KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa (6 page)

‘That’s because all the rakshasas were destroyed in the age of Rama. That was why Vishnu took an avatar in human form, to cleanse the earth of rakshasas forever, and to end Ravana’s evil reign.’

He put his hands on the tips of her shoulders, turning her towards himself. ‘Maybe it was so. I do not wish to debate itihasa and matters of science with you. But Kamsa is no rakshasa.’

‘He is evil,’ she said without a trace of doubt, ‘the most evil being in the Yadava nation.’

‘No, my love. There is no such thing as Evil. Or Absolute Good either. These are oversimplified concepts used by rabble-rousers to goad warriors into fighting the enemy. If you tell every foot-soldier that his counterpart in the opposite rank is as human as he is, earns the same pittance, eats the same bad food, and takes almost nothing home to his long-suffering wife and children, he will rebel and walk away, rather than fight. By telling him that he is fighting for the forces of Good and that the other man is Evil Personified, you motivate him to fight to the death – the other man’s death. It’s the manipulation tactic used by leaders ... as old as troop warfare itself.’

She did not debate, simply said with utter conviction,‘You do not know my brother. He is Evil Incarnate.’

He looked at her, about to argue further, then sighed and looked away. Devaki saw her own thoughts
reflected in that action: What were they debating? Kamsa’s malevolence? Rakshasa or human, evil or merely badly flawed, he was no paragon of dharma. That was certain; the rest was semantics. Although, of course, she knew. She
knew.

‘I believe he can still be reasoned with, talked to, his better instincts appealed to.’ Vasudeva spread his hands. ‘There must be a way to get through to him. This madness has to stop.’

She clutched his arm again, feeling herself shivering as if with a sudden chill, despite the balmy weather. He looked at her, concerned.

‘You must not,’ she said, beseeching him now.‘He is a killing device. Like a sword with a dark hunger that must be fed all the time. Can you reason with a sword? Talk to it? Appeal to it? I beg you, my love, do not risk your life and limb.’

He sighed, putting his arm around her. Vasudeva listened to her, unlike so many men; he actually listened and could be persuaded with reason and good sense. That was one of the many things she loved about him.

‘What would you have me do, then?’ he asked. ‘I am king. I must do something. The barbarism must be stopped. It cannot go on. Just this day, I received word of ...’ He trailed off, then looked down, and she saw the dark grooves beneath his eyes, sensed the deep sadness in his soul.‘My people are being brutalized. I cannot simply stand by and let it happen.’

‘No, you cannot,’ she agreed. ‘You must not. You must act now. Before it is too late. Before Kamsa’s
power and bloodlust grow too great for even him to control.’

He gazed at her, puzzled. ‘So you agree I should speak with him?’

‘Not
speak!
Words are no good. You must
act! Stop
him!’

‘How?’

She laid a hand upon his chest, staring straight into his eyes.

She said quietly:‘Kill him.’

He balked.‘He is your brother.’

She shook her head.‘Not any more. If he ever was

my brother, that man has long been consumed by the rakshasa that now governs his body and mind. He is not human. Not any longer. And if he is not stopped, he will grow more powerful, more terrible.’

‘You cannot truly believe that, my love.’

‘I do not
wish
to believe it. But I
know
it to be true, nevertheless.’ She covered her face, realizing how terrible she must sound.‘I am ashamed to be his sister.’ She gathered herself together. ‘I mean what I say, Vasu, my most beloved of all devas. He is a rakshasa and the only way to stop a rakshasa gone berserk is to kill him.’

Vasudeva stood silent for a long time. The sun descended below the treetops. Birds sang louder in the grove, filling the air with their music. A pack of monkeys chattered and raced through the trees on some mischievous errand. The sweet aroma of honey wine wafted to them from nearby.

Atlast,hesaidsadly,almostregretfully:‘Icannot. It would be against dharma to kill my brother-in-law. In fact, if I were to break the peace treaty by such an act, it would certainly lead to decades-long warring between our nations. An assassination of a royal heir will render all my peace-making efforts useless.’

‘The people will understand, Vasu. They know Kamsa is not fit to be king. His own citizens would not shed a single tear once he is gone.’

But Vasudeva’s mind was made up. He shook his head firmly.‘It is out of the question. Violence is never a means to lasting peace.’

