twelve
Kamsa had almost finished his exercises when he saw Putana approaching. She walked in a leisurely way and appeared to have just been strolling by. She paused by the wooden stable wall and pretended to watch him as he worked out, as if interested only casually and in a professional way.
He knew better.
He had been with her just the previous night, and when he had looked out of his verandah and seen her approaching, she had walked quite differently then. There had been an urgency in her step as well as a certain diffidence that he had not known she could possibly feel. Her head had been lowered as if she felt embarrassed at visiting him secretly.
Later, once he had drawn on her store of Halahala, concluding their peculiar transaction, when he was filled with the insight that came of such intimacy, he had known that she was not ashamed or embarrassed because she was a married woman coming to another man’s quarters in secret at night. She was ashamed of her own great need to come to him, the hunger that she felt and which he sensed so powerfully within her each time he fed on her poisoned milk.
He had learned her itihasa from Narada – not all of it, but enough to know that after she had been made an outcast from her tribe of Maatrs, she had never found anyone who desired her for her true power and abilities, for the being she truly was inside. Everyone saw only the woman on the outside, a beautiful, desirable, scintillating personality, and only incidentally a great warrior too. Nobody even knew her secret any more, for it had been very long since she had been a Maatr. For Kamsa to know and to desire her for what she truly was, was a great compliment. It had awakened the greatest need of her inner woman, the need to be a Maatr again. Not merely in the simple ‘mother’ sense of the title, but a Maatr in the most primordial sense. Creator, Protector, Provider ... and Destroyer, if need be.
He finished his routine in moments, crushing the last wooden tree trunks that were set up with the use of elephants for this express purpose each day. He punched the very last one so hard, it was pulverized into a cloud of wood dust, a few chips and pieces falling across the acres-large field. His power had grown steadily with use, and the techniques he had picked up from Yadu were amazingly effective when used with his newfound ability. A normal man, no matter how strong or heavily muscled, would have broken every limb in his body by now, but for Kamsa, it was the perfect technique and exercise. He felt as if he could take on Jarasandha himself. And in a way, he wished that the last encounter, the one in his bedchamber, had gone on a while longer. He would have relished the chance to test his strength and skill on those minions of his. For that matter, he would enjoy testing it on them even today, when he knew for certain that he would win easily.
‘So?’ he said as he came up to the fence against which Putana leaned with exaggerated casualness. ‘How is the wife of the captain of my guard?’
She didn’t respond to the jibe. He knew she felt no guilt at being a married woman. What she shared with Kamsa was no mere illicit dalliance. It was a matter of her power being useful. And many people underestimated the simple human need to be of use. Entire continents and cultures had been taken without a single arrow loosed because of it. To be of use, to have one’s talents utilized, appreciated, given due credit ... it has been a driving force of human society.
She said nothing so long as Yadu was within earshot. The old man finished rubbing salt into Kamsa’s body as he had taken to doing after every practice session. The salt seemed to help him cope with the increasing density of his flesh and bone. Already, he was able to increase his weight by a hundredfold. That entailed other side effects, such as the epic thirst and longing for cold water in great quantities – and a corresponding need for salt. It was the old stablehand and now trainer of Kamsa who had suggested that sometimes salt rubbed into a sweaty body could replenish more effectively than when consumed orally. And like every other bit of advice given by the old stalwart, it proved effective.
‘What is it?’ he asked, after Yadu had left them alone in the empty stable.
She looked at him in the fading dusk, and he saw something in her eyes that he had not seen until now. A kind of hunger. It was not pleasant to see. It was a glimpse of what she had once been, and might be again.‘I have found the Slayer.’
He sprang to his feet, toppling over a barrel of cold water the size of a man. The water gurgled out, splashed and spread across the entire stable. Horses neighed and whinnied in complaint in their boxes. He grabbed Putana’s shoulders, forgetting that he had not yet reduced his density to normal human proportions.
