Geetha Krishnan's Blog, page 24

Rumination

A/N:  A short story on Bhanumathy’s feelings after the dice game.

“Why are you sitting here in the dark, my dear?” He had asked before lighting the lamps one by one. Those were his first words to me. And ever since that day, all he ever did was to fill my life with light, to dispel all darkness from my heart.

Today I remember that time. And I wonder how that man could have been so diminished. Is this what it is to be intoxicated? But he had not touched wine all evening, they tell me.

But a man does not need wine. He can be intoxicated with hatred too, with avarice and envy too, with anger and with lust and with success too. And who can decide what my husband was intoxicated with today?

His cousin was intoxicated with avarice and also with dharma. The rest of the Pandavas were intoxicated with their own Dharmas. I do not know what Dharma it is that dictates that they have to accept whatever is said by an intoxicated man. I hope their Dharmas will keep them warm during the cold winter nights in the forest.

Even grandsire and uncle were silent today. They were silent when a woman who was entitled to their protection was being grossly insulted in front of their eyes. They say uncle was not silent. He kept telling my husband to stop, they say.

Why did he tell only my husband to stop? Why did everyone try to stop only my husband? Why didn’t they try to stop the other one, the embodiment of Dharma, the one who obeys his elders? Why didn’t they stop him from staking his brothers and his wife? Maybe they knew the limits of his obedience and his Dharma. And a man in the throes of intoxication is not in the habit of listening to anyone.

The one I feel for is her. She was made to suffer by all. And she was left to suffer by all. But suffering does not diminish if others ignore it. It only makes it worse.

But I still do not understand why my husband did what he did. He is the light of my life, and that of his parents. How can he act in such a way? How can he spread darkness?

And Vasusena. They tell me he was silent today. Why? What was it that bound his tongue? Did he feel his words might be adding oil to the flames? Did he bite his tongue so that he might not speak what he might regret later?

She stood there, they say. She stood their trembling, her hair loosened and clad in a single piece of cloth. The servants had to scrub the floors afterwards to remove the blood. The bloodstains are still there in the chamber from where she was dragged. That room is never to be used again. Another room has been prepared for use of the women when in their season.

It is said a woman in her seasons is the goddess incarnate. She is hidden away so that her energy might not absorb the energy of all those who come in front of her. If she visits a temple, it is said, the energy will leave the idol to reside in her, for she is purest at such times. And hence she is not allowed entry in sacred places. Brahmanas leave her presence for fear of losing their divine energy to her.

I had always wondered if there was any truth in that. Today I am certain there is not. For she was taken there, in her blood, and no one lost anything. The Brahmanas firmly stayed in place. Maybe they too knew that they had nothing to fear. And the supposed loss of divinity was better than the actual loss of royal favour.

I wish he would come to me. But somehow I feel that, tonight of all nights, he might find it difficult to face me. He might have come to his senses and felt that I might question his act.

He is right. I shall question his act. It is my duty as his wife to do so. Had he stopped with simply making her a slave, I might never have questioned him. For, if his cousins were foolish enough to make themselves as slaves, what right has anyone to question that?

But he was not happy with that. He had to humiliate her. And such acts are never without repercussions. My questioning him might be the least of his worries. Or maybe not. He is a warrior. Enemies he knows how to face. But a wife’s questions are never that easy. Nor so simple.

But I shall question him not for the reasons he fears. I do not care that he took their kingdom from them or forced them to slavery. King Yudhistira had every right to refuse. He had every opportunity to stop when he found he was losing. Had he stopped playing, none of this would have happened. He has only himself to blame.

But I shall still question my husband because another’s blame does not absolve him. King Yudhistira might have given him the opportunity, but my husband was the one who did the deed. And however justified he might be in hating his cousins, he is not justified in trying to humiliate their wife.

Of course, there were a lot of others who could have stopped him. But none of that changes his responsibility. What prompted him? What was it that intoxicated him to such an extent that he forgot himself?

I sigh. They tell me he has gone out. He has taken his horse and ridden out. He and Vasusena. And no one knows when they will be back.

I know that sleep shall evade me tonight. For my mind shall be riding with him into the night. And I hope he shall come back to light lamps to dispel the darkness of the night again.