She looked up at him. She was on the verge of bursting into tears, yet fought them back. She did not want him to see how hopeless she thought his cause was. She tried to make herself feel hopeful, even confident, about his ability. Words had deserted her.

Ever sensitive to her feelings, he put his arm around her and comforted her. ‘We are people of dharma, Devaki. Taking up arms to defend ourselves is something we do only as a last resort. Violence only begets more violence. Ahimsa is the only way to peaceful coexistence.’

She wanted to say,
Kamsa will not let us coexist, he is a monster. He seeks only violence and nothing but violence. Ahimsa is a word unknown to him.
Instead, she looked at him, wiping an errant tear from her cheek.
 

‘You are truly a deva, my Vasu. I pray that you do not underestimate my brother’s capacity for evil.’

eight
 

Kamsa rode grinning through the smoke and chaos of a burning village.

His henchmen were busy ransacking the remaining houses for anything of value before setting them ablaze. He would give them time to enjoy themselves and relish the spoils of war. Stopping on a high verge, he watched with satisfaction as the settlement was razed to the ground. It amused him that the Yadavas could be so easy to kill, their villages so vulnerable, their women and children so unprotected ...

A high-pitched scream ripped the air. He turned to see a young boy in a coloured dhoti tied in the Vrajvasi style charging at him with a shepherd’s crook, of all things!

Kamsa laughed and deflected the point of the crook with his sword. A twist of the reins drew the bit tightly enough into his horse’s mouth to make the beast sidestep, causing the boy to overshoot his aim and fall sprawling to the ground. His turban, the same bright saffron colour as his dhoti, fell into a muddy puddle and was sullied.

Kamsa sheathed his sword and pulled the reins up short, making the horse rear. There were specks of blood on its mouth as he had a habit of whipping his mounts on their mouths if they failed to respond quickly, but he hardly noticed it.

The boy was moaning and struggling to his elbows. As he turned and looked up, he froze at the sight of the massive Bhoja mare rearing up before him. Kamsa brought the forehooves of the horse down with a loud thud. The boy cried aloud and moved his legs out of the way, just in time to avoid them being smashed.

A gust of breeze from the village carried the voice of a woman screaming pitifully for her children to be spared, followed by three short, sharp cries that cut off abruptly as each of her wretched offspring were despatched by Kamsa’s efficient soldiers. The boy turned his head to listen; his pain and empathy marking him out as either the woman’s son or a close relative. In a moment, the desperate woman’s voice rose again, now launching into wailing cries of grief and pity for her own plight as the soldiers turned their attention to her.

The boy glared up at Kamsa with hot brown eyes filled with hatred. ‘Rakshasa!’ he cried. ‘Only a rakshasa would attack unarmed gokulas protected under a peace treaty!’

Kamsa grinned.‘Then why don’t you call upon your devas to protect you? What good are they if they can’t defend their own bhaktas?’

The boy shook his fist.‘They will come. Our devas always hear the prayers of the righteous. Lord Vishnu himself will come down to earth and make you pay for your crimes!’

Kamsa roared with laughter.‘Lord Vishnu himself? I must be
very
important to attract
his
attention!’

While talking, the boy had managed to get hold of a fist-sized rock. Now, he flung it hard at his aggressor, his aim good enough to hit Kamsa a glancing blow on the temple. Kamsa’s right ear rang and warm wetness instantly poured down the side of his head. He stopped laughing and grinned down at the boy who was scrabbling around in search of more missiles to throw.

‘It’s a helpless deva who arms his devotees with just stones to defend themselves,’ he said, blood trickling down his neck.

The grin stayed on his face as he yanked back on the reins and forced the horse to rear, bringing down both forehooves on his intended target with a bone-crunching impact – again, and again, and yet again – until what remained on the ground was no more than a crumpled bundle of shattered bones and leaking flesh.

‘Lord Vishnu can’t be here today to help you,’ he said to the remains of the child. ‘He has more important things to attend to than saving weak, pathetic cowherds in remote Vraj villages.’

A contingent of riders approached at a brisk canter, slowing as they neared him.

Bana was leading the group, Canura beside him. Both exclaimed as they saw Kamsa’s head streaming with blood.

