KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka (13 page)

Devaki realized that they had stopped and that she had been gazing out at the wondrous sight for several moments. Beside her, Vasudeva was observing the city with moist incredulous eyes as well. Krishna’s voice from behind them gently intruded upon their reverie.
 

“Does it please you, Pitr, Maatr?”

Devaki shook her head, eyes shining. “Nay.”

Vasudeva turned to glance at her curiously.
 

“It enthralls me,” she said, throwing her head back and laughing, then catching herself and covering her mouth. “It is beyond belief, Krishna. How did you accomplish this, my son?”

He smiled. “I had some help. And time.”

Vasudeva chuckled. “A night and less than a day!”

“So it seemed,” Krishna acknowledged. “But that was in the mortal realm. By working outside of human time, we were able to build the city at leisure, taking a great deal more time.” He paused then tilted his head, reconsidering. “Well, perhaps not at leisure. But it certainly took decades.”
 

Vasudeva and Devaki exchanged a glance as if to say, Can you believe such modesty? And shook their heads at the same time.
 

“But how will we sustain these…machines, this wealth, this luxury?” Vasudeva asked. “The Yadavas are not a rich people, certainly not after Kamsa’s reign and Jarasandha’s self-aggrandizement.”

Krishna smiled. “It does not take wealth to run this city, Pitr. It is run by the strength of dharma and the power of brahman. The people of Dwarka provide sufficient energy for all the devices of the city to run and replenish themselves, even repair themselves when required, for all eternity. The city is entirely self-sustaining. All that we could ever want will be provided for within these walls. Only the more traditional tasks such as farming, cooking, and their like need be done through labor. The city itself needs neither money, nor taxes, nor wealth to maintain itself.” He patted the gleaming gold railing of the chariot. “Like this pushpaka, everything here is powered by brahman shakti. And brahman shakti is everywhere, within us all, an unlimited infinite supply.”
 

Devaki shook her head, marveling. “You make it sound so simple. Yet how does one harness the force of brahman? How does one put the most elemental energy in the universe to work in this manner? Krishna, you have wrought a miracle named Dwarka. This is the greatest city ever built in human knowledge. Nothing before it and nothing after it can ever hope to equal its magnificence.”
 

Vasudeva nodded gravely, his beard rippling in the gentle breeze. It carried with it the salty tang of the open sea, for it was a sea breeze blowing. In the distance, sunlight cast great gleaming nets upon the great expanse of perfect blue, and high clouds drifted lazily, as if slowing to look down and admire the beauty of Dwarka. “Your mother speaks truly. You have accomplished something beyond all imagining.”
 

Krishna inclined his head, smiling. “After so many years spent beneath the bloody boot of Kamsa’s oppression, the people deserved a season of rest. This is small compensation and reparation for all the atrocities and terrible, terrible horrors they experienced.”
 

“And we are safe now?” Devaki asked. “Jarasandha’s forces cannot threaten us here, surely?”
 

“No. Never,” Krishna said.
 

“Even if he dared to seek us out and eventually found us,” Vasudeva said, “he could not hope to mount an assault and maintain a siege capable of breaking the defenses of this island-fortress. Nay, mother of Krishna. I can say with full confidence that we are finally safe from all oppression and war. It is just as Krishna says: A season of rest. We can rebuild our battered hopes and dreams here in peace and leisure. The Yadava people will now flourish.”

Devaki shook her head, beaming happily. “At last, we are free. Oh, Krishna, my son, I am so happy today. And we are both so proud of you and your brother.”

Krishna nodded, smiling as he bowed to each of his parents in turn. “It is I who is fortunate to have been brought into this world to serve you, and all my people.”
 

23

Krishna
and Balarama’s sarathis landed their chariots on the rooftop of the palace. Every residence in Dwarka had a rooftop landing stage for the family’s flying chariot. The palace, of course, had several dozen. Balarama grinned at Krishna as he stepped off his own chariot. The rest of the family moved towards the stairway to descend down to the main palace.
 

