KRISHNA CORIOLIS#5: Rage of Jarasandha Read online

  Jarasandha smiled without taking offense. ‘That’s more than you can say for yourself. These men don’t actually need maces. Each of them can take an entire regiment on their own. But after watching the way you despatched Mustika and the other fighters on the akhada field, I thought they might need a little help against you this time. Hence the maces.’

  Balarama continued to turn around. He was tiring of going in circles now and each time he turned, the men at his back seemed to be a step closer. At this rate, they would jump him from behind in another few moments. ‘Won’t make a difference, as you should know by now, Jarasandha. Maces or no maces, I’ll still make mincemeat out of your overmuscled goons.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Jarasandha, ‘such over-confidence in such a young boy. I think not. I agree you could take these men on with their maces anytime and win. But not when they attack you all at once.’

  Balarama stopped turning and looked at Jarasandha.

  Damn! He thought. That’s a smart move!

  Then the mace men rushed at him and he raised his own mace to defend himself.

  4

  BALARAMA swung his mace in a wide circle, turning nimbly on his heels, changing the angle of his arc with every turn to avoid being predictable. The whirling gold blur of the mace kept Jarasandha’s fighters at bay but each time the mace swung past, they leaped in, seeking a way to get at him if only for a fraction of a second. And each time, he seemed to be straining harder, swinging harder, turning faster—working harder and harder to keep them at bay. It was only a matter of time before…

  Thump.

  The side of the mace struck one Magadhan fighter squarely on the chest. The fighter grunted and staggered drunkenly backward. The fighters behind him parted to let him stagger past, then closed the gap and moved in to fill his space. Balarama realized grimly that the man had deliberately stepped in front of the blow.

  Thud.

  Another fighter, this one struck on the side of shoulder, actually bending down to take the blow on the meaty part of his upper left side. A dangerous move: had Balarama raised the arc of the mace, the man might well have been struck on the side of the head. As it were, the Magadhan staggered sideways, lost his balance, and sprawled. Other fighters stepped over him, keeping the circle tight as ever.

  Balarama continued swinging, his mind trying to anticipate their next move.

  A third fighter offered himself for the mace, this time putting out his hands and taking the bulbous head of the weapon on his palms, with the backs of his hands resting against his own abdomen.

  Whoomph.

  He doubled over and fell face-down on the ground. Balarama continued swinging, struggling to regain the momentum each time that he lost when the mace struck a fighter.

  They’re deliberately taking the blows. They’re testing my strength and weapon as well as breaking the arc of my swing.

  The only way to get within a swinging mace was to slip in under and strike fast and hard. Or to impede the swing, causing the mace-swinger to lose his momentum, and then, as he was regaining control of the heavy bludgeon, move in fast and hard from an angle and strike him.

  Jarasandha’s fighters had the advantage of numbers, far greater numbers than any mace swinger could take on at once. No matter how fast and how well Balarama swung, they would slip past his arc of defense. The three who had offered their bodies to the swinging weapon had not seemed to suffer last damage from the blows: for one thing, no blood had splattered when the mace head struck their bodies, nor had he heard bone cracking or felt flesh yielding. From the vibrations of impact that ran up the handle of the bludgeon, it had felt as if he were striking a heavy rug with a flimsy stick and trying to beat the dust out of it. He definitely hadn’t beaten any dust out of those three bodies.

  A fourth fighter stepped up to take a blow. This fellow actually stood there grinning as Balarama’s mace found his abdomen. He bent over, grimacing, but didn’t lose his grin. As he fell over, he clutched his belly but again, there was no blood or apparent injury.

  Their bodies are hardened like lohitwood. It’s like hitting an ironwood trunk three yards wide with a blunt axe.

  This time, Balarama lost the angle of the arc and had to change his footwork quickly to keep from being carried out of his own private circle of defense. If he let that happen, he would stagger back into the enemy’s grasp. And he doubted very much if they would simply catch him and pat him on the back.

  The loss of balance actually helped him. The other fighters had probably intended to rush in while he was off balance. Due to his side-stepping one way, then leaping again to avoid falling against the enemy fighters, he didn’t move quite as they had expected. One of them struck a double-handed blow through the exact space his head and neck had occupied only an instant earlier. Another effected a powerful side-kick that was aimed at the spot where he expected Balarama’s knee to be located. A third struck with a pointed fist at the spot where his kidney ought to be, putting his bulging shoulder and back muscles into the vicious jab.

  All three blows missed. Balarama was about a foot away from where they had expected him to be. But because they had struck at him they were moving fast at that instant. When heavy density fighters moved, they had to reduce their muscle density in the most mobile parts of their body in order to facilitate rapid movement. That was the only time when they were vulnerable, for those few heartbeats.

  Balarama swung the mace upward, striking the first Magadhan in his left armpit, then brought the mace down like a pendulum to smash the hip of the second one and let it swing up diagonally to collide the head of the mace with the fist of the third fighter.

  This time, he felt the satisfying impact of heavy metal striking and crushing living bone as the first fighter’s shoulder, arm and rib cage cracked and splintered, the second fighter’s hip buckled, and the third fighter’s fist vanished in a tomato-sized explosion of blood and bone shards.

