KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa (24 page)

Vasudeva had tried his best to plead on behalf of the imprisoned king and queen, begging with Kamsa to give them even just a clean apartment with daily meals and facilities for their toilet. But Kamsa had acted as if he did not hear him, and had extolled the virtues of his ‘brilliant’ plan in a succession of self- aggrandizing compliments. Vasudeva had known that were he to press the point, Kamsa’s anger would turn upon him. Yet, he had tried and tried again, risking his life and not caring. What Kamsa was doing was simply executing a death sentence upon his parents: a slow, agonizing death sentence that would be implemented through starvation, disease, pestilence, deprivation, or all of these. But Kamsa had neither budged an inch from his plans nor had he lost his temper at Vasudeva. If anything, he seemed to have grown remarkably fond of Vasudeva, treating him like family, displaying a disturbing warmth and affection that was in stark contrast to his earlier hostility. This was enough to make Vasudeva’s insides churn with disgust. He hated to have to stand by and watch Kamsa commit these atrocities, let alone be treated as if he were complicit in these crimes and sins. But for Devaki’s sake, he held his peace.

Now Kamsa clapped a hand on Vasudeva’s shoulder. ‘Come now, brother-in-law, let us retire in private. I wish to have a few words with you. It is time for us to resolve our situation.’

thirteen

Devaki paced the halls of her chamber, waiting anxiously for Vasudeva to return. Under the new martial law imposed on Mathura, women were not permitted to travel unaccompanied by a man outside their homes. Even when they did travel with their menfolk, they were compelled to be clothed from head to toe in garb that must not be found provocative in any way, and their faces veiled. If found violating any of these conditions, the woman in question would be regarded as chattel and thrown into one of the many danda-ghars that had been built specially for this purpose ... to be suitably punished by Kamsa’s soldiers for as long as they saw fit. There were stories, fearfully whispered, of mahamantris Bana and Canura deliberately lifting the veils of women they passed by, and, if the faces they saw pleased them, accusing the women in question of violating the law by having ‘enticed’ them through provocative gestures, words or simply the way they walked. It was straight to the danda-ghars for those poor unfortunates. The lucky ones were too ugly, too old, disease-stricken, or otherwise unappealing. Naturally, to avoid falling prey to this gross injustice and misogyny, women virtually had stopped travelling outside at all. Even Devaki had no choice but to stay indoors. In Kamsa’s Mathura, nobody was above the law, not even his own sisters.

Devaki heaved a sigh of relief as she saw Vasudeva’s familiar, neatly pressed hair as he passed across the courtyard of their house, disappearing below the balcony on which she stood. She spun around as his footsteps sounded on the stairway and the instant he appeared at the top of the stairs, she went to him, eagerly. The sight of his face, pale and drained of all strength, shocked her. She instantly glanced behind him, then over her shoulder at the courtyard once more, fully expecting to see Kamsa’s soldiers – the new army, they called themselves – come with him to bear both of them away for immediate execution. Each day since the ill-fated day of Kamsa’s‘beheading’ had been spent in expectation of that moment. Seeing Vasudeva’s face, she feared it had arrived at last.

But there were no soldiers, only Vasudeva, sinking down into a seat, holding his head in one hand, eyes wet with emotion.

‘What is it, My Lord?’ she asked. ‘Pray, tell me. Is it execution for both of us? Has he condemned us at last? He has condemned and executed almost everyone else by now. Why not us as well? Tell me, Vasudeva, is it execution?’

He looked at her at last, his hand finding hers and stroking it passionately.‘No, my beloved. It is worse. Far worse.’

She stared at him, wondering what he meant. What could be worse than execution?

He told her.

255

And it was so. There
were
things far worse than merely having one’s head crushed to death or being put to death in any fashion, however slow or quick. Her young life and limited experiences had never allowed for such possibilities; but that did not mean they did not exist.

By the time he finished explaining the terrible, horribly unjust terms of Kamsa’s ‘solution’, she was shaking. Her head turned from side to side, trying to deny it all, to pretend she had never heard it. But the tears that fell from her eyes to splash hotly upon her hands contradicted that gesture. Finally, she broke down, sobbing bitterly, chest heaving as he put his arm around her, comforting her. Even in her deep distress, she could feel Vasudeva’s pain as his eyes shed tears too. Together, they held each other and wept.