“Finally, bhraatr,” Balarama said, ‘We can sleep peacefully, knowing that no threat looms over our people. The terrible Tuesdays have ended. Tomorrow when we awaken it will be Wednesday at last!”
 

Krishna smiled. “Yes, it will. But the threat is not ended. Merely distanced.”
 

Balarama looked at him. “What do you mean? Are we not safe here? Beyond all threat of attack of siege or any other form of danger?”
 

Krishna nodded. “Yes, we are.”

Balarama spread his hands questioningly. “Then what is the problem?”

Krishna shrugged. “The Yavana is still approaching Mathura and will reach it by nightfall.”

Balarama frowned, putting his hands on his hips. “So? Let him. He will find no one there to fight or harm. Why should we care what he does?”

“If he does not find us there, he will pursue us here.”

“So? Let him. He doesn’t have a chance of finding us!”

“Yet he will try. And as long as he keeps trying, we will only be postponing the inevitable, not ending the threat.”

Balarama sighed. “So you wish to go to him and face him now?”
 

“I don’t wish to do anything. I would be content remaining here to the end of our days and enjoying a much-deserved respite from battles and slaying. But what choice do we have? It is the only way to rid ourselves of him and to live in peace.” Krishna paused as he looked out at the vast ocean. “Besides, we still have to deal with Jarasandha.”

“Jarasandha? But isn’t he the reason why we built Dwarka and moved our people here?”

“Yes, bhai. And now that they are safe, it is time we dealt with him.”

Balarama sighed, scratching his shoulder. “I don’t understand. Why can’t we just forget about him? We are safe here, beyond his reach.”

“Yes but so long as he believes we are alive, he will continue to hound us. The Magadhan will not rest until we are destroyed.”

Balarama shrugged. “So let him sack and destroy Mathura. There is nothing of value left there now.”
 

“Precisely. Which is why it will not satisfy him. Besides, don’t you think he would notice that the city is empty? He needs the satisfaction of a massacre and a sacking, both. That is his way. It’s why every kingdom fears enmity with the Magadhan empire. Once begun, it can only end with Jarasandha overrunning one’s homeland, taking what he pleases, and slaughtering as many as he desires. Nothing less will appease his rapacious lust.”

Balarama shook his head, looking out at the glorious view of the ocean. “Bhraatr, we can never stop fighting, can we? There is always something else to be done. One more chore. One more life to save. One more battle to fight. One last mile to climb…”
 

Krishna smiled. “That is the price for living a life according to dharma. Eternal struggle.”

Balarama sighed and shook his head, moving toward the chariots. “Dharma. Where have I heard that before? I feel like all my life I’ve heard you talking about dharma and had no choice but to do as you said…
according to dharma!
”
 

Krishna grinned. “Not in this life. That was a previous life, bhai. When you were Lakshman and I was Rama. Unlike Rama, I do not harp on dharma all the time in this life. Only when you need reminding.”
 

Balarama grinned back. “Trust me. One thing I don’t ever need reminding about, is dharma. It’s second nature to me now.” He clapped his hands together. “All right, bhraatr, let us go finish this chore as well. For the sake of
dharma
!” He paused. “Just one thing though, how exactly are we going to give Jarasandha the satisfaction of sacking our kingdom and slaughtering our people?”

Krishna smiled his famous impish smile. “I have an idea.”
 

Balarama waggled his eyebrows. “You
always
have an idea!”

They climbed their chariots, and were aloft in moments.
 

KAAND
2

1

Jarasandha
watched the column of dust as he sipped a refreshing drink. He was seated in the shade of his Imperial tent, fanned by slaves, served by slaves and guarded by hijra champions. The dust column rose a good six or seven hundred yards high and formed a waving wall that extended in a zigzag diagonal line all the way to the horizon. He had been watching it approach for the past several days and now it was within a few yojanas of his camp. He watched it with the same detached amusement with which he might watch a defeated enemy king being dismembered, his queens and children ‘tamed’, or two of his favorite champions dueling to the death. Most things in life were sport to Jarasandha, and things which were the direct result of his own actions or planning were pure entertainment.
 

