KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa (27 page)

Perhaps the only thing that troubled him was the change in his physical form. While at first the rakshasa elements had showed themselves only in small ways or at some times, with the human form dominating, it was the other way around now. He was almost fully a rakshasa now, and only occasionally did he lapse into human form. And even those times were not by choice; they simply happened, involuntarily, and he
was never quite sure what triggered them or sustained them. The only thing he could control was his size. He had settled on a more-or-less permanent size of around one-and-a-half-times the size of a big-built human Kshatriya, which made him about ten feet in height and as thick around the chest as a bull’s torso. From time to time, he would expand further, often without meaning to; but becoming smaller than his new permanent size was nigh impossible for him. He tried at times, if only because a large size often made it awkward to move through doorways and ride elephants. Even though he had had the palace redesigned to accommodate his new permanent size, if he grew several more yards in height, as he often did, even a twenty-foot-high doorway could be too low to get through comfortably. And even elephants had a limit to how much they could carry.

The more he used his rakshasa abilities, the more he became a rakshasa, and the less human he grew.

But this was not what troubled him now.

Devaki and Vasudeva had succeeded in saving their seventh child.

He knew this with perfect certainty. He had just returned from visiting his brother-in-law and sister and he had heard their account of the unfortunate mishap. They had both been visibly distraught and their performance was credible, but he had smelt through it at once. There was an odour of truth to their claims, but underlying that was a whiff of something else ... not quite a lie, but not the whole truth either. They had held something back.

He had demanded to see the remains, and had been shown a mangled mess that was convincing enough. But he knew that he had been deceived. The question was
how.
Nobody had entered or left their house, through any ingress. Anticipating treachery, he had got the house watch tripled in the past month. He had employed spasas to infiltrate the community of daimaas who assisted Devaki during pregnancy and deliveries. The verdict was unanimous: somehow, the child had miscarried. He had even bitten off the head of one spasa – a habit he had acquired over the past year or so and resorted to when one of his own people were being inefficient or obtuse; it always produced excellent results, not from the person whose head he had bitten off, of course. (The heads made for chewy snacks as well; he enjoyed the crunchy skulls and the tasty brains inside.) But while that had elicited the anticipated reactions from the other spasas – better intelligence reports – it hadn’t brought forth any further intelligence on this particular matter.

He could find no way to prove that the child had been born in Mathura, or elsewhere.

Yet, he knew that, somehow, he had been deceived.

It is so, Prince Kamsa. You have indeed been deceived.

He turned to see Narada-muni standing in the corridor. The sage’s image looked solid and real enough, but when Kamsa tried passing a hand – he swung a fist with enough force to fell a horse – through it, the hand passed through empty air, the imageremainingundisturbed.‘You!’hesaid.‘It’sbeen a long time since you showed your bearded face. And I’m king now, not prince.’

It was never my intention to become your best friend or lifelong companion. As for the title you bestow upon yourself, I may call a house built with cow-dung a palace, as many do, but that would not
make
it so. So long as King Ugrasena lives, you shall always be Prince Kamsa. Or simply the usurper, as you are better known amongst the people.

Kamsa snarled, expanding himself till his head touched the ceiling and his arms the walls of the four- yard-wide corridor.‘Why don’t you appear before me in your real, corporeal form, Brahmin. Then let us see if you dare to insult me.’

Narada laughed shortly.

I do not come here to bandy insults or threats with you; merely to warn you. The seventh child of Vasudeva and Devaki has slipped through your grasp.

Kamsa swore and thumped the walls to either side with his fist. Plaster crumbled and great cracks appeared in the walls, running up to the curved ceiling. Narada flinched, looking up as pieces of the ceiling clattered and fell around him in a shower of dust and debris, then seemed to recall he was in no danger.

‘I knew it! They deceived me somehow. But
how?’

They have powerful allies. The devas themselves assist them. Brahma instructed Devi Yogamaya to spirit the child from Devaki’s womb to another location.

