KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka Page 4

  “I forgot to mention on the previous jump,” Krishna said casually, “I found your anga-vastra in my chariot. Probably I brought it along on that particular Tuesday and unknotted it for you. In any case, you have it now. Were you feeling somewhat chilly?”

  “Chilly?” Balarama thundered. “I was damn near freezing to death. What are you smiling at?”

  He stopped short. Even Daruka was grinning.

  Balarama put his hand on the side of the chariot well. “Don’t make me jump over there, bhraatr. What’s the joke?”

  Krishna grinned at him. “The celestial chariots respond to our thoughts. You could have warmed your chariot anytime you wished, using its power to keep you from feeling the cold. You didn’t need that anga-vastra at all!”

  Balarama gaped. Krishna was right of course. “But what about Daruka?” Balarama said indignantly. “He was the one driving both chariots. Why did he keep mine warm?”

  Daruka bowed his head respectfully to his master’s brother. “Lord Krishna bade me not to, sire. Forgive me. He said it was because you preferred to adjust your’s to suit your own needs.”

  Balarama glared at Krishna who was waggling his eyebrows provocatively.

  Balarama shook a fist at his brother. “Someday, I’ll prove that I’m smarter than you.”

  Krishna burst out laughing.

  Balarama shook his fist again, threateningly.

  Krishna stifled his laughter.

  “Come on, now,” Balarama said sulkily, gripping the side of the chariot well and looking down. “This is serious business. No time to be fooling around.”

  Krishna’s laughter ebbed. Daruka shook his head one last time as well.

  Krishna took them through the Vortal once more. And again. And again.

  “How many times is it by now?” Balarama asked. “I’m getting hungry,” he added, then thought of something, “It’s been days since I last ate!”

  Krishna chuckled at the time-travel joke. “Indeed it has. We lived through 6 Tuesdays in real-time. And we’ve now flashed forward through the Vortal 5 more times. That’s 11 times in all.”

  “So how many more times do we intend to do this? It could be hundreds of times, thousands even, before we finally find out what Jarasandha’s game is. Maybe even then, we won’t know for sure.”

  Krishna shook his head. “No, I don’t think even Jarasandha has the patience to relive the same day’s events indefinitely. There’s a limit to how many times you can watch your forces being defeated in battle over and over again. But yes, it could be a few dozen or even a hundred or more times.”

  Balarama groaned and rubbed his belly. “I don’t think I can take a hundred times more. As it is, these trips are fragmenting my brain.”

  “That’s all right, bhai,” Krishna said calmly, “there’s not much there to fragment.”

  Balarama glared at him. “Okay, then let’s keep going and get it over with.”

  They went through again. And again. And again.

  On the eighteenth try, they finally found what they were seeking.

  8

  “I don’t see anything, bhai,” Balarama said. “It all looks the same to me.” He gestured. Jarasandha’s armies lay arrayed before them as on the previous 17 times, looking much the same.

  Krishna sighed. His brother was a wonderful person but he could try Krishna’s patience at times. “Not here. I meant before we arrived here. As we were passing through the Vortal.”

  Balarama frowned. “As we were passing through…? You mean during the moment when the blinding light flashes and that strange smell hits us?”

  Krishna nodded patiently. “Yes.”

  Balarama grinned endearingly. “I close my eyes at that moment. The flashing light started to give me a headache, and the smell…” he made a face, wrinkling his nose and twisting his mouth. “Ugh!”

  Krishna sighed. “Keep them open this time.”

  He uttered a mantra, reversing their passage. Again, they flashed through the Vortal, but this time headed backwards. There was no literal forward or backward movement, but the air around them changed as they ‘went through’ the Vortal. “There. Do you see it now?”

  Balarama blinked. “I kept my eyes open, wide. But nothing really. Just the usual flash and stench. What is that stench anyway?”

  Krishna repeated the process, going forward now, this time slowing the passage through the Vortal until they were flashing forward in increments of barely a tiny fraction of a second each. Daruka, being mortal, was affected by it, and his movements were reduced to tiny increments—at this rate, it would take him hours to move his hand or bat an eye lash. But Krishna and Balarama, being amsas, were unaffected.

  “There!” Krishna said, forced to point this time. “Do you see it now?”

  Balarama turned and stared. His neck stiffened. “Yes. I see it.”

  In a tiny fraction of a millisecond, between the 17th Tuesday and the 18th Tuesday, there was an anomaly. To Krishna it had been evident the first time he glimpsed it. Now, with time all but slowed to a crawl, even Balarama could not miss it.

  Even so, Balarama had to ask: “What is it, bhraatr?”

  “It’s another Vortal,” Krishna said.