‘Where is he? Take me to him at once!’ He spoke the words through gritted teeth and as he ground his molars, the sound was loud enough to be heard across the stables. Elephants a hundred yards away trumpeted in protest, disturbed by the unusual yet distinctly animal sound.
Putana put out her hands, grasped his shoulders, and pushed him off her. He was surprised at her strength. It took her some effort, but not much. Yet he knew he had grasped her with enough strength to crush an oak trunk held sideways between his palms. He crushed fifty of those daily, and it was only one of a full regime of exercises. Yet Putana had pushed him off as if he was merely a normal man and she a normal woman.
‘He is outside your reach. If you go to him now, it will be too soon. He is already strong and gaining strength each day.’
Kamsa roared with fury, losing his temper for the first time in almost a year.
‘I AM STRONG!’ he said, and smashed a fist onto the side of the fallen barrel, which splintered into fragments.
‘Not strong enough. Not yet.’ She was calm, unafraid. She had power of her own. She did not fear his strength or his temper.
That calmed him down. What use was it getting angry with a woman who could destroy you in a moment if she lost her temper?
He sat down on the stone bench, basically just a solid iron block. It creaked, and he felt a tiny crack or two appear beneath his thighs. He had unconsciously begun to increase his weight again.‘Tell me everything you know.’
‘He is living with a cowherd named Nanda Maharaja and his wife Yashoda-devi in a hamlet called Gokul. It is in—’
‘Vrajbhoomi, I know,’ he said.‘I know of Nanda Maharaja. He is the chief of Gokul. A popular and powerful local leader. How could his child have escaped my grasp last year? My soldiers slaughtered every last newborn and then so many more as well.’A thought struck him.‘His delegation came to my court this very morning, to pay Gokul’s taxes for the past year. He stood there before me; he even spoke to me! How could this have escaped my knowledge?’
She shrugged.‘The Slayer is no fool. He has ways and means to trick you at every turn. Don’t forget, he was born to Devaki while she was under your soldiers’ watch, and yet your sister was able to give birth to him, and Vasudeva was able to spirit him out of Mathura and carry him all the way to Vraj where he exchanged him for Nanda and Yashoda’s actual child, the girl. It was that girl that you then attempted to destroy but who flew out of your grasp, floated in mid-air and then revealed herself to be Yogamaya—’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said impatiently.‘I know all that, Putana. But if what you say is true, I shall go to Gokul at once. I must destroy the Slayer while he is still an infant, before he grows strong enough to fulfil the prophecy.’
She laughed, throwing her head back and flicking her long hair over her shoulders. He scowled at her, gripping the corners of the iron slab. It yielded beneath his fingers like warm butter. ‘He is already strong enough, Kamsa. Why, he was in Devaki and Vasudeva’s palace only this morning! He came with Nanda and Yashoda to visit his biological parents. That is how I got to know of his identity. I was watching Devaki’s palace, suspecting that he might visit sooner or later. Aren’t you glad I was right?’
He pointed a finger at her in warning, and ignored the iron chips that fell to the ground. ‘Don’t mock me. You may be a Maatr, but I am no mere mortal either.’
She lost her grin and nodded.‘That is so. And in a few more
years, you shall be very powerful indeed. Perhaps even more powerful than I am, at least in sheer physical strength. I have never seen nor heard of even a deva who was gifted with the particular power you possess, or the ability to use it in such unusual ways. I suspect that this is all preparation for you to eventually face the Slayer in a manner that would give you the superior advantage.’
Even as Kamsa opened his mouth, Putana held up a hand. ‘Do not ask me how or when that confrontation will occur. I am not omniscient, merely prescient. But this much I can assure you: if you go to the Slayer now, you will lose, you will die. In a sense, that is what he wants and that is the reason why he taunted you by coming into your lair today, hoping to tempt you to take this rash step.’
Kamsa thought about this for a long moment, calming himself using the yogic breathing methods that Yadu had taught him. The old stablehand was a storehouse of great Vedic lore and knowledge and it was amazing just how much Kamsa had learnt from him. When Narada had said that he would provide a guru to guide him through the process of rebuilding his powers so he could face the Slayer, Kamsa had been sceptical. Now, he was ready to touch the syce’s feet but for the fact that it would appear laughable to the world and also because Yadu himself had warned him that the day he acknowledged him publicly as his guru, Yadu would vanish from his life forever.
