KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa (8 page)

‘When did he become so savvy?’ she wondered aloud.‘Where did he learn to manipulate so?’

Despite her horror and disgust at his misdeeds, she was impressed by his ability to command such loyalty and adulation. Kamsa’s army? And for years, Ugrasena had always grumbled to her that Yadavas were only fit for fighting in brawls over stolen cows, and utterly useless when it came to disciplined armed combat. Apparently, all that was required to goad them on to ruthless, single-minded pursuit of blood was someone like Kamsa to come along and promise them the pleasures of unlawful spoils and the setting aside of the laws of Kshatriya dharma that forbade a soldier from doing anything other than defending his nation under duress.

‘That is what troubles me most, my queen,’ Ugrasena said, leaning on the armrest of his throne. ‘He must have advisors and they must be very wily to enable him to gain so much power and loyalty so swiftly.’

She frowned. A part of her was loath to accept this view, for it undercut the last vestige of motherly pride she could hope to take in her son’s dubious achievements. But she knew at once that Ugrasena was right in his assessment. However brilliant Kamsa’s political skills might be – and she had seen no great evidence of any such skills during his growing years – this achievement was too great for him to have accomplished entirely on his own. Surely, there was another hand at work.

‘Whom do you suspect?’ she asked with growing dismay, now trying to remember the faces and names of all those who might qualify as opponents of Ugrasena’s rule and who might harbour sufficient ill will to plot against him. She felt so parched that she could almost feel desert sand grating against her throat.

‘Jarasandha, Bhauma, Trnavarta, Baka, Arista, Pralamba, Putana, Agha, Mustika, Dhenuka, Bana, Canura, Dvivida, Kesi,’ he said, reeling off the names as if by rote.‘But most of all, Jarasandha. There have been reports from all these places about developments that are curiously similar to those in Mathura ...’ he paused thoughtfully.‘Almost as if some great plan was being executed and Kamsa is only playing out his part in the scheme.’

Padmavati’s mind had frozen cold when Ugrasena had uttered the first name.‘Jarasandha,’ she repeated fearfully.‘The king of Magadha.’

‘Yes, and a demon in mortal form, if the tales of his misdeeds are to be believed.’

Suddenly, she felt choked, as if her throat was filled with sand.‘But he is extremely powerful.’

Ugrasena nodded.‘Powerful enough to crush us in open war. But also shrewd enough to know that if he declares war against the Andhaka nation, the Suras and Bhojas will set aside all their differences and stand by us. And that would outmatch even Magadha’s considerable resources by two to one.’

‘And if all these kings you just named were to align with him?’ she asked, agitated.

‘That is not what worries me.’

She stared at him intently. ‘You mean ...’ She swallowed hard, putting into words the thought she could barely bear to think.‘Kamsa might be deluded into allying with him? Our greatest enemy? Surely not!’

Even the thought made her feel sick. But Ugrasena’s response made her feel sicker still.

‘I fear that he might already have allied with him.’

eleven

Akrur put a hand on Vasudeva’s shoulder as they approached the Andhaka camp. ‘Bhaiya,’ he said, for, to him, Vasudeva was no less than an elder brother. ‘I beg you. Reconsider your decision. I fear nothing good will come of this.’

Vasudeva patted his friend’s hand affectionately. ‘When the mission is for good, the outcome is always good.’

Akrur dropped his hand back to the reins. The track was heavily pitted and full of holes from the passing of large numbers of troops and wagons, and it required close attention to avoid cracking a wheel or breaking an uks’ foot. But that was not the main reason why Akrur stayed silent the rest of the way. He was dead set against Vasudeva’s visit to the Andhaka camp and had not hesitated to show his disagreement with his elder’s plan. For all their formality and love for ritual and tradition – ‘parampara’ was the correct term–the Yadavas were fiercely independent people, quick to express their individual opinions, no matter how contrary, unproductive or impractical. That was the reason why the Yadava nations functioned as true republics; no other system would suffice to encompass
such an independent-minded individualistic people. And of all the Yadava clans, even among the three largest nations of clans, the Vrishnis were the most independent, idealistic and individualistic. As the old saying went: Easier to draw milk from a bull daily than to convince a Vrishni Yadav.

Vasudeva was as much a Vrishni as Akrur. None of his friends or allies had been able to talk him out of this impossible mission. He was determined to take his petition to Kamsa in the sanctity of the latter’s camp and risk his neck.

