‘No,’ he said aloud, ending any doubt they might have. Bahuka snarled.‘My lord, he has insulted you!’
Jarasandha strode across the chamber to where Bahuka stood, and slapped the man backhanded across the cheek. Though just a casually dealt blow, it was hard enough to split Bahuka’s lip and draw blood. ‘That is for me to decide. Now, stand down!’
He turned to the others as well, meeting each of their gazes in turn, and said loudly, ‘Stand down!’
They lowered their gazes, knowing better than to challenge him.
Beside him, Bahuka glowered at Kamsa even as he wiped the trickle of blood from his lip.‘It is a bad precedent,’ he said very softly, just enough for Jarasandha to hear.‘The dog that gets away with a finger may some day bite our hand off.’
Jarasandha looked up at the ceiling. There was an interesting dent there where something had struck the ceiling hard enough to break a piece of the stone overbeam. It would have taken considerable force and velocity to do that. He wondered if it was somehow connected to Kamsa’s recent transformation; he thought it did.
‘Leave us,’ he said quietly for Bahuka’s benefit. Firmly but not like a command. The old veteran had been with the Magadhan plunderer too long and fought too many wars and conflicts alongside him to be easily cowed. Beating him down would only end up in another unnecessary death. Some flies were more easily drawn with honey than slapped with sticks.
Bahuka left slowly, reluctantly. The others went too, glowering at Kamsa as they passed him by, but none making a move towards him. Once the doors were opened, other Mohinis came in to drag out their comrades. The faint sounds of necks being cracked outside were audible to Jarasandha’s sharp ears; there was no room for the physically challenged in his army. Being a soldier for Magadha was in itself a challenge, physically and in every other way. On the battlefield, he himself went around finishing off damaged soldiers. He called it ‘relieving them of their duties’.
When everyone had left and the doors had been shut once more, but not bolted this time, Jarasandha turned to look at Kamsa shrewdly.
‘Tell me everything,’ he said.
Kamsa looked at him laconically for a moment.‘What does that mean,“everything”?’
‘How did this happen? When did it happen?’
Kamsa tore off a silk sheet and used it to wipe himself clean of the Hijras’ blood. He also felt the great thirst that overcame him every time he used his powers but he controlled the urge. He wanted nothing more than to pick up the oversized water pot he now kept in his chamber, up-end it and drink until it was completely drained. But he didn’t do that. Any need was a potential weakness, and he did not want Jarasandha to know his weakness. Instead, he picked up the pot and merely sipped at it, more as an affectation rather than an expression of need. ‘Could you be more specific, Father dear? At least give me some hint as to what you might be referring to?’
Jarasandha smiled wryly. ‘You have changed completely. I’m tempted to say “overnight” but of course that can’t be true. This has taken time, effort.’ Something occurred to him. ‘And training! I see now. The question I should be asking is, who has effected this transformation. Who was it, Kamsa?’
Aching to empty the contents of the pot into his belly, let the cold water splash onto his face and shoulders and head, drench him completely, Kamsa took another sip. He could almost feel the water splashing on his sweaty overheated head and torso as he imagined it. But to Jarasandha he showed only indifference. ‘What transformation?’
Jarasandha shook his head. ‘Come now, Kamsa. You are a different man. A new man. With extraordinary new abilities. That does not come on its own; it is acquired somehow. All I wish to know is, how and when and from whom.’
Kamsa took a third sip, weighed the pot in his hand a moment, thinking. It weighed at least a hundred kilos, he knew, because it contained one hundred litres of water. He knew he could drink five of those right then and still want more. He forced the need to the back of his mind and focussed on the matter at hand. It was important he make Jarasandha understand that the first time, otherwise the process would take weeks or months, instead of days to accomplish. And something told him that he could not afford it to take weeks or months. Each day that he dallied in Mathura with Jarasandha, the Slayer would be out there somewhere, growing up, growing stronger, getting ready to attack him. He had to be ready when the time came. He had to choose the place and manner of the confrontation. It was the only hope he had.
‘You are right about the rebellion,’ he said quietly, being sure to couch his words in calm indifference. Any sign of urgency would only make Jarasandha suspicious. ‘It is led by Akrur, acting on behalf of Vasudeva himself.’
