KRISHNA CORIOLIS#4: Lord of Mathura (16 page)

Krishna set Balarama and Radha down on the ground as gently as possible, then shot away like a flash. 

‘What did he mean?’ Radha asked anxiously. ‘What threatens them in the woods? Is it another giant snake?’

Balarama hefted his plough. ‘Whatever it is, we will take care of it. But first, let’s do as bhaiya said. Your shriek is louder than my loudest bellow, Radha, so run ahead and scream to everyone to turn back. I will guide the people to open ground as Krishna instructed. Go on!’

Radha needed no further urging. Running up the path into the woods, she screamed as loudly as possible. The sound rang through the woods as clearly as a temple bell pealing at midnight. 

Balarama winced and followed. 

What new demon was it this time? He wondered grimly.

23

But
Krishna was right. It was no demon. 

It was a forest fire. 

Radha nodded and sprinted. From above, Krishna saw her lithe form race down the dirt road, easily catching up in moments with the stragglers then going past them and running up the length of the procession. 

She shouted as she went, and heads turned as people heard and reacted. Krishna was gratified to see them increase their pace at once and urge their cattle and yoked beasts on faster. Even so, he knew, they would not be able to get out of the wooded area in time. That was the whole point of the attack, to make it impossible for him to save everybody. Like any general who was unable to eliminate his main enemy, Kamsa was now fighting a war of attrition. Kill as many Vrishni as possible, harm Krishna indirectly. For he knew that even a single life lost was as painful to Krishna as losing a limb. 

That was why Krishna could not let even a single life be lost. 

He descended to earth, stepping onto the forest floor. A pack of wolves fleeing the fire reacted in alarm to the unexpected sight of a human descending from the sky and ran even faster, dark fur blurring past in a flash. 

He turned off the path, heading into the forest. Dry leaves and twigs cracked and crunched underfoot. Several small creatures passed him, running swiftly in the other direction, not the way the Vrishni were heading but the other way, down to the pasturelands and lake and brooks. There was water there and even the smallest living creature understood instinctively that water provided a natural break for a forest fire. He saw a wildcat and a deer running alongside one another, temporary companions during this hour of crisis. 

He heard heavy footfalls approaching from behind, making far more noise than he did. That would be Balarama, following. He still had that ridiculous plough in his hand, carrying it like a mace-warrior bearing his mace. Krishna shook his head at the thought. Balarama would always be Balarama! 

By the time he reached the clearing he sought, the fire had grown rapidly. Already it covered a substantial part of the woods and as he had expected, it had already leaped across the road to begin consuming the far side as well. The sound and smoke were increasing with every minute, and he felt the scorching heat singe his face and eyes even from here. 

Balarama came up beside him, hefting the plough. 

Krishna glanced at it sideways. ‘What do you intend to do with that? Use it to put out the fire?’

Balarama looked down at the plough as if just remembering that he was still carrying it. ‘Why not? I could use it to dig up the ground and bury the fire!’

Krishna snorted. ‘Yes! That would work!’

Balarama squinted at him. ‘You have a better idea?’

Krishna nodded. ‘Watch.’

Krishna turned to the fire, leaned forward, opening his mouth, and began to inhale. He sucked in air slowly at first, then harder, increasing his intensity until he could feel the searing heat of the air from the fire entering his lungs. It burned. He ignored the pain and continued, exerting superhuman force now. 

Balarama exclaimed. ‘It’s working, bhai! You’re sucking the fire in! I can see it moving this way.’

Krishna continued, inhaling with enough force that the flames engulfing entire trees bent and swooped, flying towards him and entering his lungs. The heat was searing, the pain agonizing but he didn’t stop for even a second. He could hear the screams of the Vrishni as they raced to exit the woods before the fire consumed them and knew that he had only moments in which to work. He pulled in breath, sucking the very air from the forest. 

Several moments later, Balarama clapped him on his back. ‘You did it, brother! You inhaled the entire forest fire. Everyone is safe and sound.’