‘Lord Kamsa, you are injured,’ said Bana, dismounting and jogging to Kamsa’s side to examine the injury more closely. ‘Canura, call for our lord’s vaids at once.’

Canura barked an order, sending two riders back to the Andhaka camp a mile or two upstream. Kamsa and his ravagers tended to ride much ahead of the main force, leaving the sluggish supply caravans trailing in their wake.

‘It’s just a scratch,’ Kamsa said absently, gazing out across the village. The woman’s screams had stopped, although other equally terrible cries could be heard across the ruined settlement as other women and victims suffered at the hands of the Andhakas. To Kamsa, the screams were like sweet music, acknowledging his superiority as a military commander and soldier.

‘ Tell me,’ he said to Bana, who knew at once what he wished to know.

Bana began recounting the tally of the dead. The ratio of ‘enemy’ dead to their own dead was ludicrous. They had killed or left for dead some two hundred and lost only three men.

‘Because we take them by surprise and after the treaty many have returned to herding and farming, they rarely have weapons close at hand,’ smirked Bana, licking his lips.‘And the women and children are almost always alone and defenceless in their homes.’

Bana then proceeded to recount the spoils of private treasures they had appropriated as tax – Kamsa had forbiddentheuseoftheterm‘looted’–measuringup to a substantial amount.

Bana chuckled as he finished the tally.‘A good day’s work, My Lord. These herders and farmers make for easy prey. Almost too easy. We roll across the landscape like chariots across millet, crushing them underfoot like crisp grain.’

‘Yes, well, that won’t continue much longer,’Kamsa said. ‘Word must be spreading already about our campaign.We should expect to meet some resistance soon.’ He raised a clenched fist, adding,‘I pray we do. I am tired of hacking down feeble herders caught unawares and boys with sheep crooks!’

Canura grinned slyly. ‘It has its advantages.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the village where the screams of dying women rent the air and the crackling of burning straw-and-mud huts filled it with smoke. ‘The men enjoy it too.’

Kamsa didn’t respond. He stared into the distance. Bana and Canura exchanged a glance. Kamsa often had these phases when he would just stare into the horizon, brooding. Such periods almost always preceded some new plan or strategy.

Finally, he said, ‘We shall swing north and east. Towards Vrindavan.’

‘Vrindavan?’ Bana repeated. Even Canura gaped. ‘But My Lord, that is the heart of Sura territory. King Vasudeva will not brook an assault on his heartland silently.’

‘Bhraatr Bana speaks the truth,’ Canura added cautiously. Kamsa did not always appreciate being corrected or having his plans questioned. A scar on Canura’s cheek testified to that fact, as did the rotting corpses of two of Kamsa’s previous advisors. ‘Until now, we have only, uh,
taxed
outlying villages and border territories of the three nations. Our actions could be defended as legitimate policy against border crossings and water or cattle thefts. But if we ride that far into Vraj heartland, it would be a total violation of the peace treaty and a declaration of open war against Vasudeva himself. The Sura nation might respond with an all-out war. And the Bhoja Yadav as might feel outraged enough to get involved as well.’
 

Bana cleared his throat, also careful to couch his suggestions in cautious terms. ‘Besides which, Vasudeva does happen to be the betrothed of your sister Lady Devaki, My Lord. The wedding is set to take place in—’

Kamsa gestured them both to be silent. They subsided at once. The wind changed, bringing a heavy odour of smoke and the stench of burning corpses along with the fading screams of the last suffering victims.

‘I am sick of this peace treaty,’ Kamsa said. ‘My father did not consult me, the crown prince, before signing it. Why should I be compelled to uphold it?’ At the mention of his father, Kamsa’s eyes glinted – both Bana and Canura noted this with growing nervousness – and a gleam of naked rebellion shone there. ‘It is time to put it to the test. Let us see how long Vasudeva upholds his end of the treaty when I come galloping into his lands and lay waste his townships.’

Being Kamsa’s friends and advisors, the pair glanced at each other, increasingly uneasy. Yet none dared speak a word. It was one thing to offer a suggestion or two, but quite another to defy his gesture ordering them to be silent; if either one spoke now, he would find his own corpse piled upon one of the several dozen burning heaps that were all that remained of the village they had just pillaged.