KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka (12 page)

But most of all, so remote and distant from any land body was the island kingdom that nobody could possibly know where it lay, let alone find it even if they searched for decades. Krishna had deliberately chosen a location that lay out of the paths of all the tidal currents that wayfaring ships might use to travel on the high seas, that did not fall in the way of any wind currents or seasonal breezes. Whether driven by oars or sail, no ship could come to this precise location without defying the necessary rules of oceanic travel, by sailing at a near-impossible angle to the wind, or rowing
against
a powerful intercontinental tide that would even a thousand strong oarmen could not resist for more more than a few hours. And all this was supposing they knew the exact location of the island, which was itself unlikely if not impossible. If this impossible feat of locating the island was accomplished, then the equally impossible task of bringing a force sizable enough to besiege the fortress also achieved, the besiegers would then be faced with the impenetrable defenses. And even if, by some miracle of their own, or through asura maya, they broke through—laughable even as a thought, but still conceivable—they would still have to contend with the might of the Yadava nation, forced to fight to the death to defend their homes and families, and most of all, the might of Krishna and Balarama unleashed.
 

Which fool exists that would even dare to conceive of such a siege?
 

As daunting an example of military genius as the island-fortress was on the outside, it was just as fabulous an example of city building within.
 

Tvasta’s art involved studying the shilpa manuals which recorded all that was known about
 
architecture, city-building, home-building, and allied knowledge since the beginning of the Yadava race, then to apply that vast knowledge base to the given task at hand. At the first sight of the island from Krishna’s flying chariot, he had gasped, marveling at the audacity of even conceiving to build a city in this impossible location, unable to even comprehend the godlike power required to do such a thing. Then, the first rush of wonderment faded as his artistic mind instinctively began to visualize the city that could be built here. Visions of great avenues lined by enormous leafy trees, immaculate gardens quilted with flowers, houses, mansions, palaces…everything flooded his mind’s eye like a memory of the future. In that instant, the entire plan of Dwarka formed in his consciousness, complete and perfect down to the last detail, as if his mind saw the city itself already built and flourishing upon that desolate rocky mass in the ocean.
 

And Krishna had placed a hand upon his shoulder and said warmly in his ear: “It is splendid. I approve the design. Now build it as you see it.”
 

Tvasta had started, astonished that Krishna could read his mind, then awed that Krishna would approve of his fleeting vision, then dismayed at the thought of even attempting such a task. “How, my Lord? It is far beyond my meagre talents.”

Krishna had smiled that famous mischievous smile, the impish one that made the women of Mathura sigh so deeply, his black eyes dancing with amusement. “Nothing is beyond the reach of talent. Build it. And the rest will be provided.”
 

And now, here it was.
 

21

The
people of Mathura opened their eyes and looked out upon their new home. Every face shone with wonder. Every pair of eyes reflected the gold and green and crimson colors of the great metropolis. Infants in arms swiveled their heads to gawk in big-eyed awe. Children stilled their incessant limbs and stared in reverential silence. Women with babes in arms or children at hand let their mouths fall open as their kohl-lined eyes gaze in wonderment on sights that they had never dreamed of before. The faces of Yadava men, hardened by war, work and hard living, lost their deep-set lines and craggy looks as they regressed to the softer unlined expressions of their boyhood. The very old grew agitated at heart as their eyes brimmed with tears, filled with gratitude for having lived long enough and survived so much in order to be able to see this day; they raised their lined faces and smiled as tears rolled from their rheumy eyes. Dogs, cats, livestock, cattle, all sniffled and crouched down or paused in their chewing and foraging to stare silently as animals stare at a strangely colored sky or harvest moon, sensing that something now existed that had never existed before, marveling at the industry of mortals and the shakti of gods. Newcomers to the swarga realms, the heavenly planes, did not gaze with such amazement. For this was the mortal realm, yet the sight they beheld was like nothing mortal eyes had ever beheld before.
 

