Finally, Crooked Jaw made his move. Feinting right, he lunged left, then dodged the other way, waited till Kamsa’s teammates rushed to block that side, then turned around, and ran the same way but getting past the first wall of players.
The player he had successfully dodged made the mistake of lunging at him and grabbing his torso with both hands, attempting to knock him off his feet.
It was a serious mistake.
Once a player made contact, the intruder was free to use whatever force necessary to free himself. Other players could join in but if the intruder then crossed the line of the area they were guarding, they would be out of the game instantly. The player who attacked Crooked Jaw had to either stop him now or forfeit his own part in the game.
But that was the least of his problems.
Crooked Jaw roared with delight, pleased rather than angry, his muttered chant shouted to express his pleasure. ‘Magadha Magadha Magadha!’ he chanted loudly. And the crowd roared in response: ‘MAGADHA! MAGADHA! MAGADHA!’ smelling first blood.
Kamsa’s team mate held his grip around Crooked Jaw’s torso. Crooked Jaw raised his elbow and brought it down on the other man’s back in a stabbing motion. Now, with ordinary men, this would hurt the man a little, depending on how much muscle and self-discipline he had accumulated. But with the special powers Crooked Jaw possessed, the effect was devastating.
The elbow struck the man’s back and broke through it. Blood spattered in a great splash, falling on the dusty ground in globules. Crooked Jaw’s elbow pierced the man’s backbone, ribs, lungs, and exposed his entire inner workings. He screamed as the last breath left his lungs and Crooked Jaw tossed him to the ground like a sack of yams. He fell and lay bleeding, his ribcage and chest a shattered mess, already dead.
That was why Magadha’s team always won: Each player was empowered by Jarasandha through the use of his special potions, designed after he had seen the unexpected effect it had had on his son in law. Kamsa had thought himself to be the only one possessed of such an ability but clearly that was no longer the case, if it had ever been. Jarasandha had found a way to create more men with the same ability and logically, if the man was bigger and stronger and tougher to begin with, the more formidable he would be after empowerment. Like Crooked Jaw. Or the rest of his team mates, all of whom were taller and wider and apparently stronger than Kamsa.
While the other teams were ordinary mortal men, with all the weaknesses that normal mortal flesh was subject to. Like the man with the shattered chest who lay at Crooked Jaw’s feet now.
Crooked Jaw turned and flashed Kamsa a smile, before turning and crossing to the second block.
Kamsa’s team mates were agitated for the first time. Whatever they had thought or heard of the Magadhans, they had not been prepared for this. Even the earlier demonstration with the sword they had assumed to be some kind of trickery done with a wooden sword or the like. Now, they were coming to terms with the realization that it had been real, that these were men whose skin was tough enough to resist the sharpest blade and who were possessed of greater strength than any normal man, and it was too much. They screamed at each other and cried out, unsure what to do.
‘Hold the line!’ Kamsa shouted over their cries.
They ignored him.
‘Hold! The! Line!’ he yelled, louder this time.
This time they heard him but looked at him as if he was insane.
But those on the second row understood and did as he bid.
They held their line, blocking Crooked Jaw’s way.
Perhaps they thought that despite his superior strength and ability, they might still block him by skill. The game was played in different variations everywhere, Kamsa knew, and every soldier who played it took pride in his skill. The best champions of the sport were often celebrated and famous in their armies and admired by all.
Kamsa shouted instructions to his mates as Crooked Jaw continued his muttered chant, dodging the second wall of defenders now, seeking a way to dodge past them without making physical contact. Again, as was obvious, it was not that the intruder feared the contact itself but that he feared being disqualified.
Again, he dodged and feinted and dodged again. But this time the players followed Kamsa’s instructions and simply held their positions, not moving an inch. Nobody responded to Crooked Jaw’s feints and dodges and after several tries the giant grew frustrated.
‘Magadha!’ he cried and charged headlong at the space between two of his opponents. He meant to barrel through them and run all the way to the home line, Kamsa knew. And with his superior size and ability, he would be able to achieve just that. And any of Kamsa’s players who touched him to try to stop him would be taken out of the game, one way or another.