  And that was what it was. A tiny flash of light, like part of a doorway about to open or close, and a section of a man’s face visible in that partly open doorway. Krishna guessed that the being in question was moving at a speed so great, he was hopping through Vortals in milliseconds, literally speeding through the moments between moments. Which begged the question Why? Why would anyone move that quickly? The answer was obvious. To avoid being detected. And since almost no mortals in the present age possessed the ability to view Vortals at all, let alone manipulate them, that meant the being was seeking to avoid devas and asuras. Which included themselves, Krishna and Balarama. In fact, it was obviously just the two of them the being meant to avoid. Because the being was clearly serving Jarasandha’s purpose by doing what he was doing.

  “Who is that passing through?” Balarama asked. “And what is he doing?”

  “It’s Narada-muni,” Krishna replied grimly. “And he’s using another Vortal to create a further ripple of alternation.”

  Balarama turned and looked at him searchingly. “You do know that I haven’t the foggiest idea what that means.”

  Krishna tried to explain without derailing the thought process already blazing through his mind: “It just means he’s using a Vortal on a higher level to control events not only in our simple time but also to control Jarasandha’s control of the Vortal.”

  Balarama continued staring at Krishna. “Thanks. I thought it was just a serving girl fetching me wine. Now I feel much better because I understand life, the universe and the mysteries of romance perfectly. Thank you for enlightening me so succinctly.”

  Krishna sighed. “Imagine a man using a secret passage to sneak around his enemies. Jarasandha is that man, we are the enemies. Jarasandha is using a Vortal to force us into reliving the same day, fight the same battle, until we become so inured to the repetition that we fail to see what he is really planning.”

  Balarama nodded. “That much I already got. But now you’re saying…what? That Narada-muni is using a secret passage, a Vortal, to manipulate Jarasandha while Jarasandha is manipulating us?”

  Krishna nodded slowly. “Very good. Exactly.”

  Balarama spread his hands, his anga-vastra flapping in the night wind. “Why? Isn’t Narada-muni supposed to help us? As one of the saptarishis, the original Seven Brahmarishis created at the beginning of time, isn’t he expected to be loyal to Devas and against the Asuras?”

  Krishna shook his head. “Not necessarily. You’re forgetting the fact that at the beginning of time, the Devas and Asuras were one large tribe, the Suras. We later split and were divided over various issues. Technically speaking, the Saptarishis serve us all and can do as they please, aiding whomever they wish.”

  “Yes,” Balarama said, “But aren’t we the good p
eople and the Asuras the bad ones?”

  Krishna smiled sadly. “I wish it were that simple, bhai, but you know very well that there are no good or bad people, only good or bad deeds. We devas have done some terrible things as well. And the asuras have done their share of good.”

  “Yes, but I mean overall,” Balarama said. “Overall, we’re on the side of good, aren’t we? If you total up good deeds, we have the winning score, don’t we?”

  Krishna shrugged. “Probably, but that’s not the point here. The point is that Narada may not be acting against us. He may simply not be at liberty to explain his actions to us. Therefore he could be doing this secretly simply because it’s not necessary for us to know everything.”

  Balarama opened his mouth to say something then shook his head and closed his mouth. “Suppose I agree that you’re right. Then what?”

  Krishna pointed with his chin. “The question is what exactly is Narada doing? That’s what we have to find out. The answer lies here, in this brief flash of time between the 17th and 18th Tuesdays.”

  Balarama looked around. “What happens here and now?”

  Krishna nodded slowly, “That’s what we’re about to find out.”

  He uttered the mantras and took them through to the 18th Tuesday again.

  ***

  “It still looks the same to me,” Balarama grumbled.

  “Daruka, go farther out,” Krishna said. “Take us some yojanas southward.”

  Daruka did as Krishna instructed. The trip took barely a few seconds. They examined the land south of Mathura without finding anything.

  They tried East next. Same result.

  Then North. Ditto.

  Finally, they tried West.

  And found what they were looking for.

  “Krishna,” Balarama said at last, when he had recovered from the first shock. “This is impossible.”

  9

  If Jarasandha’s army of 23 akshohini had seemed like an ocean surrounding Mathura, then the army they were staring down at was the equivalent of all the oceans of the world, encircling the entire Prithvi. Of course, its limits did not extend around the whole of Prithvi but at the moment, it seemed almost possible.

  The rows upon rows of weapons, armor and polished leather glinting in the faint night light continued not only to the horizon, but far beyond.

  “How far does it extend, Krishna?” Balarama heard himself ask aloud. “It goes on westward for as far as I can tell.”

  “Take us westward,” Krishna instructed Daruka. The charioteer obeyed, looking pale in the wan light. The celestial chariot leaped forward several yojanas, slowing to a halt.

