KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa (28 page)

He turned and looked at the wall. It loomed, rising to the very ceiling, five feet thick and reinforced with rods of iron. It was as solid as a fortress wall. Even if he attempted to dig through somehow, he would be found out within a day by the guards who patrolled the house. And the attempt itself might worsen their plight.

He sat back, shoulders slumped despondently, and slept.

twenty-one

When Vasudeva awoke, the first thing he noticed was the light.

Night had fallen. The house was dark. The patch of sky visible through the open window was black as pitch. If there was a moon, he could not see it through that narrow portal, nor any stars.

But the wall glowed with light.

He blinked and looked up, certain he was dreaming.

A shape very much like a large oblong had appeared on the wall, at eye level. It seemed to be formed entirely of some kind of brilliant bluish light. He had never seen the likes of it before. It glowed rhythmically, pulsing and throbbing slowly, like ... like ...
a heartbeat?
Yes. That was exactly what that pulsing rhythm resembled, a heartbeat.

Slowly, he realized that the light was shaped like an egg. A very large egg, perhaps the size of a man’s belly.

Or a woman’s womb.

Yes. That was precisely it. It was not an egg, but an embryo. An unborn infant, nestled within the safety of its mother’s womb, pulsating with life. And the light, this magical wondrous bluish glow he was seeing, perhaps this was how the world appeared to an embryo within the womb.

Even as he thought this, the light began to take clearer shape and form. Now, he could see the shape of the womb, the fluid-sac that acted as a vital protective shield cushioning the unborn life, and within it, the unmistakable shape of the infant child, curled in that primordial foetal pose.

He slid backwards on the ground, suddenly afraid. The chain clanked in protest. He was at its farthest limit. The manacle dug into his shin and calf, cutting open the scabs of crusted blood and making his wounds bleed again.

Do not fear me, Father,
the infant exclaimed.
I will never harm you.

Vasudeva felt himself shudder, then fought to regain control of his senses.‘Who ... who are you?’

I am your son.

He did not know what to say to that. His son? Which son, he was about to ask. For he had had several, all dashed to death by their brute of an uncle. Surely, this was the restless aatma of one of those poor unfortunate dead. But the voice sensed his confusion and clarified:
Your unborn son. Your eighth child.

Vasudeva resisted the urge to gasp aloud. With an effort, he said,‘But you have not yet been conceived!’

That momentous event shall take place tonight, in a few moments.

‘But ... how?’

Through the power of your mind, I shall be transported into my mother’s womb. All you have to do is will me there, and it will be done.

Vasudeva remained silent. He knew what the child was saying was true. He knew this in every fibre and cell of his being. There was no doubt at all. He felt his mind grow calmer, his pulse steady, his heartbeat return to its usual pace.‘But after that, what next? The moment Kamsa hears that his sister ... your mother ... is carrying the eighth child, he will not sit idly by and let you come to term.’

I shall tell you what you have to do. All will be well. Just do as I say, Father, and I shall take care of the rest.

Vasudeva thought a moment longer, then nodded slowly.‘Yes.Ishall.’

Then let us begin. Focus your mind on me, become one with me, and the rest shall come to pass.

Vasudeva looked deep into the blue egg of light, at the being that floated there, suspended in that ethereal sac of sacred blue illumination. And slowly, by degrees, he felt his consciousness rise up out of his body. He felt his entire spirit soar ... up, up, up, high above the ether, and down, down into the blue light ... the blue light of Brahman that the sacred verses of the Upanishads referred to ... and he experienced a great sense of peace and fulfilment sweep through him. Every anxiety wiped clean. Every worry washed away. Every pore of his body alive with energy, with shakti.

He felt that energy pass from him through the wall to the other side ...

