The Sudarshana chakra flew from Krishna’s Saranga Bow, flying over the side of the chariot and then sharply dipping down. From where he stood, even without looking down or following it with his gaze, Daruka could not but help see its passage within his field of vision.

  ‘Turn the chariot so we can watch it work,’ Krishna said.

  Daruka complied, turning the celestial chariot sideways and descending smoothly by several yards to follow the chakra’s progress.

  Now he could see the chakra clearly.

  Sudarshana flew down from Krishna’s hand straight to the ground. It struck the ground directly in front of the charging forces of Jarasandha’s army. It hit the ground with the impact of a meteor striking earth, ploughing up dirt in a spume that rose forty yards high. Daruka watched as it raced along the ground, churning it up like the fastest plough ever created, running in a full circle. He had to use every ounce of his skill as a charioteer and his ingenuity to keep the sky chariot flying fast enough and at the right angle to keep the chakra in sight. Even so, there were moments when it vanished around a curve, his view blocked by the tops of trees. Still, he could see the plume of earth thrown up by its frenetic digging action. It was running in a full circle, digging up a track directly in front of the onrushing frontline of Magadha.

  As Daruka watched, the spume of dirt flung up by the chakra’s blindingly rapid passage finished falling back to ground. Even though he had witnessed it with his own eyes, it was hard to believe that a disk that small had accomplished such a great task in mere instants.

  A yawning ditch some one score yards wide had appeared in the ground, directly before the charging Magadhan frontlines. It was hard to tell its exact depth from this height, but Daruka estimated that it was at least one score yards deep as well. The ditch appeared to run all the way around Mathura, forming a gigantic circle several hundred yojanas in circumference.

  Of course, he thought, seeing the purpose of the ditch. It has to be broad enough to be impossible to leap across, even with a running horse. And deep enough that once someone falls in, they are unlikely to survive long.

  In little more than a moment, the Sudarshana chakra completed a full circle and was back where it had started. He saw the golden disk emerged from the earth. Its perfect gleaming surface was unmarred by the dirt it had dug through.

  Krishna used it to dig a defensive moat around the city. In less time than a man might dig a single shovel load of dirt from loose earth!

  Its work done, the disk continued spinning in mid air as it rose toward the chariot, singing its strange sad song.

  Krishna raised the forefinger of his right hand. The chakra slowed its spinning considerably and descended carefully until its central hole fitted onto its master’s finger. It remained there, spinning. Krishna smiled at it.

  ‘You did well, Sudarshan. I am proud of you once again.’

  The disk spun out a melodic question.

  ‘Yes, I know you can destroy the entire army on your own. But I do not wish you to do so. You have done the work for which you were summoned. Now, I wish you to return home. Thank you, my friend.’

  With one final sad melodic rift, the chakra spun itself into invisibility.

  Daruka looked at Krishna with awe. Krishna smiled back at him.

  ‘My Lord, you could have deployed the disk to destroy the entire Magadhan army, could you not?’

  Krishna inclined his head.

  ‘Then why did you not do so?’

  Krishna shrugged. ‘When teaching a wise man a lesson, one needs only a gesture. When teaching a fool, one needs words as well as gestures. But when teaching a dangerous and wise fool, one needs to use one’s hands to drive the point home.’

  Daruka nodded slowly, trying to work his way through that cryptic response.

  Krishna smiled at Daruka. ‘Remain here until I return. I shan’t be gone long.’

  Daruka was about to reply when Krishna leaned on the side of the chariot’s well and leaped over the side.

  3

  BALARAMA charged at Jarasandha, swinging his mace. He was angry at the death of his charioteer and the death of his horses. He put that anger into the first swing of his mace.

  Jarasandha laughed and dodged the swing.

  Balarama swung again.

  Jarasandha dodged him again.

  Balarama swung again and again—each time Jarasandha dodged him deftly. Darting this way then that. Narrowly escaping the flight of the mace.

  Balarama roared with frustration. ‘Stand still, Magadhan! I will smash your head to pulp.’

  Jarasandha laughed. ‘Why don’t you try that on these fellows?’

  And he gestured, summoning someone forward.

  At once, a number of men surrounded Balarama and Jarasandh
a. Balarama hefted his mace and looked around.

  They were all powerfully built men, many bigger and more muscled than Kamsa had been, or that giant with the Crooked Jaw named Mustika.

  With one difference: They all carried maces.

  Jarasandha chuckled. ‘I heard you have a penchant for bludgeons. Is it true that you used to carry a plough around when you were a boy?’

  Balarama glowered at Jarasandha silently.

  ‘Well, it seems you’ve graduated from ploughs at last,’ the Magadhan said brightly. ‘Now it’s time to see if you’ve learned enough to go up against these fellows.’

  The men began circling Balarama on all sides, each seeking an approach to charge at and attack him with his mace. Balarama swung around, turning constantly, watching each one. ‘Who are these fools?’ he asked as he kept them at bay. ‘More poor souls forced to drink your vile drugs to enhance their bodies artificially?’