KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa (14 page)

‘Unlike other Arya cities, Magadha was never the name of a kingdom. It was the name given to the non-varnas.’

‘Non-varnas?’ Kamsa asked. His interest in most things outside the realm of combat, fighting techniques and war stratagem was negligible. He had thrown one of his first tutors from a high balcony in his father’s palace because the man had bored him too much with a lecture on the history of Bharatavarsha. He had been eleven years old at the time. Ugrasena had had considerable difficulty persuading other learned tutors to agree to tutor his son thereafter.

‘Any varna that is not one of the four basic varnas,’ Jarasandha said, matter-of-factly,‘Kshatriya, Brahmin, Vaisya, Sudra.’

‘Of course.’ Even Kamsa knew that much. Although he had found that Brahmins and Kshatriyas each tended to put their own varna first when reciting the four names.

‘It is possible for a person of any varna to move to another varna through his own work, and through recognition of his new status by his peers of the other varna. There may be any number of reasons for him to want to do so: upward mobility, a change of profession

or residence, or the other way around, a diminution of his circumstances, wealth or status. A person may also be compelled to move to another varna if he is unable to fulfil the obligations of his original varna. For example, a Kshatriya who is more devoted to rituals and worship than to the art of war is, subtly or not-so-subtly, advised by his Kshatriya peers to become a Brahmin. Or vice versa.’

Kamsa nodded, even though, being ahead of Kamsa, Jarasandha could not see Kamsa’s action.‘Yes, I see,’ Kamsa felt compelled to say aloud.

‘But what happens when two varnas inter- marry? What of the children produced by that intermarriage?’

Kamsa shrugged. He had never thought or cared about such matters before.

‘Theoretically, they could claim either of their parents’ varnas as their own. But what do they do until they are old enough to do so? Or even after they lay claim to the varna of either parent, what do they do if that community refuses to recognize or accept them as such?’

Kamsa had no idea.

Jarasandha glanced back at him, compelling Kamsa to sit up straighter and pay closer attention just by the power of his gaze. ‘They become non-varnas. Or, to use an inaccurate but more familiar term, out-castes. Although, of course, varnas are not castes at all, not in the sense that our Western brothers across the oceans use the term.

But in this case, one might as well use the term, for, like those who do not fulfil the obligations of their caste in those foreign societies, the offspring of two different varnas in Aryavarta are veritable non- varnas. Out-castes in every sense of the term; they are not permitted to marry, conduct business, seek employment or employ others, trade, cook, clean, reside, or otherwise live within either community. In short, they have to hit the road and keep moving from place to place, snatching a brief respite at each new place by lying about themselves or producing fake bona fides and references, until they are found out or penalized for their deception.’

Jarasandha paused.‘The penalty for claiming to be of a varna other than one’s own, in most Arya capital cities, is death.’

Kamsa caught a note of deep bitterness in this last announcement. He listened with more interest. It seemed Jarasandha had a more personal stake in this impromptu lecture than Kamsa had realized at first.

‘So where do these non-varnas or out-castes go if they wish to survive, let alone thrive or prosper? Where can they seek employment, residence, enrichment, mates, companionship, and all the rest that life has to offer?’

Without waiting for Kamsa’s answer, Jarasandha raised a thin, wiry, muscled hand and gestured at the city. ‘Magadha.’

Kamsa blinked.‘You mean ...’

‘Magadha means “out-caste”,’ Jarasandha said. ‘There are other terms for those who fall between varnas: Vandi, for a son begotten by a Vaisya man upon a Kshatriyawoman;orVamaka,whichmeansthesame. Or the Kshatriya tribes currently known as Atirathas, Sutas, Ayogas, Vaidehas, Swapakas, Pukkasas, Ugras, Nishadas, Tenas, Vratyas, Chandalas, Karanas, Amvasththas ...’ he continued reeling off names for several minutes until Kamsa’s head swam.

‘Are all of these out-castes?’ Kamsa asked, astonished. He had known men by these names, and since Kshatriyas for hire mostly sought employment by their tribe or clan names rather than their birth names, that would mean they had been of these tribes ... out-castes! Several of his marauders were from these varnas – or
non-varnas
as Jarasandha would have it. It was hard to believe.