Finally, he said, ‘Then what do you propose I do? Wait another year for the Slayer to grow even stronger and come back to destroy me?’
She smiled. ‘No. You must act. And act now. You are right about doing something while he is still relatively young and somewhat vulnerable. But rather than go yourself, you must send assassins to kill him.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Slayers to slay the Slayer. I like it.’ He cocked an eyebrow, feeling relaxed enough now to jest about it. ‘Did you have someone in mind, or were you going to ask your husband to send his best men?’ The last suggestion was a joke, of course. Kamsa himself was capable of taking on an entire army if need be. No matter how many mortal warriors Pradyota might muster, or how skilful they were as Kshatriyas, if Kamsa could not defeat the Slayer, they stood no chance at all.
‘I do, actually,’ she said. And she explained her plan.
thirteen
It was a peaceful day in Gokul when the assassins arrived. Gopas and gopis in the pasture fields paused and leaned on their crooks to watch as the entourage of gaily festooned wagon carts trundled by. The construction of the wagons and their decoration, as well as the royal sigil of the House of Yadu and the Andhaka Yadava banner, clearly proclaimed the procession to be an official one from Mathura. Royal processions from Mathura hardly passed by every day, and the life of a cowherd being a quiet, placid one, any news or visitor was akin to a social occasion. Royal visitors meant that a feast would certainly be in the offing, and everyone loved a feast. Word passed from hillside to hillside, racing across the lush pastures and fields of Vrajbhoomi faster than a quad of uks pulling a wagon. Even though the procession seemed to be ceremonial rather than martial, the news still travelled quickly.
Just in case.
By the time the convoy came up the hillside atop which Nanda Maharaja’s estate was perched, everyone in Gokul already knew of the visitors’ arrival.
There were oohs and aahs from the watching crowd as a tall, stately lady of indiscernible age alighted from the largest, most luxurious wagon they had ever set their eyes on. Dressed in rich silks and brocades worn in a manner that most of these simple rustics had never seen before, she was clearly a lady of high birth and great wealth. Those few who had seen such finery and accoutrements passed on the knowledge that this was the current fashion at the court of Kamsa and that only a lady of the king’s court could afford such luxury. Gold, diamonds, pearls dripped from her ears and fingers and nestled around her throat, complementing her striking beauty and flawless features. To the older gopas watching, she reminded them of the ancient ideals of Arya beauty: dark dusky skin, sharp, piercing features, frizzy yet flowing hair, and a tall, erect stance that lent an air of nobility regardless of the person’s actual stature. She could have been the model for one of the cluster of statues – depicting the eight Maatrs – in the ancient rock temples cut into the side of Mount Govardhana, said to date back to the earliest days of SatyaYuga.
This vision of ancient Arya beauty glanced around at the mooing cows, looing bulls, chattering children and whispering women and men, and smiled an odd sardonic smile that could be interpreted to mean almost anything – and it would be debated and discussed for months and years to come, long after the purpose for which Putana had visited had been fulfilled.
She made her way to the threshold of Nanda Maharaja’s dwelling where she was greeted with due pomp and ritual by the chief. When the customary formalities were completed, she disappeared into the residence and remained there for a spell. Thanks to a pair of obliging cousins of Gopanath Mahadeva – as Nanda was also known respectfully – the crowd of curious watchers received a more or less continuous series of updates on the discussion taking place within the walls. Much to their disappointment, it was much less dramatic than anything they had imagined.
The lady was indeed a mistress of the court of Mathura, that much was true enough. She was the wife of Pradyota, captain of the guard, and was independently wealthy in her own right. She was merely passing through Gokul on her way to another unnamed destination, and had heard so much about their festivities on the night of the Ashwin full moon that she had decided to stop by and join them, if they had no objection. Naturally, Nanda Maharaja had no objection at all. That was all there was to it. In fact, Nanda being Nanda was compelled to invite the guests to stay at his own dwelling for the duration of their visit. The visitors accepted happily, praising his generosity and hospitality.
