‘Their faith?’ Kamsa repeated, thoughtfully.
‘Aye. And that faith was bolstered and encouraged by the Brahmins, of course. The keepers and teachers of dharma. You knew that the Brahmins were encouraging belief in the non- existent Slayer and giving the people confidence to rebel against you. Short of wiping out the entire population and restarting theYadava race anew with your own seed – a possibility you did consider for a while – there was only one other option available to you to quell this defiance.’
‘Only one other option,’ Kamsa repeated. He had zero recollection of all this, of course.
‘To destroy the people’s dharma itself. As well as the Brahmins’ sense of dharma.’
‘Destroy their dharma. Yes, of course,’ was Kamsa’s dazed response. He had no idea what that meant, but it sounded promising. Not the kind of elaborate philosophical thinking he would usually indulge in, but interesting nonetheless.
‘And so you opened the coffers of Mathura.’
‘The coffers?’ he frowned. ‘Yes, the royal treasure chest, accumulated by you, your father, and the kings of Mathura before him back to the beginning of the Andhaka nation. A considerable store of wealth indeed.’
As Bahuka continued, Kamsa’s attention turned back to the quads of men he had noticed earlier. They were emerging from the palace – the new-new palace – carrying what appeared to be treasure chests, he now realized, and loading them onto the long line of waiting uks carts. There were a great many carts and a great many chests and, judging by the fact that it took four strong-backed men to carry each one and all four men were bent over and straining to carry the weight, they seemed very heavy.
‘And by giving all that wealth away to the people, starting with the Brahmins and then onto the other varnas in proportion ...’
‘You did say “giving it away”, did you not?’ Kamsa asked.
‘Aye, Prince Kamsa. By showing such unparalleled generosity, you would not only win back the hearts of the entire populace, and make them feel well and thoroughly compensated for any hardships they might have endured during the long difficult years of drought which unfortunately coincided with your own regime, but you would also give them an opportunity to afford such pleasures as they had only dreamt of before.’
Kamsa was silent. He was too stunned to say anything. Bahuka went on, barely able to disguise the smugness in his voice.
‘And so you ushered in a new age of hedonism in Mathura. You gave away so much wealth that not a single citizen needs to work another day in his life. Farmers have stopped tilling their fields, cowherds care about their flock no more, women don’t make butter or ghee to sell in the market any more and children have stopped learning. Everyone has been too busy enjoying the new-found wealth. Drinking, eating and pleasure have become the new way of life. Wine has begun to flow as readily as the first good monsoon which coincided with your surge of generosity. Basically, over the past several months, your plan has begun to show results.’
‘It has?’ Kamsa croaked.
‘Indeed! It worked brilliantly. The people of Mathura are like fattened calves now. They are too busy indulging themselves to bother with resistance. Even Brahmins have taken to ungodly indulgences! All talk of dharma has died out, for when there are such rich spoils to be enjoyed, nobody wants to listen to the voice of one’s conscience. Every citizen has become your confidant. The flow of information is free and rich; cooperation is absolute; rebellion is non-existent.’
And Bahuka clapped a powerful hand on Kamsa’s shoulder, almost breaking his clavicle. ‘Truly, your plan was brilliant, Prince Kamsa. You have changed the entire character of Mathura in a few short months! And all it took was the bulk of your ancestral wealth. Splendidly done, my lord. Splendidly done!’
fifteen
Akrur emerged from the darkness of the forest into the clear, cold light of a winter evening. He gazed with relief at the river coursing under the overhang, reflecting the light of the setting sun.‘Yamuna-maa, to see you is always a blessing. Today, it is also a relief.’
He made his way carefully down to the riverside, following the pebbled shale bank further. He had started out following the river as instructed, but when he had reached a point where the bank rose too high and was too densely forested to follow, he had had no choice but to go around. It was a great relief to finally be in sight of the river again, for these were unfamiliar woods and he did not know what dangers lurked within them.
He smiled again, with great pleasure this time, when he came around a bend and saw the boat moored to the bank up ahead. He quickened his pace as best as he could.
A dark form unfolded its limbs and rose to meet him as he approached the boat.
‘Lord Akrur?’ asked a voice with the inflection of the fisherfolk of the river.