And he was adamant that he would do it alone and unarmed, with just Akrur to drive the cart.‘One cannot petition for peace with a sword in hand,’ he had said, and had then joined both palms together to demonstrate,‘when you join your hands in namaskar, you would cut your own hands with the blade!’

Nobody had smiled at his wit. They were all too anxious that he would lose his life.

‘You are putting your head in the lion’s jaws,’they said.

And Vasudeva had smiled his good-natured smile and said,‘I shall check for rotten teeth while I am in there!’

Now, the uks-drawn cart trundled around the long, curving marg that led through the thickly wooded area towards the Andhaka camp. After running amok across several border villages and towns, Kamsa and his marauders had set up camp here. Nobody was quite sure why, but the theory was that the Andhakas had ruffled too many local feathers and realized that were they to continue further into Sura territory, they might have to bear the consequences.

Kamsa was notorious for his lightning raids, often undertaken under the cover of foul weather, at night or during festivals. He preferred these to risking full- frontal confrontations and, in the past, when things got too hot for him to handle, he went scampering back across the river. Vasudeva prayed that this camp was only a temporary show of bravado before Kamsa retired from the current campaign of ‘patrolling the borders’ – which was the official excuse, even though this spot was yojanas within Sura Yadava territory. It was on the verge of Vrishni territory, in fact, and the Council believed that Kamsa lacked the guts to risk facing the wrath of the heartland farmers who were now forewarned and enraged by the reports of his atrocities on their countrymen further south and west.

He frowned as the cart turned around the final curveandtheroaddippedsharply.AsAkrurhandled theuksan,Vasudevastaredwithconsternationatthe field ahead. This was not merely a clearing housing Kamsa’s hundred-odd marauders. The Andhakas had obviously cleared a much larger space in the centre of this thickly wooded region, creating a clearing large enough to house a small army.

Indeed, from the rows upon rows of horses, tents, and even large makeshift shacks, and the hustle and bustle everywhere, it was quite apparent that there
was
a small army residing here!

From the far end of the egg-shaped clearing, sounds of timber being felled and axes chopping away furiously meant that they were widening the field even further. Already, the length of it was at least three hundred yards, and almost every inch of it was bustling with Andhakas.

Vasudeva glanced sideways to see Akrur gaping open mouthed at the same sight.

His friend’s eyes met Vasudeva’s with an expression of horror.‘They’re mobilizing an army! They mean to invade us, Vasu!’

Vasudeva struggled to find an alternative explanation.‘Perhaps they’re setting up a cantonment to house a border brigade.’

Akrur made a sound of disgust. ‘Look at them! They’re clearing more area. And there, at the south end, that’s a marg they’re making, broad enough to carry a dozen horses abreast. That way lies the pass across the ranges into Vrishni territory. They’re planning to invade the heartland, Vasu.’

Akrur clicked his tongue furiously at the uksan, working the reins frantically. The cart began to turn slowly back to the direction which it had come from.

‘What are you doing?’ Vasudeva asked.

‘What does it look like? I’m getting us out of here sothatwecangobackandwarntheCouncil.Wehave to prepare for war.’

Vasudeva stopped him. ‘Akrur, I still mean to speak with Prince Kamsa.’

Akrur stared at him, white faced with shock. Vasudeva recalled that Akrur had family in the hilly tribes on the far side of the ranges, only a few dozen yojanas from here. They would be the first Vrishnis Kamsa’s army would encounter if it indeed meant to invade.
If,
Vasudeva reminded himself,
is a very big word.

‘But, Bhaiya, see for yourself. What good will talking do? These rakshasas mean to attack us!’

Vasudeva held his gaze firmly. ‘If they do, and mind you, that’s still a big
if,
all the more reason why I should be attempting to talk.’

Akrur stared at Vasudeva as if he were insane.

Vasudeva turned his face towards the camp again, saying calmly: ‘Ride on into the camp. Let’s do what we came here to do.’

Akrur started to say something again, but Vasudeva refused to look at him and showed him only his profile, which was hard and determined. After a moment of silence during which Vasudeva thought he heard the faint tones of several curse words spoken under Akrur’s breath, mostly directed at himself for having thrown in his lot with a pacifist, the uksan were turned straight ahead once more and they resumed their trundling progress.