  Still, the lines of soldiers continued to the horizon.

  Glancing back, Balarama could no longer see Mathura, but he could see the river of enemies that flowed towards his city. It was as relentless and overwhelming as the Yamuna in spate, Mathura a tiny morsel in contrast.

  “Farther westward, Daruka,” Krishna said again, sharply this time.

  Daruka obeyed. Again they leaped forward yojanas at a time.

  “Farther,” Krishna said, his voice and jaw tight now.

  Again, still the same unrelenting river of death flowing to their homeland.

  “Farther. Scores of yojanas this time,” Krishna said.

  Daruka did as his master bade.

  Finally, when it seemed they were past the limits of even the Ganga’s origin, they finally found the flanks of the invading force. A great caravan of cooks, servants, and other supporting staff brought up the rear.

  Balarama tried to make an estimate and found himself feeling sick to the stomach. “Their support is itself the size of Jarasandha’s army.”

  Krishna uttered a mantra that created a series of burning golden Sanskrit numerals to appear in mid air. “Back towards Mathura, Daruka,” he said. As Daruka flew them back homewards, the numerals remained suspended in mid air before and above both chariots, each Sanskrit numeral the size of a man’s head, the total count increasing steadily as they flew over the endless lines upon lines of marching enemy invaders.

  When they slowed to a halt at their original position, in sight of Mathura as well as Jarasandha’s army, the count of Sanskrit numerals written on the air was well in excess of 3 crores.

  “Thirty million?” Balarama said incredulously. “Six times the size of Jarasandha’s force?” He shook his head, feeling the world sway around him. “That would take more than a day’s killing to deal with, even with both of us working together, what say, bhraatr?” He tried to say it flippantly but it came out sounding scared.

  “It’s not killing them that worries me,” Krishna said. “You and I could fight forever and destroy ten crore enemies. Or a hundred crore. Or arbo crore. That’s not the point at all, and Jarasandha knows it.”

  Balarama understood without needing Krishna to explain further. Krishna’s eyes were looking towards Mathura. “It’s Mathura,” Balarama said. “The people. With such vast numbers threatening us, even if you and I both fight as fiercely as possible, some of the enemy are bound to break into the city, and cause havoc.”

  “Havoc is putting it mildly. They would wipe out the Yadava race,” Krishna said. “Every enemy and even some allies would descend within a day, eager to destroy our powerful nations and share a portion of the spoils. It would be like the Battle of Dasarajna all over again.”

  Balarama nodded. Guru Sanjeevani had taught them the tale of the Battle. It was narrated beautifully in the Seventh Parva of the great Rig Veda. “Except that instead of 60,000 against 3,000, we would be a million against 35 million or more.”

  “Yes. And we don’t even know what skills or champions or powers this new enemy force possesses.”

  Balarama glanced westward. It was difficult to believe that in that darkness lay the greatest army he had ever heard of before, let alone seen with his own eyes. “Speaking of them, who are they, Krishna? I did not recognize the sigils on their krta-dhvaja. Even their leather armor and horses look foreign.”

  “They are yavana, my Lords,” Daruka said. He bowed to ask forgiveness for speaking out of turn. Krishna nodded to indicate that he could speak freely. “I have seen their like before. It is said they were once Arya like us, the chosen people, denizens of this great sub-continent. But after the great conflict of Dasarajna that you speak of, the Battle of Ten Kings, they were outcast. Their cities were destroyed by our kind and they were forced to ride the desolate plains endlessly, using the fierce wild horses they found roaming freely there. It is believed that someday they would return to seek vengeance for the wrong done to them by us.”

  “Yavana,” Krishna said slowly, “You mean Sudra, don’t you?”

  Daruka nodded. “Some say they are one and the same. Sudras are the descendants and people of Sudas who remained here in Arya lands and were relegated to the lowest varna of all, the most menial of castes, forced to perform the dirtiest tasks and prohibited from rising in varna. Those who refused to be subjugated to the humiliation of being treated in this fashion left the sub-continent led by Sudas’s sons and daughters, and became mleccha.”

  “Barbarians,” Balarama said, “Like the hedonistic people who dwell in the western lands across the great oceans. The cruel ones with skin whiter than mine.”

  “No, not like them,” Krishna said. “These are still Arya in all but name. Honorable, proud, noble people reduced to outlawry because of the foolish pride of Brahmarishi Vishwamitra and a few others. Had things gone differently, they might have been the most powerful nation in this sub-continent today. After all, it is thanks to their efforts that this land of Bharata was first settled and united, however tenuously, by a common culture and the Mother Language of Sanskrit.”