KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa (29 page)

It is now time. The hour of my birth is at hand.

Devaki reacted. The child saw her do so.

You fear your brother’s wrath?

‘Yes,myson.’

Have no fear. He shall not harm you tonight. Now, I shall take my place within your womb, Mother. And you shall give birth to me as any human child. Once in human form, I shall be subject to human qualities and failings as well. For though I am incarnate in this amsa and not merely a partial avatar, there are inherent limitations of the human form that cannot be overcome completely. Therefore, I shall seem to be, for all intents and purposes, a normal newborn human baby. But do not be deceived. I am here to set things right once and for all. However long it takes and no matter what I have to do, I shall see this through. You shall be freed of the yoke of the oppressor. So shall all the Yadavas. The race of Yadu shall enjoy a time of such prosperity and satisfaction as they have never seen before since the beginning of their line. This I promise you.

‘Wait,’ said Vasudeva, palms still pressed together. ‘What shall we name you, Lord? You are no ordinary child. Surely we must grant you some special name as well?’

He smiled. And told them.

twenty-four

Now, Vasudeva stood before the Yamuna, carrying his newborn son in his arms. As he recalled the wonders that he had been shown and the knowledge and memories he had been given, he wept, and had to pause to wipe the tears of joy from his eyes.

A new challenged awaited him.

The river was in spate, flowing with a roaring rush that would sweep any and everything along. At this time of year, even elephants could not be bathed in this stretch of the river, nor bridges spanned or boats travel safely. The only way across was to go several yojanas downstream, where the river split into its tributaries, and cross using a raft anchored by an overhanging rope system.

But Vasudeva had been told by his son that he had only until dawn to deliver him to his destination and return home. The place he was to go was a fair distance away, no easy walk even without having a newborn child in one’s arms. The detour downstream would make it impossible. He would not even reach his destination before daybreak, let alone return.And his son’s instructions had been quite clear. The sleeping would last only until dawn, at which point, Kamsa would rouse and send every soldier in Mathura in pursuit of him.

He looked around, feeling frustration – born of years of imprisonment and abuse – swell up inside him. Then he realized how foolish he was being and smiled. ‘Lord,’ he said quietly, ‘you must surely have provided for all contingencies. Pray, allow me to cross the river.’

Certainly, Father.

The response winked in his mind like a flash of light. He thought he heard a tiny baby gurgle as well.

Thunder rumbled in the sky. Vasudeva glanced up nervously but saw only a clear night sky. Not a single cloud in sight. But he had heard the thunder distinctly.

A single bolt of lightning cracked down and struck the centre of the river.

Water rose in a geyser-like spout, rising up hundreds of yards into the air and slowly fell back. When it had settled, Vasudeva saw that a crack had appeared in the river. A thin line drawn straight across, from bank to bank. As he watched, incredulous, the line widened until it was several yards broad, revealing the very bottom of the river.

The river began to slow down. Downstream, it remained the same, gushing along at breakneck speed. But upstream of the crack, it slowed steadily, by degrees, until finally, after several moments, it ceased
flowing altogether. He looked at the downstream flow – it continued unabated, though there was now a distinct gap dividing the river into two halves.

Thunder growled and grumbled overhead.

Ours not to understand everything that happens, or how or why it happens. Ours merely to do our given task.

When the gap was wide enough, he stepped down the side of the riverbank, careful not to slip, and descended to the bottom of the river.

Just as he reached, the sky cracked open and a torrential rain poured down. It was like a cloudburst, the heaviest rainfall that Vasudeva had ever seen in his life. Fat, heavy drops struck the ground, splashing mud. Within moments, the world was blanketed by rain.

Yet, not a single drop fell on Vasudeva or his newborn son.

He looked around in wonderment, raising one hand and stretching it out. At its farthest extent, he could just feel the rain. He brought back his fingers, dripping wet, and looked at them. They smelt of fresh earth and rain. Yet here, where he stood, not a drop fell. He looked around, and saw that the invisible protective canopy that shielded him from the rain took a curious shape, like a tapering ...
hood?
Then he remembered his son’s words, explaining this very thing, from earlier:
The hood of Sesa, the eternal serpent. Sesa shall travel with you, protecting you from all dangers, big and small.