‘It is a nightmare,’ he said at last, ‘and like all nightmares, it will end. But for now, we must live through it. Do you understand, my love? We must live through it.’

She nodded, then shook her head stubbornly. ‘Why? Why not just ...’ She could not complete the thought, but her meaning was evident.

He shook his head firmly.‘Because someone must stand up to him. Some day, his time will come to an end. If we end our lives, how will we stand up to him when that time comes?’

‘What if his time never ends? What if he really
does
rule forever, as he says he will?
King Eternal!’
She spoke the phrase scornfully, directing her emotion at the cause of her misery.

‘No living thing is forever. Anything that is born must die. Kamsa was born of mortal woman. He is a rakshasa and possessed of great power. But some day, he too will end. Or be ended. And we shall be the instruments of that ending.’

She looked up at him, wondering at his conviction. ‘We shall kill him? Is that your plan?’

He nodded. ‘Perhaps. I shall certainly try.Although I fear he may have grown too strong for any mortal man to kill. Still, I intend to make an attempt.’

Her heart clenched at the thought of losing her husband.‘When?’

‘WhenIgotohimwithourfirst...’Heswallowed, looking down, unable to say the word.‘Until that time, I shall do exactly as he says, hoping that perhaps, against all odds, he relents, perhaps even sets us free to go home to my people. But if he dares to try to harm our first ...’ again, he seemed unable to say the word, ‘... then I shall kill him.’

Devaki was silent. She recalled their conversation in Vrindavan when she had urged Vasudeva to kill Kamsa and he had refused. She did not begrudge him that refusal, nor his refusal to see that Kamsa was no mortal man but a rakshasa. She respected the fact that Vasudeva was his own man and made his own judgement and choices. But she feared that the time for that mode of action had passed. She feared that things would be different this time. Quite different. Though she wasn’t sure how.

But she said nothing. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps Vasudeva would succeed. Perhaps he would not even need to take that last, desperate step.

Perhaps ...

Devakishookherhead,tryingtoclearit.Asshedid so, she felt her belly stir and instinctively put a hand to her stomach.

Vasudeva looked at her, concerned.‘Are you well? Do you require anything?’

She shook her head. ‘No. We are quite well. Healthy. All is as it should be.’

He was silent for a moment, contemplating the irony of that statement.‘How long?’

She had done the mental calculations already and was prepared with the answer. ‘Late summer ... no, later, probably during the month of Bhaadra.’

Less than six months from now,
thought Vasudeva.

They fell silent then, contemplating the future, the possibilities.

Darkness fell as they sat there. Kamsa had denied them servants or aides, allowing them only a house that was guarded by his sentries day and night. Nobody could enter or leave except Kamsa and his emissaries. They could leave only when summoned by Kamsa himself. It was home imprisonment, no doubt about it, but it was a far cry from the miserable incarceration to which he had condemned Ugrasena and Padmavati.

Vasudeva kissed his wife’s forehead and thanked the devas that Kamsa had not treated them as he had his own parents. The thought of Devaki suffering thus through the term of her pregnancy was unbearable. This way, she could at least bring the child into the world safely and hygienically.

And then?

He had said that he would kill Kamsa if he attempted to harm their first-born. He had meant it. But he did not think
this
Kamsa was subject to the same limitations as the Kamsa who had faced him on the three previous occasions when he had been unable to harm or kill Vasudeva ...

But I have never attacked him. What would happen when I try?

There was only one way to find out: the hard way. Six months. He would find out in six months. They sat in the gathering gloom of dusk and waited
together.

fourteen

The eunuch stood in front of Kamsa’s throne. This was a very different sabha hall from the one Ugrasena had presided over. A very different throne as well. This was part of the new palace that Kamsa had designed to suit his purposes, part of the new Mathura. It was a new world, after all, refashioned in his image, to serve his needs and intents; and altering its appearance was important to him. He had never liked the gaily coloured pageantry of the Yadavas, the attempt to mirror all the emotions and shades of life in garments, accoutrements, art, décor, architecture, and everything else that was man-made. What about death? Was
that
not a part of life? Was it not out of his own death that Kamsa had been reborn? One age must pass in order for the next to begin, the way the day died every sunset to give way to the night, as one lifetime ended in order for the aatma to transmigrate to the next. Death was an essential part of the cycle of existence. And what was the colour of death? White, of course. Sterile. Utter blankness. Emptiness. Void. A blank scroll upon which one could write anything one desired, create new worlds, erase old ones.