Krishna coughed out a great puff of black smoke. Soot and ash settled before him. 

Radha came running up, coughing and waving away the last vestiges of smoke. ‘Krishna, are you all right?’

‘What would happen to him?’ Balarama said. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ 

Radha ignored Balarama’s quip and looked at Krishna. 

He coughed up another mouthful of black smoke. 

‘I’m all right, Radha,’ he said. ‘Is everyone safe?’

She nodded briskly, beaming. ‘Every last man, woman, child, cow and calf.’

Krishna smiled, exhaling the last of the smoke. ‘Time to go home then.’

She slipped her hand into his hand. They walked back in the direction of the path, heading homewards. 

Krishna heard Balarama mutter something behind them and then follow, hefting his plough and slapping it against his open palm, ready for whatever new threat might present itself next. 

24

gargamuni
beamed with pleasure as he sampled the first mouthful of food. ‘Sadhu! Sadhu!’ he exclaimed. 

Nanda Maharaja smiled, then moved on to serve the next person seated cross-legged beside the preceptor. A line of servers followed him, each serving a different item of food, all piping hot and freshly prepared for the feast. The line stretched all the way to the end of the clearing and around to the other side. The feast day of Lord Indra was being held at the foot of Mount Govardhana, long considered to be sacred to Indra-dev and a holy mountain. Brahmins, Chandalas, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, all varnas sat together and ate in brotherhood, shoulder to shoulder, consuming the same food, engaging in pleasant conversation. 

While it was true that varna was often used as an excuse for discrimination in some places, it was not in itself the basis for discrimination. People who were biased could find any reason to regard others as different and inferior: class, wealth, position, nationality, ethnicity, regionality, religion…to the Vrishni under Nanda Maharaja, varna was merely a convenient division of labour, made by choice and passed on by birth only if desired. But to acknowledge the existence of caste-based discrimination and combat it, Krishna had suggested that this year’s Indra feast be dedicated to community sharing. 

So everybody was eating together, not merely different castes, but also different classes—land-owners and workers, farmers and herders, rich and poor. And, in the ultimate levelling of differences, even the cows and dogs were being fed at the same time! 

That was true proof of non-discrimination, Krishna said. ‘If we are agreed that all living beings are equal and entitled to equal rights, then why stop at varna, caste or class? Let us acknowledge the equality of even the four-footed, the furred, the winged and the voiceless. Let us acknowledge all life itself as precious.’

Radha took one look at the long line of dogs sitting and waiting for their meals, none barking or complaining about the other’s portion, and Krishna knew she sorely was tempted to make a comment about the patience and discipline of their four-footed friends versus the two-footed ones but credit to her, she kept the thought to herself.

After the meal was done, Gargamuni sought out Krishna and bent to touch his feet. Krishna stopped him at once. ‘Swami, what are you doing? You are our preceptor and elder. It is I who must show respect to you.’

The acharya of Vrajbhoomi smiled in admiration, joining his hands together in supplication. ‘Truly we are blessed to have your presence among us, lord. There has never been an avatar or amsa who displayed such power and humility both at once.’

Krishna clasped the guru’s hands in his own affectionately. ‘Be it power, wealth, strength or anything else, the more one possesses, the more humble one should be. For these are but gifts, not a birthright. One must be thankful for what one has been given, and enjoy it while it lasts. For nothing truly lasts.’

‘Wisely spoken words,’ the aging brahmin replied. ‘Words to live by. And what you are doing today is a great example as well. Spreading unity and harmony among castes.’ The acharya chuckled at the dogs who were wolfing down their food hungrily. ‘Even among species.’

‘We are all of the earth, all fellow sharers of the same resources. Only by living together in peace and harmony can we all survive. It is sad that some who dwell on earth choose to ignore these facts of life.’

Gargamuni and Krishna walked awhile, speaking of many things, philosophical as well as material. They passed a pair of brahmins who appeared agitated, lost in debate. They saw their preceptor and Krishna approaching and fell silent at once, rushing away. 

