KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka (10 page)

‘I am pleased by your praises,’ said the man. ‘Speak. Ask me for something you desire.’

Uttanka bowed to him and said meekly: ‘Lord, let me have power over the Nagas.’

The man commanded, ‘Blow into the anus of this horse.’

Uttanka did as he was told. At once, a great rush of flames and smoke billowed forth from the horse’s orifices. As he watched with amazement, the smoke spread through the world of the Nagas like a living thing, scorching every creature, entering every crevice, burning every last living being and habitation.
 

Before his very eyes, the great wondrous world of the Nagas was turned into a place of ruin and ashes, awash in smoke and soot.
 

Faced with devastation, Takshak emerged out of his hiding place. Still carrying the earrings, he threw them back at Uttanka, eyes weeping copiously from the smoke and flames. ‘Take back your earrings! I no longer want them!’
 

Uttanka took the earrings with great delight. But the instant he received them his thoughts turned back to his given mission. This was the fourth day since he had departed his guru’s house. It was the very day the ceremony was to be performed for which the guru’s wife had desired to wear the earrings to impress the attending brahmins. It was quite impossible for him to climb all the way up from the realm of the Nagas and reach his guru’s home in time. And if he did not give them to her in time, all his effort would be in vain.
 

He only thought these things but the man knew his thoughts and spoke aloud again: ‘Do not fret, Uttanka. Mount this horse. It will transport you to your guru’s house in an instant.’

16

“
What
happened next, my Lord?” Tvasta asked with shining eyes. Even Daruka was listening intently, Krishna noted, although the charioteer’s attention remained on the chariot’s fore, following every moment of their downward plunge with due diligence.
 

Krishna smiled. At least he had succeeded in keeping their minds off the terrors of the dark deep ocean that surrounded them. In a way, it was best that the ocean through which they plunged lay in pitch darkness. He could have as easily lit up the entire ocean with the shakti of brahman, instead of merely keeping the air in the bubbles lit.
 

He had done so deliberately. Had there been light enough to see the two mortals would have gone insane with terror. The tale of Uttanka too was intended to distract them as well as prepare them for the ordeal ahead. For while their mission in the underworld was a simple one requiring no feats of heroism, a journey to the afterlife was never to be taken lightly, particularly for mortals.
 

He continued the tale to its end, timing it to coincide with their own arrival at their destination.
 

***

Uttanka accepted the offer gratefully. Mounting the horse he turned its head and found the horse riding of its own accord. Its hooves clattered on the rocky floor of the underground cavern and as he looked back, he saw sparks shooting out each time it touched the stony ground.
 

The city of the Nagas fell far behind astonishingly quickly. The horse entered the tunnel through which he had come and thundered up at blurring speed. It was all Uttanka could do to hold on and keep his seat. In no time at all, he found himself on the surface once again, and back on the road home.
 

Shortly thereafter, he arrived at his guru’s house and dismounted with relief. He saw the preceptor’s wife had just bathed and was dressing her hair. Just as Uttanka entered, she was saying to her husband, ‘Uttanka has not returned as promised. I must curse him.’ Just then Uttanka bowed before her and presented her with the earrings.
 

She exclaimed and took the earrings, admiring them joyfully. ‘Uttanka, you could not have come a moment too soon. In another instant, I would cursed you! You have performed your duty admirably and given your guru-dakshina. May good fortune smile on your always!’

Uttanka’s guru greeted his pupil warmly and asked him what had taken him so long. Uttanka narrated his experiences to his guru. In his excitement and his relief at having succeeded in his mission, the episodes of his travels tumbled forth out of order and he described things that had occurred last first and those that had occurred first last. But his guru sorted the incidents easily in his enlightened mind, stroking his beard as he contemplated. ‘These events have a profound meaning,’ he told Uttanka. ‘You have already fathomed some of their significance, I shall explain the rest.’

The two women Uttanka saw weaving the loom, Rishi Veda told him, were named Dhata and Vidhata, the Giver and the Creator; one transposes and the other disposes. The black and white threads stood for night and day respectively. The wheel with twelve spokes is a solar year, the six boys turning it are the six seasons.
 

The handsome man is Parjanya, Lord Indra in his incarnation as god of rain. The horse was Agni, Lord of fire. The mammoth bull that Uttanka saw on the way to Raja Paushya’s palace was Takshak, alias Airavata, king of snakes in yet another of his many disguises.
 

The giant who rode it was Indra, signifying his control over Takshak. The bull’s dung which Uttanka ate at Indra’s request was Amrit, the nectar of immortality. It was because he ate it that he was not killed in the kingdom of Nagas.
 

Rishi Veda smiled as he finished, saying, ‘Indra is my friend and it is by his kind grace that you were able to return with the earrings. Now, my son Uttanka, you have achieved all you desired: you have given the guru-dakshina you promised. You have my leave to depart with good fortune.’

Touching his guru’s feet to take his blessing, Uttanka left his preceptor’s house for the last time.
 

Now he was truly free of brahmacharya-ashrama, the first major stage of his life. He had graduated to full adulthood and could go anywhere he pleased, pursue any occupation or vocation, marry and be a householder, it was entirely his choice. And he intended to do everything, live his life as fully as he could.
 

***

“It is a great tale, my Lord,” Tvasta said. “I am privileged to hear it narrated by yourself.”

Krishna smiled. 8 or 80, once a story took hold of a person, it made him a child! Aloud he said, “I hope that it will help prepare you for the descent we shall now make. Remember, like Uttanka, keep your mind focussed on your goal at all times, and you shall attain it. Everything else is not your concern and therefore not to be feared as well. As long as I am with you, no harm shall ever befall you.”