  Blood sprayed satisfying in the air, spattering him and the other fighters. All three Magadhans screamed and shrieked. And the impact on the other incoming fighters was greater psychologically than physically. Unaccustomed to being hurt in combat, drugged enough to take their own invulnerability for granted, none of these overgrown toddlers with bulging bodies had felt pain for a long time, some never at all. To not only experience blinding pain but to feel and see and hear their own limbs crushed, maimed, shattered so brutally shocked the sanity out of them. The three men flailed about like crazed drunkards, clutching their ruined organs and spurting limbs, colliding with their fellow fighters, knocking down several, screaming and shrieking and crying out for long-forgotten mothers, and generally ruining the carefully orchestrated closing circle that had been about to close in on Balarama only an instant earlier.

  The circle broke. And Balarama made his move. The only move that he could make when surrounded by a chakravyuh of incoming enemies. He could neither go left nor right nor would breaking out of the circle serve any purpose since there appeared to be at least one or two hundred fighters surrounding him already with more joining in every minute. Therefore that left only two directions and one would involve lowering his guard and involve digging which wasn’t practical when a split second and a wrong move could permit dozens of eager supermortal enemies to pounce on him.

  He had only one way left to go and only this opportunity to go that way. So he did it.

  He went up.

  5

  KRISHNA leaped over the side of the sky chariot. He was less than a hundred yards above ground. A mere hop. He landed on both feet, keeping his knees bent for balance. He touched down on the Mathura side of the ditch. The dust was still settling from the clouds of dirt flung up by the celestial disk but even through the billowing clouds, the Yadavas had no trouble distinguishing their own Lord. A great cheer went up at once and reverberated across the battlefield, all around Mathura. Krishna raised his hand in acknowledgement and grinned, then waved once.

  The senapatis of Mathura came riding in haste
to meet him. They dismounted and bowed deeply to him. ‘Lord Krishna, your feat with the chakra was beyond description. You have created the very moat we ought to have dug years earlier.’

  ‘And we would have, had the Usurper not been too vain to believe that anyone would ever dare to raid Mathura,’ said Pradhan Mantri Pralamba, dismounting from his chariot. He greeted Krishna with a bow of his head and a namaskaram. ‘But you have saved the day, my Lord. By your action, you prevented the enemy lines from breaking through.’

  ‘We would have held them back,’ said a young senapati, more confident than the rest. ‘We would have staved them off as long as was needed.’

  ‘But for how long?’ asked Krishna kindly. ‘A day? Two days? Ten? Jarasandha has a force of 23 akshohini. And he has an entire regiment of supermortals, each as powerful as the champions who fought alongside Kamsa. One of those brutes can wreak more havoc than a hundred elephants.’

  The young senapati brandished a fist angrily at the cloud of dust obscuring the ditch that now separated the city from the invading forces. ‘Then we would have fought them to the end. Till every last one of us had stained this field red with our blood.’

  ‘And yielded Mathura to their grubby hands,’ said an older general, one who had seen more decades—and more wars—than the younger man. ‘What use would it be for us to be heroes if we could not even save our own people and city? Nay, Lord Krishna did the wise thing. By creating this rift through the use of his celestial weapon, he has saved us all. Now Jarasandha can no sooner invade Mathura than a gnat fly through a closed door.’

  Krishna shook his head. ‘I fear you are granting me too much credit. It is true I created this rift to stay the enemy’s advance. But all I expected to accomplish by doing so was to delay that headlong advance. Not bar their way into Mathura completely. That task will still have to be done the hard way, by fighting them off.’

  All the generals gaped at him. ‘But that ditch is wider than any moat ever built around any Arya city,’ said another general. ‘Why, it looks as wide as one of the legendary moats around the great city of Ayodhya!’

  ‘Wider,’ said another man. ‘I have seen the moats of Ayodhya. This rift is wider than all the moats of Ayodhya combined.’

  ‘Regardless of its size,’ Krishna said, ‘and even if I were to make it bigger, it would still not prevent Jarasandha from invading Mathura.’

  They looked at one another then at the moat, nonplussed. ‘But how will he cross such a rift? At best he could bridge it in one or two places and have his infantry cross in twos and threes…’

  ‘And if he does so, we shall happily pick them off in twos and threes as they come,’ said another senapati enthusiastically. ‘By Lord Vishnu’s grace, that enormous besieging force cannot possibly cross that divide all at once! For one thing, the elephants and chariots can never cross.’

  ‘What they say is true, Lord Krishna,’ Pralamba said thoughtfully. ‘You have created a divide that is more effective than any fortification. I do not see how Jarasandha can possibly bring his forces across now.’

  ‘And yet he will,’ Krishna said grimly. ‘Count on that. For I have the measure of the Emperor of Magadha. He has not come here to achieve an easy victory. He came to achieve a victory at all costs. Unlike you gentlemen who lead men who are of your own kith and kin and tribe and gotra, Jarasandha considers everyone in his army merely a soldier. Expendable lives to be used to serve his ends. And if that means sacrificing every last one’s life to invade Mathura, he will sacrifice it.’

