KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka (22 page)

At least he had slain the Slayer.
 

***

But of course, he had not.
 

Krishna and Balarama waited until the smoke was dense enough to blot out all sight of the peak on which they stood. This meant standing and harboring a great number of panicked and stricken animals that had bravely climbed to the peak in a desperate bid to escape the fire. They herded the animals just like they were Nanda-Maharaja’s cows, keeping them safe from the fire and in the center of the peak where they were least visible from the ground. All around them, fire and smoke rose up in a great dense pillar, rising for hundreds of yards above the mountain itself.
 

Down into this pillar, his celestial chariot descended when summoned by Balarama. Dropping down as instantly as it had risen up, it seemed to miraculously appear on the peak, shielded by flames and smoke on all sides. Perhaps a sharp-eyed archer among Jarasandha’s scouts saw a glint of reflection as the flames reflected off the golden chariot but it was no more than a mote of yellow light in a blazing mountain of yellow light.
 

Krishna used the Pushpak’s ability to expand itself from within, while appearing to remain the same size from the outside. Balarama and he herded all the animals into the celestial vaahan, knowing that if they remained here, they would not survive. Even if the fire did not reach the bald top of the peak, the smoke would kill the creatures. And afterwards, when the fire was spent and they descended the mountain to the plains again in search of food and water, Jarasandha’s armies would slaughter them just for the sport as they had slaughtered those birds from the sky.
 

So they took them aboard the pushpak and then they climbed aboard themselves. As the animals had been herded on board, Krishna and Balarama had rubbed soot onto the golden chariot’s gleaming exterior, deliberately soiling it until it was as black as a charred ember. Then, under Balarama’s instruction, it rose, drifting and floating just like a charred ember, rising and hovering and floating with the rising smoke and flames, higher and higher, until not one watcher from the ground far below could distinguish the chariot from an actual ember or ash. Once it was high enough, the chariot shot up at blinding speed, too quickly to be seen by the human eye, and then proceeded westwards. Home to Dwarka.
 

***

Yashoda and Devaki were both astonished when Krishna and Balarama stepped off the chariot on the roof of their residence. They had been waiting for their sons all day, just as Vasudeva and everyone else in Dwarka had been waiting too even while they went about their daily chores. As far as they were concerned, the brothers were equally the sons of Devaki as well as Yashoda. Their bond of shared Krishna-motherhood was already a strong one, strengthened further by their proximity in Dwarka. Rohini came running up to join them, breathless from climbing the stairway to the terrace so fast; she had been spending the time with her sister-mothers as well, but had gone down to take care of the other household chores for a while.

All three mothers were taken aback when Krishna-Balarama stepped out looking like they had been cleaning fireplaces, sooty and grimy. But they were even more astonished when she saw what followed them from the chariot. Not having watched the boys grow, Devaki had nothing to compare the sight to but Yashoda had seen her two little rascals trundle home in worse wear more times than she could remember, usually with this same nonchalant attitude, that she immediately thought of them as being five years old once again—or 9 at most. And Rohini sighed and shook her head in exasperation as she recognized that particular sheepish expression on Balarama’s face that told her he was about to confess to something truly outlandish.
 

Seeing their three mothers, the brothers immediately tried to look contrite and sociable. “Maatr,” they both sang out together gruffly, bending to touch each mother’s feet in turn and receive her blessings. “We brought home some friends to play!”
 

And then the “friends” began to emerge from the chariot, grunting and lowing and snarling, and Devaki, who was still the most impressionable of the three, fainted dead away.

18

Dwarka
was at peace and so Krishna was at peace.
 

The people flourished.
 

