SEVEN
Disguised as snataka brahmanas, who know the Vedas—young men who have completed their gurukulam, but are not grihasthas, householders, yet—Krishna, Bheema and Arjuna set out from Indraprastha. They crossed the deep Sarayu and the swift Gandaki and the solemn Kalakuta mountains, on their way east to Mithila. They arrived at the borders of Mithila and saw the Ganga, laden with men's sins, flowing out to her lord, the ocean.
They forded her in a tribal's reed-boat and now they went south until they came to the banks of the Sona whose waters are golden. Crossing that river and pressing on, they arrived in fertile, bountiful Magadha. They struck out into the heart of that land, where a ring of five hills called the Goratha, chariot of cows, encircled a great city: Girivraja, the invincible Jarasandha's capital.
They stood on one of the peaks that ringed the city and saw why Girivraja was impregnable. It was impossible to bring horse or chariot to attack it. Only a winged steed could cross the guardian hills that fell sheerly into the valley in which Girivraja lay.
Krishna said grimly, "It is the enemy's fortress. We must be full of aggression now!"
He tore some rocks off the Chaityaka hill, on which they stood and hurled them down into the valley below. Bheema and Arjuna joined him; until their kshatriya blood raged and their roars echoed among the hills. Their spirits roused, they came down ferally into the valley and to the city-gates. Like three dangerous beasts of prey, Krishna, Arjuna and Bheema came to Girivraja.
Just outside the city stood a stone temple, an ancient shrine to Siva. The three kshatriyas entered its sanctum and worshipped the God of Gods. When they felt his blessing clearly, they came out and approached Girivraja.
They did not enter at the gates, but scaled the outer walls; and soon three unusual snataka brahmanas were swaggering through the streets of Jarasandha's capital, looking for trouble. They snatched some garlands off a flower-vendor's stall and when he began to remonstrate with them, they silenced him with a low growling in their throats. They did not pay for the garlands, or say a word.
With the garlands draped around their sandal- and ash-coated bodies, they walked colorfully through the streets. People stared at the strangers, who were dressed like snatakas but had the physiques and the haughty demeanor of kshatriyas spoiling for a fight. Like a pride of lions, the three sauntered through Girivraja, daring anyone to accost them.
Meanwhile, evil omens appeared over the city. The brahmanas who read these signs saw birds of the air flying queerly, in wheeling, panicstricken swarms. Sacrificial fires spluttered and died and purulent smoke issued from the embers. The priests grew alarmed and, turning to their almanacs, found the planets were in precarious aspects.
The brahmanas came anxiously to the king and said, "Sinister omens have gathered over Girivraja's destiny. You must perform a mrityunjaya homa at once; your life is in danger."
Jarasandha said, "Make arrangements in the palace temple. I will come there straightaway."
Even as the king of Magadha sat at the ritual, meant to turn death away, three warriors come to kill him arrived at his opulent palace. They did not enter at the gates. He was their enemy and a kshatriya must never enter an enemy's house openly, but by stealth. Again they scaled the walls and stalked into Jarasandha's chamber of audience, in disguise, garlanded and smeared with ashes and sandal-paste.
Word came to the king that three snataka brahmanas sought audience with him. His guard told Jarasandha of the trio's unusual entry into his palace. The king sent them madhurparka, milk and honey and asked them to wait for him.
It was midnight, when the homa was completed and Jarasandha came to meet the visitors, who had aroused his curiosity. He bowed to the strangers. His shrewd eyes appraised them. He saw their brahmanas' attire: sandal-paste and saffron garments, tall tilakas on their foreheads. He also saw the marks on their muscled arms made by bowstrings. He saw how splendidly they were built and knew these were no brahmanas but kshatriya warriors.
But he said warmly, "Welcome to Girivraja! It is strange that snatakas come to my palace wearing sandal-paste and garlands. It is stranger they choose to enter by scaling my walls. This isn't the way that friends arrive.
And, friends, you refused the madhurparka I sent you. Yet, you are welcome. I see warriors' physiques under your ash and sandalwood-paste, battle-scars on your skin and the marks of bowstrings on your shoulders. I wonder if you are brahmanas or kshatriyas. But whoever you are, you are welcome in Girivraja!"