Kamsa was expecting that, it was the reason why he had ordered the second line to stay still and force the Magadhan’s hand.
Now, he leaped after the Magadhan himself. Even though he was front and center, there was nothing to stop him from going after an intruder from behind, except the fact that if the intruder crossed the second line while still in contact with Kamsa, then Kamsa would be disqualified from the game.
But Kamsa had no intention of letting him reach the second line.
He started running the instant Crooked Jaw began moving forward. Lighter on his feet, he was able to move much faster than the larger heavier man, and he was not burdened with having to chant a word constantly and deplete his breath. He pounded in an arc, sprinting at an angle that brought him in direct contact with Crooked Jaw, and slammed into the Magadhan’s right side, taking him completely by surprise. Had any of his team mates attempted this same maneuver the result would have been akin to a child running into the side of an elephant. But Kamsa had hardened his body density to the maximum possible and he was as heavy and tough as granite itself. He struck the Magadhan with enough force to rattle him and throw him off his forward momentum. Once Crooked Jaw was turned aside, his own running force carried him the rest of the way.
Crooked Jaw fell and tumbled, rolling over once before coming to a halt with a heavy thud. Kamsa felt the impact of the thud through the ground, far heavier than the impact of his own shoulder hitting the ground. Kamsa looked up and checked his position: he had fallen safe, within the chalk line of his ‘kingdom’s’ boundary.
Crooked Jaw, on the other hand, had fallen just over the line.
Which meant he would have to go to the sidelines and wait until one of his team mates crossed to the home line and brought him back into the game.
The bone horn blew a short sharp burst indicating that Crooked Jaw was out for the moment and the referee pointed to the sideline. Crooked Jaw glared at him as if he would like to wring his neck but he rose to his feet and went silently to the sideline. But he did so, after glaring pointedly at Kamsa.
Kamsa grinned. If he wanted, Crooked Jaw could demolish the entire enemy team single-handedly in a moment. He must demolish scores of them each day during battle. But this was different. This was a sport and there were rules and tens of thousands of his admirers watching. He would want to win within the bounds of the rules, not by breaking them. That was the fact Kamsa had counted on. And that Yadu had reminded him of. ‘The limitations that you find frustrating are also your greatest advantage. Use them against your opponent. In war as in sport, the goal is the same. Use what you are given in unexpected yet effective ways. He who does so most shrewdly wins on both fields.’ That was what the old man had taught him the night before: how to win at this game. For he had known that Jarasandha would send for Kamsa soon and that he would use this very game to try to humiliate and undermine him as a precursor to justifying taking control of Mathura. How Yadu had known this, Kamsa did not know. It hardly mattered. He understood that the forebear of the Yadava race could only have the interests of Yadavas at heart, and he had listened and trained intently all night, eager to learn as much as he could in those short hours. It helped that he had played the same game often before as a boy and a youth, alt
hough in a much milder form without such violence, and that he had actually been quite good at it.
Now, he grinned at Crooked Jaw, savouring his first victory of the game.
His team mates were ecstatic but reserved.
‘He is out for now,’ they said to Kamsa. ‘But when he returns...?’
‘And what of his team mates?’ asked another troubled voice. ‘If they are all as invulnerable as he is, what chance do we have?’
Kamsa smiled. ‘We take the battle to them.’
Then he turned to the referee and indicated himself. The referee nodded and came forward to point at Kamsa, blowing his horn again to indicate that the captain of the enemy team was now using his turn to send himself into the Magadhan domain.
Kamsa glanced up. Jarasandha was watching with a deceptively genial expression. His daughters waved excitedly, pleased to see their husband achieve his first moment of victory and cheer him on. Perhaps after I win this game, I will go to them tonight, Kamsa thought. In their father’s own tent.
He grinned at the prospect and leaped forward into the enemy quadrant, slapping his thighs and chanting the word he had chosen as his team’s mantra. ‘Mathura Mathura Mathura...’ he chanted as he moved into enemy territory.
