KRISHNA CORIOLIS#5: Rage of Jarasandha Page 5

  Radha stood nearby, weeping too copiously to speak. She was loathe to interrupt the family farewells but her grief at parting was perhaps greater than everyone else present on that occasion.

  Finally, Nanda, Yashoda and Rohini kissed and embraced their two best gopas, climbed on the wagon carts and turned homewards. One by one, all the rest of the Vraj procession followed. Despite their gaily colored garments and belongings, the procession resembled a funeral march. Even their responses to the energetic waves and cheers of all the Mathurans on the streets were desultory. The Vrishni of Vraj had gained great fame as the ones who had sheltered and raised the Deliverer in secret all these years. But to the Vrishni themselves this fame was a double-edged sword for by doing so, they had sacrificed their two most loved sons.

  They had not gone far when the song of a flute came to their ears. Radha was the first to hear it and knew at once its source.

  ‘Krishna!’ she cried out, leaping up lightly and standing backwards on the cart’s bed. The uksan drawing the cart protested with mournful lows.

  All the Vrishni listened, their weeping silenced as the song of the flute wafted over them. It brought back memories of the days of Krishna’s and Balarama’s first exploits, as if the scenes were unfurling and displaying themselves on the cloth sidings of their wagons like living memories.

  The shattering of the uks cart by the infant Krishna, barely more than a newborn at the time and the wild theories dreamed of by Nanda and the gopas.

  The suckling of Putana’s poison milk and the slaying of the giantess, followed by Krishna’s mad divine dance upon her prone corpse.

  The mischief of the dahi handis and the copious amounts the two rascals had consumed in their divine greed.

  The letting free of the cows and calves from the enclosures, and Krishna always blaming Balarama for the act.

  The time when Yashoda had tied Krishna to the plough and he had dragged it between the two trees, shattering both mighty trunks in his eagerness to follow her.

  The numerous encounters with the asuras and the gradual revelation of his true nature…although much of the details now seemed occluded, hazy when viewed from the vantage point of memory. Were the asuras truly demons? Perhaps they had merely been very skilled assassins in elaborate disguises. Even so, for a mere child to confront and overcome them was a formidable act.

  The slaying of Pralamba, Dhenuka, Arista, Trnavarta, Baka, Kaliya…so many others. Both by Krishna himself and by Balarama as well.

  Balarama’s constant caring for the Vrishni as Krishna was occupied in fighting the assassins.

  The numerous close encounters and narrow escapes and near fatalities averted solely by the intervention of the two boys and their supermortal prowess in combat.

  The flute song brought memories of happier occasions too: The ras lila in the fields. The feasts. The celebrations. The festivals. The family occasions. Weddings, births, naming ceremonies, betrothals, thread ceremonies.

  The migration to Vrindavan. The beauty of those lush heavenly pastures and groves.

  The peaceful idyllic days in the center of the storm of attacks. The moments of careless abandon stolen from the claws of incessant anxiety and violence.

  The heartache and intensity of first love. The powerful surges of attraction and fulfillment. The gentle beauty of romance.

  The titillating mischief of the stolen garments and the teasing of the gopis by the Kalindi river.

  The coming of age of the boys and girls, like blossoms flowering in the wilderness.

  All the beauty and madness and unforgettable rapture of the years with Krishna and Balarama passed through the minds of the Vrishni, evoked by the flute song that followed them all the way out of Mathura, across the Yamuna and even as they travelled the slopes of Vrajbhoomi. It was impossible that Krishna’s flute could be heard all the way there. Yet though the world might have had its knowledge veiled of Krishna’s and Balarama’s divinity and true nature, the Vrishni knew in their hearts that the two boys were not merely boys. That the flute song was not merely a reed flute being blown by mortal breath to produce melodic sounds.

  They heard the secret truth locked within the melodic notes of the flute song.

  The heart song within the audible song that unlocked the doors of inner perception.

  For the song belongs to they who listen. And the Vrishni knew how to listen when Krishna played.

  He played the song of their lives. The song of life itself. Geeta Govinda.

  They allowed themselves to be comforted by its beauty and evocation. For they understood that their time with the Lord incarnate had passed. The flute song helped them accept their loss, their sacrifice.

  By the time they reached home, their tears had ceased and they returned to work and daily life as before, a happy and boisterous clan that set an example to all Yadavas.

  The flute player was gone from their midst.

  The peacock had left the garden of paradise.

  The prize calf had moved on to other pastures.

  But somewhere in their hearts and minds, the flute played on and would always play on, eternally.

  Krishna was gone. But his song remained forever.

  2

  GURU Sandipani beamed with pleasure at his two newest pupils. ‘Shishya,’ he said proudly, ‘I will admit that when Gargacharya brought you here, I had my doubts. In my hometown Kashi I am known as the terror of shishyas for I did not permit laxity of discipline in any respect nor would I tolerate any lapses in learning. Ever since coming here to the sunny city of Avanti, I have had many good pupils but never a pair as unlikely as you two.’