As was the sight of the approaching dust cloud in the distance.
 

It was, of course, the dust raised by the feet and hooves of the Yavana’s army. The same Yavana to whom he had sent word through a succession of intermediaries that stretched all the way from Magadha across the several hundred disparate kingdoms that lay between Bharat-varsha and the distant land of the Yavana barbarians. To the Yavanas, and to most of the pale-skinned barbarians who resided in the lands farther north and west of the Yavana kingdoms, Bharat-varsha was a mythical land. A distant dream of elephants and jewels, golden streets and diamantine towers.
 

To the barbarians of those faraway uncivilized kingdoms, forever locked in internecine wars and enmities, this land east of the Sindhu river was nothing less than a dream of heaven itself. “
Indus
,” they pronounced the name of the river, and called the great sub-continent by the same word. Indians, they called the people who resided here, marveling at their spices, silks, ornaments, books of knowledge, ancient wisdom, healing arts, spiritual maturity…To them, this was the land at the edge of the world itself. Beyond this, they whispered, the world fell off steeply into a deep dark bottomless abyss.
 

Of the great lands and equally rich civilizations and cultures east of Bharat-varsha, they had no knowledge. The idea of anything existing beyond this point was inconceivable to their teachers and wise men. As far as they were concerned, this was high heaven and nothing more remained to be seen in the known world.
 

Stupid ignorant barbarians.
 

Enticing them to invade had been as easy as it was for a voluptuous woman teasing a celibate man by dancing on his lap.
 

It had taken several caravan loads of treasure, gifts and bribes for every king and his officials along the long winding trade route, and elaborate stories of the untold riches waiting to be had in the legendary mythic city of…Mathura. Yes, Mathura! Of all the ludicrous targets to aim their sights at, these Yavanas were coming to sack Mathura. Because that was the gruel he had fed them, wooden spoonful by spoonful. And they had lapped it up, believing his nonsensical stories about Mathura the great, the fabulous city of wealth and wonder, the seventh heaven, wonder of the known world. And it was this fabled city they had travelled all the way to raid now, raising a wall of dust high enough and dense enough to cause even migrating flocks to change their course as they flew south.
 

And now, they were here at last. Within striking distance of Mathura.
 

Jarasandha heard the sound of approaching carriage wheels and knew his allies were approaching. He didn’t bother to rise nor to turn as the sound of boot heels approached.
 

“Emperor Jarasandha,” said the familiar voices. “A great Yavana army approaches within sight of Mathura.”
 

“Yes,” he said casually, sipping his drink. “I have spasas too. They have kept me updated on the approach of the barbarian hordes.”
 

They crowded around him, men grown fat with the wealth and spoils he had helped them win over the years, frowning and scowling down at him. He remained seated, unconcerned with decorum. The advantage of being an Emperor was that one never had to behave like one.
 

“Their target appears to be Mathura itself. We believe they mean to besiege the capital city and overrun the kingdom!”
 

Jarasandha shrugged. “It’s a free world. They can do as they please.”
 

Exclamations. “But their army is enormous. It is far greater than our forces combined!”
 

“And they are barbarians. Foreigners.”
 

“So?” he asked.
 

“They will easily overrun Mathura. They will capture the Yadava kingdom, sack its wealth and treasures, and then will take the spoils back to their foreign lands.”
 

“Probably,” Jarasandha agreed.
 

“But then what of our own campaign? We have come to invade Mathura ourselves. Why should we let foreign barbarians steal away our intended target?”
 

Jarasandha shrugged. “Because they are stronger than us in numbers and forces? Because if we go against them, we will surely lose?”
 

There was a moment of silence after this pronouncement. The tone of their arguments changed somewhat, became more petulant.
 

“But how can we permit this to happen? It will cost us our greatest prize! You yourself have said so often. Mathura is Magadha’s greatest prize.”