KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa (17 page)

Even so, Kamsa could not help feeling a surge of jealousy when he clasped hands with the handsome, almost girlish Sahadeva, whose hands were softer than any man’s he had clasped before, hair curled in delicate twirls around his effeminate, not unattractive features. He had never known that Jarasandha had a son. Good that he was only an architect, a builder, and an artist, not a warrior.

In his heart and mind, Kamsa had come to think of himself as Jarasandha’s true son. For the Magadhan was, in every sense, the father he had always desired and never had. The father he respected and loved, and who acknowledged and praised him in return.

I would give my life for him,
he thought fiercely as they rode out from Girivraja the next morning. He loved the man he was following more than he had ever loved anyone or anything before. He had not protested or debated when Jarasandha asked him to marry his daughters who happened to be beautiful and everything a man could desire, but he would have done the same had they been wart-ridden and ugly in the extreme. Jarasandha had only to ask him to ride his horse off a cliff and he would do so without question, trusting that there would either be a river below to break his fall, or the sacrifice of his life was necessary for his friend’s cause. No act was too gruesome, no sacrifice too great.

In the days and weeks that followed, his resolve was put to the test and only strengthened and tempered further, as steel is tempered by fire followed by ice over and over again until the layers of beaten metal bond permanently. Even Hansa and Dimvaka, perpetual protectors of the emperor and eternally by his side, were hard-pressed to match Kamsa’s ability to spot and deflect assassins, attacks, murder attempts and outright assaults. No Kshatriya in the coalition fought as fiercely, no warrior risked as much, no leader achieved as many victories. As ruthless in carrying out as he was in deflecting assaults, Kamsa grew from the hot-headed Yadava prince who rode into Magadha to a finely tempered commander of men in battle. Mathura iron, never known for its temperance, now as solidly bonded as Mithila steel.

Finally, a day came when Jarasandha turned to him and said,‘It is time for you to go and stake your claim to your own domain.’

Kamsa knew at once what his father-in-law meant, but pretended he did not understand. ‘This is my domain, by your side.’

Jarasandha slapped him lightly on the cheek, a gentle admonishment. ‘You would be an emperor’s lackeyallyourlife?You are destined to be a king,and a king of your own domains. Remember what you asked for when you came to me. The reason why you formed this alliance, signed the accord. All the others have carved out the kingdoms they desired. Only you remain by my side. It is time for you to go home and command the Yadava nations.’

Kamsa hung his head unhappily. ‘Let me stay a while longer.’

‘If you stay a day longer, you will stay forever,’ Jarasandha said gruffly. He cuffed Kamsa across the ear, too gently to hurt but firm enough to convey his insistence. ‘Go. Show me your face again only when you have become lord of all Yadavas. Put all that I have taught you to good use. Make me proud.’

Kamsa left, his heart aching and feeling as if he were leaving home to go out into the wilderness, while, in fact, it was the other way around.

Jarasandha watched him go and said softly to Hansa and Dimvaka who flanked him as always:‘We have watered and nourished and nurtured enough. Now, let us see whether the seed we sow in Mathura shall bear sweet fruit or not.’

Kaand 2

One

A peace accord is a piece of parchment sealed with wax and signets. A wedding is a union of families sealed with frolic, food, and love. Ministers and politicians preen and pose at the former and everyone tries to claim credit, even those who have not contributed at all. At a wedding, everybody has the time of their life and each person deserves equal credit.

Mathura roared, whistled, clapped and cheered as Vasudeva and his four brothers emerged with their new brides. The feasting and celebrations, spanning several days – weeks actually – had culminated today. Mathura herself resembled a bride. The city had played host to the Andhaka kingdom and to her siblings, the Sura and Bhoja nations as well. It had been too long since the Yadavas had known such unfettered joy, and they made the most of it. As passionate, boisterous, large-hearted people, they revelled in the feasting and in the relaxing of inhibitions. Released from the fetters of clan and inter-kingdom rivalry and violence, all Yadavas joined in with equal fervour, sharing food and wine and good humour as if this were the last celebration on earth and they the last revellers.

