Balarama landed his chariot beside the wreck of Jarasandha’s chariot, leaping to ground while his vehicle was still several yards in the air. The Mohini Fauj, reduced by now to barely a hundred of the Emperor’s immediate bodyguards, rushed forward with pitiful gallantry. Balarama raised his mace and swung it in a great swinging arc, letting his body swirl with the force of the blow, like a man about to release an iron ball held by a long chain. Instead of releasing the mace, he continued to swing around, reaping Hijras like cornstalks. In moments, the entire Mohini Guard lay dead on the grassy knoll. He took another moment to smash the shrieking horses out of their misery, then he strode over to the well of the shattered chariot with Magadhan markings.
Jarasandha crouched in the well of the broken chariot, staring numbly into the distance. He did not even look up as Balarama approached.
Balarama reached forward and grasped Jarasandha by the back of his neck, the way a lion seizes another lion. He lifted him up easily, despite the difference in their age and sizes. Jarasandha hung absurdly from Balarama’s grasp, like some pitiful puppy helpless and unable to fight back.
“Magadhan,” Sankarshan said softly. “Where did you think you would run to? Even if it was the ends of the earth, we would find you. Don’t you understand that by now?”
A faint disturbance in the air was the only indication of the arrival of the second celestial chariot. It descended smoothly and silently on the knoll beside Balarama’s own chariot. Krishna descended, tucking away his weapons. As he stepped towards Jarasandha, the Magadhan had a brief glimpse of the being he truly was…then in place of that being, he saw the boy Krishna with two slender arms and a normal human body, approaching him with a grim look on his youthful face.
“Shall I kill him here, bhraatr, or shall we do it before the people of Mathura?”
Krishna replied. “We shall not kill him at all.”
Balarama’s head jerked. “What?”
“Release him.”
Balarama stared at his brother then turned back to Jarasandha, dangling from Balarama’s left hand. The Magadhan was tall enough that his knees dragged limply on the grass but he made no move to try to break free of Balarama’s grasp. “We cannot release him. We must kill him. We have the right under kshatriya dharma.”
“Kshatriya dharma forbids an honorable warrior from killing a helpless one.”
Balarama frowned. “He is not helpless. He is an asura in mortal guise. He is capable of fighting both of us at once and giving us a little trouble before we despatch him. I would call that a worthy adversary, not a helpless one. The rules of war fully justify us killing him when we get the chance, right? Well, this is our chance.”
“No, bhaiya, we shall release him. Let him go.”
Balarama still remained adamant. “Do you know what he meant to do? He brought an army of 23 akshohini to destroy Mathura and wipe out the Yadava race from the world. Never before has he invaded any nation with such a huge force. His intention here was not to conquer or merely subjugate, it was to eliminate. To wipe us out of existence.”
“And instead, we wiped his army of 23 akshohini out of existence.” Krishna’s voice was calm. “They pose no further threat to us or any other nation of the world.”
“Even so, he is still alive!” Balarama said. “And he remains the greatest threat Mathura has ever faced.”
“That is why he must remain alive,” Krishna said.
“That makes no sense, bhraatr. If he stays alive he could well raise another army. And return to try to do again what he tried today. Don’t be fooled by the way he looks now,” Balarama shook the Magadhan viciously, making Jarasandha’s limp body flipflop absurdly. “He is in shock, terrified beyond words of us now, but in time he will regain his hatred and lust for vengeance and raise a new army to invade us.”
“Who will follow him into battle?” Krishna asked. “His entire power and domination was due to his great army and superior fighting power. Now he has nothing. By leaving him alive, he remains humiliated, a perpetual reminder to our enemies of the might and power of the Yadava nation. Wherever he goes, whatever he does—or tries to do, people will laugh at him openly or snigger behind his back and remind each other that we cared so little about him that we let him live after wiping out his army. No soldier will respect him anymore. Even his slaves will feel superior to him.”
Balarama stared at Krishna for a moment. He absorbed the implications of his brother’s words. Then slowly, he turned and looked at Jarasandha. The Magadhan’s eyes were closed but there was dampness around the dark thickly lashed eyes. He was crying.
Balarama opened his fist. Jarasandha dropped to the grassy knoll like a sack of vegetables and lay sprawled there on his face. Balarama wiped his hand on his anga-vastra, even though the anga-vastra was more bloodied and filthy with offal than the hand that had clutched Jarasandha. “You are right, bhraatr,” he said. “After such a defeat, to be allowed to live is a far greater loss than to be killed. He will never survive such a humiliation.” He chuckled. “Besides, his enemies will now be baying for blood, eager to take revenge on him for all the abuse he has meted out over the years. They will fall on him like crocodiles on a wounded buffalo.”