He mentioned this to Jarasandha who nodded. ‘Kshatriyas, being bhraatr united by war, will often help Magadhans conceal their true origins.’

‘You mean ...’ Kamsa frowned, ‘my other soldiers know that some among them are not pure-breed Kshatriyas?’

‘Indeed,’ Jarasandha said. ‘There is an unspoken rule among Magadhans everywhere. When asked point blank what their varna is, they must always answer“Magadh”. For if they deny even this title, what do they have left to cling to? You will find that they will always answer “Magadh” and that they will do so with great pride, even if it means imprisonment or penalty of death.’ He gestured again at the houses they were passing, less crowded than the ones on earlier streets, evidently a slightly less impoverished section of the city.‘This is their last refuge. Those who become Magadhans understand that the title is more than a varna or a nationality. It defines a person.’

Kamsa mused on the implications. ‘You mean that your kingdom is made up entirely of half-castes, mixed varnas and out-castes?’ He was more than a little shocked: he was, after all, a Raj-Kshatriya, not merely a warrior varna but a warrior-kings’ varna. It was bred into his blood.

Jarasandha laughed. ‘Yes. That is what I hav ebeen explaining to you, my Yadava friend. But do not fret, we shall not make you impure through contact with us. Remember, the code of the Kshatriyas tells us that fighting brothers are united despite varna, stature, class or sex.’

So it did. But the concept of an entire kingdom – or, well, a city – composed wholly of out-castes was still mind-boggling. Kamsa tried to work through the politics of this situation, then gave up. It was too complicated. And as a prince brought up at the helm of power, he was as chauvinistic about his superiority by birth and entitlement as any high-born Arya; the very notion of being surrounded by an entire city full of out-castes made him ... queasy.

Something else occurred to him, something that his war-oriented mind found easier to grasp: geography.‘But then how did you build this city?’

Jarasandha raised a finger, correcting him. ‘You mean to say,
where
I built this city? For the
how
is self-evident, it was built as all cities usually are. But the location was the main issue. For where do out- castes go? What place is given unto them? The short answer: none. Nowhere. That is why I had to
take
this land,
carve
it out of the neighbouring states to make my own.’

Jarasandha turned his horse abruptly to face Kamsa. ‘Until now, we have had to fight and fend off the repeated attacks and attempts by those same neighbours to take back what they consider to be their land. For long have I waited patiently, building my strength, expanding my forces, gathering more and more Magadhs, awaiting this day. Now, at last, I am ready to put into action the next phase of my great plan. To prove Magadha as not just the great city it already is, but as the capital of a great kingdom, the greatest, most powerful Arya kingdom that ever existed. This city that you see around us will be just a minor township in the great kingdom of Magadha that I am about to build, my friend. A minor township!’

Kamsa nodded, impressed. ‘A great ambition.’

Jarasandha laughed.‘Far more than just ambition. A reality, awaiting the right moment to be unleashed. And that moment is
now.’

He pointed at Kamsa.‘All that remained was one final piece of the plan to move into place. And that piece has now arrived at my doorstep.’

Kamsa frowned, trying to understand what he meant. Piece? Arrived?

Jarasandha laughed again, this time echoed by his entourage. ‘That means you, my friend.
You
were the final piece I required to complete my great plan. Now that you have arrived, I can put into motion my campaign to build the greatest empire the world has ever seen. And you, Kamsa, son of Ugrasena, shall be its chief architect!’

twenty-two

Before Kamsa could utter a word, Jarasandha turned the head of his horse and rode the rest of the way up a steep, winding road to the top of a high hill, the highest point in Magadha, Kamsa realized as he followed. On his approach to the city, he had seen that it was built on a virtually desolate plain, with sharp crags and dips. He assumed that Jarasandha wished to go to the top of this rise to afford him a bird’s-eye view of the city. Kamsa wanted to tell his host not to bother. He had seen enough of Magadha. It’s squalor and filth; the crowded, narrow lanes with houses almost falling over one another, falling apart, rather; the stench of human lives; the poverty; the lack of any public sanitation or drainage system ... it had taken every ounce of his willpower not to turn his horse and ride back – or away. He had obeyed the sadhu, Narada’s orders; he had come to Magadha and met Jarasandha. But apart from big claims, the king did not seem to have much to offer. How could a lord of out-castes do anything to further his, Kamsa’s, career? How could he, Kamsa, accept help from such a person, no doubt an out- caste himself? It pained his sense of self-worth and
high-born stature. No. This was a mistake. He would listen to a little more, then slip away at the first chance he got, seeking alliance and assistance elsewhere. There were other enemies of the Sura Yadavas, other political forces seeking to further their own causes and careers. Aryavarta was a seething hotbed of politics and ambition. It would not be difficult to find allies.

