KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka (20 page)

So Jarasandha raged with nothing and nobody on whom to vent his fury. This was why he trembled with frustrated anger now.
 

Mathura had been abandoned. How, he did not know.
 

The populace had been moved, down to the last pup and lamb. Whence, he knew not.
 

The spoils of war had been denied him, leaving only empty homes and streets, already damaged and ruined through his own bitter siege and arrow storms. Where had all that treasure been taken, how had it been taken, he had no idea.
 

It was the lack of knowing that enraged him. And also the lack of fulfillment.
 

For decades, he had cultivated political methods and ruses to ensure that the rich capital of the Yadava nation would come into his possession whole. It was the reason why he had chosen to marry his daughters to Kamsa rather than simply invade, as he had done with other nations. The Yadavas were too proud to be enslaved: they would break and rebel before they followed him into slavery like other nations and tribes had till now. They were more valuable to him as allies in his campaign than as enemies.
 

But with Kamsa’s unexpected death, that alliance had ended abruptly. With the survival and subsequent rise of the Slayer of Kamsa, his very campaign had been threatened. So he had brought the might of his fighting strength to Mathura, to crush their resistance and perhaps still demonstrate that the wisest course lay in joining him. It was why he had resorted to asura maya, using vortals to shift sideways through parallel worlds in order to destroy the will of Krishna and Balarama rather than simply wipe out Mathura itself. Once he despatched those two brawling brothers, nobody could stand between him and his prize, he knew.
 

But now the prize itself had been taken from him. What good was an empty city and a deserted nation?
 

And from the word he had just received, the Yavana had been killed, and the great invading army destroyed. How, he could not fathom. Or rather, he could perceive the physical facts and know the how and where, but it still did not explain how he had been outwitted yet again. It did not absolve him of the humiliation of failure, again.
 

And now, he was watching as Krishna stole the treasure of the Yavana as well.
 

From his vantage point overlooking the great grassy plains that undulated in every direction, he could see the gleaming shapes of golden chariots rising and swooping away, carrying ton-loads of precious cargo. Hundreds of chariots, all flying of their own volition, all moving in precise formations, as if controlled by an invisible hive mind—or perhaps just the single mind of Krishna himself.
 

And as he watched, the last group of chariots, burdened with enormous loads of rich treasure, rose up into the air with more precise coordination than a flock of migrating birds, hovered briefly as they turned around to face north-west, then whooshed away with a speed that was at the very limits of human vision. Even if Krishna could produce a thousand flying chariots to carry away the Yavana’s riches, how in the world had he found a thousand charioteers to fly them with such precision and ease? The last question flummoxed Jarasandha more than anything else: it was not knowing these little details that frustrated him most of all. He could deal with the occasional failure but if he did not understand how he had been thwarted or outwitted, how could he possibly avoid a similar fate the next time?
 

He watched as the last of the chariots disappeared into the horizon, gone into oblivion. He clenched his fist, tightening his grip on the reins of his mount until the beast whinnied in pained protest. He was now at the limit of his self-control. If he did not kill a few hundred or eat someone soon, he felt he would explode.
 

“Sire,” said a voice. “Balarama has been spotted to the east of our forces.”
 

Jarasandha turned, frowning, and peered in the direction the man was pointing. East? Why east? The only thing that lay in that direction was…nothing really. Just wilderness beyond the fringes of the Yadava pastures. And a wild mountainous wasteland. Was that where Krishna and Balarama had taken the Yadavas? But the chariots had flown north-westwards. Then again, flying chariots could easily fly out of range then double back around to deceive. Whereas, if Balarama had arrived from the east, that seemed to indicate that he had been in the east. If nothing else, it was something to do—and someone to fight. Not just someone, a worthy opponent!
 

“Show me,” Jarasandha said, spurring his mount forward with vicious haste.
 

15

Balarama
saw the dust cloud approaching and waggled his eyebrows. “Here they come, bhraatr,” he said.
 