‘Where?’ Kamsa pounded the floor with his foot, sending a giant crack running all the way up the length of the corridor – between the saptarishi’s feet. Again, Narada almost jumped, but controlled himself.‘Tell me where and I can go and crush it like a grape in my fist.’

That was not made known to me.

‘What do you mean, not made known? Who makes these things known to you?’

Narada hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if concerned that someone might overhear him. Kamsa frowned. There was nobody in sight in the entire length of the corridor in both directions at this time of night. No matter what Kamsa did, or what sounds came from his chambers, none of his people would dare intrude upon his privacy until called for, unless they wanted their heads bitten off. He realized that Narada was not looking back at this corridor in Kamsa’s palace. He was looking back at the place where his physical body was right now, in some distant location.

I do not have much time, son of Padmavati. I urge you; listen to my words and heed them well.

This may be your only chance of ensuring that the eighth child never takes birth in this lifetime.

Kamsa frowned. Did that mean the child could take birth in some other lifetime? There was more to the matter than Narada was revealing to him; he had always sensed this. Now he knew it was so.‘First tell me this: why do you help me?’

Narada looked at him.

What do you mean, Kamsa?

‘It is a simple enough question. Why help me? I am ...’ He gestured at himself, not needing to describe his own appearance or nature. ‘I am what I am. Usually, Brahmins like you, especially brahmarishis and saptarishis, would be training Kshatriyas to kill people like me. Instead, you appear mysteriously from time to time and offer me advice and warnings that have helped me prosper and gain power. Why are you so benevolent to me? Have I done something to merit your protection and blessing?’

Narada looked away, avoiding Kamsa’s eyes.

What difference does it make? I am helping you, as you yourself admit, so take my advice and use it well. There is an old saying among cattle herders, perhaps it even originated from the Yadus: do not look a gifted cow in the mouth to check its health, for that might insult the one who gifts it to you! It is advice you would do well to heed.

Kamsa nodded.‘In that case, be gone.’ Narada blinked.

What did you say?

Kamsa waved a hand dismissively.‘Be gone.Away. Leave us be.’ He looked at the saptarishi insolently, grinning wide enough to display his inner set of teeth, the ones that clamped down to crunch particularly hard items, skulls for instance, or human thigh bones. ‘I do not trust intelligence provided for unknown motives by one who openly says he is not my friend.’ He smiled slyly.‘And is a known associate of the devas, who are sworn enemies of all asuras, of which race, in case you were not aware, I am a member.’

Narada glared, angry now. Saptarishis and brahmarishis were not accustomed to being told to get lost.

This is an outrage!

Kamsa turned his back on the saptarishi, stretched his arms and yawned languorously. ‘Now, either tell me what I wish to know, or turn into a cartwheel and roll away.’

Narada sulked for few seconds. Kamsa finished stretching and yawning and started walking away. He was amused when the sage called him back. Good. Now, he would get some real answers, and then he could figure out how to make sure that little slayer was never born.

nineteen

Vasudeva and Devaki were asleep when Kamsa’s men arrived. Vasudeva leaped out of his bed, heart thudding, and thought,
this is it; he has finally broken our pact and has come to have Devaki killed.
He told his frightened wife to stay inside, went out, barred the door and stood before it. He would kill anyone who tried to harm his wife. He would rather die than stand by and watch his beloved be killed. If this was to be his last stand, so be it.

The men were led by Bana himself, clad in his resplendent robes and ornate armour proclaiming his status as saprem senapati. It offended Vasudeva’s very core to see a man like Bana given charge of Mathura’s armies, not merely a man without any sense of dharma or morality, but a known slaver and slave-trader even before he had allied with Kamsa. Vasudeva himself had once delegated a force to stop Bana’s thriving trade in child slaves. They had crippled his operation considerably, if not quashed it altogether. He knew that Bana had always borne him a grudge for it. That showed now as the thin, tall man stood before him, slapping a free glove into the gloved palm of the other hand in a habitual rhythm as he grinned.

‘Vasu,’ he said, then added with heavy irony, ‘deva!’