  Krishna and Balarama exchanged identical impish smiles. They knew well what the guru meant. Seated beneath the peepal tree in the courtyard of the gurukul, they had experienced a similar speech from the preceptor when they had arrived here to start their education as brahmacharyas. The guru had not been beaming then, nor had his voice been filled with as much pleasure and pride as it was now. If anything, he had expected the worst of the two of them.

  ‘I cannot say that I expected the best of you two,’ he admitted now. ‘For after your formidable reputation and your numerous adventures and episodes of derring-do, I was certain that your kshatriya experiences would dim the light of learning in your minds. I have seen it often before with princes and princesses who have achieved great feats in sport and hunting or even in battle at a young age. They cannot fathom the need to sit beneath the tree of wisdom and partake of its not-always-sweet fruits. The urge to leap onto a horse and ride off with sword in hand overpowers the urge to master the vedas. Rarely do such pupils last more than a few moon months.’

  Sandipani smiled again, shaking his head in wonderment as he consulted the palm leaf scroll laid out on the balsa wood lectern before him, leaning forward in his cross-legged posture to confirm his mental calculations with his customary thoroughness. ‘Indeed, most do not even last as long as you two have, but with far, far lesser results.’

  He looked up at them again, admiringly. ‘Sixty four days. A mere two full turns of the moon around our world. Three score days. I have seen spoilt princes ride in and ride out in as much time or even a few weeks more with not one fraction of the knowledge acquired.’

  He gestured with a subtle nod at both boys, seated cross-legged as he was, listening attentively and with smiling yet faultless expressions. ‘Yet in these sixty four days, the two of you have mastered the entire Vedas and Vedangas, as well as the Upanishads and all the knowledge of warfare, the smriti shlokas and secret tactical manuals, the literature of dharma, the processes of logic and philosophical debate, and the complete knowledge of polity. In short, you have acquired a perfect knowledge of all the six major kinds of learning.’

  The brothers exchanged another glance, silently congratulating each other on their accomplishment.

  ‘And you have done this with a spotless record. Not once did I have to reprimand, discipline or even remind you of a single chore or task. You were
perfect students from start to finish. So much so that I wish that I could have you as my shishyas for the rest of my life, so I might continue sharing the fruits of my knowledge with two such eager and bright young pupils. For you are like perfect pools mirroring everything I teach, and by teaching you, I myself find my own store of knowledge and insight growing prodigiously. Every question you raised, every new observation, every analysis was a masterpiece of function and form. I can honestly say that I perhaps learned as much you did these past sixty four days. Would that I could continue this teaching for decades more.’

  He chuckled softly, a rare sound from that perennially stern voice. ‘Yet, the truth is that I possess nothing more of value to teach you! You have learned all that I know and then more as well. So perfect is your mastery and memory and grasp that I have spent the past few days thinking of reasons to keep you here longer—without success. The truth of the matter is that you have gained all that it is possible to gain from me. It is time now for you to return to your lives and put all this newly acquired knowledge to good use. As I know you shall. Rise now, both of you, and take my blessing.’

  They did as their guru asked, touching his feet and taking his aashirwaad. When all due respects and formalities were done, they asked him what he desired by way of guru-dakshina. Kshatriya dharma demanded that on graduating from a gurukul, the shishyas fulfill their guru’s last request.

  Sandipani sighed. ‘If only I could ask that you stay here forever and share the light of your intelligence and wit with me. It would make my passing years a delight. I cannot think of a better guru-dakshina.’

  ‘Say the word and we shall do as you bid, gurudev,’ Krishna said. ‘The pleasure we have felt in serving you is incomparable. If you command us, we shall do so to the end of your days.’

  Sandipani shook his head ruefully. ‘Nay. I cannot deprive the world of your light. Besides, the purpose of a guru is only fulfilled when his students go out into the world and achieve their own goals. I would be remiss if I kept your considerable talents to serve my own selfish purposes.’

  Balarama and Krishna had come to love their preceptor so much in this short time that they would have done his bidding, no matter what he asked. They folded their hands before him and said again: ‘Is there not something we can bring you or some service we can perform that would please you? No matter how impossible or daunting, you have but to speak the words and we shall consider it our binding duty to fulfill your demand. It is our dharma to offer you guru-dakshina.’

  Sandipani glanced behind them at the still form of his wife, standing beside the doorless entranceway of the simple thatched hut in which he lived. ‘There is one thing. Yet I hesitate to ask it of anybody. You boys are young and have your lives ahead of you. Should my demand prove too dangerous, I should never forgive myself.’

  Krishna smiled. ‘Gurudev, you have known us but a short while yet in a sense you have known us all your life. You should know that no matter how dangerous or daunting the task, it will not prevent us from achieving fruition.’