As they reached the main camp and rolled past men at work, sharpening weapons, eating, drinking, chopping wood, and doing various other chores, Vasudeva noted with surprise that nobody seemed to give a damn about them. They may as well have not existed!

The same thought occurred to Akrur as well. The younger man said in a strangled tone that failed to disguise his anger: ‘The devils don’t even know that two of the enemy are right in their midst. We could run amok here before they realize it.’

Vasudeva replied quietly:‘Oh, they know all right. They just don’t care. Even if we run amok, what would we achieve except get ourselves killed in a hurry? The lion doesn’t tremble when a rabbit enters its den.’

‘Speaking of which, how are we supposed to find this lion? Do you want me to ask somebody where their commander is billeted?’

‘Not just yet.’ Vasudeva thought that while his mission was most certainly one of peace, there was no harm in learning as much as they could about the Andhaka camp.

As the cart rolled on, Vasudeva’s heart sank. Any doubt he might have had about the camp’s purpose was made abundantly clear as they took in more and more of the sights. There were people putting up solid wooden cabins and raising thatched mud huts. There were cooks and cleaning people and all manner of craftsmen, all hard at work. This was no temporary camp or even a token ‘border’ brigade. This was indeed an army being mobilized. He heard the sounds of elephants lowing not far away and realized that there were soldiers in the woods as well, probably clearing more areas to either side of the main clearing. He realized that it was impossible to tell the full extent of this operation; but one thing was certain – this

was a cantonment for thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands of soldiers.

They had barely reached halfway across the length of the field when the rumbling thunder of hooves announced the arrival of more cavalry and Vasudeva saw a sizeable contingent come down the new road that had been cleared through the south end. Cheers and whistles went up all over the camp as a band of some two hundred riders rolled in with obvious jubilation.

‘I think our lion has just returned home,’ Akrur said with a telltale flash in his eyes.

Vasudeva was glad that he had insisted they bring no weapons along, to demonstrate how serious they were about peace.

‘His jaws still red with the blood of our people.’ Akrur’s tone was steely.

He was right. At the head of the riders came a familiar, arrogant, straight-backed man in full armour.

Kamsa was here.

Twelve

Kamsa could scarcely believe his eyes as he approached the uks cart. He slowed down
before it, feeling his mouth twist in a leery grin.

‘Vasudeva? Clan-chief of the Vrishnis, lord of the Sura Yadava nation? Riding only an uks cart?’ He laughed, and his men, tired and satiated from another successful and richly rewarding raid, laughed as well. ‘Does your nation have no chariots for a king? No entourage, royal guard, nothing?’

He turned to his men, grinning and winking. ‘At least they could have sent a few of those Gokuldham milkmaids along to protect you!’

A loud round of guffaws greeted that comment. The camp’s attention was centred on their leader now, and word spread quickly up and down the cantonment of Vasudeva’s presence. Many off-duty soldiers and other workers crowded around to catch a glimpse of the great Sura king whose prowess as a general as well as a ruler was legendary. Kamsa saw their surprised reaction as they took in the rusticity of Vasudeva’s transport and his simple gowala apparel.

He also noted the absence of any visible weaponry.

Vasudeva replied in a disarmingly good-natured tone, ‘We are like this only, Prince Kamsa. Simple cowherds and dairy farmers, we are not sophisticated castle dwellers like you Andhakas. We live close to the soil and love the smell of the earth and cattle around us.’

There was a buzz of amusement at these words. Some of Kamsa’s men even clapped and cheered at the response. Kamsa glared around in sudden fury, losing his good humour instantly.

Conscripted soldiers though they were, even the most hardened Andhaka veteran was at heart a gowala. Cowherds with swords, Kamsa called them contemptuously during drill rehearsal, working his whip arduously ‘to beat out the traces of milk from your bloodstream’. Never having worked a field or milked a cow, growing up in the lap of luxury in his father’s palace, Kamsa had a deep, enduring resentment against rustic men. The resentment came from envy, from hearing other boys and men talk of crop cycles, soil types, the effect of climate on harvests, bird migrations, cow feed, cattle ailments and such matters. These were things from which he had always been excluded, and his lack of knowledge had often been greeted with laughter and derision in the early years, giving him a powerful sense of inferiority. His first fights had been over this very difference between him and other Yadavas, and he had never truly gotten over being an outsider to such things.