Balarama kicked Jarasandha on the softest part of his rear side. “Get up! Rise, Magadhan and leave this kingdom. Never show your face anywhere near Mathura or to any Yadava for as long as you remain alive. On pain of death. Come on! Get going!”
He had to kick the fallen Emperor a few more times before the broken wreck that was now Jarasandha finally managed to get to its feet and stumble away. He shambled over the land strewn with the remnants of his once-great army and it was difficult to believe that this broken being that stumbled into the horizon had until this morning been the most feared conqueror in the known world.
4
Jarasandha did not laugh out loud in typically villainous fashion. He was not Kamsa. Even in this moment of utter desolation, he still retained his famous dignity and gentlemanly composure. He merely chuckled. Yet so unexpected was that action that it filled the quiet tent, silencing every last one of the kings present. He threw the second boot on the ground and grinned up at them.
“You fools. You simple-brained dolts. You idiots without a grain of sense in all your collective skulls.”
They looked at him. Some looked shocked. Others, resigned and accustomed to Jarasandha’s arrogance. Most seemed mildly curious in the manner of men who were viewing a person on the verge of a complete breakdown, prepared for any form of behavior or outburst.
Jarasandha shook his head. “You still do not understand, do you? How could you? That’s why you’re merely kings and I am emperor. Emperor of Magadha, lord of the known world. Never forget that.”
They tried to be gentle. “Jara, you achieved more than any ruler in the history of the world. Why, if there were lands and territories worth claiming beyond the Kush ranges you would surely have conquered them as well. You were master of the civilized world. Nobody disputes that. But no ruler can reign forever. That is a fact of life. Your reign is ended. Live out your days peaceably. None of us will ever make a move against you.”
“Of course you won’t,” Jara said. “A toothless predator is to be pitied, not killed. That is how you can feel magnanimous and show the world what loyal friends and allies you were to the end!”
They did not respond to that allegation, not even to dispute or deny it. The implication was obvious: they did not dispute it at all.
“But you are all wrong in your assumption. My time isn’t over. It has only just reached its apogee. I am at the peak of my achievement. I am close to being God Incarnate upon the mortal realm. Soon, nobody will stand in my way. I will rule forever. Eternally.”
They exchanged uneasy glances now. This was the talk of a madman, not a king on the eve of a bitter defeat. Perhaps Jarasandha had gone completely over the edge, losing all touch with reality.
He grinned at their expressions. “Of course you don’t know wha
t I’m talking about. How could you? You’re merely pawns in the great game of which I am master and commander. You are only permitted to know what you need to know. Nothing more or less. Therefore all you see is Jarasandha, Emperor of Magadha, defeated yet spared by Krishna-Balarama, his vast armies reduced to corpse-flesh, food for vultures and crows and maggots. You see only the apparent reality of the day, not the greater picture that transcends it.”
They shook their heads sadly. “Nothing transcends death, Jara.You armies are dead on that field. You can never raise a force that great even in a hundred years. Nobody will ever follow you into battle again. Your very survival is an affront to kshatriya dharma.”
Jarasandha chuckled. “That is where you are wrong. There is a force that transcends death. You all know of it. Can any one of you name it?”
They looked at each other now, their eyes speaking the message they did not wish to speak aloud. He’s lost it, he’s gone insane, he’s talking utter dribble.
“Time, you fools. Kaal! The only force in the universe that is greater than death itself. Kaal controls the Wheel of Creation, the Becoming and Unbecoming. The cycle of birth and death, rebirth and moksha…everything turns according to the Wheel of Time. Turn back the Wheel and you defeat Death itself. Don’t you see? That’s all it takes!”
They began to shuffle towards the exit, making noises of commiseration, pretending to have business elsewhere.
“Go then,” he said disdainfully. “Leave me. I will remember that you did not even have the gumption to stay and hear me out afterwards. I will remember it when I return.”
“Return from where?” one asked curiously as he was about to leave. “From Magadha?”
Jarasandha laughed. “No, you fool. Haven’t you heard anything I said? When I return from Mathura, as lord of the Yadava nation, bearing the spoils of war.”
This made the last of the kings even more eager to leave. Jarasandha chuckled as he watched them sidle out, avoiding meeting his eyes as they bade him goodbye, most of them assuming it would be the last they ever saw of him.
In another moment, the tent was empty except for Jarasandha himself. He sat for a while as the shadows grew longer and dusk fell. The battle had ended in mid-afternoon. Less than a day to wipe out 23 akshohini. Those Yadava brothers were quite impressive, he had to admit. He replayed the day’s events in his mind several times, going over tactics and strategy, remembering their counter-moves, the celestial chariots, the weapons they deployed, their unique skills and powers. Was that all they were capable of? No, there would be more. Perhaps even infinite ways to destroy his forces. What did it matter? In the end, Mathura would be his, that was all that counted.
