Rage Of Jarasandha

By Ashok K. Banker

His days as a flirtatious cowherd behind him, the new Lord of Mathura's powers are tested to the limit when a new enemy, perhaps his deadliest yet, threatens the city of his birth in the fifth of the Krishna Coriolis Series Krishna has fulfilled the prophecy and the Usurper has been slain. But barely has old King Ugrasena been restored to the throne when a new threat rears its head. Jarasandha of Magadha encircles Mathura with a great army. Even the combined might of Krishna and Balarama cannot save the citizens of Mathura. Or can it? In an instalment that ramps up the thrill and excitement, discover how the young Preserver realizes that the protection of dharma entails the heartache of collateral damage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Aug 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9789350295908

Ashok K. Banker

ASHOK K. BANKER is the author of more than seventy books, including the internationally acclaimed Ramayana series. Their works have all been bestsellers in India and have sold around the world. They live in Southern California.

Book preview

one

Krishna flew up, rising until he hovered high enough to be noticed by Kamsa in his gargantuan form. Then, using his power to project his own voice, he addressed his uncle. ‘Uncle Kamsa!’

Kamsa had just finished pounding most of the court’s nobility and aristocracy to bloody pulp. Krishna had no sympathy for the rich and overbearing overlords who had aided and abetted Kamsa during his reign of atrocities and abuse all these years, but it was still sickening to see people trampled thus. Tearing apart a super-mortal wrestling champion in a bout was one thing. This, on the other hand, was simple murder.

Kamsa turned at the sound of Krishna’s voice. He grinned down at the tiny figure hovering in mid-air. ‘NEPHEW! DID I SURPRISE YOU? YOU DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT MY ABILITY TO DO THIS, DID YOU? HOW UNEXPECTED! IT SEEMS THE GREAT DELIVERER IS NOT OMNISCIENT AFTER ALL!’

Krishna ignored the taunt. ‘Uncle. I shall give you one final chance to surrender and live. Only because we are related by blood. Yield now and I shall have you arrested and imprisoned for life. It is more than you deserve and you know it.’

Kamsa chuckled. With his enormous size, it sounded like a thousand waterfalls cascading after the monsoons, echoing off a deep ravine’s walls. ‘LIFE IMPRISONMENT? WHY BOTHER. LET’S SETTLE THIS RIGHT HERE AND NOW. IT’S ABOUT TIME. I’VE BEEN WANTING TO FACE YOU, VISHNU, EVER SINCE MY MOTHER RAISED ME ON STORIES OF YOU TAKING REBIRTH TO DESTROY EVIL ON EARTH. MY MOTHER WAS THE SISTER OF THE GREAT LORD RAVANA. DID YOU KNOW THAT? THAT WAS WHEN MY NAME WAS KALA-NEMI, AND YOURS WAS RAMACHANDRA. I ALSO REGRETTED THE FACT THAT WE NEVER GOT TO CONFRONT EACH OTHER. FINALLY, I HAVE MY CHANCE AND I INTEND TO MAKE THE BEST OF IT. COME ON, FACE ME NOW. OR STAND ASIDE AND WATCH ME DESTROY YOUR PRECIOUS CITY AND PEOPLE!’

‘So your plan is to fight me and in the process destroy Mathura as well?’

‘YES. BRILLIANT, IS IT NOT? EVEN IF YOU WIN, THE FIGHT WITH ME WILL CAUSE SO MUCH DESTRUCTION THAT I WILL HAVE TRIUMPHED BY DEFAULT. FOR I DON’T CARE A WHIT FOR THESE WRETCHED MORTALS. BUT YOU DO. SO WIN OR LOSE, THEY WILL DIE ANYWAY.’

Krishna sighed. ‘Then you leave me no choice.’

He flew directly at Kamsa.

Kamsa cried out in anger as he staggered, the backs of his heels crushing a line of heavily laden carts loaded with weapons for the imperial army. Spears and swords snapped and crackled under his giant feet. He snarled and slapped at his own head, swatting at Krishna like a man might swipe at a troublesome mosquito. But before he could get hold of him, Krishna had taken hold of Kamsa’s hair and was flying upwards. Kamsa had expected him to attack and fight but instead, Krishna took hold of the giant rakshasa and flew in the one direction where nobody would be injured by Kamsa’s gargantuan size and wicked intent: upwards.