They lived in the most beautiful city on earth, enjoying the perfect life, free of sickness, disease, war, crime, poverty, exploitation, abuse. Apart from the vagaries of wind and weather and the occasional sea storm that sent people indoors for the duration, there was nothing that could threaten them. The young respected the old because the old respected the young: brought up with love and respect, every child reciprocated the same to his elders. The high caste and low caste forgot their divisions and mingled freely, retaining their traditions only inasmuch as it related to their culture and work, not as superior or inferior levels. The prosperity of Dwarka and the stern governance of Krishna-Balarama ensured that even those with the slightest bias in their upbringing quickly learned to regard all living beings as brothers and sisters on earth.
 

Food was plentiful. Every family was rich enough to sustain them for several lifetimes. They worked because they enjoyed the occupation, not to earn a living. In a society of equals, there was no place for money men. Neither money lenders nor keepers could go about their dubious business: when every one of your neighbors has as much as you have, whom will you lend to and why should they borrow from you? Anyone in need could go to Krishna directly and he would always assist in whatever way was required. Because the sons of Yadu had been outcaste by their patriarch Yayati, Krishna emphasized to everyone the importance of equality. There was no question of upper or lower caste or class when everyone pooled resources and shared the rewards equally.
 

No doors were locked in that great city. Yet every heart was open to entrants. With the lust for greed, profit and money mongering eliminated, love proliferated. Those who sought to resort to unfair practices to accumulate the wealth of others were sternly but gently reprimanded and corrected. No profiteering, hoarding or excessive accumulation of resources was permitted by law. None were permitted to exercise power over others. Even Krishna and Balarama, as well as their parents and the rest of the Council of Ministers moved freely among the people and were afforded no additional privileges: whatever adulation they received was earned, not mandatory.
 

A season of peace settled over the Yadava nation. After decades of strife and struggle, war and violence, the people were content merely to live and prosper, work and progress. With all the usual obstacles removed and all the necessary protections provided, mortals had no reason left to exploit or abuse one another and were content to live in harmony. This was the natural state of all beings: for nature’s way is peace by default. Only those who are not strong enough to sustain themselves prey on others or seek the artificial advantages of competition. And in Krishna’s age of Dwarka, there was no room for competition, nor any reason to pursue it.
 

In time, he came to be known by a new name, one that recognized his achievement not only in saving the people from the Slayer and the numerous threats that had plagued them over the decades but also in building this island utopia. Dwarkadish was the name. It meant simply First Citizen of Dwarka. But in Dwarka every citizen was as a lord so it could be interpreted to mean First Lord of Dwarka as well. After all, if there was a person deserving of the title in that sacred sanctuary, who else could it be but Krishna?

Dwarka flourished and so Dwarkadish was content.
 

For a while at least.
 

KAAND 3

1

Vidarbha.
A nation neither great nor small. Neither rich nor poor. Neither famous nor infamous.
 

Its chief claim to fame was that it was the first kingdom one came across after crossing the vast Dandaka-van, the dreaded forest region that was the dark heart of the Arya sub-continent. Prone to droughts and famines, as well as periods of fecund fertility, it was a small yet proud kingdom that had perforce built strong alliances with other kingdoms of similar ilk. Just as large nations will acknowledge and ally with one another out of political expediency, so also kingdoms that are neither large nor small will link themselves with other similar nations.
 

The king of Vidarbha was named Bhishmaka and he was a robust and rowdy elder statesmen, given in his youth to much warring and raiding, his hide toughened by the frequent forays of the bands of bandits and outlaws who lived in exile or hiding within the confines of the Dandaka-van.
 

He had learned long ago that the only way to survive in the Vidarbha was to walk tall and roar louder. Just as even a lion will shy away from a monkey that screeches and throws itself about furiously, so also most attackers will back away from a foe who creates too loud a ruckus. Bhishmaka’s bark was worse than his bite, and like most who grow accustomed to barking loudly, he often forgot that one had to bite occasionally, if only to remind one’s enemies that one still had teeth.
 

But of late, Bhishmaka’s days of barking as well as biting were in the past. Stricken by a condition that left half his body and face dysfunctional, he was literally half a man now. He spent his days wining and carousing and making threatening gestures that he could never hope to follow through on.
 