Jarasandha immediately dropped his sardonic smile and came several steps forward.‘I knew it! Did you learn this from your spasas? What else did they tell you?’
Kamsa raised his other hand, waving away the questions.‘It does not matter how I came to know about this. All that matters is that it is true. You can verify it with the help of your spasas in time – but if you do, you will run out of time.’
Jarasandha frowned, lowering his chin again as he was wont to do when he grew suspicious or aggressive.‘Is that some kind of threat?’
Kamsa responded, ‘Yes, but not a threat by me. By the Yadavas. If you do not heed them now, your entire empire may be lost to you forever. Already, they have begun to chip away at the edifice; and given time and your continued indifference, they will surely bring you down into the dust sooner than you might think possible.’
Jarasandha stared at him, then seemed to grow aware of the fact that Kamsa still held the pot of water in one hand, with his elbow crooked, as easily as any man might hold a mug of wine. ‘You have gained great strength somehow. There are potions that can give you such strength for brief periods, taxing your body to its limits. What they give you in strength, they cost you in years of your life.’
Kamsa chuckled. ‘You think my strength is gained from a potion?’ He raised the pot higher, bringing it to Jarasandha’s attention. ‘Can a potion give any man the ability to absorb a hundred litres of water without it showing anywhere on his body?’
And touching the rim of the pot to his lips, he upended and drained it entirely. It took several moments and he was careful not to spill even a drop. He was trying to make it seem as if he was drinking the water to prove a point – not because of a side-effect that made him inordinately thirsty. When Kamsa had emptied the pot, he tossed it across the room. It flew out of the verandah and landed on the ground below, smashing with a loud crash. A few voices could be heard, Bahuka’s unmistakable among them, expressing their disapproval of such careless littering.
Kamsa raised his anga-vastra to reveal his flat, taut belly and ridged abdomen muscles. For Jarasandha’s benefit, he thumped his stomach and groin with his fist, revealing it to be hard enough to make it sound like an elephant driving its head against a heavy tree trunk.‘You see now? Is this the work of a potion, you think?’
Jarasandha’s eyes glittered. He approached Kamsa slowly, hand outstretched as if longing to touch and see for himself. Kamsa raised a hand in warning, restraining him. Jarasandha’s tongues flickered and disappeared again.
‘No,’ he said finally. ‘This is something else entirely. Something I have never heard of or encountered before. It intrigues me.’
Good. For as long as it intrigues you, you will not try to kill me, I trust. Aloud, Kamsa said, ‘About the rebellion, then. The rebels have mounted an army and are attacking your outposts. Those nearest to Mathura have already fallen. Now they make their way northwards and westwards.’
Jarasandha frowned.‘North and west? But that would take them beyond the borders of the Yadava nation!’
Kamsa nodded slowly, waiting for Jarasandha to reason it out by himself.
‘Exactly. There is an old saying among us Yadavas,whenyou pour hot daal onto a plate of rice, never try to eat the middle.’
Jarasandha blink
ed.‘What?’
Kamsa gestured to indicate an imaginary plate of rice onto which he poured steaming hot daal as he repeated himself slowly,‘Never try to eat the hot rice and daal from the middle of the plate. You will burn yourself. Instead, start from the outside and work your way in.’
Jarasandha shook his head, looking irritated now. ‘Rustic sayings were never my strong suit, Son-in-law. If there is some wisdom there, it eludes me.’
Kamsa sighed. ‘They want you out of Mathura, but rather than defy you here and risk destroying their own capital city and kingdom, they have taken the fight to your territories. That’s why they have headed north and west. They have allied with the kingdoms you have taken over and intend to liberate them, one by one.’
Jarasandha now gaped openly at Kamsa, light dawning in his eyes. ‘Eating the dish from the outside, working their way inwards. Mathura is the hot centre of the plate. I see it now! How quaint, and quite apt indeed. So they think they can unite my principalities against me, do they? How ridiculous!’
‘And yet how dangerous. With a few other allies as strong as Hastinapura ...’
‘Did you say Hastinapura? The Kurus would never align with these foolish rebel factions!’