19
Shouts went up from the Vrishnis as they saw the falling object burst into flames. Many screamed in horror as the flaming object then broke into pieces and the individual burning fragments plummeted downwards. Nanda had put his arm around Yashoda again and he clutched her tightly as they stared skywards. She gasped and screamed as well when the fragments began to break up further into smaller bits and pieces. Some were all fire and ash already, long before they reached the earth. How could any living creature survive either the fire or the fall?
Then the pieces began to fall. The Vrishnis screamed and some started to run in panic. But Nanda shouted to them to hold still. There was no point in running about. If they were hit, then so be it. They stood a better chance of survival by staying in one place and by his estimation, the objects would not fall upon them directly.
His judgement proved correct.
The fragments of the flaming object began to crash down to earth over the hill, well away from where they had gathered. The rise protected them from any debris flung up or shards that might be sent flying from the various impacts.
When everything had finished falling, Nanda gave them leave to go see.
The whole gathering proceeded up the hill.
Yashoda realized that she no longer felt weighed down by leaden feet. She could practically sprint up the hill now, energized by her desire to see if her Krishna had somehow, miraculously, survived the fall. She could not believe he would be dead.
The sight from the top of the hill was shocking.
Debris lay spread across the rolling valley. The decorations and arrangements for the festivities were destroyed or in flames but nobody cared about that. There were chunks of tree trunks, clods of earth, rocks and boulders strewn all over.
The crowd spread out, searching among the fallen debris for any signs of life.
They came across the corpse of Trnavarta first. A great hue and cry rose up. Nanda and Yashoda moved through the crowd that already gathered to view the asura’s horrific remains.
His body had been all but burned to ashes by the fire, and lay sprawled across a great boulder. It was impossible to say if the fall had killed him or the flames. Either way, there was no doubt that he was dead.
Yashoda wanted to spit on the corpse and curse the demon for having abducted her son. But seeing him dead like that, she held back her anger, knowing it would achieve nothing.
She turned and walked away. Most of the Vrishnis still crowded around the rakshasa’s body, awed. Most had never seen an asura before until Putana’s death. This made two. They could hardly believe that these creatures of folklore and legend actually existed and moved about them in human form. Who knew in what form the next one might come?
Yashoda wandered away, her mind harried by the sight of the dead asura. If the attacker himself was dead, then what hope could there be for her little one? After falling from such a height...?
Maatr, why do you worry so? I told you, no harm will ever befall me. I am your son after all. I have drunk your milk, and that makes me extra-special!
‘Krishna!’ she cried, spinning around.
Nanda came to her.
‘Where are you, Krishna?’ she cried.
Nanda took hold of her hand. ‘Beloved one, even if his body lies here, perhaps it would be best if you do not look upon it in this condition...’
‘Krishna!’ she cried out. To Nanda she said distractedly: ‘He is alive, Nanda. He just spoke to me!’
Nanda blinked.
I am here, Maatr. On the patch of grass, sitting and waiting.
She swung around. There, over by the marigolds, she saw him now. A little chubby form sitting on his buttocks, waving and smiling.
‘Krishna, my son!’ she cried and ran to him. Nanda followed her, bewildered at first, then with a shout of excitement as he saw Krishna too and reacted. The others heard their cries and left the asura’s body to come running.
Krishna was getting to his feet just as Yashoda reached him. He raised his hands to her happily. ‘Maa’ he cried.
‘Krishna!’ she said, picking him up and hugging him harder than she had ever hugged him before. ‘Oh my son! I knew you were safe and well. I knew it!’
Nanda came up and put his arms around his wife and his son, kissing little Krishna on the forehead. ‘You are well! It is a miracle. It is God’s grace.’
The Vrishnis crowded around them, excited and happy. They began cheering and congratulating one another, even though none of them had actually done anything. They were all ecstatically happy that their little Krishna was alive and well.
‘Once again, Vishnu has protected him,’ they cried out to one another. ‘Our prayers and rituals of protection worked brilliantly. He was saved from the second attack as well!’
