KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa (25 page)

‘ Well?’
‘My lord says to take the prophecy seriously.’ Kamsa raised his eyebrows.‘Prophecy?’
‘The prophecy of the eighth child.’
‘Ah! My sister’s eighth child. Yes, I am aware of

that prophecy. After all, it was delivered to me by Saptarishi Narada. I would hardly forget it.’

‘Of course, My Lord. Emperor Jarasandha merely wishes to ensure that you realize the—’

‘Did you say“emperor”?’

The eunuch bowed. ‘Aye, your majesty. My master is now the declared the emperor of Aryavarta, with his capital at Magadha. The new Magadha, that is.’

‘Yes, I know about the new Magadha. I saw the city while it was being built. But “emperor of Aryavarta”? Really?’

The eunuch simply bowed in response, remaining silent.

Kamsa thought about that for a moment. Emperor of Aryavarta. What did that make him, Kamsa? A mere king? A rajah? Or a maharajah? Why couldn’t
he
be emperor of Aryavarta too? All he had to do was go forth and conquer the rest of the Arya nations. It would not be difficult at all, not
now,
with his new army and his newfound powers. But that would mean leaving Mathura, leaving the Yadava nations. And the Yadus were itching to rise up and rebel against him, the fools. He could not afford to leave Mathura just yet. Also, Jarasandha had now declared himself emperor. He would not like it if Kamsa did so too. There could hardly be two emperors! Kamsa would have to fight Jarasandha in order to claim sole emperorship. He did not wish to do that. Jarasandha was like a father to him. Also, he was the only person Kamsa feared more than himself.

‘What were you saying?’ He had lost the thread of the courier’s missive again.

‘The
eighth child,
My Lord. It will be your undoing. You must ensure that it is never permitted to be born.’

Kamsa nodded, distracted by thoughts of empire and emperorship.‘Yes, yes. I have already seen to that.’ The eunuch persisted: ‘My lord Jarasandha urges you to slay both the woman and her husband
immediately. It is the only way to be sure.’

Kamsa looked at the eunuch coldly. He felt more worm-like things wriggling down his nose. He felt other things squirming and crawling and creeping about his body as well. Getting upset did that to him, it fed his parasites, helping them breed and flourish. The eunuch had finally succeeded in upsetting him by daring to tell him what to do, rather than delivering his message and keeping quiet as he ought
to have done.

He began giving the order for the eunuch to be
thrown to the beasts, then paused. This was not one of his lackeys or servants, or even a citizen of Mathura. This was one of Jarasandha’s personal guards. The elite of the elite within the Mohini Fauj. Jarasandha’s most trusted inner circle. He might not look kindly upon Kamsa feeding the man to wild pets.

Then again, Jarasandha had declared himself emperor of Aryavarta. While Kamsa was still just king of Mathura, at best king of the Yadavas.

He gave the order for the eunuch to be fed to his pets. He ignored the man’s shocked admonitions as he was dragged away, as well as his threat that Jarasandha would not be pleased.

So what? If Jarasandha did not like Kamsa’s treatment of his courier, he could come himself and sort it out with Kamsa. He might be emperor of Aryavarta, but here in Mathura, Kamsa was king. King Eternal!

He plucked out a particularly troublesome parasite from his nostril, stared at it with honest curiosity, then crushed it between his thumb and sixth finger – the new finger which had recently grown between his thumb and forefinger. White slime dripped from his hand. He wiped it off on the armrest of his throne just as a soldier came in to inform him that Chief Vasudeva was here to see him, at Kamsa’s own request.

fifteen

Vasudeva cradled his newborn son in his arms. Precious, precious child. Fruit of his and Devaki’s love. The most beautiful creature upon prithviloka – in all the three worlds. He wanted only to cradle him and love him and cherish the boy until he grew into manhood. This child was the fulfilment of their life, the symbol of their love and happiness. He ought to walk through perfumed gardens, bathe in cool rivers, frolic with kine and dogs and playmates, be schooled in the Vedas and sit wide-eyed while listening to the great legends and mighty epics; be nursed, fed, clothed, educated, bred and groomed to be a lover, a brother, a husband, a mate, a friend, a citizen, a chief, a king. He deserved all the wonders of the earth and everything upon it. His name was Kirtiman.

Vasudeva held out his hands, holding the newborn carefully in both hands, and offered him to Kamsa to see.

‘My Lord,’ he said, fighting to keep his voice level and all emotion at bay, ‘as you commanded, I have brought to you my first-born son. This is your nephew. A beautiful, perfectly formed boy. Look upon his beauty with your own eyes. We have named him Kirtiman.’