  Balarama joined his voice to that of his brother. ‘Pray, speak your request. See if we are not your able pupils and worthy of the name of Sandipani Guru.’

  Reluctantly, at last, after further urging, Sandipani Guru revealed his secret request to Krishna and Balarama.

  They looked at one another brightly, grinned again, and rose to their feet. ‘Then we shall take your leave, gurudev. We go now to fulfill your request and shall not return without your guru-dakshina.’

  Sandipani Guru blessed them profusely and spoke all the appropriate shlokas to aid them in their task. But as he watched them board the two-horse chariot on which they had arrived sixty four days ago, he found himself wondering if he had done right by them.

  After all, the guru-dakshina he had asked for was no simple chore or task. It was a mission so formidable that in all his decades of imparting knowledge to thousands of able pupils, he had not once dared to ask a single one to accomplish this particular task.

  His wife came to stand beside him as he watched the brothers ride away. ‘I shall pray for their success,’ she said.

  ‘We shall pray together,’ he said. ‘They shall need all the possible help they can get.’

  3

  The chariot ground to a halt on the packed sand of the top of the beach. Krishna disembarked, tying the reins to the post of the vehicle.

  ‘We cannot risk bogging down the chariot in soft sand,’ he said. ‘The horses could injure themselves.’

  Balarama nodded. ‘They have carried us this long way, let us set them free to roam.’

  Krishna nodded, patting the flanks of the horses. The beasts were visibly exhausted from the long journey. ‘You’re right. Keeping them tethered could cost their lives. We don’t know how long this might take. But setting them free could mean losing them.’

  Balarama shrugged. ‘If that happens, we’ll fly back.’

  Krishna elbowed him gently. ‘You know we can’t do that. We’re supposed to act mortal, remember?’

  Balarama made a low growling sound. ‘Mortal, my backside. I’m tired and bored of being mortal. After cramming a whole fifteen years worth of studying into two months, we deserve to be let loose ourselves. We need to be let off the reins once in a while too, you know.’

  Krishna shrugged. ‘Who knows. If this doesn’t go as planned, you might get your wish.’

  Balarama slammed his right fist into his left palm. ‘I hope so!’

  They started down the sloping scrub border to the main beach. The ocean filled their view for as far as the eye could see, the beach itself curving like a long crescent with them just off the center of the innermost curve.

  ‘So this is Prabhasa,’ Balarama grumbled. ‘You’d think they’d have a pathway in this bloody sand.’

  ‘They weren’t expecting us,’ Krishna said. ‘I’m sure if they knew you were coming they would have laid out a red carpet with dancing girls to strew petals for you to walk on.’

  Balarama shot him a dark glance. ‘Don’t joke about things like that. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any dancing girls. I don’t need to be reminded of the fact.’

  Krishna slapped his brother’s boulder-like back. ‘It’s been a long time since we’ve seen any girls, dancing or otherwise. We took vows of celibacy when we became brahmacharyas, remember?’

  ‘Yes, but I thought that was only until we graduated from Sandipani Guru’s gurukul.’

  ‘That’s true. But we haven’t graduated yet. Not until we finish this task and bring him back his guru-dakshina.’

  Balarama glanced at Krishna in alarm. ‘You mean if we don’t do it, we would remain brahmacharyas for the rest of our lives? Celibate brahmacharyas?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Krishna said. ‘Now you know what’s at stake.’

  ‘Yes,’ Balarama said sourly. ‘Our entire adult lives!’

  In the course of this exuberant banter, they had reached the shoreline. Krishna paused short of the surf foaming on the shell-strewn beach and looked out to sea. It was a pleasant evening, the sun low in the western sky—over to their left—and sea gulls flew overhead from the rock formations just offshore.

  ‘So this is Prabhasa,’ Krishna said. ‘Seems like a nice enough spot.’

  Balarama scowled. ‘So nice that it stole Sandipani Guru’s only son! Come on, enough admiring. Let’s kick this ocean on its backside.’

  Krishna frowned. ‘How exactly should we do that? Where is the ocean’s backside? Where’s its frontside, for that matter?’

  Balarama waved at him dismissively and strode out into the surf.

  He waded into ankle deep water, then halted.

  He joined his palms together and meditated for a moment. Krishna knew he was chanting vastras silently, shlokas that summoned up the power of brahman to accomplish things that defied the very laws of the natural order.

  Krishna glanced around. The beach was deserted as far as the eye could see. It was just after the monsoon season
and the sea was too rough to frolic or swim in for sport. There were no fishing villages in the immediate vicinity and no boats out to sea. They were far from the nearest marg.

  Nobody was around to see Balarama and he use their supermortal powers.

  He shrugged and strode forward, joining his brother in the surf. The water was cool upon his feet and ankles, the foaming surf kissing his feet gingerly then receding quickly.