‘Yes,’ Akrur replied.
‘Pray, step aboard,’ the man responded, busying himself with untying the boat’s mooring. ‘It is almost night and they are all assembled and waiting. You are the last to arrive.’
The man was silent as he pushed the boat free of the shore using a long pole. Akrur thought it best not to disturb the boatman. The river was flowing at a goodly speed and the fisherman was poling them upriver, a task that demanded all of the man’s considerable strength and dexterity. Akrur would have been glad to help but there was only the one pole and he was not sure he knew how to pole a boat in that manner. He watched the man work, powerful back muscles heaving as the light dimmed and a silvery sheen – rippling like the tendons of the fisherman’s arms and thighs – lay on the river’s surface. The man was much older than he had seemed at first glance. It was hard to tell in this faint light, but Akrur thought he spied a shock of white hair under the cloth that the boatman had tied around his head. Other than that, and the whites of his eyes and teeth, the man was blackness itself, a shadow lost among the shadows of the growing darkness.
‘Where are we going?’Akrur asked out of curiosity. He could see now that their destination was not the far side of the river as he had assumed at first.
The man jerked his head once, never missing a beat in his rhythmic poling.
Akrur peered in that direction but saw nothing at first. He waited patiently, and as they worked their way steadily upstream, he began to discern a place where the faint gleam of the river was absent – a roughly oblong patch in the middle of the river’s course. Finally, they were close enough for him to make out that the patch was an island. Of course, he had been told that the meeting was on an island.
‘Pachmani, is it not?’ he asked tentatively.
‘We call it Manchodri,’ the man answered shortly.‘It is my home.’
As they approached, Akrur realized the brilliance of the choice of rendezvous. Not only was the island not easily visible from the riverbank, it was nearly impossible to reach. From the way the water roared a little way upstream, he could tell that there were large rocks that would make a downriver approach extremely treacherous if not impossible. And the effort and skill it would take to pole a boat upstream in this fashion ... well, it would prove daunting to almost any enemy.
As they reached the island proper, his sharp, alert gaze saw the unmistakeable shadows of men moving about on the shore, carrying long stick-like objects that he knew at once to be longbows of the kind favoured by riverfolk. An enemy that did manage to pole its way upstream would have to contend with a hail of deadly greetings. As secure as any fortress.
He leapt out on shore, then turned to thank the boatman. To his surprise, he found that the man had handed over the boat to one of the waiting bow men and was following him.
‘This way,’ said the fisherman, passing him and showing him the way. ‘The lights are guarded to avoid alerting anyone who might be watching. Even fish have eyes, after all.’
Akrur was led up a winding path that he would never have been able to navigate unguided in the dark. When they finally arrived at the cottage, he was able to discern the faint glow of shielded lamp light. It had not been
visible even a few dozen yards back.
The door of the cabin creaked as the fisherman opened it. ‘He is here,’ he said softly to those within, then stood by to let Akrur pass.
Vasudeva’s trusted aide entered the cabin, glad for the warmth of the fire, even though it was shielded and banked to avoid producing too much light and smoke. The fisherman shut the door behind him, and they stood, looking around at the occupants already there and awaiting them both.
The first person he recognized by sight was a tall stately form. ‘Pritha!’ he said warmly, offering the appropriate greetings and gestures,‘it is so good to see you again!’
Vasudeva’s sister greeted him with matching warmth.‘Well met, good Akrur. You are truly a sight for sore eyes.’
‘And you,’ he said, although he was disturbed to see how thin and wan she looked. Perhaps it was just the dim light? No, there was a distinctly haggard look about her beautiful features. He asked quietly,‘Is all well with you?’
She sighed.‘I have my health. It is more than most can say.’ She turned to include the others.‘Allow me to introduce you.’ She led him around the small group of figures seated or standing around the cabin.
She paused in front of a tall imposing giant of a man with a shock of white hair and ageing features that did nothing to diminish his sheer power and personality. ‘This is Pitamah Bhishma, he is like a father to us all. His given name is Gangeya, after his mother Ganga-devi, but we call him Bhishma on account of the terrible vow he took.’
