KRISHNA CORIOLIS#6: Fortress of Dwarka (31 page)

Krishna was raising his arms. The enemy had surrounded him on all sides, as densely as a forest grown around a single sapling. They were no longer attacking, simply observing him, no doubt wondering how to defeat an enemy who could take a thousand arrows and still survive.
 

Then Krishna made a flicking gesture with both hands, as if indicating that someone should leave him at once and go forth.

Not some
one, Rukmini thought,
some
thing
.
 

And then the arrows from Krishna’s body all shot out, with exactly the same force as when they had struck him, returning back in exactly the same trajectory as when they were loosed at him, snaking outwards in impossible zigzagging lines, twisting and turning and spinning, until each and every one of them found their sender, and instead of returning to his bow whence they had come, punched into
his
body, bringing back to him the exact same wound he had caused to Krishna.
 

It was the most incredible sight imaginable.
 

A man with a thousand arrows embedded in his flesh.

The arrows sent flying outwards, spinning, whirling, turning, then striking the flesh of the thousand men who had shot those very arrows.
 

Punching through cloth, leather, armor, skin, flesh, muscle, gristle, cartilage, bone, vital organs…wounding, killing, maiming.
 

A thousand men fell as one, in a storm of collapsing bodies. Off their horses, chariots, feet.
 

The ground around Krishna was strewn with corpses now.
 

And his body was freed of almost all the arrows that had struck him.
 

All except three arrows.
 

Rukmini’s hand shot to her open mouth. She knew who had loosed those three arrows and why Krishna had not sent them back hurtling to the sender.
 

They were the arrows fired by Rukmi and her brothers.
 

Krishna had done exactly as he had promised: he had spared her loved ones, even while he fought his enemies in battle.
 

And then the real brawling began.
 

16

Balarama
had cut a wide and awful swathe of destruction in the Magadhan ranks. Yet it was hardly anything by his own standards. He had barely destroyed an akshohini or two. Part of the reason was that this time the Magadhans were spread much farther apart, and he did not wish to venture too close to the town of Kundini in case that caused damage to his new sister-in-law’s hometown and kin.
 

The Yadava army was still engaged with the Magadhan forces. As happened with any battle, things got complicated very quickly. Part of the complication came from the fact that the Magadhan forces were not arrayed in a standard battle confrontation formation; they were spread all over, directed inwards at Kundina. It was evident from this formation that Jarasandha’s intention was to box in his own allies, preventing them from leaving and putting them in awkward, even indefensible positions which they could only retreat from or stay and be slaughtered.
 

On the plus side, when the Yadava forces came up behind them, the Magadhans were taken by surprise. Turning around, they now found themselves with their back to Kundina, boxed in by the same indefensible positions in which they had meant to push their former allies. The only difference was: there were many more Magadhan forces than Kundina and her allies. And the Yadavas had come prepared for war against Magadha while the Vidarbha forces would have the disadvantage of being taken by surprise when they found their own allies turned against them.
 

Thus far, the fighting was going in their favor, Balarama knew, but he also knew this would not last long. Magadha was a far superior force in numbers, experience and resources. Already, he had word that another three, perhaps four akshohini had been spotted coming around the Vidarbha hill ranges. When those additional Magadhan forces arrived, the Yadavas would be trapped on all sides. At that point, regardless of how fast Balarama and Krishna fought and how capable they were of wiping out the entire Magadhan army, their own losses would be grevious.
 

Nor could they deploy the dev-astras as freely as they had back in the Mathura battles. There was too much risk of harming their own troops and also Kundina’s citizenry and population. There were villages all around and much of this fighting was taking place beside, between, around, and even within those unfortunate hamlets and villages, taking a sad toll of ordinary farmers and herders. Magadha knew this and it was to Jarasandha’s advantage to keep them engaged as long as possible: at least that was what Balarama assumed. It was what he took for granted based on his knowledge of Jarasandha thus far: push, push, push until something gives.
 

