KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka (24 page)

It was as if she felt…previously committed. As if she had given her word and must wait for it to be accepted or denied.
 

Her eldest brother Rukmi was the only one who seemed to understand her, showing his cracked upper tooth and grimacing his bearded bear-like features in what passed for a smile by Rukmi, winking broadly at her as if they shared some common secret. She knew he was misinterpreting her lack of desire to be married. That he misread it as being on account of his old promise made to Prince Kamsa of Mathura, back when she was but a child and Rukmi and Kamsa barely young men themselves. She knew that Rukmi still hoped secretly to forge an alliance based on marriage and as his only sister, she was his only chance of forging such an alliance.
 

She was content to let Rukmi assume what he assumed: it did not directly affect her in any way. He could not simply give her away without her expressly acceding to a match. That was Arya law and custom, apart from being dharma. Rukmi might do many things in private or off in the Dandaka-van—rumors of his atrocities and brutal methods against the outlaw tribes were legendary—but he was always careful to give the appearance of upholding dharma in public. Vidarbha was not a large and powerful enough kingdom that it could risk its reputation or attract controversy for any reason.
 

And besides, he knew that his sister would sooner haul off and deal him one tight slap across his ear than simply go off and marry any man he picked out.
 

It was this latter fact that probably made him grin when she refused the many offers and earnest requests to court her that streamed in constantly from numerous other kingdoms of similar size and stature. He thought her stubbornness was a sham; that she secretly desired Kamsa and would agree to marry him someday, but did not want to be seen to be pushed into the alliance by her brother or parents or anyone else, because of her pride. And if that was the way she wished to play it, Rukmi was willing to accept that.
 

But that was not the case at all, of course. And now, in the wake of Kamsa’s death, Rukmi’s smile had vanished. As the offers and proposals and suggestions continued to stream in, he merely looked on as she steadfastly but politely refused them all, neither commenting nor showing his cracked upper tooth again. With Rukmi, it was difficult to tell. Perhaps he was unable to understand now why she kept refusing offers and so kept his cool. More likely, he simply didn’t care anymore. His great ambitious plan had been wrecked and he had nothing to replace it. With Kamsa gone, his opportunity to ally with mighty Mathura—and through Kamsa, with mammoth Magadha and Jarasandha as well—was gone forever. Old King Ugrasena and young King Vasudeva had no need of Vidarbha and the Slayer of Kamsa was said to not care one whit for politics.
 

So it was shocking when, as she was still musing over the strange dreams of the night before, she received a summons to attend her father the king in the sabha hall. She stopped the guard who brought the message.
 

“Was it my father himself who summoned me?” she asked her.
 

“Nay, my princess, it was your brother Prince Rukmi,” the guard replied before turning smartly and exiting her chambers.
 

***

She smelled the set-up the instant she entered the sabha hall. Unlike other larger kingdoms where the princesses were often overly protected and shielded from daily politics, the women of Vidarbha waded straight into the everyday muck and ruckus of court intrigues and double-dealings. She had seen women aristocrats hold their own against their male counterparts in the sabha no less ferociously than they did on the battlefield. Vidarbha women often bore actual scars on their faces, unafraid to sully their feminine aspects by taking up arms. More often the scars weren’t visible. Rukmini was no whiplash-tongue or politician but she had seen and heard enough to know what went on.
 

So when she entered the court hall and saw Sisupala, King of the Chedis, laughing uproariously and quaffing wine with her brothers and father as if a great trade treaty had just been struck, she knew exactly what it meant. The only trade that interested Shushu, as she had called him during their playtime games since childhood, was the trade of bodily fluids in private chambers.
 

His eyes turned the instant she entered the hall and the way he appraised her lecherously as she walked the dozen or so yards to the throne area told her the rest of the story. Rukmi had found his next-best alliance. It was basic politics. If one could not ally with a larger power, then ally with an equal who needs you as much as you need him. The Chedi kingdom and Vidarbha shared many common goals and common enemies. An alliance made through marriage would double the strength of each instantly, making them the biggest player in the region.
 