‘A vow he took on my behalf,’ said a woman’s voice from across the room. Akrur turned to see a woman about the age of his own mother but possessed of such striking beauty that the instant he laid eyes on her, he was riveted. The fisherman who had brought him to the island had gone to stand by her, and seeing them together, side by side, the resemblance was unmistakable. From the difference in their ages, he discerned that they must be father and daughter.‘And on the insistence of my father here,’ the woman continued bitterly,‘who made Bhishma swear that he would never sire a child as long as he lived in order to preclude his offspring from claiming a right to the throne of Hastinapura and depriving my own children of that privilege.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘And what good did it do? Both my sons are dead.And Hastinapura languishes on the brink of disaster, with no one to carry the Puru legacy onward.’
‘This is Satyavati,’ Kunti said, introducing Akrur with due formality. ‘She is foster-mother to Bhishma and widow to the late Shantanu, king of the Purus. Shantanu had already sired Gangeya when he met Satyavati and desired to marry her. But her adoptive father Dasaraja,’ here Kunti introduced the fisherman who nodded curtly in greeting, ‘insisted that they could wed only if Shantanu swore that only Satyavati’s children would have the right to claim the Puru throne.’
Dasaraja shrugged.‘Kings often desire beautiful fisherwomen or other women of lower stature. They rarely wed them, and even when they do, they rarely give their other children the right to kingship. It is the way of the world since time immemorial. I was only ensuring that my daughter would not be loved and then forgotten like so many other women of our community. The vow he took was entirely Gangeya’s choice. I did not ask for it. Nor did I impose it as rigidly as he himself does even now.’
Kunti turned back to Akrur. ‘Shantanu had countered Dasaraja’s condition saying that he could not deprive his lawful son of his rightful place in succession and had returned home to Hastinapura in great sorrow, for he truly loved Satyavati and desired her more than anything else. But Gangeya came to know of his father’s sadness and came to meet Dasaraja himself.’
The ageing fisherman shrugged. ‘He swore to me in sight of the river – his mother’s sister – and in the gaze of all the devas that he would not spill his seed so long as he lived. If he never sired a child, there could be no question of anyone but Satyavati’s children ascending to the throne.’
Marvelling at the sheer audacity of the vow, Akrur turned his gaze back to the proud aquiline profile of Bhishma Pitamah who stood impassively staring ahead. To never know the touch of a woman or the pleasure of coition for his entire life! No wonder he was known as He Of The Terrible Vow ... Bhishma indeed!
Kunti went on: ‘Satyavati’s sons were Chitrangada and Vichitravirya. They were schooled by Bhishma Pitamah himself, and were great princes and legendary warriors. But their lives were cut short prematurely through circumstance. Shantanu was already long dead by that time. This left only Bhishma Pitamah to father more children in order to further the Puru race—’
‘Which of course, he would not do on pain of death,’ Satyavati cut in sorrowfully, and Akrur saw that her bitterness was directed not at Bhishma personally but at the strange turn of fortune that had brought them to this juncture.‘So I called upon a son I had birthed from an earlier encounter with the great Sage Parashara ...’
‘Which story I shall tell you at some other time,’ Kunti went on,‘for it is a strange and lovely tale in itself. But for now, meet Satyavati’s son that she speaks of, the great mind that separated and organized the sacred verses of the Vedas, and who was known thenceforth as Ved Vyasa for this achievement, but whom we all know by his given birth name, Krishna Dweipayana, or simply Krishna for short.’
Akrur turned to look at the man who had, all this while, been staring out of the window at the dark night. He was struck by the intense, piercing gaze of the tall, pitch-dark man with formidable features. He swallowed and performed the necessary formalities of greeting a great sage, for there were few greater than this one.‘Pranaam, Gurudev.’
Ved Vyasa, as he was known by legend and reputation,simply nodded in greeting.
Kunti continued, ‘Krishna Dweipayana, as Satyavati’s son, albeit by an earlier union, was legitimately her heir. And so, after Bhishma refused to break his vow and sire an heir to the Kuru dynasty, she called upon Krishna Dweipayana to do so. He agreed on certain conditions. Satyavati agreed to all his conditions, but her daughters-in-law were unprepared and unable to accept a personality so striking as the great sage. As a result, one bore a child who was born blind.’
‘Dhritarashtra,’ added Satyavati sadly.