He looked around. ‘I thought devas resided in swargaloka; yet, here you are, amongst us humble mortals. What have we done to deserve your presence, lord?’

He laughed. His soldiers laughed as well. There were over a dozen of them, Vasudeva noted, all armoured and armed. Clearly, they had not come just to deliver a message. He heard the sound of heavy clinking and glimpsed a length of chain in one man’s hands,attachedtomanacles.Whatwasthatfor?Were they to be shifted to a dungeon now?

‘What are your orders this time, Bana,’ Vasudeva said calmly. ‘Did he toss a stick and ask you to go fetch it?’

Bana’s smile vanished at once.‘You would be well advised to watch your tongue, Vrishni.’

Vasudeva didn’t retort. His first barb had struck home. That was enough.

‘Move aside,’ Bana said.

Vasudeva folded his arms comfortably.‘These are our private quarters. None may pass.’

Bana grinned. ‘Why, Vrishni? Do you fear we might molest your wife?’

Several chuckles greeted that one.

Vasudeva would not let himself be provoked by such puerile taunts. He remained standing in their way.

Bana sighed irritably. ‘We are here on the king’s orders. It is best if you let us do what we have to and leave.’

Vasudeva shook his head. ‘Not until you tell me what you are here to do.’

Bana gestured to the man at the back. He came forward, the chains dragging on the ground with a nerve-rasping sound. ‘You are to be chained and manacled henceforth.’ He gestured to one side of the house.‘And restricted to one half of the house.’

Bana gestured again and a pair of stonemasons came forward, their implements in hand.‘They are to raise a wall dividing the house into two halves. You will reside in one half and your wife in the other.’ He added with evident pleasure:‘She is to be chained and manacled as well.’

‘But why?’ Vasudeva asked. Whatever he had expected, this was not it. Violence, a direct assault, an attempt on his or Devaki’s life, he was prepared for these things. But what good would it do to chain Devaki and him and keep them in separate halves of the house? And why raise a brick wall between them? How would they ...? He stopped. Understanding swept through him.

Bana grinned, seeing his expression change.‘When one wishes to rest the bull, one puts the cow in another pasture, and raises a fence between them.’ He took hold of the chain in his soldier’s hand and shook it, making it jangle loudly. ‘And to make sure the bull does not jump the fence, we chain its leg.’

He grasped Vasudeva’s hand roughly and clapped the manacle on it. ‘And that is how you make sure there are no calves born.’

The sound of Bana’s soldiers laughing filled Vasudeva’s ears.

twenty

Vasudeva sat on one side of the wall. Devaki was on the other. He could hear her but it was not possible to see her from any angle. The chains and manacles made sure of that. They were compelled to do everything within the reach of the chains, which were barely a few yards long. His heart wept at the thought of Devaki chained like a common criminal in a dungeon.

What crimes have we committed, Lord? Why do you make us suffer thus?
he thought.

They talked through the wall, talked more than ever. The separation was agonizing. Only a few yards away, yet so far.

But as the days passed, he realized how brilliant Kamsa’s plan had been. Without harming Vasudeva or Devaki, without breaking the pact between them, without killing his sister or brother-in-law, he had made it impossible for the eighth child to be conceived. It was a devilishly clever stratagem.

The one thing that had provided succour to them, had kept them moving forward purposefully through the terrible years and days and nights, was the knowledge that some day, the eighth child would
come. Slayer of Kamsa. Now, Kamsa had ensured that the child could never be conceived, let alone be born. There would be no slayer, no end to this perpetual nightmare. And what of the future? Were they to live like this till the end of their lives? Perhaps, from time to time, Kamsa would degrade their lives further in some new way, finding new methods of harassing them, torturing them indirectly. Maybe some day he would wall them in completely, as he had done his own father and mother, neither of whom had been seen by a soul since that day seven years ago, and who were believed to be alive inside that hellish prison. A life lived thus, Vasudeva mused bleakly, was worse than a violent death. Death at least put a stop to the pain.