Dwarka lay resplendent in the morning sunlight, a glittering cornucopia of architectural beauty. Lush groves where gentle breezes roamed, carrying the fruity odors of ripening fruits. Ripened tree fall lay scattered at random, the bright red and orange and prickly pelts contrasting with the deep green of the grass. Great parks with walkways, shaded benches, ponds and waterways, vaulting fountains and leaping squirrels. Massive gates of ornately filigreed gold wrought patterns. Towering watchtowers of crystal with golden spires that rose high enough to look out over the city entire as well as the over the great stone walls and bulwarks to observe the ocean beyond; elaborate platform moved by contraptions using weights and pulleys served to raise and lower the watchtower guards and visitors in moments, eliminating hard climbing up the 1008 stone stairs. Gargantuan granaries that were artfully built so a simple panel could be opened and a lever pulled upon to release as much or as little grain as was required each day, each granary containing vast stores of grains capable of feeding the entire Yadava nation for years, if not decades. The great pots for daily dispensation before each granary, from which citizens could freely help themselves to as much as they needed for their household’s nourishment, were made of solid gold; the granaries themselves were constructed of silver and brass. Everything was designed artistically to be functional as well as aesthetically pleasing.
 

The houses themselves were marvels of construction. It was impossible to even comprehend how their curved corners and jeweled domes could have been built, or indeed, how they remained standing so staunchly. Every house was made of solid gold, regardless of the occupant’s earlier status. There would be no discrimination between classes or castes here in Krishna’s city; he had made sure of that. The houses were all of gold, the domes bejeweled, the roofs set with emeralds the size of fruits. Every house had a terrace with a view of the ocean as well as the gardens and inner city. Somehow, by some miracle of architecture, no matter how near the ground a house might be when entered, once you ascended to your terrace by climbing a dozen steps or so, you found yourself looking down from a terrace that was many dozen yards higher. This meant that nobody could claim to look down on his neighbor, nor was anyone compelled to look up at her neighbor! Every house had a temple and when the family that chose that house entered within, they found their own chosen idols in the shape of their own deity of preference housed within. How could Krishna have known—or Tvasta? Neither needed to know. The houses themselves provided what their occupants desired.
 

Even though members of all four varnas came to Dwarka, they lived in complete equality now. Only the rulers and administrators whose houses needed to contain space for administrative staff and duties, or items that had to be organized for distribution or redistribution were granted larger mansions and buildings suited to their official needs. This was no democracy, yet no democracy could claim to be this democratic in the history of humankind.
 

Magnificent was the city, rich were its treasures and pleasures.
 

Tvasta led his people on a walking tour, his words somehow conveyed through the intelligent acoustics of the city itself to every last person following. Krishna and Balarama exchanged smiles at the gazes of amazement that lit up the faces of the people as they looked upon one new wonder after another.
 

“This is Sudharma, the great hall of assembly,” announced Tvasta proudly, as two of the largest doors ever seen, each rising to the height of five elephants standing upon each other’s backs, opened of their own accord, swinging wide to permit the people to stream in. Even that huge population seemed dwarved as they shuffled into the vast cavernous sabha hall that seemed to reach for yojanas in every direction. Like many houses and buildings within Dwarka, the sabha hall was far, far larger on the inside than it was on the outside. Also like the rest of the city, the sabha hall adjusted its size to accommodate the number and nature of those entering within. Right now, it had expanded to the size of a kingdom, the far walls and vaulting ceilings literally yojanas distant: only the enormous size of the great statuary and the carvings on the ceilings and portraits on the walls served to provide some scale against which to compare the size of the space.
 

“All that is spoken or decided within these walls will always be correct in dharma,” Tvasta said. “That is why it is known as Sudharma. This sabha hall was gifted by mighty Indra himself,” Tvasta said. “As part of his demonstration of friendship towards our Lord Krishna for the inconvenience he caused him and the Vrishni during the years of exile.” He did not elaborate the story itself: all those who knew the story of Krishna knew every last detail already. “Other devas gave other treasures and gifts. Lord Kubera gave eight great treasures. Varuna, lord of wind, bestowed white and black horses as fast as the wind itself. The nine planets each gave precious gifts.”