But if he could no longer bite, that did not mean he no longer had teeth.
 

Bhishmaka had five sons and a daughter in his house.
 

The five sons were each a young replica of their father, all given to loud and incessant barking as well as brawling. They roamed the Vidarbha like young lions, and none dared cross their path.
 

Rukmi was the eldest son and he was twice the man his father had ever been as a warrior as well as a reaver. He was not content with merely resisting the forays of the bands of outlaws that came out of the Dandaka-van to sting and retreat hastily with whatever they could lift. He took fighting men
into
the dark and dreaded jungle, rooting out and harrying the outlaws in their own territory, so to speak.
 

The battles were bloody and brutal, for the outlaws had nothing to lose and the jungle was a grim and hostile place where few survived let alone thrived, and it could be argued that Rukmi paid a far more dear price in men’s lives as his kingdom would have paid in lost booty to the outlaws, but his methods were successful. The forays ceased almost entirely. Even the outlaws had no desire to provoke all-out war. They withdrew and exerted their efforts elsewhere.
 

Rukmi’s brothers were all bigger and stronger than he in body. Which was why, as eldest, he had to prove himself over and over again. This had made him stronger, faster, shrewder and a better fighter than all four of them. And as time went by and their father’s capacity diminished further, they came to respect and accept his superiority. While not a just prince, he was smart enough to let them have their own share of the kingdom unofficially, so long as they left him alone to rule as the official heir-in-waiting. It was a better balance of power than most houses and the brothers soon settled into their own minor pockets of power, preferring to enjoy what they had than risk losing all to face Rukmi.

And they respected him even more when Rukmi found a powerful ally and friend in none other than Kamsa, son of Ugrasena, king of the Yadavas.
 

During his youth, Kamsa and his Marauders roved far and wide, building rough friendships with anyone and everyone whose purpose was even remotely beneficial to his own. This was before he met Jarasandha and much before the peace alliance that his father forged with Vasudeva of the Suras. Indeed, it was during the earlier bloodier era when Kamsa roved freely, wreaking havoc and sowing his wild oats where he pleased, that he met Rukmi and befriended him. They were less friends than drinking companions and fighting partners. Their entire alliance lasted barely a few months, less than a season, but the fighting was bitter and the odds vexing and they had bonded closely.
 

At one time, Kamsa had promised Rukmi his own sister Devaki in marriage. And Rukmi in turn had promised Kamsa his sister, Rukmini. Neither promise had been formalized or solemnized but it had formed part of the bond that linked the two men and neither forgot the promise.
 

Once Kamsa had taken up with Jarasandha, he had taken a different path, his life changing to follow a course unlike that he had envisaged for himself. Rukmi, on the other hand, had continued in much the same way, living and brawling, fighting and drinking, and in time, as he continued to hear the infamous exploits of the legendary Usurper, he felt proud that he had once known Kamsa as a friend and fighting partner. It was one of the stories he told often to those he met, and it added to his fame in the remote Vidarbha region, making him somewhat famous as ‘the friend of Kamsa’.
 

As time passed, the very lack of contact with his former friend only seemed to strengthen the bond rather than weaken it. At some level, he probably knew that if he and Kamsa had continued to ride together, they would have fallen out sooner or later, perhaps even become bitter enemies themselves. But by preserving their former friendship in the statuary of past memory, it was solid and immutable: friends forever, in their minds.
 

Naturally, being a friend of Kamsa, it was only natural that he would regard Kamsa’s enemies as his own. And so he came to loathe the fabled Slayer and his legendary exploits. The bond between him and his former friend was almost renewed afresh when he received the formal invitation to attend the great celebration in Mathura. Ostensibly a wrestling tournament, Rukmi’s advisors informed him that it was in fact a show of strength by Kamsa son of Ugrasena, demonstrating how powerful he had become and how futile it would be for anyone to continue to oppose him.