He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck and twisted his burly torso around from side to side, working out the kinks in his body. Beside him, Krishna remained lying prone on the grassy knoll, hands behind his head, gazing up at the sky and dreaming idly. Balarama chuckled at his brother’s nonchalance. Tell Krishna that the world’s cruelest tyrant was approaching with 23 akshohini of the fiercest army on earth and he continued staring up at cloud-animals and day-dreaming. That was Madhava, dancer of the Madhuvan gardens where the grapes responsible for the greatest soma in all creation grew freely.
 

Balarama had been lazing around most of the day until Krishna sent for him. Yawning as he emerged from his chamber into the balcony of his residence at Dwarka, he had frozen in mid-stretch as he saw the sky filled with hundreds of gleaming gold chariots, all carrying full loads.
 

When Daruka told him that the chariots all carried treasure, he had snapped wide awake. All the people had come out into the streets as the chariots landed, and chests were opened and the treasures exposed to the balmy sunshine. It was unbelievable, an empire’s ransom in precious stones, ornaments, clothing, and all manner of wonderful objects, many from distant foreign lands, all the spoils and taxes collected by the Yavana on his mighty campaign of conquest.
 

There was enough to make each citizen in Dwarka wealthy for a lifetime: Balarama came down to the courtyard in time to hear Krishna informing Vasudeva and Devaki that the treasure was to be divided among all, regardless of rank or class or caste. This time, even the nobility would hardly bother to protest for daily life in Dwarka was a treasure in itself. Even so, the sheer scale of Krishna’s acquisition was numbing to contemplate. Balarama had shaken his head, marveling with everyone else as one new wondrous artifact after another was unwrapped and revealed.
 

Krishna had taken him aside and told him what they needed to do next. Balarama had shrugged and a chariot ride later, they were here. As Krishna had instructed, he had taken his chariot within sight of the Magadhan rear lines, making sure he was seen and that they reacted suitably, before returning to this knoll where Krishna had waited, lazing and dreaming. Now, he instructed the chariot to rise up and hover a full yojana above the earth’s surface, awaiting his call. The pushpak swooshed upwards with the smoothness of wind, and was beyond the limits of mortal sight in a moment. Krishna had instructed him to send it away.
 

Balarama finished his stretching as the dust cloud approached within a mile’s distance and resolved into battle formations. He paused and stared at it for a moment, shielding his eyes from the noonday sun with the flat of his hand. “They seem to be preparing to attack, bhraatr,” he announced. “They’re riding hell for leather.”
 

Krishna replied lazily from the ground without budging an inch: “Let me know when they are a thousand yards away.
 

Balarama grinned. “So we fight? Good. I haven’t fought in so long, my muscles are atrophying.”
 

Krishna snorted from his supine position. “It’s been only a day since we last fought. You’re confused by all the travel through vortals and time-shifting.”
 

Balarama frowned, then cocked an eyebrow as he stroked his jaw, peering at the approaching dust cloud. He could see chariots now, and elephants. That looked promising. “That can’t be! It feels like ages.”
 

Krishna said laconically: “For you, a whole day and night without fighting is an age.”

Balarama shrugged. “So I like to fight. So?”
 

Krishna shrugged his shoulders. “So nothing. I’m just saying, it’s only been a day.”
 

Balarama slapped his beefy chest muscles, then his thighs, waking them up. “A thousand yards now, and closing fast.”
 

Krishna sighed lazily and rolled to his feet. He did it with one graceful movement, unlike Balarama who had to either throw himself to his feet in a kind of leaping action, or stagger up because of his build and weight. Balarama envied the ease with which Krishna did that. “Time to run.”
 

Balarama grinned. “Yes, nothing like a good fight to…” He trailed off, staring at Krishna suspiciously. “I thought you said ‘run’.”
 

Krishna winked at him. “I did.” He gestured with his chin in the eastward direction. “Come on.”
 