The rest was noise. She listened as Rukmi and her father droned on in their nasal way about how Sisupala had so graciously come forward with a most excellent proposal of betrothal and of course, she was free to choose whom she wished but surely she could not find any fault with her childhood sweetheart and best friend. She almost laughed aloud at that part—so the little fat boy who had once harried her and her friends until she was forced to turn on him and push him down hard enough to break his wrist was now being elevated to the stature of ‘childhood sweetheart and best friend’. How absurd!
 

And yet, that farce pushed something free in her mind, something that was even more absurd and senseless than the thought of marrying Shushu, something that solidified the confused feelings and fantasies floating about in her head since the night before.
 

She spoke aloud, startling the hall with her tone and volume. “This alliance is unacceptable,” she said. The hubbub died away into a stunned absence of sound. She looked at her brother directly, meeting his eyes and showing him that she meant what she said and would back it up with the full force of her will and strength. “I have already chosen the one who is to be my husband for life.” Then she paused, giving everyone a moment to absorb what she had just said. Her next words came from a place within her that even she did not know existed: the same deep primordial part that housed those sense-memories of dalliances with the Slayer of Kamsa. When, where, how, she knew not. Only that she spoke the truth. Heart’s honest truth.
 

“His name is Krishna,” she said. “Lord of Mathura.”

4

Bana
rubbed his eyes again, then took a little water in his hand from the nearest waterskin and splashed it on his face to clear away any doubt.
 

What he saw was no trick of the eyes: it was right there before him, plain to see. Still, he could not credit the evidence of vision. Perhaps it was some form of asura maya, perhaps the illusion was designed to delude them into revealing themselves?
 

When he had volunteered for the post of Watcher, Krishna had informed him and the other Watchers that even if a fishing vessel or passing trade ship happened to come upon their position accidentally, defying the odds and pushing against the currents, the island would appear to be just a blob of land cloaked in a perpetual ocean mist. Only eyes that knew Truth could see it for what it was.
 

Krishna had used those exact words: “Only eyes that know Truth will see Dwarka, for as the name suggests, it is the dwar or doorway to heavenly realms and only those whose karma makes them worthy of entering swarga can see the doorway.”
 

Yet here was a boat. Bobbing on the ocean. Plain as the daylight all around, as clearly visible as the stones of the promontory wall upon which Bana stood, and unmistakably real. It had approached so close to the island-fortress, he could even see the cracked timber of the boat’s hull and meagre tattered sail that had apparently been the only means of propulsion for the craft.
 

“I saw we heave javelins at it until we blow a hole in it and sink it,” said the young volunteer Watcher under Bana’s guidance. The young man looked more nervous than aggressive as he said it, and Bana knew that his bravado was motivated by uncertainty and distrust rather than any confidence in arms.
 

Bana had given the young man some training in arms - alongwith a number of other men who made up the volunteer Protectors that drilled and trained more out of a desire to maintain discipline and fitness than to actually prepare for war. The Yadavas, like all sane beings, were peaceful people but they had suffered enough torment inflicted by aggressors to simply lie back and enjoy their lives anymore. There were always young men and women who wished to be ready in any eventuality.
 

Young Jigneshwara was one such young man. Unfortunately, his talent for throwing the javelin did not even extend to holding it correctly. If he began throwing javelins at the boat—which was quite out of javelin throw, incidentally, Bana mused—they might still be here when the End of Days came and the gates of heaven truly opened to receive them all.
 

He did not say this aloud: young men must be permitted their over-confidence. At least until they have an opportunity to prove themselves justified or not in asserting the same.
 

Instead he said: “Take word to our Lord. Fetch him directly here. Do not stop to tell anyone or do anything else. Do you understand?” He looked directly into the young man’s startled brown eyes. “Jigneshwara? Are my instructions clear?”
 

“Yes, General Bana,” the young man said earnestly. “But surely we should inform as many people as possible, perhaps sound a general alarum? After all, this could be the start of a major invasion of asuras?”
 