To his beloved ... Devaki.

twenty-two

A gentle breeze rose from the Yamuna and blew through the city. It stirred the senses of even the most miserable souls in Mathura, awakening them to an awareness, a tingling sense of expectation, of something about to happen. Rivers that had grown murky, sluggish or parched, began to flow in their full strength, their waters clear as crystal, sweet and fresh as if drawn directly from a glacier. Ponds that had dried up or turned to scum-covered mosquito-breeding nests, turned clear and were filled with lotuses. Trees whose branches had withered straightened their bent boughs and turned green from the roots up to the highest leaf. Bees began to buzz and make honey again, sweeter and thicker than ever before. Sacred yagna fires burned on even without fuel needing to be added, as astonished Brahmins exclaimed, each wanting to take credit for the miracle. The minds of penitents were at ease, tapasvis felt they had achieved the goal for which they had spent decades meditating. Chanteuses found themselves singing songs they had never heard before, and never knew they knew. Kinnaras and gandharva clans sang and danced for no particular reason. Siddhas and caranas offered oblations and prayers. Vidyadharas danced with danseuses and were happy as never before. Every sign, every omen, every portent, was auspicious.

In his palace, Kamsa had been gnawing on the thighbone of an uks while he listened to the tally of a new lagaan, a land tax he had imposed upon the Yadava nations. He was already enraged by the low tally, and the excuse given, that more and moreYadavas were choosing to migrate to other lands rather than continue to live under his reign. He ordered all those found leaving their homes to be killed on the spot. But it occurred to him that if he killed all those who
could
afford to pay the lagaan, who would be left to pay it? Only those who could
not
afford it.

That was when he smelt the breeze blowing into the chamber, and smelt as well the secret message it carried. He rose from his throne and, with one swift sweep of his hand, picked up the grand throne and threw it across the sabha hall, breaking the great door of the assembly chamber. He threw back his head and bellowed with rage.

Despite all his efforts, the day he had feared had come to pass. The eighth child had been born. It was impossible, with Vasudeva and Devaki kept apart all this while, and with Devaki displaying no signs of pregnancy until this very morning; but somehow, the impossible had been accomplished. And now the day was here at last.

He strode from the sabha hall, bellowing orders as he went. Bana and Canura scurried after him, trying to keep pace. Kamsa had expanded himself to thrice his normal size. As he walked, he banged his fist against walls, knocking out chunks of stone and brickwork, slammed his shoulder into pillars, cracking them in two and endangering the ceilings they helped hold up, shattered statuary as his hand brushed against them, and generally demolished his own palace without knowing or caring.

He emerged from the palace and bellowed for his elephant. A very frightened mahout bowed low and tried to find a way to tell him that he had killed Haddi-Hathi during his last ride – losing his temper and expanding himself suddenly, the elephant reduced to pulp beneath Kamsa. No elephant could seat him. Bana and Canura stood at a safe distance and attempted to pass on or execute his orders. From what they could follow, he wished to mobilize the entire army!

At that moment, the breeze gathered speed. The stench of flowers in full bloom seemed to assault Kamsa’s senses. He froze, went limp, blazing-red eyes rolling up in his head, and he fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes ... or a small mountain of bricks, because the impact of his fall crushed the poor mahout who was bowing before him, as it did several soldiers standing nearby.

Bana and Canura stared at this extraordinary sight.

‘The king has fainted!’ Canura said, barely able to believe the words himself, although he could clearly see Kamsa lying prone, arms flung out, drool dribbling from his parted lips. Something insectile – with a thousand tiny, hairy legs – emerged from Kamsa’s mouth, then shuddered and fell back.

Bana was about to respond to Canura when, suddenly, his eyes rolled up and he collapsed as well. Canura followed. So did every single person in the palace.

Across the city, the same thing was happening. People were falling unconscious where they stood, or sat, or rode. People, animals, birds, insects ... every living creature.

Because of the curfew, most citizens were indoors at the time, and fell asleep in their chairs or beds and were safe in their homes. Kamsa’s soldiers, enforcing the curfew, patrolling, or engaged in other soldierly duties, were less fortunate. Some fell into horse troughs, others into cess pits, hundreds fell off their horses or elephants and broke their necks or arms or legs. Many died in bizarre accidents, like the captain of a company of soldiers who was about to set fire to a house because the owner had refused to supply free milk and butter to his soldiers. The captain had taken the burning brand from one of his soldiers, wanting to set fire to the house with his own hands as the farmer and his distraught family watched and wept. The wind changed and, as sleep overtook him, he fell off his horse. While he slept, the brand caught a few stray strands of the hay stacked outside the house, immolating him on the spot.

