KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa (9 page)

Now, he sneered at Vasudeva:‘Yes, well, we seem to be stamping your countrymen back into very the soil they love so much, mingling their blood and brains with cow shit. I’m sure they’re very content now.’

At once, the gathering grew grim. His men, knowing Kamsa’s peculiarities and nature, immediately lost whatever good humour they had, and began to drift away to their respective tasks. Curious to a fault though the Yadavas were, they knew better than to incur the wrath of their lord. Kamsa was given to flinging maces randomly at his own men, killing anyone who happened to be unlucky enough to be standing nearby. His sensitivity at being reminded of his lack of rustic skills and knowledge was equally well known.

The sight of Vasudeva’s face – and that of his companion – helped restore much of Kamsa’s good cheer.

‘Then you admit to killing innocent Suras,’ Vasudeva said in a level voice.

‘Suras, certainly. Innocent, no.’ Kamsa made his horse trot a few steps closer to the cart, placing the head of his Kambhoja stallion almost nose-to-nose with the uksan which made unhappy sounds and tried to retreat. Kamsa’s horse snickered and snorted hot breath down on them contemptuously, showing its superiority.‘They were about to transgress into our territory, some even in the act of crossing the river, others illegally diverting channels from the river for irrigation. My soldiers and I were merely upholding the terms of the treaty.’

Vasudeva’s companion glared at Kamsa with a cold rage that promised blood and mayhem if only he had a sword in his hand. He was clearly controlling himself only under duress. Kamsa tilted his head and smiled cattily at the man, tempted to toss him a sword just to see how well his self-control held.

‘And you can prove these transgressions?’ Vasudeva asked.

Kamsa shrugged. ‘There were several witnesses. Hundreds. Take your pick.’

He gestured vaguely at the mounted contingent behind him, still seated astride their horses until their leader dismounted.

Vasudeva kept his eyes on Kamsa. ‘And if I question your word and produce witnesses of my own?’ He added sharply: ‘Survivors of your “treaty” raids who will counter your claims and give witness that you were the transgressors, entering unlawfully into our lands, giving no notice of your approach, grossly violating all rules of Kshatriya dharma, slaughtering unarmed innocents, including children and the old and infirm, and abusing our women ... If I provide this countermanding evidence, what would you say then?’

Kamsa shrugged, looking away from Vasudeva.For a milk-sodden cowherd, the man had a manner that was unquestionably king-like and commanding. He could see how the Vrishni had developed a reputation for leadership. Vasudeva reminded Kamsa of his father when Kamsa was young and soft and Ugrasena

was one of the toughest military commanders in all Aryavarta, notorious for his campaigns of conquest.

‘You can drag out anyone you want, claim anything,’ Kamsa said. ‘As crown prince and heir of Mathura and military commander of her armies, I am answerable to no one. I pass my judgements based on my observations and conclusions. No so-called witness or survivor can question my actions.’

‘ButIcan.’

The statement was simply spoken, with no trace of challenge or defiance.Yet, the steel in that statement was undoubted. Vasudeva’s face was like a granite carving, his eyes shining like beacons.‘I am the king of the Sura Yadava nation, lord of the Vrishnis. It was I who signed the peace treaty with your father, King Ugrasena. I stamped my seal on the terms and conditions of the treaty. I have every right to question your actions and intentions.’

Kamsa raised his eyes to meet Vasudeva’s. The atmosphere on the grounds had suddenly changed. Not a sound could be heard anywhere along the length and breadth of the clearing: every single man was watching and listening.

‘Are you calling me a liar, Lord Vasudeva?’ Kamsa asked softly.

Vasudeva looked at him with an unblinking gaze. He seemed to be considering, weighing, debating. Though his face remained calm and composed, it was evident that a great battle was raging within his soul. Even his companion turned to glance quickly,

searchingly at his lord, as if wondering what his next words might be. Finally, truce was declared as the prudent side won out over the other.