‘Not officially. But much can be done unofficially. And the Kurus are very powerful indeed. As are the Drupads. And the Bhojas. And the Gandaharis. And who knows who else?’
Lips pursed in the spiteful stubborn way he had when contradicted, Jarasandha shook his head.‘Impossible. Not the Drupads and the Gandaharis! It’s true that Pritha, also known as Kunti, is sister to Vasudeva, so the Kurus have some reason to sympathize with the Yadava rebel cause, but these others ...’ His voice trailed off as he thought for a moment.‘Pritha was adopted by Kuntibhoja, king of the Bhojas, and renamed Kunti by him. Drupad is a close ally of the Kurus. And Shakuni, son of King Subala of the Gandaharis is brother to Gandhari, who is married to Dhritarashtra, the blind king of Hastinapura. They are all connected in some way to the Kurus then.’
‘Not some way; by blood and by marriage. And by sympathy they are united against your expansionary ambitions. Many more will join them. This is not a rebellion against me or the throne of Mathura. It is a rebellion against you and your empire-building. Everything you have worked for is in danger of being lost, Jarasandha. Heed my advice. Go now. Leave Mathura. Consolidate your empire outside this nation. Leave Mathura and the Yadavas to me to manage, as was our original understanding, and I shall remain allied with you always. I shall also visit your daughters, my wives, and sire children on them. But if you stay, you risk losing everything.’
Jarasandha remained silent for a very long time.
Kamsa waited patiently. From below, he could hear the voices and murmurs of men, the clinking of weapons and snorting of horses. He guessed that riders had arrived, bearing the news he had intercepted the previous day and the information they brought was causing consternation among Jarasandha’s advisors.
Finally, Jarasandha nodded once, decisively. ‘Everything you have said can be easily proven or disproved. I am expecting riders with news from the outposts even now. If what you say is true, I shall do exactly as you advise and leave Mathura to you. But if you fail me in any way – whether as an ally, a king, or a son-in-law, I shall return. And the next time I come to Mathura, I shall make her mine forever. Do you understand?’
Kamsa smiled.‘She is already yours. She merely happens to be wedded to me, Father-in-law.’
ten
As he drove the uks cart through the gates of Mathura city, Nanda kept his features composed and his manner as natural as possible. Behind him, in the covered wagon, along with the infantile sounds of Krishna and Balarama babbling excitedly as they spied the high walls and imposing structures of the great city, he could hear the voices of their mothers Yashoda and Rohini admonishing them to be quiet and behave themselves.
He grinned as he clicked his tongue to encourage the uks team to move along faster. Accustomed to the sedate pace of life in Gokul, they too were intimidated by the hustle and bustle of the city and were clip-clopping past at a trot and a canter. Nanda could still remember his siblings and he first coming to Mathura, years ago when he had been a few years older than Krishna–Balarama, and how excited they had all been at the time. Krishna and Balarama were just healthy normal boys, filled with all the excitement and vigour of little children everywhere.
He wished Yashoda would give up her ridiculous theory that their son was possessed of miraculous powers and capable of achieving impossible feats. It was true that Krishna was not ordinary in the common sense of the word; he was their son, and he was extremely special in every way. But he was no superboy or wonderchild as Yashoda made him out to be. That incident with the shattered cart had been so embarrassing. Yashoda had insisted stubbornly – in front of all their relatives and closest friends and neighbours too! – that it had been Krishna who had kicked the cart to pieces! How could such a thing be conceivable? Even if the infant was strong and robust and would grow up some day to be a great warrior, the idea of a babe kicking a heavily laden cart hard enough to smash it to smithereens was too incredible to even consider.
He did not have any alternative explanation for the cart’s destruction, or for its remarkable reassembly, almost before their very eyes. But stranger, more miraculous things had happened before, and like all rustic Yadavas, Nanda did not feel a pressing need to question and understand every single thing that occurred beneath the sheltering sky. There were things in this world that could not be easily explained or understood by mortal minds; he knew and accepted this without resistance. So what was the point debating or questioning such events? The only reasonable question might be if the event was of a naturalistic nature or a numinous one. He had already ruled out the event being caused by a sacerdotal act since all the Brahmins present were busy eating at the time and he did not think it was possible that a Brahmin could be feasting and performing wondrous feats using Brahman shakti at the same time!
