KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa Page 4

  But he only looked away, unable to meet her eyes. ‘I pray it may be so,’ he mumbled half-heartedly.

  Six

  Vasudeva raised a hand, quelling the clamouring voices that filled the large cattle shed. As he waited for his agitated countrymen to quiet down, his gaze swept across the gathering, noting that his clansmen had travelled from as far away as the southern-most nations to be present. Representatives of all the major tribes and clans of the Yadava nation – the gyati sanghas as they were called – were present, although, of course, the Sura sangha dominated, this being Sura territory. There was an air of tense anticipation for the meeting, and he had seen people talking in groups in every street he passed through the previous day. From the anxious way their eyes darted to him and their voices lowered as he approached, he knew that the one concern they all shared was the same as his own: Would the peace hold?

  Now, every pair of eyes settled on him with the same anxious gaze, asking the same implicit question. He knew how hard it had been to hold these disparate sanghas together in order to form a united front for the long, painstaking negotiations. Water rights and access to the river were only one of many pressing concerns that divided even longtime neighbours and turned old allies into bitter foes; he had had to contend with a host of other issues, foremost of which had been the deep rancour over the terrible war crimes committed by the Andhakas.

  The Yadavas were an honourable race, ruled by dharma, and that precept extended to their wartime actions as well. However, some of the things the Andhaka Yadavas had done in the past few years did not deserve to even be judged under dharma. And at the forefront of those war crimes was always the same name, the same bloodstained face, the same sigil and banner: Kamsa and the White Marauders.

  Much more terrible than Kamsa’s adharmic misdeeds were the growing reports – increasing in number with each passing day – of similar atrocities and abuses being perpetrated by other kings in surrounding nations. Vasudeva himself had heard bloodcurdling accounts of eerily similar, Kamsa-like outrages perpetrated by kings such as Pralamba, Baka, Canura, Trnavarta, Agha, Mustika, Arista, Dvivida, Putana, Kesi, Dhenuka, Bana, Bhauma, and above all, Jarasandha, the demoniac king of Magadha.

  What was peculiar in the extreme – disturbing, to say the least – was the almost identical nature of these outrages. It was as if all these several monarchs and tribal chieftains – many of whom had aggressively wrested power, rather than rightfully earning or inheriting it – were giving in to the same animalistic impulses. It had provoked nervous babble which consisted of ancient myths and creatures from the annals of the puranas, a compendium of legends and histories of ages past. This only worsened matters. Vasudeva wondered if these rumours of asuras and rakshasas rising and walking the earth were the product of overactive imaginations or propaganda spread by the perpetrators themselves. It certainly suited the purposes of those bloodthirsty despots and usurpers to be regarded as hell-beings and demons rather than as the opportunistic war criminals that they actually were. Only moments before this very meeting, he had received word of an entire village gathering up its younguns and cattle and fleeing on word of the imminent approach of the terrible Agha, rumoured to be a vetala, a mythic being who sucked the life energy from his victims simply by laying his lips or fingers upon them. How convenient for Agha, who had been able to seize the entire village without losing a single arrow.

  ‘Bhraatr,’ he said now in a measured, level voice, ‘I urge you all to calm yourselves and cast aside your agitation. Rising tempers and turbulent emotions will only worsen this crisis, rather than resolve it.’

  Several murmured their approval of his words, but many more simply glowered and brooded. Vasudeva sensed their hostility and singled out one who had been receptive to dialogue in the past.

  ‘Bhraatr Satvata, you, above all, know that anger will not resolve our problems.’

  Satvata, a man in his middle years, with a darker complexion than even the usually dark Yadavas and a drooping moustache, shook his head sadly as if answering Vasudeva’s unspoken request for support in the negative.‘Then what will?’

  ‘Well said, Satvata! What do you expect of us, Vasu?’ said Uddhava from the eastern tribes, an old friend who was accustomed to addressing his king informally, even irreverently at times.‘We have already tried ahimsa, talks, appeals to mercy ... even signed a peace treaty.’

  ‘Apeacetreatywithasuras!’exclaimedChitraketu of the borderland clan, one of those responsible for perpetuating the rumour of ancient demons reborn in human form.