Yes, of course,
Bana thought to himself,
because asuras always like to come in little boats with tattered sails, one at a time: it’s the latest trend in major invasions, haven’t you heard?
 

He kept that thought to himself and said aloud: “Not a word. Not one stinking word. To. Anyone. Am I clear yet, Jigneshwara?”
 

The young man hesitated. He might be a military recruit in his own mind but in truth he was only a cheese-maker’s son.
Makes fine cottage cheese too
, Bana thought: he had enjoyed sampling some during the mid-day meals which they had shared often while on duty on the Wall. The cream of Bana’s message finally filtered through the muslin cloth of Jignesh’s brain and reached his consciousness.
 

“Yes, Senapati,” he said, a little sulkily.
 

Young too. Young enough to be spanked if he was my son.
But of course, under Kamsa’s reign, or even Ugrasena’s, young Jigneshwara would have been recruited as soon as he was old enough to hold a weapon, any weapon, and sent to war, fodder for the blood-field, as they had called it then, also known as Seeding—a cruel reference to the first waves of foot-soldiers who were sent forth to test the enemy’s resolve and tactics, literally seeding the soil of the battlefield with their own bodies and life-blood.
 

Jignesh did not realize how lucky he was not to live in an age when he would have regarded merely as Seeding for some indifferent general’s war maneuver. Bana himself had sent untold numbers of young men like this out to be chopped down and pressed into the mud within moments of setting forth into battle for the first time in their lives. Jignesh still had a look in his eye that suggested he might not follow Bana’s orders as rigorously as those young men had in that bygone age. After all, the danda for disobeying orders in Dwarka was not death as it had been back then: in fact, there was no danda at all in Dwarka, because nobody had any need to disobey any order and Krishna-Balarama dealt with those rare exceptions who did.
 

Jignesh turned to go towards the pushpak platform where he would ride one of the two small single-man crafts that would carry him to his destination in moments. He was halfway there when Bana called out to him casually.

“Vigneshwara.”

The young man turned, eyebrows arched in the ‘what now’ expression characteristic of young people his age anywhere.
 

“If you say anything about this to anyone other than Lord Krishna,” Bana paused, letting his words sink in, “I will tell your Kanika-Maasi about what happened during your sword-training lesson.”
 

Vighneshwara’s face contorted in a look of such extreme embarrassment that Bana almost laughed aloud. He resisted the urge, keeping a straight face and stern expression to let the young Watcher know he meant what he said. Vighneshwara swallowed, his adam’s apple large in his thin young throat, and turned and hurried the rest of the distance to the pushpak. Moments later, the vaahan swooped away and sped across the sunlit towers and rooftops of the southern quadrant, vanishing from sight.
 

Bana smiled as he turned back to the Wall. He had no intention of telling Kanika-Maasi anything at all; the woman was the worst gossip and matchmaker in her tribe, perhaps even the entire 247
^th
block, and since the 247 was one of the most populous in that part of the great island-city, that was saying something. He had been a young recruit once too, a very long time ago, and he could still relate to how embarrassed a young soldier would be if a woman with a tongue that sharp got hold of such a tidbit. Thinking back to the incident in question, even he winced now. No. He would never tell such a story to Kanika-Maasi - after she put her spin on it and told the whole world, every young woman in Dwarka would laugh at poor Vighnesh; the fellow might never find a suitable bride. But it had been an effective deterrent.
 

Sometimes, one didn’t need a danda system to keep errant behavior in check. Just a caution and a warning at the right time.
 

He turned back to watch the boat that was the subject of this exchange. It was still there, bobbing bravely. It looked so tiny in that enormous ocean. How had it ever survived the voyage all the way from…from wherever it had come? He could not imagine making such a voyage. The Yadavas were not sea-faring people—none of the nations of the sub-continent were in fact. Traveling overland was more than they desired: most tribes and nations were content to remain in the land where their ancestors had sprung from until to the end of time. Why go elsewhere? The world was all one, was it not? Besides, land did not belong to anyone, one only occupied it for a short time. And water? Water could not even be occupied for more than a moment at a time.