Some of those watching observed the other members of the entourage disembark from the wagons. Even if rich courtiers from Mathura, they were certainly an odd-looking bunch. Apparently, they were all former aides of Jarasandha the Magadhan, stationed in Mathura after their ‘god emperor’ had departed to ensure that his interests and trade agreements were upheld. One was named Agha, another Baka, a third Trnavarta ... strange names and even stranger men. None of the other courtiers mingled with the locals, preferring to keep to themselves, and they rarely spoke even when they were alone together. If this was how rich Mathurans set out to holiday and attend festivities, what might they be like when they were going through a difficult time or visiting someone for a sad occasion! Even Kshatriyas sent on a mission from which they might not return alive celebrated before they went into battle. These Magadhans, or Mathurans, or whoever they were, seemed not to have learnt how to smile or laugh, let alone feast and celebrate.
After a few rebuffed attempts at friendliness, the outsiders were left alone. The gopas and gopis of Vrajbhoomi did not know how to deal with rude or socially distant people. To them, being alive meant being alive. Silence and sobriety were for corpses!
Nobody knew quite what to make of this visit, or of the individuals themselves. But so long as they behaved civilly and had a legitimate reason to visit, Yadava hospitality and Arya culture demanded that they be treated as lavishly as any other guest, invited or uninvited. Atithi Devo Bhava as the old Sanskrit saying went: A guest is as a god.
Perhaps some wise ancient ought to have thought of a contrary saying: Sometimes a guest can turn out to be a Demon.
Putana could smell the presence and proximity of any mortal within a reasonable range. It was easier when they were upwind and she downwind, of course. But in an enclosed domicile, where the air was reasonably still, it was simple enough to know who was where at all times. She could sniff out the Slayer by his distinctive odour alone. Not that it was a bad odour. On the contrary. It was like nothing she had ever smelt before, except perhaps ... ah, but that was a long time ago and another realm. Not the mortal one. She might be mistaken.
She had waited for a moment when Krishna would be left alone. Just a moment, she needed no more th
an that.
It was not long in coming. Due in part to the night festivities, the household had decided to rest for a while during the late afternoon. Not long after their heads touched their cots, every member of the family was fast asleep. This was no coincidence. Putana’s accomplices had dropped a little potion into the pot of drinking water before the meal. Not enough to put everyone to sleep for too long, for that would alert the entire neighbourhood’s suspicions, but just enough to make sure they did fall asleep.
Now, the house was still and silent at last, which itself was rare for any Yadava house, let alone Nanda’s house.
Putana rose from her cot in the section of the house where all the ladies had assembled. Yashoda’s sisters, mother, sisters- in-law, cousins, friends and god knew who else, were all asleep, some even snoring. She hoped Baka hadn’t put more than a drop in the water. While she didn’t care if the whole of Vrajbhoomi rose up in arms once their precious Slayer was dead, the point of her mission was to kill the child without arousing suspicion of a murder. An entire household lying dead asleep and missing an annual festival could hardly be considered not suspicious.
She had kept Yashoda beside her on the pretext of getting some information from her. That was so that the child would be entirely alone when the time came. Yashoda had even admitted that Krishna was a rare child whom she could leave alone without constantly having to worry about; she had smiled shyly when she said this, as if admitting to some great secret. Putana had no idea what she meant, but she assumed it was something to do with the Slayer being who he was.
We’ll see just how well you can do on your own when I’m done with you, little tyke, she thought now as she moved through the empty house. She had told the others to stay with Nanda and the men no matter what happened, and to pretend to be asleep as well. The thought of Baka, Trnavarta, Agha and the others pretending to sleep amused her. She suppressed a laugh as she found the door of the room.
KRISHNA CORIOLIS#2: Dance of Govinda Page 21