  ‘... and despite all our efforts, the Andhakas continue to ravage our lands, slaughter our people and our kine without cause, violate and carry away our women ...’ Satvata’s voice caught and he buried his face in his hands briefly, overcome by emotion.‘They even butcher our children ... my little Nala—’

  ‘Satvata speaks the truth! We have played the hand of peace, met our foes with palms joined in respectful namaskar – and each time they respond with drawn swords and stretched bow-strings!’ Uddhava cried in support as he clasped a burly arm around his northern clansbrother.

  ‘Yes, why should we be the ones to be humble and merciful, at all times?’ cried another chieftain whom Vasudeva didn’t recognize for a moment. He then realized that it was the fourth brother of a southern clan, the fourth to attend Council in as many sessions, his three brothers all having been killed in succession in marauding raids.‘I am the last of my father’s sons to survive the bloodlust of the Andhakas. If I too am killed, the Kannars will come no more to Council!’

  Several voices spoke together in angry incoherence. Vasudeva raised his hand for silence but this time the tide was too fierce to brook. He lowered his hand and let them speak out their anger for a while longer. Finally, they subsided of their own accord, glaring in his direction. He was saddened by the disappointment in the eyes that met his own.

  ‘Bhraatr, we have all suffered. But we at least have a treaty in place.’

  ‘What good is a treaty that is honoured only by one side?’ Chitraketu demanded. ‘When Ugrasena’s son shattered the door of Brihadbala’s house and entered with his cohorts to rape and loot at will, Brihadbala reminded him of the treaty. Do you know what Kamsa said to our bhraatr?’

  Vasudeva lowered his eyes: he had heard the story from Brihadbala’s son, who was weeping and nursing a broken arm and crushed ribs as he recalled the last moments of his father, followed by the hours-long brutal assault on his mother and sisters by Kamsa and his men.

  Chitraketu went on, red-rimmed eyes flashing, ‘He said,“This is the only treaty I uphold!” and showed Brihadbala his raised sword before hacking him down. In his own house!’

  This time, the cries of outrage were sadder, mourning Brihadbala as well as the other recent victims of Kamsa’s brutality. Even Vasudeva had to take a moment to gather his wits and emotions. Being clan-chief did not free him from feeling the anger, despair and frustration they felt; it merely obliged him to refrain from succumbing to it.

  ‘I know this,’ he said softly, earnestly.‘We all mourn the dear ones we have lost. But what choice do we have? If we overturn the treaty, it will just lead to a sure end. Outright war. Is that what you all desire?’ He held up his hand even as several moustached and bearded mouths opened to answer him.‘I can assure you, it is what Kamsa desires! We will be playing into his very hands if we take up arms against our Andhaka brothers. That is exactly what he wishes to provoke us into doing.’

  ‘What choice do we have?’ demanded Satvata in as earnest and soft a voice. Heads turned to look at him. His eyes were red from crying. Yadava men were passionate and generous with their emotions, and unafraid to cry openly. What good was a man’s freedom if he could not show the world how strongly he felt about something or someone?

  ‘How do we go on enduring this abuse? It is beyond endurance now.’

  ‘Yes!’ cried many other voices, all with genuine grievances and causes.‘Beyond endurance!’

  Kratha
– a slender, ageing man who leaned on a shepherd’s crook – spoke up; having lost all his sons,

  he had been forced to come out of retirement to attend Council once more, almost two decades after retiring to a pastoral life. He said in a halting voice that shook with age as well as emotion: ‘What of the Andhaka king? Is Ugrasena blind and deaf to the atrocities of his son? Why does he not leash his mad dog?’

  ‘Or put him down as a mad dog deserves!’ cried another voice.

  Vasudeva sighed.‘He knows all. And he has tried his utmost to leash him. But it seems that Kamsa is out of his control as well. I just returned after a meeting with Ugrasena this morning. He wept as he heard of the fresh blood shed by his son and his fellow rioters.’