Mathura slept.

twenty-three

Vasudeva held the bundle in his arms carefully and rose to his feet. As he did so, a great wind raged through the house, as if cheering his accomplishment, then passed as suddenly as it had risen. He smiled at Devaki, who beamed up at him happily, then turned and left.

As he reached the first of several doors, a loud clanging echoed and the bolt broke off the door and fell to the ground with a soft thud. The door flew open and stayed open as he passed through. The same thing happened with the other doors too. Outside each door, he found guards fallen unconscious at their posts, some in ludicrous postures and at least one with a severe fracture, or worse.

The city was quiet as he walked through the streets. Not a soul was stirring. Not so much as a bird flew across the night sky. Not a single insect chirred or cricketed. Not a dog or cat or even a mouse scurried in the shadows. He passed soldiers everywhere. They had fallen off horses, elephants and the raised towers posted at every junction ... Glancing into a few houses whose doors or windows lay open, he saw the people inside sleeping as well. The entire city was asleep.

Kamsa too; for nothing else would have prevented him from being there otherwise.

As he walked, he recalled the events of the night.

Devaki and he had been awakened by the reappearance of the blue light. She saw the same thing that he saw, but from her side of the wall.

No more was the child a foetus. It appeared now within a bubble – of blue Brahman shakti – as a newborn come to full term.

The child was a boy with four arms. In his four hands he clutched a conch, a mace, a lotus and a chakra. He had a radiant jewel upon his neck. He had marks upon his chest. He was swaddled in a yellow garment which contrasted pleasantly with his fresh blue skin.

He smiled down at his father and mother and the beauty of that smile filled them both with a deep, glowing warmth and inner radiance. For the rest of their days, they had only to think of that smile to be filled with a sense of complete peace, tranquillity, andjoy.

Vasudeva joined his palms in anjali and bowed.‘My son. Who are you? What are you? Pray, enlighten us. We are but simple mortals, we know nothing.’

The boy smiled.

You are Vasudeva and Devaki, my parents. Everything I know comes from you and through you. Without you, I would not have been able to set foot upon this world.

‘Yes,’ Devaki said, ‘but it is
you
who makes this possible, Lord. We are only the instruments of your miracle. Looking at your radiance, feeling your shakti, I am convinced that you are Bhagwan, God himself, the Supreme Being.’

The boy smiled enigmatically.

He looked to one side and then looked back. His gaze brought back with it a flowing river of images, sounds and sensations. With a flick of his fingers, he diverted the flow to Devaki and Vasudeva, both of whom reeled back in amazement. Their minds were filled with palpable memories of things actually seen, experienced, heard and felt.

Vasudeva gasped.‘You are Vishnu Incarnate!’

Devaki said, ‘You took an incarnation as Vaman the dwarf once. As Parshurama. As Rama Chandra. As Hamsa. As Varaha. As Narasimha. As Kurma. As Hayagriva. And as Matsya. In different ages of the world, you assume different forms for different purposes. But this alone is your Incarnate form, in this amsa.’

Not only I, you too were born before and lived other lives before these ones. Do you not recall them?

Devaki and Vasudeva shook their heads.

You, Vasudeva, were a prajapati named Sutapa. And you, my mother, were Prsni. This was during the era of Svayambhuva Manu. And I was born to you in that life as well, where I was named Prsnigarbha. Would you like to know more?

Both nodded eagerly.

Then listen. I shall show to you the entire history of our past lives together, as well as those yet to come.

Both Vasudeva and Devaki closed their eyes as a fresh flood of visions swept through them, carrying them upon the tide of time, across the oceans of eternity.

After communing with his parents for an undetermined time, the unborn child stopped and sighed.