Cheering, they returned with Nanda and Yashoda to Vraj-bhoomi. There, they celebrated the survival of Krishna for the second time. Some of the go pas and gopis took care of the remains of the asura, doing as they had done with Putana, chopping the body to pieces and burning it again, until it had turned to ash. Again, they noted how sweet the smoke from his pyre smelled, just like the smoke from Putana’s pyre. ‘He died blessed because he was slain by Vishnu’s hand,’ they said to one another, not knowing how accurate they actually were.
Back home, Yashoda felt great elation. Her anxiety of the weeks before had vanished. She knew now that whatever befell Krishna, he would endure and survive it. She wished there would be no more attacks but she knew that her son had a great destiny and that her wishing things to be different would not make it so. What mattered was that he would not come to harm no matter what his enemies did. She believed that now.
Nanda was relieved too. He was accosted by Gargamuni who arrived when the celebrations were well under way.
‘Gurudev,’ Nanda said, performing the ritual greetings with great joy. ‘It is an honour to receive you on this special day. Once again Lord Vishnu has chosen to grace our son with his blessings. Haridev himself has protected our Krishna.’
Gargacharya looked at Yashoda and little Krishna across the room on the other cot, and at little Balarama sitting on Rohini’s knee nearby, and said to Nanda, ‘Good Nanda, you are right. Haridev himself has graced and protected your son. Because your son Krishna is none other than Vishnu incarnate himself.’
Nanda stared at the guru.
Garga nodded. ‘What I say is true, Nanda-Maharaja. Your little Krishna is the Slayer of Narada’s prophecy. He was birthed by your friend Vasudeva and Devaki when under imprisonment in Kamsa’s palace. The very night of his birth, Vasudeva spirited him here and exchanged him for your newly born daughter. She in turn was Yogamaya herself, who took birth in order to help Vishnu in this mission. She did not die at Kamsa’s h
ands but escaped and returned to swargaloka. All this was done so that Kamsa would not find out that Devaki’s Eighth Child is still alive and well and living in your house as your son. It was essential that you believe he was your son in order for the secret to remain a secret. Now that you have seen him defeat two powerful asuras there can be no doubt in your mind of his power, even as an infant. Imagine the great power he shall wield when he is grown to manhood? Rejoice, Nanda, Haridev himself chose to be raised as your son in your house. What greater privilege can a Vishnu-bhakt like you desire?’
Nanda was stunned by this news but recovered quickly. A part of him had always known something was unique about his little dark wonder. And today when he saw Krishna survive that great fall from the sky, he had no doubts left. He accepted every word his guru said.
‘It is true,’ he said, ‘I am greatly blessed.’
‘Do not speak of this openly,’ Gargamuni warned. ‘For there may be more asuras among your people even now, disguised as humans. Only you, Rohini and Yashoda know the truth. For Rohini’s son Balarama is a partial avatar of Vishnu as well, your son Krishna’s half-brother. While not as powerful as your Krishna, he too has a great role to play in events to come in future years. All that matters now is that you take care of your people and give Balarama and Krishna time to grow to manhood to fulfill the prophecy and then achieve great things on earth.’
Nanda mused over Gargamuni’s words. He discussed the matter with Yashoda that night, and took Rohini’s suggestions into account as well. The next day, he called a meeting of his family and most trusted Vrishni elders and conferred with them for many long hours.
Finally, they all agreed on the same conclusion: The Vrishnis should take Nanda’s suggestion of the earlier day. They should plan to migrate to the secret grove of Vrindavan in the great forest in the event of a calamity. There they could stay safely until the Slayer rose and destroyed the Usurper. They need not worry about the Usurper confiscating their lands. They were confident that when they returned Vishnu would ensure their homes and lands were kept safe for them. While none but Nanda and his wives knew the truth about who the Slayer was, all the Vrishnis were now convinced that Haridev himself looked over them constantly. They were certain of his protection during their exile in Vrindavan. Finally, it was decided that even if they did not migrate at once, they would ensure that the secret settlement in Vrindavan was ready to house them at a moment’s notice. At the first sign of trouble, they would be able to leave at once and travel swiftly.
KRISHNA CORIOLIS#3: Flute of Vrindavan Page 12