In the Andhaka pavilion, a host of richly garbed and bejewelled royalty joined its few hundred voices to the roar of the lakhs thronging the avenues, streets and by-lanes. The gathering was the kind that few had seen before in their lifetime. People were cheering from places as far away as Gokul – a tiny village where Vasudeva’s dearest friends, Nanda and Yashoda, resided – for many in such outlying areas could not afford the expense and time spent on the long journey, nor leave their fields and kine unattended. Instead, they festooned the entire length of their tiny villages, and thus the Yadava nations, with their joy at the union.

Vasudeva’s parents, Sura and Marisha, were looking radiant. His sisters were present too: Pritha (better known as Kunti – a name derived from her adoptive father Kuntibhoja’s name), Srutadeva, Srutakirti, Srutasrava and Rajadhidevi. Vasudeva’s brothers – Devabhaga, Devasrava, Anaka, Srinjaya, Syamaka, Kanka, Samika, Vatsaka and Vrika – were joyously celebrating the occasion since, along with Vasudeva, four of them had married Devaki’s sisters – Kamsavati, Kanka, Surabhu and Rashthrapalika – which meant that the festivities and happiness were multiplied tenfold.

Apart from five daughters, Ugrasena had nine sons – Kamsa, Sunama, Nyagrodha, Kanka, Sanku, Suhu, Rashthrapala, Dhrishti and Tushthiman – of whom only Kamsa was missing. Kamsa’s brothers were nothing like him in nature or outlook, and Ugrasena had wisely given each of them a substantial state to govern independently, thereby keeping them away from the centre of power as well as apart from each other. With each brother a minor king in his own right, there was no petty rivalry to spoil their relationship. This meant that there was no acrimony soiling the gruff voices of elation that they were adding to the festive clamour with enthusiasm.

Ugrasena’s brother Devaka had four sons: Devavan, Upadeva, Sudeva and Devavardhana; and seven daughters: Santideva, Upadeva, Srideva, Devarakshita, Sahadeva, Devaki and Shritadeva. Devaki’s sisters surrounded her like diamonds clustered around a white solitaire, sharing their sibling’s joy as well as flirting openly and outrageously with their brother-in-law, for among Yadavas, a sister’s husband was second only to one’s spouse.

Then there were the patriarchs and matriarchs of the Andhaka dynasty, a veritable genealogy in the flesh: Ahuka – Ugrasena and Devaka’s father – and his ageing sister Ahuki were in attendance at the festivities. Ahuka and Ahuki’s father Punarvasu was there, still standing proud and tall and with a great deal more darkness in his hair than white. Punarvasu’s father – Ugrasena’s great-grandfather – Avidyota, and his wife were present, and even the great patriarch of the nation, Anu, was present. That made for five generations of Andhakas all together in one place! At well over a century, Anu was too old to walk on his own, and was carried on a royal seat, cackling with delight, for he loved weddings almost as much as he loved his soma.Unfortunately, Andhaka himself–not he whose name now belonged to an entire nation, but the seventh descendant of that original Andhaka – had passed away only a few winters earlier. He was sorely missed, but a hundred-and-fifty years was a passable age to gain moksha, and his memory graced them all.

These, of course, were merely the immediate royal family, which, if you counted the spouses, children, and entourages, numbered several hundreds.

On the Sura side too, there were as many if not more. Families begat tribes which begat clans which begat nations, and there was not a soul in the three Yadava nations who did not know some relative, however distant, related to any stranger he happened to meet. Akrur even had a formula that he applied to each new person he met. He would ask them to recite their genealogy seven generations back, which usually covered living forebears, since all Aryas married young and became parents in their adolescent years with just a few rare exceptions. Before the litany of seven names could be completed, he would pounce on one he found familiar and excitedly point out his relationship to that forebear, finally tracing how the stranger and he were directly related. It turned out he was related to everyone at the wedding! He remained as enthusiastic even when Vasudeva gently pointed out that as Yadavas, one and all, ultimately they were all related to each other.

And the people ... Which kingdom does not relish a grand royal wedding? That too one that serves to cement the relationship between nations, and brings some much-missed peace? Even in the short months since the extraordinary incident at the army camp and Kamsa’s subsequent disappearance, Mathura’s air had started smelling of a garden in full bloom, with the former fetid stench of the dungeons fading out of most citizens’ memories. Whatever doubts or hesitation anyone might have had were set aside for the duration of the wedding. The Sura wedding invitees who had arrived with Vasudeva as part of his wedding procession had grown so accustomed to Vrindavan’s honey wine that it was all they drank night and day. In the quarters occupied by the wedding guests, the revelry had raged morn to night, then all night long.