‘And the other bore a son who was born devoid of skin pigmentation and with all the attendant complications caused by that condition.’
‘Pandu – the white one,’ Satyavati added.‘Ved Vyasa had a third son, named Vidura. A wonderful, perfect boy, but sired upon a maid and therefore ineligible to ascend to the throne.’
Akrur nodded slowly.‘You are married to Pandu,’ he said to Kunti.
‘Yes, and my husband is capable of producing an heir,’ she said with a trace of bitter sadness in her voice,‘but he has been cursed. I will go into the details of that tale as well. Suffice it to say that he cannot sire a child on me or upon my sister queen Madri without dying instantly.’
Akrur rubbed his forehead.‘So if Pandu cannot sire an heir upon his wives due to the curse, Dhritarashtra must do so.’
Kunti sighed. ‘Yes. But Dhritarashtra’s wife Gandhari has been pregnant for well over a year now and hasn’t given birth.
All the elders are agreed that her child has withered away in her womb.’
Bhishma Pitamah spoke up.‘Now tell the good Lord Akrur what all this has to do with him and his people. For while the tales and tragedies of the Kuru race are no doubt compelling, he was not called all this way at such great risk simply to hear the unfortunate story of our inability to further our great dynasty.’
Kunti inclined her head respectfully in agreement. She turned to Akrur: ‘As in any Arya dynasty, when an heir is lacking, it creates a void. In this case, the void is a great one, for the Kuru dynasty has built a great and powerful kingdom, possessed of unmatched wealth and prime resources. We are the direct heirs of the great Bharata and his forebear Sudas, after all, who fought the legendary Dasarajna war that first established our line upon this subcontinent. To rule Hastinapura is to dominate all Aryavarta, for our kingdom’s borders mark the poi
nt of ingress into this part of the world and enclose the richest rivers and lands. The king who sits on the throne of Hastinapura, capital of Hastinapura and the seat of the Kuru dynasty, is undoubtedly the most powerful in this part of the world, if not the world entire.’
Akrur nodded.‘I cannot argue with that. But how does the lack of heirs figure into the present political situation, unless you mean ...’ He trailed off, gazing at the fireplace as he accessed his own store of knowledge and came to the inevitable conclusion. ‘Jarasandha,’ he said at last.
‘Yes,’ Kunti said, tensing at the name. ‘His campaign of acquisition has ravaged the length and breadth of the land. The only kingdom large enough to oppose him now, as well as the choicest jewel in his crown of conquest, is Hastinapura. And in a scenario where we are without a legitimate heir to the throne, if Jarasandha were to stake a claim to our great holdings, even our most docile neighbours might well be tempted into joining him and waging all-out war against us.’
Akrur slammed his left fist into his right palm. ‘The Yadava nations shall not stand by meekly and let that happen. We shall stand by the Puru nation against Jarasandha and his allies.’
At these words, the great white-haired sage turned away from his window and looked at the visitor. His eyes bore into Akrur with such intensity that the young man had to make an effort not to step back in consternation.‘Bravely spoken, but naively said. For the Yadava nations are no longer their own master. They are in the grip of Kamsa the Usurper. And he is nothing more than Jarasandha’s tool, placed in Mathura merely to ensure that the joining of Yadava forces does not come to pass.’
sixteen
Kamsa found himself riding a horse. He had no recollection of getting on the horse, or even of getting out of bed that morning. By now, he had become unhappily accustomed to the abrupt ‘jumps’ in consciousness. In the past few days he appeared to have leapt forward by several months, sometimes losing mere days at a time, at other times losing entire weeks or months. He had no explanation to offer, nor did anyone else. Indeed, the few times he had attempted to explain his malady to Pralamba, the advisor visibly balked or stared blankly at him. He had deduced by now that he did not simply disappear from existence during these long absences. Indeed, to those around him, he apparently continued living and working and eating and talking and continuing the everyday business of his life, but to himself, it was as if he had gone to sleep, and woken up days, weeks, or months later, each time without any recollection of what had transpired during the intervening period. To describe it as unsettling would be a euphemism; it made him feel vomitous and nervous all the time.
KRISHNA CORIOLIS#2: Dance of Govinda Page 9