That was until he saw the chariot riding across the plain, fleeing the battle.
 

He paused, his mace dripping with Magadhan blood, and stared in the direction of the chariot. It was travelling fast, its dust cloud drifting overhead to curl like a canopy, partly obscuring its occupant. But he recognized that krta-dhvaja and knew that the sigil meant that was the royal chariot of the God Emperor of Magadha himself. It was less ostentatious than the one Jarasandha had used at Mathura but that might be precisely for this reason: to enable him to speed away at will. At Mathura, Jarasandha had come to camp and lay siege. Here, he sought to burn and run. And right now, it seemed he was choosing to run.
 

Balarama strode away from the field, causing a whole company of frontliners who had fully expected to die next to raise their swords and cheer hesitantly, assuming that their formidable foe was quitting the fray. At the sound of their cheering, he turned and pointed the gada at them. At once, they were silenced, eyes wide in their stark faces, and backed away. He turned around in a full circle, meeting their eyes, pointing the gada menacingly to make sure they knew that he was not fleeing out of cowardice--as if!--but for other reasons. “Throw down your weapons and run back to Magadha and I will let you live. Otherwise, I will come back and finish this job.”
 

They stared at him blankly for a moment, then, with an enthusiasm that was quite amusing, every last man threw his weapon on the ground. They landed in a great clattering of metal. Before the echoes had died away, they had turned and were loping away to the north-east in great eager strides, yelling to their comrades to do the same. They reminded Balarama of the young gopis and gopas in Vrindavan when the day’s chores were done and the last calves penned--Krishna and he and the others had all run yelling just like that. He smiled wistfully and shook his head.
 

Then he turned and began running towards the fleeing chariot. After several strides, he launched himself in the air, leaping a hundred yards over his own Yadava troops engaged in a clash with another Magadhan company. Heads turned to gaze upwards, the Magadhan faces showing their fear: however hardy the toughest Yadava warriors might be, not one of them wished to trade him for Balarama. Many sighed with relief as the hefty form passed over their heads and went on by, then resumed fighting.
 

***

Krishna endured the pain of the many wounds he had sustained. Every arrow that had been shot at him, he returned to its sender forthwith. Soon the barrage of arrows ceased.
 

They tried javelins and spears next.
 

That was a mistake: not only did he send the javelins and spears back to their throwers with a simple flick of his wrist, but each javelin punched through a man, passed
through
him accompanied by the horrific sound of bones being crushed and flesh ripped, and then went on to slaughter half a dozen other men behind him before finally coming to a halt, embedded in some unfortunate’s body. It was the greater weight of the larger missiles that made this possible.
 

After a few volleys of javelins and spears, perhaps one score thousand Vidarbhans lay dead around him, a toll so horrific, he could see the shock on the faces of all present. After this, there were no more volleys for a while.
 

In the lull that followed, he heard Prince Rukmi’s voice, yelling at his fellow kings and allies--and at his brothers too. None of them seemed inclined to make the first move to attack Krishna directly. He did not blame them: how could they hope to fight someone who could kill half a hundred thousand men in such a short while--without even using a weapon of his own? They were terror-struck. Besides, what was at stake here? Krishna had already taken Rukmini, she was nowhere to be seen. They might not retrieve her, let alone have her for themselves, even if this conflict was resolved. Participating in a tournament to demonstrate skill was one thing, even fighting a fair battle was acceptable: but this? This was like fighting gods!
 

Finally, Rukmi came to the inevitable conclusion that Krishna had come to before beginning this fight. It was the reason why Krishna had adopted the tactic of fighting unarmed, killing thousands at a time and showing off--there was no other word for it--his divine power. This was not the army of Magadha, which Balarama could slaughter mercilessly. These were tribal chieftains and minor lords on whose crowns even the title Raja was an exaggeration. He had no desire to prolong this battle until those involved had invested so much that they felt honor-bound to fight to the last man.
 