  At this, the Council fell silent for a moment. In the distance, Vasudeva heard the lowing of the cows asking to be milked again. All the gothans were short- handed, with most of the able-bodied men patrolling the borders to warn of any impending raids; the womenfolk could not keep up with the extra chores they had to do now that all the men were away. There were cows lowing all across Mathura and the Yadava nation today because the gentle cowherds were forced to look to their borders with fear rather than to their herds with care.

  ‘If even Ugrasena cannot leash his son,’ said old Kratha,‘then who will stop Kamsa?’

  seven

  ‘I must do it,’ Vasudeva said at last. ‘I must be the one to stop Kamsa.’

  Devaki stopped and turned to look at him, aghast.

  They were walking in Vrindavan, the idyllic tulsi grove at the heart of the Vraj nation. The cookfires of Gokuldham, the nearest village, were visible in the distance, curling lazily above the treetops. Vrindavan was a place of great importance to the Yadavas, a veritable botanical garden jointly maintained by a concatenation of clans. Apart from providing the Yadava nations with the countless herbal flowers, roots, seeds, fruits, leaves, stems, and the like which were needed for the making of medicinal preparations and unguents, the vast grove also contained fruit groves, vineyards, honey hives and a variety of similar resources. It was long believed by the Yadavas that anything that took root in Vrindavan grew under the protective gaze of Vishnu himself, the great protector.

  Vasudeva and Devaki had taken to meeting here, away from prying eyes and wagging tongues. Sad that it should be so; after all, they were legitimately betrothed. But the rising tensions between their nations and Kamsa’s ever-watchful spies had led them to a mutual agreement that it was best to meet in private. These evening walks, once or twice each week, had become the highlight of Devaki’s days.She looked forward to them from the moment they parted; and, of late, they were also the setting for her nocturnal dreams in which Vasudeva and she indulged in more sensual activities than merely walking and talking.

  Now, she clutched his arm tightly, alarmed by his decision.‘You must not! There is no talking to Kamsa. Not any more.’

  He sighed, his forehead creasing in three vertical lines like a ripple as it always did when he was fretful. ‘Everyone can be talked to. Besides, if I don’t, who will? Your father has thrown up his hands in despair.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, then more urgently, ‘Yes! Exactly. Don’t you see? If even Father dares not talk to Kamsa, you certainly must not even attempt it.’

  Vasudeva put his hand over hers, moving it from his arm to his mouth. He kissed her fingertips. She felt a tingle of sensation ripple down from her fingertips down to her toes, a delicious shudder thrilling the centre of her being.‘Beloved one. He is my brother-in-law-to-be. He shall be present at the wedding. Once we are wed, he shall be free to come and go as he pleases. Whatever his crimes, hideous and heinous as they are, he is still connected to us by family and law. I can hardly ignore him. Besides,’ he pressed her hand to his chest where she could feel his heart beating with surprising quietude, ‘if I do not speak with him, who will? Someone must, and soon.’

  She shook her head insistently.‘It will do no good.’ He shrugged.‘Well, then it can do no harm either.’ ‘You do not comprehend, Vasu, my deva. My brother is not ...’ She stopped short, as if reluctant to utter the words.

  He frowned, curious.‘Not ...? What? In his senses? I know that already. He is power maddened, power hungry, and a warrior to whom violence and the suffering of other human beings has become a kind of soma, an intoxicating addiction.’

  She looked up at him quietly, then said in barely a whisper:‘Iwasabouttosay...heisnothuman.’

  He stared at her. ‘Come now, my love. You cannot have meant that, surely. He is a terrible man, it is true. But merely a misguided and ill-intentioned one. Not some manner of—’

  ‘Rakshasa,’ she said flatly. ‘A demon. A monster reborn in human form.’

  He sighed and looked away. ‘There are no such things as rakshasas.’ He shrugged, spreading his hands to gesture at the setting sun above the fragrant groves. ‘Perhaps there were such things once, in the days of Rama and Sita. Perhaps not. We shall never know for sure, although I believe even those so-called rakshasas and asuras were merely mortals too. If not, we should surely have found skeletons or carcasses of such extraordinary beings by now! None have ever been found or heard of till now.’