Kamsa roared with fury as he realized what was happening. But Krishna was already lifting him bodily up in the air, rising higher and higher. Kamsa’s feet flailed as they left the ground, narrowly missing striking a building. Crowds shrieked below as tens of thousands of Mathurans turned their faces upwards, watching the battle with rapt attention, less afraid for their own lives than eager to witness the fight for which they had waited twenty-three long years.

Kamsa continued to flail his hands. But it is near impossible for any man, or giant, to strike the top of his own head while being carried upwards. Still, he struggled and thrashed around mightily. It was only when he was several hundred yards up in the air and still rising that he stopped waving his arms about and froze still.

Krishna sensed understanding flood through his uncle’s giant brain.

‘I SEE NOW WHAT YOU MEAN TO DO! BUT YOU CANNOT. YOU MUST NOT. I WILL NOT LET YOU DO IT. I WANT A FIGHT. I WANT THE BATTLE I DESERVE. I WILL NOT BE DROPPED DOWN LIKE A RAW EGG TO BREAK ON THE EARTH. I WANT MY FAIR DUE IN BATTLE. FIGHT ME, VISHNU. PUT ME BACK DOWN AND FIGHT ME FACE-TO-FACE.’

Krishna said grimly, ‘Uncle, you lost your right to a fair fight when you slew newborns by dashing their brains out. You lost it when you ordered the execution of thousands more innocent children. You gained the right to be denied a fair fight when you committed a hundred thousand other atrocities over the past twenty-three years, not to mention those you had committed even before revealing your true rakshasa nature. Back on the field, there was a moment when you could have attacked me and had your chance at a fair fight. You failed to take it. Now, this is the only fight you get. It is the only one you deserve.’

‘NO, KRISHNA, NO,’ Kamsa cried, bellowing loud enough to be heard by the whole of Mathura. ‘YOU CANNOT DO THIS TO ME. I AM A WARRIOR AND SO ARE YOU. FIGHT ME LIKE A WARRIOR FACE-TO-FACE. IT IS MY RIGHT. AND IT IS YOUR DHARMA.’

‘I am a warrior, yes,’ Krishna said sadly. ‘That is the only reason why I had to wait this long and allow so many innocents to suffer and die before facing you today. If I was not a warrior and not bound by Kshatriya dharma, I would have crept into your palace as a babe and slaughtered you as you slept. But this is as far as my dharma will allow me to bring you. To this certain death. It is the only end for one such as you. Just as a mad elephant or beast must be put down instantly, without hesitation or thought, so must your life be ended now. If you have any last words, speak them now, before I release my hold on your body and let it fall to its death on the earth below.’

Kamsa made begging and pleading sounds to no avail. Finally, seeing that he could negotiate no further, he snarled. ‘RELEASE ME, THEN. BUT KNOW THIS BEFORE I DIE. YOUR REAL STRUGGLE ON EARTH HAS NOT EVEN BEGUN YET, VISHNU. YOU HAVE FAR MORE SUFFERING TO ENDURE AND FAR GREATER BATTLES AND STRUGGLES TO OVERCOME BEFORE YOU ACCOMPLISH YOUR TASK IN THIS INCARNATION. THIS IS NOT THE END, IT IS ONLY THE BEGINNING.’

Krishna replied sadly, ‘This too I know.’

And then he released Kamsa, letting the giant fall.

He took several moments, during which time all the watching multitudes held their breath. Krishna had been careful to carry Kamsa’s massive form farther north of the city, to the wastelands where nobody resided, the sprawling wadis and ravines of uninhabited desolation where Kamsa had once come to practise the use of his new-found abilities. Where he had pounded his fists and body time and again against rocks and boulders, testing his new shakti on inanimate objects and innocent animals, taking pride in it.