It was with a great effort that Vasudeva himself succeeded in remaining relatively sober during this period. He alone could not easily forget how precious this occasion was, how hard-won this joy, and how each peal of laughter or whistle and cheer had been paid for with innocent blood.

Another issue that plagued his mind was the infuriatingly erratic but incessant flow of news from distant regions: news of a great war campaign being waged by the demoniac Jarasandha of Magadha and his many allies. Accurate news was hard to come by, for few survived or were able to flee this far to tell their tale, but from the fragments that had drifted this way, he had formed a rough outline of a terrible invasion in progress. It was made worse by the knowledge that Aryas were waging war against fellow Aryas on such a scale. Even the most tenuous accounts and rumours agreed on one thing: the scale of bloodshed was epic, the slaughter massive.

Vasudeva’s brothers, his allies, the Council, all shook their heads and stroked their beards sadly and commiserated with the plight of fellow Aryas in those distant lands. But they also thanked the devas that
their
misery had ended so fortuitously with the departure of Kamsa and the success of the peace treaty enforced by Vasudeva. It did no good for Vasudeva to remind them that the storm that raged in their neighbour’s yard could easily turn and ravage their own tomorrow; or that Kamsa had only gone away, not died a mortal death. Yadavas were positive in their outlook and never cared to dwell on the worst. People of the moment, they seized the day and every little joy it brought. It was the only way to gain some satisfaction and joy from an uncertain life.

But now, Vasudeva himself had succumbed to the enormous swell of sheer delight sweeping him along. How could he resist? What pomp, what splendour, what majesty! It was a wedding that would have honoured a god! His head swam to even count the many rich treasures he had been gifted, and his heart filled with pride that he had been able to afford the queen’s dowry he had given the Andhakas in return. To quote Devaki’s favourite phrase: Truly, today, they were both rich. They were rich in pleasure, love, goodwill, and in coin and kine!

Vasudeva savoured the warmth of the sun on his face, the fragrance of the blossoms, the colour and pageantry of the pavilion, the uplifting roar of the crowd and the delectable soma. Ahead was the uks cart, the uksan painted gaily as was the Vrishni custom, the driver seated and waiting to cart them away. It was time to go home and unlock the door to the future.

Vasudeva turned to his bride to assist her up the cart. Her face peeped out of the deep-red ochre wedding garments, bashful and demure, as if she had only just picked him out of a swayamvara line-up and was suddenly contemplating the implications of going home with an absolute stranger for a husband.

He winked at her, and she turned a deeper shade of red but winked back with a coyness that thrilled him. Ah, he would have children by this woman, a prodigious flock that they would raise together to be the joy of the Yadava world. Five, ten, a dozen bonny children! And that was the number
she
had spoken too, shyly, with eyes averted, but with a mischievous twinkle in them.

His bride safely ensconced upon the uks cart, Vasudeva sat beside her. The crowd achieved a new level of ecstasy as dhols, kettledrums, conch-shell trumpets and all kinds of musical instruments, vocal performance, and accompaniments – including the joyful baying of hounds, neighing of horses, lowing of kine, and trumpeting and foot-stamping of elephants – combined to create a deafening wave of sound that threatened to raise the cart and carry it all the way to his doorstep. He laughed till tears poured from his eyes in joy, and put a hand gently on the shoulder of the driver of the cart, speaking into the man’s ear to tell him he could start the long, slow procession. It was customary for one of the bride’s brothers to drive his sister and her groom home in order to extend the bride’s familial connection as long as possible. He assumed that the man was one of Devaki’s nine brothers; it hardly mattered which one.

The man turned his face to Vasudeva and, suddenly, it mattered a great deal.

The man driving the uks cart was none other than Kamsa himself.

two

Vasudeva’s brothers, each seated with his bride in an identical uks cart drawn by painted uksan and driven by one of Devaki’s brothers, shouted to him to get a move on. Vasudeva heard their voices as if from a great distance. His attention was focussed on Kamsa’s face.