  Krishna looked out across the yawning abyss that now separated them from the army only a hundred yards away. The dust cloud was still to settle completely, but even without being able to see anything on the far side, he knew that Jarasandha was still there as was his army. Just as he knew that Balarama was fighting fiercely and was heavily outnumbered at that very moment.

  ‘But Lord Krishna,’ said the older senapati, ‘surely now we are in a better position to defend the city, thanks to your amazing feat?’

  ‘I wish I could say we are, good senapati,’ Krishna said. ‘But I fear to celebrate prematurely. As I said at the outset, all I expected to achieve by doing this was delay their headlong advance and rob him of the instant victory he would surely have accomplished. For he meant to smash through our frontline and break into the city this very morning. By doing this, I have stolen his easy victory but it does not mean I have ensured our own. There is much hard work ahead. And a kshatriya’s work is bloody. I fear our young senapati here may turn out to have said the wisest thing of us all after all. It may well be that we shall have to stain this field red with our blood to the last man before Mathura is finally saved.’

  They were all silent, unable to think of anything to say in response to this extraordinary pronouncement. Even the young general who had spoken so confidently and brashly earlier now seemed subdued. After all, if even the mighty champion of Mathura saw such an outlook for this battle, then who was he to predict any other outcome?

  Krishna smiled, his bright white teeth flashing in his dark face like the moon emerging from monsoon clouds. ‘But that is why I am here. And why Balarama is fighting his hardest at this very moment against immense odds. We will not let you expend your lives—not without laying down our own as well!’

  Everyone brightened at once. The young senapati spoke up, ‘My Lord, that is all that I meant to say earlier. Not that we would fight and die, losing. But with you here to lead us, we would die happily, fighting to defend all that we hold dear.’

  Krishna smiled. ‘And I shall do my best to see that you do not die, happily or not!’

  All the senapatis nodded, pleased.

  Krishna held up a hand. ‘Now, I cannot promise that we shall not suffer casualties for we shall. Against a force that size and with Jarasandha’s resources and powers, it is inevitable. So I will not make promises I cannot keep. For it is not within my abilities to protect each and every soldier on the field from harm today.’

  ‘Nor need you do so, Lord,’ said the eldest general. ‘We are kshatriyas. This is our dharma. Whosoever dies on this field today shall die a happy man and be remembered for generations to come. For he fights with Krishna and Balarama by his side!’

  ‘Aye,’ said the others vehemently. ‘We fight with Krishna!’

  Even old Pralamba said with pride in his voice and a shine in his eyes, ‘It does not matter that Jarasandha has 23 akshohini or supermortal fighters or potions and powers to tip the odds unfairly in his favor. We have Krishna and Balarama on our side.’

  ‘Yes!’ cried the group of generals. ‘We fight with Krishna Balarama…to the death if need be.’ It was a pronouncement they had clearly rehearsed and said before for Krishna heard and saw the troops pick it up and repeat it all around the defensive circle. It echoed miles away.

  ‘WE FIGHT WITH KRISHNA BALARAMA…TO THE DEATH!’

  Krishna put his hand to his eyes, wiping away two teardrops that glistened on his cheeks. ‘I am moved by your loyalty. We shall do everything in our power to live up to your faith and your love.’

  He straightened his shoulders and smiled at them all. ‘Now, this is what I need you to do next to counter Jarasandha’s next move…’

  Barely had he finished explaining when suddenly the roaring of the Magadhan army on the far side of the rift died down. Hearing the change in the enemy ranks, even the Mathurans quietened, listening and trying to make out what was happening. An eerie silence descended on the battlefield.

  Krishna strode forward almost to the very edge of the rift. Freshly turned dirt crumbled away beneath his feet, tumbling far down into the abyss. The odor of earth was overwhelming, rich but not entirely unpleasant. The cloud of dust still hung over the ditch like a shroud, obscuring the vision of everybody else peering curiously across but Krishna’s senses could make out everything happening on the far side.

  ‘It begins,’ he said grimly.

  6

  BALARAMA leaped up into the air. A
flurry of weapons swiped, sliced and slashed the air where he had been a moment ago. He flew up several dozen yards, leaving the flailing arms and oiled heads below and for an instant, he was afforded a wide view of the battlefield.

  He saw the great ditch dug by Krishna’s disk and the billowing cloud of dust thrown up by its creation and smiled. The city was safe for the moment now.

  He watched as the onrushing hordes of Jarasandha’s troops saw the abyss yawning before them and tried to slow their attack. It was difficult because while the frontlines could see the ditch, those behind could not. The wave of advancing troops slowed and attempted to halt completely, a difficult task when men and horses and elephants had been excited and whipped to a battle frenzy. Balarama saw many hundreds of soldiers, chariots, cavalry and elephants fall screaming and trumpeting into the ditch, and chaos breaking out in the front rows as those at the fore attempted to stop abruptly and those behind them pushed them forward and into the ditch.