‘I am asking you to uphold the peace,’ Vasudeva said. ‘To return to Mathura at once, with all your forces, and leave the policing of this side of the river to me. This is my territory to control, not yours. You are here without my authorization or permission. I request you kindly ...’ he raised his hands and joined them together in a sincere namaskar, ‘... I beseech you, as one king to another, to let me control and police my people myself. Go now, at once, and kindly give my eternal love and best wishes to your father and mother as well. The Sura nation and Andhaka nation are now allies and neighbours at peace. I beg you, let us stay in peace.’

There was a long, deafening silence after this pronouncement. Vasudeva remained standing on the cart with his hands joined in namaskar, head bowed.

Kamsa heard the distant calling of birds across the clearing and, out of the corner of his eyes, glimpsed a flight of kraunchyas rising from the forest and taking to the skies in a long-wheeling half circle.

Every man on the field had heard – or been informed about through word of mouth – Vasudeva’s unequivocal command couched in humility, and was now waiting with bated breath for Kamsa’s response.

thirteen

Kamsa’s irst instinct was to draw his sword and lunge at Vasudeva. A natural-born warrior with an athletic disposition and the easy, instinctive familiarity with the physics of combat, he knew that by spurring his horse with a quick jab of his bladed heels, he could leap forward, slash at a diagonal upward angle, and cut off Vasudeva’s head with one powerful stroke. It would require control of his shoulder to avoid straining the muscle and he would have to stand on the stirrups to extend his reach and force, but it could be done. He had done it before – often. The companion would be no trouble at all. The moment Kamsa acted, the instinct for self- preservation would force his men to follow suit. The man’s torso would bristle with arrows in an instant.

But something stayed his hand. Something he had never encountered before in his young experience. For, despite his long history of cruelties, Kamsa was barely more than a boy, hardly eighteen summers of age. Apart from magnificent physical strength and robustness, he was also gifted with an exceptional ability to perceive what others around him were feeling at any given moment.

He had never known such ambivalence in his soldiers.

He could feel, to his astonishment, that the vast majority of them actually desired that he concede to Vasudeva’s request. He sensed also their respect and admiration for this simple cowherd who, even though the ruler of a nation no less rich and powerful than his own, could dress and travel and speak with simplicity and utter fearlessness. Had Vasudeva come here with a contingent of heavily armed warriors and all pomp and ceremony, he would not have commanded such respect. But by riding in on a simple uks cart with a solitary companion, unarmed and unshielded, and by daring to address Kamsa and asking him to go back in no uncertain terms, he had won their respect and love. This was courage, Kamsa realized with seething resentment. True courage. To go unarmed before an army and still make one’s demands without fear of consequences. In that instant, he hated Vasudeva bitterly enough to want to see him trampled under his horse’s hooves until no bone in his body was anything more than gristle in the dirt.

He knew that were he to attack Vasudeva, the hatred his men felt for him, for his ways and actions, would only increase. Yet he felt he had no choice. He could not back down from such a clear pronouncement. Either he did as Vasudeva said and lost face, or they argued and debated like old men at Council until Vasudeva reeled out more arguments and witness accounts and facts and figures to prove

him a liar, or he did what he always did: Prevail. By any means necessary.

He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Vasudeva. A held breath greeted his action as every man watching and listening prepared for the inevitable violence that must ensue.

But, instead of attacking as he usually did – always did, in fact – he only said, in a tone that was deceptively calm and masked the rage and resentment simmering inside: ‘By threatening me and casting aspersions on my righteous actions, you violate the terms of the treaty, Vasudeva. As of this moment, I declare the peace treaty to be broken by you! The Andhaka nation is now at war once again with the Sura nation! All cooperation extended to you thus far is taken back. You are enemies of our state and your presence here is an affront to our nation’s self-respect. I command you to surrender yourselves as prisoners of war or face the consequences!’

For the first time, Vasudeva seemed to lose his composure. ‘This is preposterous,’ he said, frowning. ‘You do not have authority to cancel the treaty, nor can it be cancelled thus, summarily. It took years to broker this peace accord and no amount of bluster or threats will affect its sanctity. The peace accord stands. If you wish to move against me, then that is your choice. But note first that I carry no weapons, nor come with armed companions. I mean you no harm. I come in peace only to speak with you and request you to leave in peace. Once again, I beg you, do not
misinterpret my words. Just leave us in peace and let us live together as neighbours, as allies, as brothers.’