He fell into that wasteland. And the earth itself seemed to harden to receive him. As if Bhoodevi, Mother Prithvi, whatever you choose to call her, suffering for so long under the cruel yoke of Kamsa’s tyranny, resolved that this time she would be harder than Kamsa’s dense muscled body and sinew and bone. And so, as the giant Kamsa struck the ground, his body was shattered into a thousand pieces, fragmented and fragmented again, until even the smallest fragment broke apart into dust.

A wind rose from nowhere and carried this dust away into oblivion.

And across Mathura, a million liberated souls cheered, only one word was on their lips.

‘KRISHNA!’

two

Radha yelled and yipped with joy. She jumped up and down, arms raised, turning round and round. All across the arena, thousands were showing their joy in much the same way. In the Vrishni enclosure, she could see and hear the other gopis shrieking themselves hoarse. The roars and cheers were deafening. It was as if the entire world were rejoicing and exulting in Krishna’s triumph. For it was everyone’s triumph. Krishna had slain the Childslayer, the prophecy had been fulfilled at last. But it was they who had been set free of the tyrant’s yoke.

She realized that even Kamsa’s own soldiers were hammering their weapons against their shields and raising their voices. The only exceptions were the other fighters on Kamsa’s side who quickly made their exit, scurrying away faster than stray dogs from a wild elephant.

And Krishna was no less than an elephant today. Magnificent in his youth and dark beauty, he stood in the akhada field, arms on hips, grinning happily at the crowd. He had landed only moments ago, returning from the north where he had carried Kamsa high up in the air and dropped him to his death. Even from the sound and bone-shuddering impact felt all the way up to where she was, Radha sensed that Kamsa’s body must have broken into fragments from such a terrible fall. The instant Krishna had returned, flying lithely back to the akhada field, the cheering and shouting had erupted. Now he simply stood there, basking in the adulation and approbation, with that familiar mischievous smile on his handsome face.

Not far away stood the hefty Balarama, displaying the twin to Krishna’s smile. Radha stopped jumping and began running barefoot across the dusty ground. She was going to leap at Krishna, hug him more tightly than he had ever been hugged before … well, in this life, at least … and never let go!

But even as she began to sprint, a strange thing happened.

The world went dark.

One moment, there was bright sunlight shining down from a clear blue sky with only a few wisps of cloud here and there, the next instant it was dark as a stormy night. Yet it was like no night Radha had ever seen before: the sun was still in the sky, as were the wisps of cloud, birds were still flying, though they seemed agitated by the sudden change. It was as if a veil had fallen across creation. The sun’s light had not dimmed. It still burned as brightly as ever, but now it exuded a deep-blue light instead of its usual luminescence. The sky had been dyed a darker shade of the same colour. Not only that, the very air seemed to have turned darker, bluer. It was as if someone had dipped a cloth into a pool of clear water and the water had been stained dark blue, and Radha and everyone else was immersed in this inky blue water. A distinctive deep midnight blue.

Almost the same shade as Krishna’s skin when the moonlight falls upon it.

The thought came to her unbidden along with a memory of Krishna bathing in a moonlit stream not long ago as she had shyly watched from a tree. She had seen Balarama and him setting out one night by chance and had followed them out of curiosity. As it turned out, they weren’t up to much: just a night-time swim in the nearby stream. But she had watched as avidly as if he were battling Kaliya again! And as she watched, embarrassed to be spying yet unable to look away, she had noticed this phenomenon. His skin, pitch black in daylight, had appeared bluish in the moonlight. Almost as if an intense blue light exuded from his pores, glowing. Then she had looked around and seen the light staining the undersides of the leaves on the tree hanging over the stream and the bank and rocks, and realized that it was no trick of the light. Krishna was exuding the light, a kind of energy that flowed from his very essence and spread outwards. The blue light of Brahman.

The next day, she had visited the same spot and found every leaf, rock, tree and insect that had been touched by the light exhibited new vigour and life. Even the rocks appeared more beautiful somehow, smooth, polished, gleaming. The implication was clear: Krishna’s Brahman shakti could empower everything around him, living or inanimate.