The great procession passed through the hall and beyond, the great doors slowly swinging shut only after the last stragglers had exited, pausing briefly to let a yapping puppy bound after his young mistress. They continued their magical tour.
 

In the center of the city, everyone’s breath was stolen momentarily by the awe-inspiring sight of a tree greater than anything they had seen until now. The houses of gold, granaries of silver, roofs studded with diamonds, towers of crystal, all paled before the great, towering tree that rose from the heart of the island-kingdom, her roots spread out around her for miles in every direction like vast skirts, the trunk a thousand yards around, the towering branches fanning out to shade more than a third of the great city, the upper branches and trunk containing an entire zoology of beasts and birds and insects of all kinds. Silhouetted against the evening sun—for the tour had taken all day—the tree was magnificent beyond all description.
 

“This is Parijata,” said Tvasta reverentially, for a great artist respects that which human eye, mind and hand cannot match more than any man-made creation. “The celestial tree. Our Lord Krishna informs us that beneath its boughs, all natural laws are suspended.”
 

To demonstrate, he leaped upwards, stretching out his hands, and to everyone’s shock, flew up through the air, rising toward the lowest branches which were high above the ground. “Do as you will,” he cried out, turning as he rose up, his face flushed with excitement, “no harm will ever come to any being in Parijata’s shade. Neither death nor injury, age nor illness. Come dance upon the air if you wish!”

And with that, the tour ended and the celebrations began. One by one, led by the very young and most adventurous at first, followed by everyone else, the people of Mathura flew up into the air, dancing and cheering and laughing and clapping with joy and praise for their Lord Krishna and the great miracle he had wrought.
 

22

Vasudeva
and Devaki rode in Krishna’s celestial chariot along one of the many carriageways that crisscrossed Dwarka. Devaki gripped the side of the chariot, still unaccustomed to this miracle of flight. Vasudeva smiled at her reassuringly but she noticed that he kept his hand on the railing as well. Courageous as he was, horseless motion was not something he could fathom let alone accept unconditionally. The chariot flew smoothly, silently, as if seeking to disprove their anxiety and as it progressed, they grew more confident. They flashed through crossroads, somehow avoiding collisions with other horseless carriages similar in function though lacking its celestial resplendence. Immediately behind them came Balarama’s celestial chariot carrying Nanda Maharaj and Yashoda Devi and their family. From the looks of Balarama’s animated conversation and the awed expressions of the Gokulites, it was clear that they were finding the wonders of Dwarka a far cry from the rustic simplicity of Vrajbhoomi.
 

And there were wonders indeed to see. Even Vasudeva and Devaki caught their breath as the chariot ascended higher through successive carriageways and avenues that crisscrossed and intertwined in a bewildering pattern of movement that promised a collision at any moment yet appeared to be as well-orchestrated as a concatenation of tributaries melding into a delta. Somehow, the horseless chariots that were provided for public transport in Dwarka were capable of flying at astonishing speeds and zipping past each other at angles that would have disoriented any living being, without ever so much as brushing past each other. Now, as Krishna’s chariot brought them up to the height of the watchtowers guarding the city’s perimeter, they found themselves looking down at the length and breadth of the incredible metropolis. A glittering cornucopia of emerald rooftops, crystal domes, pearly mansions, silver facades, golden pillars, glittering walls, gleaming statuary, vaulting fountains, lush gardens and walkways, all teeming and bustling within the bounding of the great stone walls.
 

And in the midst of it all, sprouting with luminescent virility, rose Parijata, towering above it all, a great and gracious grandmere, spreading her skirts to welcome her progeny. Beneath her shady boughs, even from this height, Devaki could glimpse the tiny figures of people flying and dancing, old as well as young, the former come to spend time in the healing shade of the divine tree which made all ailments and conditions disappear magically for the duration, the latter simply eager to frolic and play.