As Vasudeva spoke, Kamsa moved from the throne to lie upon a cushioned bed. Female attendants had begun removing his garments and pouring scented oil onto his back. Now, as Vasudeva raised the infant up, Kamsa grunted and turned his head a fraction, glancing carelessly down. The attendants began massaging his back, kneading the muscles expertly and rubbing the oil into his skin. Vasudeva tried not to look too closely at the places where unspeakable things bulged and protruded and writhed beneath the skin, or peeped out from Kamsa’s nostrils, ears, or even his eyes; but the female attendants seemed unperturbed by these parasitical abominations. They even seemed to find them out and press down harder on those spots, as if trying to crush the moving parasites beneath the skin. The sight filled Vasudeva with disgust. He fought to retain his composure.

‘Why does it not cry?’ Kamsa asked.

Vasudeva was at a loss for words.‘My Lord?’ ‘Babies cry. They bawl. Why does this one stay so
silent? Is it without tongue?’

Vasudeva swallowed. A trickle of sweat escaped
his hairline and ran down his temple to his ear. ‘My Lord, babies cry only when they are in need, or when something troubles them. Our Kirtiman is a peaceful, contented child. He does not cry because nothing troubles him yet.’

Kamsa grunted, turning his head away, shifting slightly to allow the masseuses better access. They continued their kneading and pressing and – Vasudeva was certain of it now – seeking out of parasites to press and kill all over Kamsa’s body, not just on his back. Apparently, this was a daily ritual.

Vasudeva waited for several moments. When nothing further was forthcoming, he began to think that perhaps Kamsa had fallen asleep. He dared not speak again. Better to wait in silence. If he had fallen asleep, Vasudeva might be able to slip away quietly. Kirtiman would be hungry soon, and Devaki was anxiously waiting back home, on pins and needles. Every moment that Vasudeva remained away must be agony for her.

Just when he grew certain that Kamsa had fallen asleep, the rakshasa said,‘Make it.’

Vasudeva had no idea what Kamsa was talking about.‘My Lord?’

Kamsa turned his head again, his eyes staring down at the infant in Vasudeva’s arms.‘Make it cry.’

Vasudeva swallowed. Two more beads of sweat burst free from his scalp and trickled down. He was sweating profusely now, though it was relatively cool and quite breezy in the palace.

‘Yes. Make the little creature cry. Make it bawl. Make it howl with terror. That way, I will know that it fears and respects me. I take this calm silence to mean that it is content unto itself, that it neither acknowledges nor fears me. That is gross disrespect.
I do not tolerate such behaviour from my citizens, let alone my own nephew. It must be taught manners.’

It.
It.
As if he spoke of an inanimate object, not a human being. Though he had heard Vasudeva speak his name clearly.
Kirtiman. My son. Not an ‘it’!

‘My Lord...’ Vasudeva felt a tear brimming in the corner of his left eye. He fought to blink it away, to prevent it from spilling forth.‘This is your nephew, my first-born. As promised, I have brought him to you. As you can see, he is a harmless little baby. He can do you no harm at all.’

‘The prophecy says otherwise.’

Vasudeva struggled to find words that would be brilliant and incisive in their logic, glittering diamonds of intellectual rigour, perfect gems of eloquence. Words were all he had to convince Kamsa, to plead with the rakshasa for his son’s life. ‘The prophecy ... if it was a prophecy ... spoke of the
eighth
child of your sister. The eighth. Not the first. This is her first-born.’

Kamsa sat up. He gestured. The masseuses moved back at once, heads lowered, eyes averted. Another gesture and they stepped away, as he leveraged himself off the cushioned couch and stood. His body gleamed with oil, red splotches marking where the parasites had been squashed beneath the skin in various spots. The first ones were beginning to turn pink, lightening in colour as the body absorbed them into itself.

He is growing less and less human each passing day. More and more into a rakshasa,
Vasudeva could not help thinking.

‘I received another message today,’Kamsasaid.‘It warned me to take the prophecy seriously. It advised me to kill my sister as well as you. That way, there would be no way the prophecy can come true.’

Vasudeva felt the bundle in his hands grow lighter with each passing moment, as if Kirtiman were turning to air, to dust, to ash ...

‘But the sender of the message did not know that I have already tried to do that, in my attempts to kill you earlier. And we both know how that went.’