  ‘That’s because all the rakshasas were destroyed in the age of Rama. That was why Vishnu took an avatar in human form, to cleanse the earth of rakshasas forever, and to end Ravana’s evil reign.’

  He put his hands on the tips of her shoulders, turning her towards himself. ‘Maybe it was so. I do not wish to debate itihasa and matters of science with you. But Kamsa is no rakshasa.’

  ‘He is evil,’ she said without a trace of doubt, ‘the most evil being in the Yadava nation.’

  ‘No, my love. There is no such thing as Evil. Or Absolute Good either. These are oversimplified concepts used by rabble-rousers to goad warriors into fighting the enemy. If you tell every foot-soldier that his counterpart in the opposite rank is as human as he is, earns the same pittance, eats the same bad food, and takes almost nothing home to his long-suffering wife and children, he will rebel and walk away, rather than fight. By telling him that he is fighting for the forces of Good and that the other man is Evil Personified, you motivate him to fight to the death – the other man’s death. It’s the manipulation tactic used by leaders ... as old as troop warfare itself.’

  She did not debate, simply said with utter conviction,‘You do not know my brother. He is Evil Incarnate.’

  He looked at her, about to argue further, then sighed and looked away. Devaki saw her own thoughts reflected in that action: What were they debating? Kamsa’s malevolence? Rakshasa or human, evil or merely badly flawed, he was no paragon of dharma. That was certain; the rest was semantics. Although, of course, she knew. She knew.

  ‘I believe he can still be reasoned with, talked to, his better instincts appealed to.’ Vasudeva spread his hands. ‘There must be a way to get through to him. This madness has to stop.’

  She clutched his arm again, feeling herself shivering as if with a sudden chill, despite the balmy weather. He looked at her, concerned.

  ‘You must not,’ she said, beseeching him now.‘He is a killing device. Like a sword with a dark hunger that must be fed all the time. Can you reason with a sword? Talk to it? Appeal to it? I beg you, my love, do not risk your life and limb.’

  He sighed, putting his arm around her. Vasudeva listened to her, unlike so many men; he actually listened and could be persuaded with reason and good sense. That was one of the many things she loved about him.

  ‘What would you have me do, then?’ he asked. ‘I am king. I must do something. The barbarism must be stopped. It cannot go on. Just this day, I received word of ...’ He trailed off, then looked down, and she saw the dark grooves beneath his eyes, sensed the deep sadness in his soul.‘My people are being brutalized. I cannot simply stand by and let it happen.’

  ‘No, you cannot,’ she agreed. ‘You must not. You must act now. Before it is too late. Before Kamsa’s power and bloodlust grow too grea
t for even him to control.’

  He gazed at her, puzzled. ‘So you agree I should speak with him?’

  ‘Not speak! Words are no good. You must act! Stop him!’

  ‘How?’

  She laid a hand upon his chest, staring straight into his eyes.

  She said quietly:‘Kill him.’

  He balked.‘He is your brother.’

  She shook her head.‘Not any more. If he ever was

  my brother, that man has long been consumed by the rakshasa that now governs his body and mind. He is not human. Not any longer. And if he is not stopped, he will grow more powerful, more terrible.’

  ‘You cannot truly believe that, my love.’

  ‘I do not wish to believe it. But I know it to be true, nevertheless.’ She covered her face, realizing how terrible she must sound.‘I am ashamed to be his sister.’ She gathered herself together. ‘I mean what I say, Vasu, my most beloved of all devas. He is a rakshasa and the only way to stop a rakshasa gone berserk is to kill him.’

  Vasudeva stood silent for a long time. The sun descended below the treetops. Birds sang louder in the grove, filling the air with their music. A pack of monkeys chattered and raced through the trees on some mischievous errand. The sweet aroma of honey wine wafted to them from nearby.

  Atlast,hesaidsadly,almostregretfully:‘Icannot. It would be against dharma to kill my brother-in-law. In fact, if I were to break the peace treaty by such an act, it would certainly lead to decades-long warring between our nations. An assassination of a royal heir will render all my peace-making efforts useless.’

  ‘The people will understand, Vasu. They know Kamsa is not fit to be king. His own citizens would not shed a single tear once he is gone.’