At that moment, something strange happened.As Kamsa stared at Vasudeva, feeling pure hatred surge through him for his glib talk and smooth speeches, he saw a peculiar phenomenon. A circle of white light appeared around Vasudeva’s face, glowing like a garland of white blossoms. The light was tinged with blue at the corona, and he could not discern its origins or nature. He rubbed his eyes, frowning and grimacing as he tried to clear his vision. But the ring of light stayed.

He was about to speak, to demand of Vasudeva whether he was attempting to use sorcery against him, and to remind him that the use of maya was forbidden in Aryavarta, as it had been since the reign of Rama Chandra of Ayodhya, when suddenly the world around him went black as night, and a deafening silence descended on the world.

His horse whinnied, reacting to the phenomenon, and he realized with a shock that whatever it was, could be seen by the steed as well. It was not just
his
imagination.

He looked around.

The night-black darkness that had descended was not an absence of light. It was the presence of some dark force. He could feel its power, singing and thrumming as he looked around, reverberating at the edge of hearing, flickering at the periphery of vision. He could still sense his soldiers on the field around

him, or their presence at least. But the blackness hummed and buzzed like a dense swarm of bees, blocking clear sight.

The only thing he could see was Vasudeva’s face, ringed by that bluish-white light, as if disembodied and detached from everything else. It floated before Kamsa, looking down at him, and in Vasudeva’s eyes he beheld the same bluish tint, as if the same eerie light glowed
within
Vasudeva!

It took all his effort and skill to hold his horse steady, patting its neck, keeping the reins – pressed low against its mane – in check. Months of harsh treatment and regular whippings had taught the stallion not to risk angering its master, and it subsided reluctantly, still snickering nervously and rolling its eyes as it tried to make sense of the unnatural change that had come across its vision.

Then a voice spoke. Deep, vibrant, booming. It echoed inside Kamsa’s head, the sonorous richness of its bass quality hurting his auditory nerves. He could feel it reverberate inside his chest. It spoke a single word that filled his entire being.

Kamsa.

‘Kamsa looked around fearfully. There was nothing to be seen. The voice was coming from everywhere, from nowhere, from beyond the world, from within himself.

Kill him. Kill thine enemy or he will destroy you over time.

The thrumming of the darkness enveloping Kamsa and his horse suddenly grew more frenzied, like a wind whipping itself up to gale proportions.

He? This cowherd?
Kamsa thought scornfully.
He couldn’t destroy a calf born with three legs.

Do not underestimate him. He is no simple cowherd.

Kamsa stared at Vasudeva’s floating face, ringed by blue light.

He is the means by which Vishnu incarnate will enter this world to destroy you.

Kamsa swallowed.
Me? Why would the Great Preserver bother with a mere prince of Mathura?

Because you are no mere prince, either. You have a great destiny. Yours will be the hand that will lead Mathura to supremacy over the whole of Aryavarta.

Kamsa liked the sound of that.
If so, what do I have to fear from a mere cow—?

Even before he finished, the gale around him increased to the intensity of a storm. The horse began to buck, terrified now. Kamsa held it firmly, forcing it to remain in place with an effort.

Destroy him. Or be destroyed! The choice is yours.

And as suddenly as it had appeared, the phenomenon vanished. One moment, a black wind

raged around him like a storm on a monsoon night. The next, he was sitting on his startled horse in the midst of the clearing, surrounded by a thousand of his best soldiers, facing Vasudeva on his uks cart. He glanced around. Nobody else seemed to have witnessed the extraordinary event, although he saw Vasudeva’s companion staring at him curiously, as if wondering if he was mad.

Kamsa’s mind felt as clear as a fresh pool in sunlight. He knew now that no amount of talk or wrangling would suffice. All came down to a simple choice: he either gave in to Vasudeva or opposed him.

Since when had he given in to anyone, let alone a mere cowherd?