Then he topped the rise, close behind Jarasandha’s mount, and caught his breath. The king of Magadha laughed as he turned and took in Kamsa’s stunned expression. He used his reins and his feet to expertly reverse his horse, making it trot backwards so he could continue looking at Kamsa, who came forward unable to help the dazed look on his face.

‘Well, Prince of Mathura, whatever you were expecting today, I do not think this was it!’ And Jarasandha turned and said in a louder tone to the large gathering of men awaiting them on the hill: ‘What do you say, my friends?’

A resounding chorus of nays and gruff laughter greeted his query.

Kamsa stilled his horse and tried to still his heart too as he looked at the men gathered on the flat, unpaved promontory overlooking the city. Some he recognized at once from gatherings of Arya nations during various concords; others he identified by the sigils stitched onto their breastplate or garment; and others he could not identify at all, but knew at once to be rulers or lieges of some standing from their stance, attire and bearing. There were some two dozen men

gathered at that spot and his head reeled as he gazed at each one in turn, their moustached, bearded or clean-cut faces grinning or smirking in response to his stunned expression.

Kings, they are all kings, every last one of them.

Kamsa and Jarasandha dismounted, their horses led away by waiting hands.

‘Yes, Kamsa,’ Jarasandha said, as if reading his mind.‘You see gathered here today the most powerful royal caucus in all Aryavarta. These are all lieges who have sworn allegiance to me. Together we propose to build the greatest empire this mortal realm has ever seen.’

‘With you as emperor, of course,’ Kamsa said cunningly, showing he had not been completely disarmed by Jarasandha’s well-mounted surprise. He grinned boyishly to undercut his own sarcasm.

Jarasandha laughed.‘I like this boy more and more. Yes, of course I shall be emperor. For I control not just a substantial fighting force now, but every out- caste, half-caste, or even those who feel unwanted or unassimilated in any community will gladly ally with me at a moment’s notice. Do you know what a great portion of Arya communities is made up of such people?’

Kamsa nodded, conceding the point.Varnas were not iron-clad, and were never intended to be so. But sadly, those who fell between them or did not satisfy the requirements of their own varna, were often shunted aside or openly shunned by their own,
leading to discontent and inequity. He had often used these inequities to serve his own selfish purposes. Jarasandha was doing the same, but on a much, much greater scale.

He seeks to recruit every out-caste in the world! That would give him the greatest army ever assembled, not to mention spasas and allies secretly embedded within every court, every community, every army.

‘And where do these fine chieftains come in?’ he asked, indicating the who’s who of Arya royalty assembled around them.

Jarasandha smiled. ‘Each has his own motive for allying with me. Everyone gets his fair share. As will you. For instance, you want to rule all the Yadava nations, do you not?’

Kamsa swallowed, trying not to show his eagerness and almost succeeding.‘I could do that on my own,’ he said, trying to act nonchalant.

Jarasandha chuckled and beckoned someone forward.‘I think not.’

Kamsa started as Bana and Canura appeared, smiling cautiously in greeting.‘Well met,Lord Kamsa,’ they said in turn.‘We have always served you loyally, and will continue to serve you—

‘In exchange for their own fiefdoms, of course,’ Jarasandha added slyly.

Kamsa stared with growing rage at his war advisor and second-in-command. ‘You are both half-castes? And you spied on me all this while?’

Their faces lost colour and they stepped back, wary of Kamsa’s temper. Jarasandha came forward, interceding.

‘Calm down, my young friend. Were you to try and root out all my spies from your midst, you would be left with a very poor fighting force indeed. Speaking of which,’ he said, smartly changing the topic and diverting Kamsa’s attention,‘I believe you have almost no fighting force left now. Is that not so, Bana?’