Now it was as if Krishna’s body had exploded, engulfing the whole world with his Brahman light. Yet, he was not the source of the light itself. It appeared to be omnipresent, suffusing the whole of creation.

The roar of the crowd had died down as everyone looked around, a little unnerved by the phenomenon.

Radha had slowed but continued running towards her beloved Krishna, picking up pace as she approached the spot where he still stood.

Krishna was still standing exactly where he had been a moment ago. But he no longer had his hands on his hips or a grin on his face. Instead, he was peering upwards, looking as puzzled as anyone else.

Radha could hear whispers from the enclosures to either side as people began talking, wondering aloud what this meant. Was this some new attack by an unknown force? Was it a natural phenomenon or an unnatural one? Or was it Krishna’s doing?

She already knew it wasn’t her beloved Achyuta’s work. He wouldn’t look so surprised had he done this himself. She covered the last several dozen yards to where he stood and slowed to a jog.

He turned to glance at her. ‘Radhey, you should not be here,’ he said sharply. ‘Go back.’

‘What is it, Krishna? What does this blue light mean?’

He looked around, frowning. In this odd light, he almost vanished when seen against the backdrop of the sky, so perfectly did the hue of his own skin match the peculiar light. It was only by dint of his movement and the flash of his eyes and teeth that she could make out his expressions and actions. ‘Go back, Radha. There may be danger—’

He stopped abruptly and she heard a sharp intake of breath.

‘What is it, my love?’ she asked, not even aware she was referring to him with that term of endearment, so naturally did her heart turn to such motifs and feelings. ‘What do you see?’

‘I sense …’ he said slowly, in a tone she had never heard him use before. ‘Someone … or something … is coming.’

Then, before she could ask another question or say another word, a great tear ripped open the air above them and something came through with a deafening explosion of light and sound.

three

Krishna felt as if a hole had opened in his own chest and something had torn its way out. In a sense, this was true because as God Incarnate, he contained all creation within himself. Not literally within his mortal body but in his divine form. This, however, felt as if his very frail mortal body were bursting open, releasing the object that came tearing now into existence. But when the thing came, it emerged not from his chest, but from a rip in the fabric of existence itself. Like a slit hacked into the empty air, about ten yards above ground and another one score yards from where he stood. The cut appeared white against the deep-blue light that infused the world, and when it widened, the light within was pure whiteness, brilliance so overpowering, mortal eyes could not look directly at it. A sun in its youth, powerful enough to blind mortal eyes that even glanced once at it, could hardly be brighter. Yet the light did not blind anyone; it simply forced all those present and within sight to shut their eyes or turn away. Only Krishna was able to adjust in a moment, and merely by blinking and willing himself, possess the ability to stare directly at the opening.

The slit in the fabric of time and space was perhaps three yards high. It seemed like an ordinary slit in an ordinary cloth curtain, widest at its centre, oval in overall appearance. Just large enough for a man to step through. Not a mortal man, of course, but a fellow immortal.

Soon enough, a man came through. The bright light behind him made it impossible to see where he came from. And so sharply did the bright backlight throw his frontal body and features into relief, it was impossible to see his face clearly. This lent him a sinister aspect. Yet the man himself was not sinister. He was known to Krishna.

How Krishna could know this without actually recognizing the man or being able to see his features was a matter that has to be credited to his divinity. All he could say was he knew this man.

He was one of the saptarishis, the seven great seer-mages ordained at the beginning of creation.

His name was Narada.

He looked at Krishna and took a step or two forward before halting. He was standing on thin air, yet appeared to be as solid-footed as if he were standing on the soil of the akhada.

Krishna.

Krishna looked up, trying to see the face of the being that stood above him. ‘Narada-muni?’

I do not have much time. I must speak swiftly. I beg your indulgence, Lord. Permit me to speak my piece.

Krishna shrugged. ‘Very well. Say what you must.’