Balarama turned to watch Krishna start walking—away from the direction of the fast-approaching dust cloud, which wasn’t a dust cloud anymore but an army stampeding like the greatest herd of bull elephants ever to run across the face of the earth. “But that’s the wrong direction. Aren’t we supposed to run towards them if we mean to fight?”
 

Krishna glanced back over his shoulder, beckoning to Balarama. “Not today. Come on, bhai.”
 

Balarama glanced at the Magadhan army. It was perhaps four hundred yards or so away, and riding at a pace of perhaps half a yojana an hour, which was very fast for an army of that size. “But I don’t understand. I thought you called me here for help. Because you wanted to fight.”
 

Krishna came back and caught hold of Balarama’s shoulder, half-embracing his brother. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we? Come.”
 

He forced Balarama to walk along with him, moving at a brisk pace. “There’s no point fighting Jarasandha again. We’ve proved that we can fight and defeat him enough times already.”
 

“Yes, I know,” Balarama said. “Seventeen times, to be exact. I remember that. So I thought this was going to be the 18
^th
and final time!”
 

“That would be boring and predictable,” Krishna said, increasing the pace so they were now jogging slowly. The grass shirred beneath their feet.
 

Balarama said, “I don’t mind! You be predictable. I’ll be boring! But let’s stay and fight, Krishna! Please.”
 

“It won’t serve any purpose, bhai,” Krishna said as they ran. We could fight him every day like this forever, and he would keep coming back. This whole plan is designed to get him off our backs for good. Can you run a little faster, please…
big
brother!”
 

Balarama didn’t mind being called
big
. As Rohini-maa had taught him when he was young and still chubby with baby fat,
big
was a compliment for a fighter. He ran, keeping pace with his more athletic brother, although the grass beneath his feet was pounded far more thoroughly than the grass over which Krishna ran. Looking back at their parallel trails, Balarama’s looked like one wheel of a wagon cart had passed over it.
 

“I understand now,” Balarama said slowly, running faster. “We moved the people to Dwarka whose whereabouts nobody knows now. We’ve destroyed the Yavana army and taken its spoils. Jarasandha would blame only you and I for these things, it’s we he wants now and he won’t cease searching until he finds us. So now we need to finish off Jarasandha once and for all, so he won’t bother to come after us or try to find us ever again. Right?” He looked at Krishna then shook his own head. “No, I take that back. Fighting him serves no purpose, like you said. He’ll just use some asura trick to make us keep fighting him forever or something. Right?”
 

Krishna grinned at him as he ran. Balarama was already sweating and heaving but Krishna looked like he was standing in one place and smiling. “Right. That’s why we’re running.”
 

Balarama nodded, grinning. “I get it now! I understand the plan. It’s brilliant.”
 

They ran for a while. The sounds of the army following them continued, neither growing louder nor softer as the Magadhan forces gave relentless pursuit.
 

After almost an hour, Balarama, now growing painfully out of breath and feeling his legs,
 
frowned and glanced at Krishna who was still sprinting easily, as if he could run this way forever. “But what I don’t get is why are we running?”
 

Krishna laughed and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Sometimes, it’s the only thing left to do.”
 

16

Jarasandha
laughed as he saw the two figures running across the sea of grass, as the great plains of Mathura were often called. “Cowards! Running away because you know the futility of standing to fight!”
 

Around him, his generals and captains laughed as well, the rest of their forces taking up the merriment. Laughter rippled down the ranks of the moving akshohini, audible even above the rumbling thunder of the great army as it trampled the grass into chopped stalks and churned the earth until it resembled a great field ready for seeding. They were happy to see their god emperor laughing, something he rarely did. It was better, far better, than him venting his fury on them!
 

Besides, the sight of the two greatest champions of Mathura, including the Slayer himself, scurrying away like frightened rabbits, was quite astonishing. Unusual enough to provoke comment, surprise, even amusement.