Personally, he believed, as did all the others present that day, that some calamity beyond their understanding had threatened their infant son on that field, and that the great Protector Lord Vishnu Himself had intervened to preserve his life.
How and by what means these things had been accomplished, he did not know, nor did he think it was comprehensible. But only the devas could do such things as smash a cart and those heavy, laden metal pots to fragments and then reassemble it all in the blink of an eye.
As the cart trundled lazily through the wide avenues of Mathura, Nanda was pleased to see the change in the city since he had visited it last. Just a year before, days prior to Krishna’s birth, he had come to pay the taxes to the king, and he recalled how terrified he had been. A pall of fear had hung over the entire city, and the kingdom. That cloud of fear and uncertainty seemed to have lifted at last. He had heard of Jarasandha the Magadhan’s departure along with his feared Hijra Fauj. Everyone had been relieved to see them leave. There had been rumours that Jarasandha would use his position as Kamsa’s father-in-law to rule the Yadavas with Kamsa as a proxy king. Such an arrangement could be legally justified by Kamsa’s own condition, which verged on near-insanity.
But in the past weeks, the political situation had changed dramatically. Kamsa had regained his senses, it was said, and taken charge of his kingdom’s affairs once again. And if the word from the palace enclave was accurate, this time he actually seemed to be playing the part of a king in truth, not merely in name.
At around the same time, Jarasandha had received word of trouble at his outposts and an uprising from the kingdoms he had most recently annexed. He had taken his army and left at once, and the rumour was that he would be occupied for a fair while now, struggling to crush the uprising, regain the territory he had fought so hard for, as well as to consolidate the rest of his ill-gotten empire. It was presumed that Jarasandha would not be returning to Mathura for a long time, if ever, and all were glad to have seen the last of him, except perha
ps for a few hundred aristocratic families who were said to have formed trade and other alliances with the Magadhan.
Now, as he and his fellow passengers trundled through the city, Nanda could see for himself the air of festivity and gaiety across all Mathura. Buildings and structures and roads and artefacts that had been in near-ruins or disarray the previous year had been rebuilt or demolished and replaced by newer, sturdier structures. Several of these new artefacts, such as the bridges and underpasses, were foreign to Yadava architecture, and were the work of Magadhan engineers and architects. The natural Yadava scepticism of such foreign workmanship had been quickly overcome due to the convenience offered by such devices, and already his kinsfolk from far and wide had begun visiting the capital to study these structures and attempt to imitate them in their own fashion back in their home towns. It was a common misconception that Yadavas resisted progress. The fact was that they welcomed and embraced progress warmly. They merely wanted it to occur at their own pace and in their own style.
All in all, as they leisurely wound their way towards the royal enclave, he thought that the capital had not seemed this inviting in a long time, ever since the day of King Ugrasena and King Vasudeva’s peace accord. That had been a fine day, Nanda recalled, smiling and patting his growing paternal belly. Such good feasting, and what excellent conversation and music and dance and company! Ah,truly was it said: Give a Yadava enough wine, music, dance and chatter, and you don’t need to use force to take his house – he will invite you to stay permanently!
He prayed that this time, peace was here to stay permanently too. There had been too much killing, too much anger and hatred and reprisals. Violence in any form was reprehensible, a violation of Sanatana Dharma, the unified system of collected beliefs that was shared by the denizens of Aryavarta, the land of the high thinking and right acting. But while all violence was indefensible, Yadavas killing Yadavas was the worst form of violence possible. He still recalled how hopeful and happy the day of the historic peace accord had been, how much it had meant to everyone he knew. When Kamsa and his marauders had begun violating the terms of the treaty even before the wax seal on the parchment was dry, it had come as a shock to Nanda and to all other peace-loving Yadavas. Yet even in the darkest of days, he had never been one of those who exchanged their cowherd’s crook for a blade; he had always believed that peace would triumph in the end.
KRISHNA CORIOLIS#2: Dance of Govinda Page 19