The Song of the Bharatas

Part One: The Last of the Kurus

Time. Where had all the time gone? Wondered the grandsire of the Kuru dynasty. How did it come to this? This carnage of the entire Kshatriya clan because of an internal feud in his family? Where had he failed? How did he fail so badly?

Questions, thought he. Questions which held no answers. It was too late anyway. Answers held no meaning anymore. Is this to be my legacy? He asked himself. To die like this, reflecting on the futility of my own life?

A sigh escaped his lips. Sometimes he longed for the pain to return. At least, the pain obliterated all questions. Questions which held no answers and answers which came too late.

But the Lord had removed his pain. The excruciating agony he had experienced for a brief while was taken from him. The bed of arrows no longer hurt though his body protested the discomfort.

Krishna had blessed him by removing his pain, he knew. And yet, he wished he hadn’t received that blessing. All my blessings have turned into curses for me, he thought.

His father had blessed him with the power to choose the hour of his death. Swachchanda Mrityu. And that gift had only helped in prolonging his agony. Bound to the throne of Hastinapura by invisible fetters stronger than the strongest chain, he could not leave his life since the need of his Kingdom was dire. And yet, in the end, he had failed. Failed to save Hastinapura from internal feud; from the fight for its throne.

And now Krishna’s blessing had taken from him the one thing that could have helped him to forget. To forget the mistakes, the failures, the utter futility of his life in retrospect.

When first the arrows pierced him, the pain had been momentary. And then it became debilitating; an exquisite agony that took his self away. He was no longer Devavrata, the pampered son of Ganga; he was no longer Bheeshma, the strength of Hastinapura and the Kurus. The only reality was the arrows that pierced every part of his body. The only experience was the torment of pain.

How he longed for that sweet oblivion again! The pain that had erased his identity! How he longed again to float in that nothingness where there was no Devavrata and no Bheeshma; only a being who floated in a sea of blood and gore and who felt nothing but a pain that was endless!

A tear trickled down his cheek, startling him. Have I become so weak? He pondered. How could I have resorted to self-pity and ingratitude? The Lord in his mercy had chosen to relieve me of my affliction and I am complaining?

“But, O Govinda,” he whispered. “This regret that is coursing through me is worse than any torture!”

He closed his eyes as another tear found its way down his face. And he remembered….

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The great war of Kurukshetra is over and death is the only victor. In the aftermath of the war, a few of the survivors look back into their lives, into what might have been….

This is the tale of The Unvanquished….

Pitamaha Bheeshma, the Last true heir of the Kuru Dynasty, who renounced the throne, but not the responsibilities……..

Dhritarashtra and Gandhari, one blind by birth and the other blind by action, but both chose not to see what they did not want to till it was too late….

Atiradha and his wife, Radha, mute spectators to the tragedy of their son’s life………..

Padmavathy, wife of Karna who remained nameless in the epic, and whose role was often neglected…..

Queen Mother Kunti, whose shrewdness and strength helped her sons survive and stay united, but who hid a dark secret……..

Prime Minister Vidura, the incarnation of Dharma who yet failed to hold his family together……..

The princess born from the fire, Draupadi, whose thirst for vengeance was blamed for the carnage, but who lost everything she held dear……..

The Yadu princess, Subhadra who was forced to sacrifice her only child……..

The brahmana turned warrior, Aswathama whose deeds earned him a curse for all eternity………

Bhanumathy, whose name and role were relegated to the background in the epic………

Through their eyes, the story unfolds; the saga of greed, of envy, of love, of hatred, of sacrifice. They are The Unvanquished.

My new book in Bloody Good Book

An Unexpected Twist…. Chapter Eighteen

The sun’s rays wrapped him in a golden cocoon of warmth and light. Warmth and light, thought Vasusena, as he opened his eyes and made one final bow with folded palms. Warmth and light was what his father gave in abundance to all.

He turned with a smile and the smile froze on his lips as he saw the five men who stood there, waiting for him to finish his worship. They looked uncomfortable, shifting their stances and their gazes. Yudhistira was the only one who looked him straight in the eye.

“How long have you been here?” He asked, to cover the awkwardness of the moment, more than anything else.

“Not long,” said Yudhistira. “We… we needed to see you.”

“To thank me for saving your mother?” He asked. He had expected a message actually, not that they would come personally to thank him. That they did so raised his esteem for them a notch.