And so he had had everything painted white. The walls, the floors, the ceiling, every garment, even the tapestries had been painted over with lime. The statuary, the houses of the city, and everything else that was coloured was coloured white.

Kamsa had introduced a compulsory dress code for all citizens and, of course, that was white as well. Nobody was permitted to sport so much as a dot of colour anywhere upon their person – apart from their natural brown skin, of course. Speaking of skin, those who were fairest were to be regarded as superior to their darker bhraatren, with a grading scale that logically followed, the darkest, blackest- hued Mathurans to be shunned and considered unclean and untouchable, fit only for the most lowly, menial tasks: the cleaning of cesspits, the disposal of carcasses, the slaughter of diseased beasts, the performance of executions, and so on. Kamsa himself permitted only fair-skinned and beautiful people within the royal precincts, which was also the only part of the city where women were permitted – encouraged, even – to move freely, dressed as they pleased, even under-dressed if they so desired, or rather, if
he
so desired. White was right. White was might. White was wonderful. This was Kamsa’s world. A White world.

The eunuch was dressed in black.

It offended Kamsa.

He contemplated having the eunuch stripped, then
flayed, then fed to his pets. Anyone who displeased
him was thrown off a balcony, to be eaten by the beasts that roamed the courtyard at the back of the palace. They rarely went hungry. Just that morning he had been compelled to have a serving boy thrown into the courtyard for ... for? Well, he couldn’t recall exactly why he had had the boy thrown down, but it must have been for good reason. And even if he
hadn’t
had a reason, he was King Eternal; he could do as he pleased.

He had got men and women thrown down on far flimsier grounds than not wearing white.

Like this eunuch.

The fellow was tall and strongly built, like all Mohinis. Apart from the fact that Jarasandha picked only the tallest, biggest specimens to be recruited into the fauj, the built of the Mohinis was the result of the special diet and exercise regime that he kept them on. The eunuch was dusty from the long journey, and clearly exhausted. But he stood straight, eyes steady and unwavering, waiting for Kamsa’s answer to his message.

Kamsa had forgotten what the message had been.

‘What was it that Jarasandha said?’ he asked, irritated that he should have to ask again. Clearly, the courier had not delivered his message with sufficient clarity the first time, or Kamsa would not have forgotten it so easily. Incompetence was such a disease these days.

‘My Lord,’ the eunuch said, bowing his head again as he repeated his missive,‘Lord Jarasandha enquires after your well-being and asks if you require his assistance in governing your kingdom.’

Kamsa frowned. ‘Assistance?’

The courier dipped his bald head, a shiny spot gleaming through the layer of road dust – that must have been the spot where the man touched his head with his folded hands while bowing in the Magadhan fashion. ‘My master offers to provide military aid, financial aid, or anything your Lordship desires.’

Kamsa waved away the offer with a sneer of contempt. ‘I require no aid or assistance. This is
my
kingdom, I am quite capable of ruling it myself. Besides, your lord might not have heard but, of late, I have discovered my true nature. I am reborn.’

The eunuch bowed again before speaking.‘My lord is aware of this. He wishes to congratulate you upon your rebirth and to wish you much success in fulfilling all your ambitions.’

Kamsa nodded. ‘Good, good. Now, is that all Jarasandha sent you to say? Because if it is, I have other matters to attend—’

‘There is one last thing, My Lord.’ The eunuch sounded apologetic.

Kamsa looked down his nose at the man, imperiously. Something worm-like and slimy emerged from his right nostril, coming into his field of vision. He ignored it. After a moment, it dropped and fell with a small plop to the floor, where it began squirming its way across the polished floor, leaving a trail of slime.