Krishna noticed the guru appeared perturbed. ‘What is it, swami? Is there some disagreement among your brahmins?’

‘It is impossible to conceal anything from your sight, Krishna. Some of my followers and colleagues fear that by foregoing the usual sacrifice to Indra this year, the great lord of thunder and war may take offense.’

‘But we are still performing the ritual ceremony,’ Krishna pointed out. ‘All the oblations are being made and due procedure followed.’

‘Yes, that is so,’ Gargamuni said, his thin face drawn in long sad lines. ‘Yet instead of feeding only brahmins devoted to Indra, we are feeding brahmins of all faiths. Indeed, we are feeding not only brahmins but all varnas. And some have remarked that the feeding of cows and dogs may be seen to be a deliberate affront to the great King of the Devas.’

‘It is not intended as such,’ Krishna said. ‘Merely a demonstration of communality and brotherhood of all living things. Surely as a great and powerful god, Indra will understand and appreciate what we are attempting here.’

Gargamuni looked at him silently. ‘Krishna, my child, my god. If only all gods could possess your wisdom and vision.’

A sound interrupted them. At once their eyes went to the skies. 

It was the sound of thunder. 

A storm was brewing at the peak of Mount Govardhan. 

One of the brahmins who had been agitated spoke up dryly: ‘Perhaps Lord Indra does not share your sentiment, Gargacharya.’

25

THE
rain pelted down relentlessly. The wind was increasing in fury with every passing moment. Everyone was gathered together in the relative shelter of the thicket beside the clearing where the ashram of Indra’s brahmins was located. But Krishna could see that this meagre shelter would not serve as protection for much longer. Already the boughs of the trees were shivering violently in the gusts of wind and the rain seemed to be seeking them out under the eaves, splashing cold icy water in their faces with deliberate malice. 

The storm had come out of nowhere, bursting from a clear sky. Thunder, lightning and torrential rain, all out of season. 

Everyone was silent. The brahmins whom Krishna had seen arguing earlier looked vindicated, glaring proudly at the Chandalas and other lower castes huddled in common misery alongside the Vrishni. Krishna felt sure that they blamed this storm on the feeding of low castes on Indra’s feast day. He resented such attitudes and biases. It made him angry. 

He controlled his anger. The bigotted brahmins were not the cause of this crisis.
He
was. It was he who had chosen to feed all castes and communities and species today in a show of communality. The only mistake he had made was to do so on Indra’s Feast Day. Clearly the god of wind and rain and thunder and war resented this diversion of his day for such a purpose. And to have done so under the auspices of Indra’s ashram in the shadow of his sacred mountain…obviously the king of the gods was enraged and felt insulted. 

Krishna had always found Indra to be mean and spiteful, given to petty acts of vengeance and retaliation, not to mention his notorious philandering and penchant for launching military offensives at the slightest provocation. Had he not been upon the mortal realm right now, engaged in a mission of vital importance, he would have shed this incarnation and gone to Indraloka in his true form, as Vishnu. Then he would have given Indra a piece of his mind. Even the king of Gods did not dare pick a fight with the Preserver himself, one of the holy Trimurti. 

But that was not possible under the circumstances. He was Krishna. He had to stay here to fulfill the purpose of this birth. And he had to do everything as Krishna, the god-child. 

And right now, that meant acting to save these people and creatures from the wrath of Indra. 

The storm was only increasing in fury and intensity. Small bushes and trees were being uprooted and carried bodily away, as if by a hurricane. The sheer rage was evident in every aspect. This was no mere storm. It was an act of war. 

Yet Krishna could not retaliate. How could one fight a storm? Wind? Rain? Lightning? No. He must put aside all thought of vengeance or retaliation and focus solely on protecting these innocents. He had a brief moment of pique when he thought perhaps he would leave those brahmins to suffer the storm, after all they seemed to take great satisfaction in Indra’s fury, but of course, he could not knowingly harm or allow harm to come to them. Their only crime was ignorance and lack of true wisdom.