“Our mother,” said Yudhistira significantly.

It took him a moment to process what he heard, but he managed to keep his emotions under control.

“Who told you?”

He was just curious. It meant nothing anyway.

“Mother,” it was Bheema who spoke. “With a bit of a push from Pitamaha and Krishna.”

“Why are you here?” Vasusena asked.

“We…” Yudhistira stammered. “Krishna told us what you said when he asked you to join us. So… we.. we thought if you could,” he cleared his throat. “If you could just be our guest in Indraprastha for a few days….” His voice trailed off as Vasusena’s face remained impassive.

“With your family, of course,” said Nakula, sounding desperate. “And your parents.”

Vasusena felt touched. He did not know why.

“It’s a bit too soon for me,” he said.

“It’s a standing invitation,” said Arjuna.

“Is my best friend included?” Vasusena asked with a sly glance at Bheema.

“Well… I… I’ll try not to kill him if he does not step out of line,” said Bheema scowling.

Vasusena smiled. “That will do for now.”

He felt a warmth inside him. It seemed it was not just his father who gave warmth. Sometimes, all it took was a family that cared.

An Unexpected Twist…. Chapter Seventeen

Suyodhana woke up suddenly. He did not know what it was that woke him. He felt disoriented. He shook his head.

He tried to sit up. Silk! His hands touched the silken sheets on which he was lying. He looked around. He was in his room. The contours were so familiar to him.

He rose from the bed. He pinched himself. It hurt. He was not dreaming. He was in his room. But were the past few days a nightmare then? Or were they real?

He looked around him. The room was the same and yet there were differences. The chairs were new. So was the table. His weapons were not there in the room. But most importantly, his wife was not there in his bed.

He wondered where she was tonight. Was she in his mother’s apartments? His insides twisted with guilt as he thought that he had not spared her a thought for the past few days. That he was not in a position to worry about her was of no moment. He had not thought of her.

He stilled as a sound came to him. Someone was at the door, someone was pushing it open.

A few strides and he was behind the door. The person opening would not be able to see him.

The door opened partly and Bhanumati stepped into the room. “Swami?” She whispered with so much hope as her eyes scanned the room. Then her shoulders slumped. Suyodhana could imagine that she must have come here every night since his disappearance, hoping against hope that he might be here.

She turned to go when he stepped from behind the door.

“Bhanumati,” he whispered.

She stared at him as if seeing a ghost. Her face was pale and then red and then pale again as she came to him. She raised a trembling hand to touch him. He captured her hand and pulled her into his arms as she sobbed silently.

His hand stroked her hair as he kissed her on top of her head. She clung to him, as if she would never let go of him again.

Outside, the moon shone benevolently on to the palace of his descendants.

An Unexpected Twist… Chapter Sixteen

Vasusena sat on the verandah of the little inn. The physician had told him that both the soldier and Kunti would be all right in a couple of days. Kunti, though unhurt, had been severely dehydrated.

Vasusena had sent a message to Bheeshma regarding the ambush and another message to Dhritarashtra also regarding the news from the Pandavas. He had sent the messages through one of the villagers who was going to Hastinapura. He had stayed on in the village in the meantime, though he went nowhere near the physician’s house after the day he dropped Kunti there and the physician told him she would be all right.

He hoped Bheeshma would send a message soon. He did not want to be tarrying here. The inn where he stayed was not uncomfortable, but he was homesick. He had to get back to Anga. That was the only priority now.

He looked up as he heard the commotion. A chariot drew up in front of the inn and Bheeshma got down from it.

He rose and went to greet the patriarch. They exchanged some small talk and then Bheeshma told him he need not stay on any longer if he did not wish to.

“I shall personally convey my daughter-in-law to her sons,” he told Vasusena. “And you have my eternal gratitude for saving her life.”

“There wasn’t much else I could do,” Vasusena mumbled. It made him feel awkward to be thanked.

Bheeshma smiled. “Learning to accept gratitude with grace is also part of being a warrior.” His voice held no mockery, but a gentle affection.

Vasusena was surprised, but he only nodded. “My training seems to be incomplete, then,”

Bheeshma smiled again. “You will learn,” he said.

“I would like to return to Anga,” Vasusena spoke.