Balarama strode closer. Krishna raised a hand to assure him that all was well. But Balarama stood, arms akimbo, leaning forward slightly, head lowered. It was the stance of a predator, ready to attack. Krishna knew that Balarama recognized brahmarishi Narada just as he did, but Balarama was less inclined to trust than he. Perhaps that was not such a bad thing after all. What Krishna lacked, Balarama compensated. Right now, for instance, who knew what this being’s true motive or agenda might be? Krishna listened with an open mind and a closed fist. The mind was his own, the fist Balarama.

It was originally thought that you were to take this rebirth in order to slay the childslayer Kamsa.

‘So I thought as well,’ Krishna admitted.

However, circumstances have arisen that require you to remain in this mortal form longer than intended.

Krishna frowned. ‘How much longer?’

The being, barely more than a silhouette against the bright light streaming from the oval slit, seemed to hesitate.

I cannot say at the present time.

That was an odd answer. Did ‘cannot say’ mean ‘will not’ or ‘do not wish to’ or ‘do not know’? Then again, Narada was a Brahmin and Brahmins were known to give the most evasively diplomatic responses when it suited them.

‘Very well,’ Krishna said. ‘Then I shall stay here.’ He was not disappointed. After all, even a whole lifetime in mortal years was but a blink of a deva’s eye. Besides, he had only now reached a point where he might be able to pursue his feelings for Radha to the next stage.

However, there are conditions, my lord.

Krishna frowned. ‘Conditions? Laid by whom?’

By circumstances.

Ah, that old mainstay of political diplomacy. Circumstances. Of course, what would diplomats and politicians do without circumstances to justify their actions and words?

‘I see. And what are those?’

Balarama raised a hand. ‘Krishna, I do not like this. Something is amiss. Let me—’

The being suspended in mid-air paused and looked back over his shoulder before turning back to face Krishna. There was a moment when his face was turned fully back towards the brilliant white light from the slit in the air. At that instant, Krishna ought to have been able to see his features clearly. Yet he could not. The being’s face was a cypher. That was strange indeed. It meant that the man’s features weren’t hard to see because of the odd light. They were shielded deliberately from view, by the use of Brahman shakti. Why? And how? Who would use Brahman shakti against God incarnate? And why would Narada do so? Unless he was not Narada? Yet, everything Krishna saw, heard and sensed told him this was Narada. In which case, the shielding did not make any sense. Also, it was considered rude, even arrogant of anyone to stand above a deva, looking down on him as it were. Even if Narada-muni had been unable to control where he appeared, it was still highly unusual to be speaking thus to his ultimate lord and master.

Narada’s next words mitigated this offence to some extent.

I do not have much time. If he finds me here … I am not supposed to speak to you thus, Lord. Forgive my haste and lack of proper protocol. I beg your indulgence to permit me to finish quickly before I am discovered.

Krishna frowned again, this time more concerned. ‘Discovered by whom? Who will see you speaking to me, Narada-muni? Whom do you fear? When I am here, you need be afraid of no one. But you already know this well. No deva would dare assault or harm you, least of all in my presence.’

The being that was Narada-muni shook his head vehemently. It is not a deva I fear. It is … He gestured. Time is short. Allow me to finish. I was saying that you must stay longer in this lifetime and while doing so, you must ensure that nobody knows that you are swayam Bhagwan.

‘What?’ Balarama sputtered, taking two steps forward and raising his clenched fist. ‘That’s absurd. It was another matter in the last lifetime. There we were reincarnated as Rama and Lakshmana and their two brothers. Mortals subject to mortal limitations. It was of the essence that nobody know our true identity in order for us to fulfil our mission. For because of the boon granted by Brahma, Ravana could only be slain by a mortal. Therefore, it made sense that not even our avatars in that incarnation could know that we were Vishnu reborn. But in this lifetime, we are Vishnu incarnate. God himself. Swayam Bhagwan, as you yourself just said. Our mission now is to root out the last of the adharma that remained on earth after the death of our Ramachandra and Lakshmana avatars. It is to our advantage to be seen and known as swayam Bhagwan since it would make it easier to light the torchlight of dharma in the darkest corners of the mortal realm. How can we do that if we disguise our true nature?’

Certain circumstances make it vital that you do so. You must continue to live out your lives now as mortals, albeit ones possessed of extraordinary gifts and skills. Only