Tvasta was still nervous but he had gained courage now from Krishna’s kindness and the katha. The long tale had served its purpose: without being told so in as many words, the sculptor now knew that the place where they were going was none other than the realm of the underworld, the dreaded land of the dead itself, where all beings went after their biological bodies perished on the mortal plane. Without this long preamble, he might have gone insane at the very thought of such a descent, for he was a simple artisan unfamiliar with such matters. But with Krishna’s aid, he had gained sufficient resolve to undergo this necessary journey.
 

“I am ready, my Lord Krishna,” he said now, steeling himself visibly. “Take me to the ends of the earth if you will, I shall not waver. Just give me a chisel and hammer and stone to cut and I shall build you the greatest city on earth!”

“That you shall, good Tvasta. That you shall,” Krishna said. Then he turned to Daruka and said quietly, “Slow our descent. We have arrived at our destination.”

16

MATHURA
had assembled yet again. It was the hour before dawn and the city was unnaturally quiet and still—even though not a soul was asleep.
 

Krishna had given word that there was no need for anyone to assemble in public. They could all remain within their houses, carrying only the clothes upon their bodies, nothing more. He would take care of the rest. But the very idea of leaving home without leaving home was incomprehensible to most. As was the idea of departing on a long journey without carrying a single possession. So great crowds thronged the streets and byways, others stood on roofs and walls and other elevations, seeking for a sign.
 

Everyone understood that Krishna would work some miracle here but none knew how he would accomplish it. Everyone was curious to see how he could possibly arrange the migration of an entire populace within a day—bypassing not just one but two great enemy forces. Thirty five million in all! The Yavana army was within a few hours ride, the last courier had reported, while Jarasandha’s army was stationed only a yojana from Ayodhya, and was preparing to break camp and march on the city within the hour.
 

How could so many civilians, women, children and olduns among them, as well as entire herds and flocks of livestock, travel westward to the site of the new city that Krishna said he had built for them, without being seen and attacked by the enemy? For that matter, how could so many travel so far in a single day? It was a question that troubled many, except those who believed implicitly in Krishna’s divinity and had complete faith that he would take care of them.
 

How could an entire city-state be built in a single day? That question was the other one that vexed people.
 

Krishna and Balarama had returned that night with the young sculptor named Tvasta. And his family had received a great shock. Tvasta was no longer young! The young man who had left only hours earlier with the Brothers had returned with his hair white as the marble he loved to cut, his face as lined as the statues he chiseled, and his entire aspect aged no less than three score years. He had been gone barely six hours, yet had aged sixty years in that short time. How had this happened?
 

They had asked Tvasta but he had smiled with a look of beatification they had never seen before and said simply, “Krishna, Hari Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hari Hari.”

They had asked whether the city had been built. He had said it had.
 

They had asked how was it possible to build an entire city in a single day—less than a day, in fact—and he had answered again, “Krishna, Hari Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hari Hari.”

There was no doubt that he had become a devotee of the Lord of Mathura!
 

They had asked him how he had aged sixty years in six hours and he had said, “That is how long it took to build the city.”

They had looked at each other, perplexed, and then said, “But you have been gone only six hours.”

And he had replied: “In the city of Samyamani, Time is an absent master. Even Lord Kala has no dominion there, Krishna says. This is because it is a Lokaloka, a place which is not a place.”

They had no idea what this answer meant.
 

“And the city is built?” they asked again, unable to believe him.
 

He only smiled and said yet again: “Krishna, Hari Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hari Hari.”

“How is the city?” they asked, suspicious now, convinced that his brains were addled and his mind deluded.
 

“Beautiful,” he said simply. Then added: “You will see it for yourself shortly.”

Then he had laid down to rest awhile, saying, “Wake me when it is time to go.”

He turned his face towards the wall, bent over on the cot, almost hugging himself.
 

And had fallen asleep at once, as if he had not slept in sixty years.
 

They marveled at his hands, coarse and callused, his back bent and knobbly from bending over while sculpting. Yet he appeared healthy and in good shape, merely exhausted.
 

Like a sculptor who had been working for sixty years non-stop without a respite.
 

Of course that was impossible, they said, there must be some explanation for his apparent aging.
 

Those who believed in Krishna said nothing. They knew.
 

Now, his family awoke Tvasta. “Wake up, little brother, it is time to go,” said his elder sister, then felt foolish, for she was still young while he was older than their grand-father now in appearance and physique. Nobody knew how to adapt to this unusual phenomenon of a young man turning old.
 

But when Tvasta turned towards her, sat up and rose from the bed, stretching himself, she was shocked.
 

He was young, handsome, robust Tvasta once again.
 

“It is a great day,” he said, beaming and rubbing his palms together as he always did when he was happy or excited. “Today, you shall see my greatest sculpture yet.”

His family all stared in stupefaction as he went about, telling them all how proud they would be of his shilpi art today. How hard he had worked and how he had accomplished his best work under Krishna’s guidance and supervision. “And the other Lords, of course,” he added.
 

“Which other Lords?” they asked, curious, still recovering from the shock of his turning young again in his sleep. It was as if the sleep had refreshed and reinvigorated him again, and had they not seen him earlier, they would never have believed that he had in fact spent sixty years away, and not merely six hours.
 

“Oh, you know,” he said in his usual casual way. “Indra, Varuna, Kubera, Yama…”
 

They stared at one another, speechless at first.
 

“The Devas? Indra-dev, Varun-dev, Kuber-dev, Yam-dev?” they asked.
 

“Yes,” he said, “Who else? They contributed and helped a lot too. If not for their help, I would never have been able to finish on time.” He chuckled. “There was this one time, I was installing Sudharma—that’s the assembly hall—and Kubera was impatient to dump his eight treasures and leave at once, the self-important fellow that he is…”