By demonstrating his superiority at the very start, he had hoped to curtail the battle, scare them off. He had succeeded, it seemed. Now, all that remained was for Rukmi to accept the fact. Unfortunately, Rukmi was not just a king or chieftain here, he had something far more at stake: his honor, his family’s honor, and after the way Jarasandha had built him up publicly, for him to back away now would brand him a coward and dishonorable man forever. He had no choice now but to kill or be killed.
 

Krishna saw Rukmi arrive at this conclusion. The Prince of Vidarbha wheeled his horse about, cursing his allies and brothers with equally colorful phrases. Then, raising his sword in a grandiose gesture that Krishna knew well, he turned his horse about once again, facing Krishna, pointed it forward and launched a one-man charge with an intensity that left no doubt about his intention.
 

He meant to kill Krishna now--or be killed by Krishna.
 

17

Balarama
covered the few miles to the escaping chariot in as many moments. Thumping to ground on one foot, he struck with the other foot’s heel to launch himself upward again, covering a hundred yards with each leap. He approached the chariot’s dustcloud wake, leaped over it, cutting through the curling dust--he turned his head aside to sneeze briefly--then landed a few hundred yards ahead of it, blocking its only way through the hilly ranges. The chariot would have to get past him to continue its escape.
 

He watched as the chariot driver drew up the reins, calling out roughly to the horse team. Slowly, with a creaking of wood and metal and much neighing by the horses, the heavily armored battle vehicle came to a halt. The dust cloud caught up with the chariot and passed overhead, obscuring it for a moment.
 

When it passed, Balarama saw Jarasandha standing alone in the chariot, glowering at him. He could see the God Emperor assessing his options and coming to the same conclusion: there were none left. It was either face Balarama and fight or continue fleeing and be caught anyway and beaten dishonorably.
 

To Jarasandha’s credit, he chose to fight honorably.
 

The Magadhan tied his team, dismounted, and began walking towards Balarama. When he was perhaps three score yards away, he stopped.
 

“Yadava, I ask that you leave my path.”
 

Balarama chuckled, placing his hands on his hips. Rather than respond with words, he just flashed a toothy smile.
 

Jarasandha shook his head slowly. “You do not wish to fight me, you fool.”
 

Balarama chuckled again, then wiped a little dust off his chin with the back of his hand. “I do not
wish
to fight you, Magadhan. Wishes are for those who aspire. I
want
to fight you. And I have you before me, so there is no wishing involved. Fight me or run and I’ll catch you and thrash you anyway.”

He saw the thin long face show something like a grimace--or perhaps it was a sardonic smile. Krishna was much better at reading the expressions of these types of fellows than he was.
 

“Perhaps I did not make myself clear. If you fight me, you will die. It is as simple as that.”

“Really?” Balarama arched his eyebrows, then waggled them alternately. “That is such a sweet thing to say to your opponent. I hope you die too!”
 

Jarasandha shook his head and began walking towards Balarama at a slow, sedate pace, like a man walking down an empty pathway with nothing in his path. “I don’t hope or wish. I do. You can tear me to pieces, boy, but you cannot kill me. Nobody can kill Jarasandha.”

Balarama nodded grimly, cracking his knuckles and slamming his fist into his palm. “We’ll test that assumption right now then, shall we? Besides, you forget, I’m not nobody. I’m Balarama. And I kill asuras like you everyday.”
 

Balarama ran towards Jarasandha at full speed, sprinting with all his might and force at the Magadhan. Jarasandha began running as well and both came at each other with the ferociousness of two lions at war.
 

***

Krishna swung aruound at the last instant, deflecting the force of Rukmi’s first charge and knocking him off his horse. The Prince of Vidarbha tumbled over several times but regained his feet unharmed. His horse snickered and looked around uncertainly. Krishna glanced at it, caught its eye and jerked his head. The horse whinnied, its eyes flaring wide, and galloped away before Rukmi could mount it.