Finally, as the crickets began to crick noisily around the tent, he rose and prepared the potion he would require for the task at hand. It had to be mixed in a precise balance to ensure the perfect result. He sipped it delicately, feeling the exotic flavor on his twin palettes. Few people knew that he possessed two palettes, one above the other, lending him the ability to distinguish between a far wider variety of tastes than any mortal being. This particular potion tasted quite palatable, so to speak. If it wasn’t so specific in its effect, he might have enjoyed quaffing it on a regular basis. But of course, that would not be possible. It could only be consumed to serve a single purpose.
He waited for the potion to take effect. It was hours past nightfall when the effect finally took over. He sensed a blurring of the tent around him, the broken artifacts and treasures, the silk cushions and drapes…and he smelled a peculiar odor, like nothing he could identify…as the air before him shimmered and warped and distorted like a reflection viewed in a warped sheet of polished metal…
And then with a quickening of his pulse and a sudden falling sensation, the Vortal opened below him, in the ground, like a doorway sunk in the carpeting of the tent. Garish red light streamed upwards from the opening, swirling and twisting like smoke.
He stepped to the edge and looked down…then dropped down into the abyss.
5
“My Lord,” Daruka said as they sped away from Jarasandha. “You seem troubled. Is there anything I can do to alleviate your anxiety?”
Krishna blinked, looking at the city looming ahead. “Yes. Take me upwards. Directly upwards.” He pointed at the sky.
Daruka obeyed. The celestial chariot swung upwards at a ninety degree angle, flying straight up to the sky above. Yet Krishna and Daruka remained standing as they were, unaffected by the vertical trajectory.
Balarama slowed his own chariot and sent a mental query to Krishna: Bhraatr, where are you going?
Krishna replied: Go home to Mathura. Go through the motions of victory as usual. I shall return shortly. I need some time to think by myself.
He added more genially: Flute time.
Balarama sent back the mental equivalent of a smile: :-). His chariot continued towards the city, the cheers and sounds of dhol-drums and celebrations exploding even before his vehicle began to descend.
Krishna’s chariot continued upwards to a height greater than Daruka had ever seen before. When the earth was far beneath them and its details were too minute for even the sarathi’s keen sight to discern, he asked his master hesitantly, “Higher, my Lord?”
Krishna smiled. “Yes, Daruka. Do not worry. We shall be able to breathe as on earth. The pushpaka will care for us. I need to get away from worldly matters for a while and recall the universe as I once knew it.”
Daruka nodded, spurring the chariot on faster, their speed now so great that the very stars seemed to blur past. “I understand, Great One. If we stand too close to a tree trunk, all we see is the knot on the trunk. Sometimes one needs to see the whole forest.”
Krishna smiled again. “Or the sum total of every forest that was ever created.”
Daruka was silent for a while after that, trying to comprehend the concept of being able to view every forest ever created. It was too much for even his agile mind and eventually he gave up and simply admired the sight of stars blurring past, turning into streaks of light.
That is the point, good sarathi. To contemplate something so vast, one cannot understand it, merely accept its existence. Like viewing a star. Or a galaxy. Or all Creation.
Daruka marveled at his Lord’s wisdom. I understand now, my Lord.
He breathed in deeply, wondering at the miracle of being able to breathe air in this vast emptiness. He knew there was no air beyond the reach of Mother Prithvi’s grasp because air itself was created by Mother Prithvi. The silence was deafening, the epic vastness overwhelming, yet he found a strange sense of calm descending upon them as they flew on farther and farther, until, glancing back over his shoulder, he could no longer even make out the green-and-blue orb that was his home.
After the bloody and brutal battle that had raged all day, he understood why Krishna would find such a voyage soothing. He had barely been able to comprehend the scale of slaughter visited by Krishna and Balarama upon the armies of Jarasandha but the violence had been all too real and palpable. He had even found his heart crying for the unfortunate beasts—the elephants and horses—that were compelled by their human masters to participate in that orgy of violence.
As a charioteer, Daruka respected animals greatly, particularly the children of the Ashwins, the great Sky Twins from whom all horsekind were descended. They were magnificent, loyal and enduring beasts. It was a sheer tragedy to see them slaughtered in a conflict that did not directly concern them. It had made him ponder on the very nature of enslavement: for what else was the use of horses and elephants, uksan and cows, if not slavery in a sense?
At least with cows and sheep, if one was as loving as the govindas of Gokuldham, then one could claim that the animals were as well tended as the humans they served. But horses, elephants and uksan were nothing more than slaves forced to carry the burden of their human masters, or the loads they made them carry or drag, and more often than not, those masters were nothing like the gentle govindas of Gokul. And
when it came to participation in war or conflict, then their use was worse than slavery. They were merely fodder for the cruel reaping of warlords. If not inhuman, it was certainly inhumane.
KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka Page 2