Vasudeva nodded and started off across the bed of the river. Perfectly natural for the eternal serpent to appear out of mythology and protect him as he carried his newborn son, God Incarnate, across a divided river. Quite natural.

He reached the far side a while later, and trekked up to the other bank. He started off in the direction of Vrindavan. From there, he would make his way into one of the oldest of Yadava territories, Vrajbhoomi, the heart of the Vrishni nation. It was a long walk. And he had to complete it and return home before dawn. Otherwise, even his infinitely powerful son would not be able to save him from Kamsa’s wrath.

He reached the tiny hamlet a few hours later. Bone- weary, yet filled with joy and anticipation. As he had been told, a light was burning in one of the modest huts. As he came to its doorway, he had a moment of anxiety.
What if...?

But everything had been exactly as promised. Every single person he had passed between Mathura and this remote hamlet had been fast asleep. He had even seen a cowherd resting on his crook, dead asleep and snoring, as his cows lay asleep around him.

Inside the hut, he found a woman on a cot, with an infant lying beside her, suckling. It was evident that she had only just given birth before falling asleep as everyone else had.

A man lay prone on the floor beside the cot, as if he had been taken by the sleep as he sat or stood beside his wife. As Vasudeva entered, the infant stopped suckling and turned its head to look at him. Its arms and legs began to move in the manner of all babies, kicking out excitedly. He saw that it was a girl: as he had been told it would be.

He put his son down on the cot beside the woman and picked up the infant girl. She squealed with delight as he took her in his arms, and he felt a rush of love and tenderness. It helped make it easier for him to turn his back on his own son, whom he left beside the sleeping woman.

He returned to the house in Mathura just as the first flush of dawn was creeping across the eastern sky. He put the baby down beside Devaki, who took her in her arms and cradled her with as much welcoming love as if she were greeting her own child. He looked at Devaki for a long moment, brushed the tears from her cheeks, then kissed the baby on her head – she kicked and gurgled happily – kissed his wife on her forehead as well, then returned to his side of the wall.

He put the manacle back on his foot and waited.

Moments later, as the sky reddened and the wind changed, shouts and cries of alarm and indignation began to ring out across Mathura.

The city was awake again.
 

twenty-five

Kamsa was silent.

Everybody exchanged glances, their faces giving away their fear.

Never before had he been so quiet for so long. Tantrums, ranting, rages, fury, they were accustomed to all these. They did not relish them, but they expected them. They were like earthquakes and hurricanes, floods and famines – inevitable.

But not silence.

He sat there on the royal dais, head resting on one fist, the elbow resting on his thigh. The throne lay in smithereens around him. The rumour among the men was that Kamsa could no longer control his size changes and other bodily processes and had found it difficult to fit into the ornate throne that he had specially got made once he declared himself King Eternal. Nobody had any idea what his inability to fit into the throne meant or portended. But absurd and quite amusing though it was, nobody dared laugh at it or speak of it anywhere within hearing distance of him. They remained as silent as Kamsa was now, waiting with dread in their hearts.

The eighth child had been born, as prophesied.

It had been a girl.

319

Those who had been with Kamsa, Bana and Canura when they went to Vasudeva’s house, said that they saw the newborn girl themselves. It was evident that she had been born that very night, no more than a few hours earlier.

When we were all sleeping.

How a woman could deliver a perfectly healthy baby when she had not exhibited a single sign of pregnancy just the day before was a question nobody dared to ask.

How the bolts of all the doors had been broken, the chains shattered, the manacles unclasped and the wall brought down, nobody could explain.

Kamsa had roared with rage when he saw the newborn. Bana and Canura had run away from him, no doubt fearing that he would take out his wrath on them for failing to see that Devaki was pregnant – even though she had not been pregnant; they were sure of this because even the daimaas who examined her intimately had reported no sign of pregnancy, and the daimaas were spasas who worked for Kamsa.