Krishna smiled. "It is indeed the friend who enters at the gate and the enemy that comes over the wall. The kshatriya is not known for sweet words, but his deeds. We have come to challenge you."
Jarasandha peered at them in the lamplight. "But who are you? Why do you want to challenge me, when I do not recall ever having harmed you? You say you are my enemies. How can you be my enemies when I have not set eyes on you before? I have many enemies, certainly, but none that I have never seen. Tell me who you are."
Krishna replied, "You have made prisoners of ninety-eight kings and you mean to slaughter them in Siva's name. We are your enemies because you want to sacrifice these kshatriyas like animals."
"I have defeated every king in my prisons in battle. Their lives are mine, in dharma."
He still peered curiously at them in the deep night. The certainty grew on him that he had seen the strangers' spokesman before. He knew that ash- and sandal-coated face and those black eyes full of transcendent mockery. He cried, "But tell me who you are and where you have come from."
Krishna said softly, "I am Krishna of Dwaraka. These are my cousins Bheema and Arjuna. We have come to tell you to let the captive kings go free, or face any of us in single combat. Of course, if you are not afraid to, after the Yadavas routed you eighteen times outside Mathura."
Jarasandha's eyes blazed. Then he began to laugh, a silent shaking of his great body which turned to echoing peals. "There is more than one version of those eighteen battles. People say for fear of me you hide out at sea, behind Raivataka. Yet, you come here to challenge me in Girivraja. The thought is amusing, cowherd."
His eyes glinted. "Krishna, you dare come here and tell me what I should do with my prisoners. Have you forgotten who I am? Cowherd, I am Jarasandha. I fear no one in the world and no one has ever vanquished me.
You have come to your deaths. Tell me, how shall we fight? Army against army, or hand to hand? How many of you will fight me at once? All of you? Two at least? Or were you thinking of sending home for some more brothers and cousins, if I agreed to fight you?"
Still smiling equably, Krishna said, "Choose one of us, Kshatriya. Which one will you fight?"
Jarasandha sneered at them. "You will be poor antagonists, all of you. You, Krishna, are a known coward; I will not fight you. This Arjuna, who sits beside you like a fawning puppy, is just a boy. I am not in the habit of doing battle with children. As for this big fellow here, well, at least he looks like a man. He seems well built enough, so the fight may not be entirely one-sided.
Bheema, I will fight you and if I win let both your kingdoms become mine! If I lose, my kingdom will be yours."
Arjuna and Bheema glanced at Krishna, who nodded. Bheema said nothing; he rose and bowed, accepting the Magadhan's challenge. Now he had seen the enemy, felt his awesome presence and power, Bheema was more circumspect. But Jarasandha, who had never known fear in his life, felt a shiver of terror in his blood.
He said quickly, "Rest well tonight, enemies and tomorrow we shall fight. After I have killed Bheema, both Indraprastha and Dwaraka will be mine and you shall be my subjects. Tonight is your last night of freedom. Is there anything I can send you to make your night warm?"
Krishna replied, "Just a bed will do."
Jarasandha insisted, "You are my guests. I could not have hoped for greater fortune than your coming here like this, especially you, cowherd. You shall have wine and the best food in all Bharatavarsha, the finest women, too. Enjoy them, Bheema, this is your last night in the world. We begin at noon tomorrow."
He rose abruptly and left them. Warm, indeed, was Jarasandha's hospitality and, while the two Pandavas and Krishna were awash on it, later that night, Jarasandha himself attended an unusual ceremony: he had his son Sahadeva crowned king of Magadha. He could not stop thinking of the omens seen in his city and icy foreboding laid its fingers on his heart.
But when he came to fetch his guests the next day at noon, no trace of fear remained on the Magadhan. He was just a superb kshatriya now, his mighty body oiled and glistening for the day's combat, his confidence supreme. After all, despite the omens, who could possibly know how he, whom Jara had joined, could be killed? He was convinced no one knew that secret and so no one could kill him.