Kamsa grinned unexpectedly, like a man sharing a guilty secret with an old friend.Vasudeva, taken by surprise, tried to summon up a smile in response. But Kamsa’s expression told him that he had not been very successful. Sweat and tears mingled on his face, streaming down freely now.

‘I am unable to kill you, Vasudeva,’ Kamsa said casually, stepping down from the royal dais, taking each step very slowly, each corded muscle in his lower body showing prominently. ‘I do not know why. It does not matter why. I cannot do it. That is a fact. So the only way is to kill Devaki; and end the prophecy.’

‘No!’ Vasudeva blurted out.‘You cannot! You must not! She is your sister.’

‘She is the bearer of my doom,’ Kamsa said calmly, now standing on the same level as Vasudeva, just yards away. He moved towards Vasudeva, his eyes on the babe in his brother-in-law’s arms.

‘I beg you!’ Vasudeva cried.‘Spare Devaki. Please. Spare her life. I will do anything you say!’

Kamsa stopped before him. He was within reach of the baby now, only a yard away from Vasudeva. He looked down at the infant, then at Vasudeva’s face.‘She means a great deal to you, does she not?’ He sounded almost kind, gentle even.

‘She is my world.’ Vasudeva wept.‘She is my life.’

Kamsa considered this for a moment. Then said quietly:‘Give me the child.’

Vasudeva raised his eyes. He looked into Kamsa’s eyes. Rakshasa eyes. No more human. Perhaps they never had been human. He searched for words but there were none left to be uttered. Kamsa’s meaning was crystal clear.

VasudevahandedthebundletoKamsa.Thechild. The peaceful, gurgling, uncomplaining boy. Beautiful boy. Boy of a thousand dreams; a brilliant future. Some woman’s lover, husband, brother; some man’s friend, companion. He handed over his own life to Kamsa and felt his heart diminish as he did so. A part of it was gone forever, never to return.

Kamsa grasped the child by the leg. He held it up to look at it, like a carcass on a butcher’s hook. Like a beast hung upside down to be drained of blood. Like a dead thing.

‘Slayer of Kamsa?’ he said scornfully.‘This?’

He turned his head this way, then that, examining the now-wailing babe intently.

‘So,’hesaid,‘itdoesknowhowtocryafterall!’ He laughed.

And then he swung the child around, over his head. With great force and speed.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And then released it.

sixteen

With a great roar, Vasudeva rushed at Kamsa.

Even the rakshasa was taken by surprise. Not many had dared oppose him since his rebirth. Even fewer had dared attack him. His demonstration of his powers on the day of his execution and rebirth had ensured that. Who would dare to go up against a rakshasa capable of expanding his size a thousandfold; large enough to crush entire hills, uproot whole forests, toss herds of elephants like pebbles? Only the doomed or utterly desperate. Both had tried. And failed. The swift ease with which Kamsa had despatched those first few comers had cemented his reputation. He was unbeatable, someone who couldn’t be killed. Better to try running away from him than attacking him.

But none of them had been a king. A senapati. A Raj-Kshatriya.

Vasudeva was all these things.

Like all true pacifists, he was a great warrior. A master of weaponry and tactics, attack and defence, combat and strategy.

He had hoped, prayed, and begged for his newborn son’s life.

But he had failed to save Kirtiman.

Now, he had no choice but to attempt a violent assault.

He came at Kamsa when his back was turned and was poised at an angle that made it hardest for Kamsa to respond quickly. He deliberately roared to attract the rakshasa’s attention towards himself, even as he then changed his approach and attacked from the other side. He raised his right hand at first, showing a bare fist ready to pound Kamsa. However, his actual attack was using a rod of wood with a sharpened metal point. Denied all weapons, he had used his cowherd’s crook and part of a cooking vessel to fashion a makeshift one: a two-yard-long rod with a tapering metal point, not unlike a spear, but with the triangular edges sharpened to a fine keenness. He held it in his left hand, low and out of Kamsa’s field of vision. By roaring and waving his right fist as he rushed at him, Vasudeva compelled the rakshasa to act in anticipation of a blow from his fist.

Instead, Vasudeva came from the left, wielding a spear, aimed upwards in a trajectory that, if completed, would pierce Kamsa’s torso just below his ribs and enter his vital organs, either injuring him grievously, or killing him outright. It was intended to be a killing blow. Vasudeva’s only hope was to attack and kill the rakshasa before he could expand his size. If he failed, or if Kamsa found time to expand himself,
thennotevenahundredVasudevascouldfacehim,at least not without weaponry and assistance, whether human or divine.