But Kamsa had directed his anger at the child instead.

Snatching it out of Devaki’s hands – she had cried out as he did so, raising her hands in a gesture of pleading – Kamsa took the girl infant by the leg, swung her around once, twice, and then a third time as he always did when killing infants. He had been seen doing the same thing hundreds of times before. He always did it the same way, with nary a single variation. He even joked about it saying that it was the most energy-saving and efficient way to do the job!

But this time, as he swung the child around the third and final time, she flew out of his hands. She didn’t fly across the house, but up, into the air, above Kamsa’s head. Where she floated, gurgling happily.

Kamsa turned and stared at his empty hand, then up at the floating child. Everybody stared as well. Bana and Canura stopped their hasty flight to stare too.

The baby laughed and clapped her tiny hands together. They didn’t meet perfectly, because babies do not have very good coordination. But the action was unmistakable.

Then the baby transformed into a goddess.

Resplendent with beautiful blue skin, decorated with garlands, rich robes, jewellery and accoutrements, she floated in mid-air.

‘I am Yogamaya, sister of Vishnu. My brother bid me come here to give you this message.’

And then she said it, the thing that nobody dared repeat, or even speak aloud in Kamsa’s presence ... though every soldier knew that across Mathura, across the Yadava nations, the same words were being repeated with laughter, with tears of joy, with cheers and applause and celebration, with festive glee.

‘The
Slayer of Kamsa has been born. And he is safely out of your reach.’

The devi then vanished, leaving only flower petals that fell in a shower to the ground in her wake. Her
laughter echoed in the air, more like a baby’s gurgle than a woman’s laugh.

After the incident, Kamsa had returned to his palace, and sat still. Silent. He had seemed bewildered ever since the appearance of the goddess.

Finally, plucking up their courage, Bana and Canura spoke up, taking turns, as if they had decided that they should share the risk of bringing Kamsa’s wrath down on themselves.

‘My Lord,’ Bana said, ‘there is unrest in the city. The events of last night have thrown the people into a frenzy. Every hour, soldiers are bringing word that Yadavas are challenging our soldiers, defying them in small ways.’

Bana glanced at Canura who swallowed and took up the cudgels:‘We must act now to suppress them, while they are still disorganized. If we allow time to pass, there could be an uprising. What happened this morning ...’

He trailed off, looking at his associate. Bana flinched and spoke up:‘Word will surely spread soon. Once everyone knows, they may feel emboldened to rebel openly. We recommend that you act before it is too late.’

‘If you wish, we could send word to Lord Jarasandha to send in a few contingents to back us up. His men will kill Yadavas more readily than our soldiers,’ Canura said in a nervous rush.

Bana added hastily: ‘Not that
our
men would not do as much. We are just pointing out all the possible courses of action.’

Kamsa raised his head slowly. ‘There will be no need to send for Jarasandha’s army. We will act ourselves. Now. Before the people have a chance to gather their wits and rise.’

He stood, towering above everyone else in the large hall. His head hit the ceiling that stood twenty feet above the floor. He seemed not to notice.

‘You are right,’ he said with surprising mildness to Bana and Canura.‘We must quell this petty defiance before it blossoms into outright rebellion. We must also quell the rumours that are bound to spread after this morning’s events.’

‘Rumour, sir?’ Canura asked, hesitantly.

Kamsa looked at them. His eyes were looking in disparate directions, they noticed; and he seemed to have difficulty locating them. But he finally managed to settle at least one eye on them, while the other one roved the far wall of the sabha hall, making the soldiers on that side grow nervous for their own lives.

‘This stupid rumour of a slayer being born,’ he said.

He laughed. A small burst of insectile forms were thrown forth to land at the feet of several men, writhing and crawling.

‘Slayer of Kamsa!’ He shook with silent amusement. ‘How absurd. How impossible. I cannot be slain. I am immortal.’