Bheeshma nodded. “You may go.”

For a moment, Vasusena contemplated requesting Bheeshma not to tell Kunti’s sons about the ambush. But then he decided against it. What reason could he give Bheeshma? And even if he somehow managed to convince the grandsire, Kunti might tell her sons. How many people could he swear to secrecy?

Bheeshma placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have done so much for us,” he said. “Go back to your kingdom and be with your family. I shall send word when Suyodhana returns.”

Vasusena nodded. A lump rose to his throat and tears to his eyes. He swallowed and blinked, but his vision was still hazy as he watched Bheeshma climb into his chariot.

An Unexpected Twist…. Chapter Fifteen

Suyodhana came to slowly. For a moment he could not know where he was. He could see the night-sky above him, the moon shone brightly and the stars winked at him. He wondered if he was back in his room at Hastinapura, but the moon was wrong. This was a half moon, not the full moon of his ceiling.

Memory returned to him. He remembered passing out, his head broken, ribs broken and lung punctured. But now there was no pain.

I am dead, thought he. But if he was dead, why would he need to breathe? For, he was breathing, though breathing did not hurt either.

He turned his head and saw Krishna, watching him with a rather stern expression on his face.

“I am dead and in hell,” he spoke aloud.

Krishna’s face relaxed and he grinned. “Not yet, I am afraid. But that can be arranged if you want.”

Suyodhana sat up. “No, I think I’ll postpone my trip to hell for now.”

He felt hungry again. Krishna handed a leaf which contained fruits and a few slices of meat.

“I am sure if I ever go to hell, they will have you there to torment me,” he said as he started eating.

Krishna chuckled. “Why this obsession with hell all of a sudden?”

“I would not mind heaven. But then I remember that my goody goody cousins are unlikely to go anywhere else. So I think I would prefer to go to hell.”

“Even heaven not big enough to contain you and them?”

“From experience on earth, I would say no.”

“It could be different once you die,” murmured Krishna.

“Please!” Suyodhana was aghast. “If you mean, I am going to be happily living in harmony with my cousins once I am dead, well, it has to be hell. How can that be heaven?”

Krishna threw back his head and laughed.

An Unexpected Twist…. Chapter Fourteen

Vasusena had got the soldier to the nearest village and left him with the physician before going back. He knew he was losing time, but he could not leave the man there to die. Neither of his wounds were fatal. Loss of blood and dehydration were the cause for his weakened condition. Under the circumstances, leaving him there would have been akin to cold blooded murder.

Fortunately, the village was quite near and the physician easy to find. He had not lost even an hour. He knew going into those woods by himself might not be the smartest move, but he had no choice. He only hoped he would not be too late.

He discounted the soldier’s babbling of monsters. The woods here were near enough to civilization and no other races dwelt in it. The royalty of Hastinapura often hunted in there and they had never come across even predators there.

Vasusena had been in these woods a few times with Suyodhana and his brothers. As such, he had some familiarity with it. Which was not saying much since woods never stayed as they were. New trees grew and old ones fell. Old paths disappeared and new ones were made. The woods changed constantly. And as such, it was not possible for anyone to be completely familiar with these.

He found the tracks almost immediately. It seemed like a fairly large party. They had left the evidences of their passing everywhere. From the trees that their weapons grazed, to the bushes they had hacked away, their trail could have been followed by a ten year old.

They had not expected pursuit, realized Vasusena. And therefore, they were so blatantly careless. It made sense too. All the soldiers were either dead or dying. There were no witnesses to the ambush. The villagers almost never went to the place where the ambush had taken place. In fact, if not for the recent spate of messengers between Hastinapura and the Pandavas, that path was rarely travelled by any. The chance of any messenger reaching the place within hours of the ambush was, at best, a remote possibility.

Vasusena could hear noises up ahead. Voices raised in argument. Or was it revelry?

He crept closer. The light was bad here. But he could see a clearing. It had been made by his quarry. They had cleared bushes and trees there. It might be a month old. Not more. And in that clearing stood a ragtag bunch of men.

Kunti was tied to a stump. She was unconscious, dusty and dishevelled. Vasusena knew instantly who these men were. They were the robbers that first Bheeshma, then Pandu, then Arjuna and finally Suyodhana had subdued and exiled from the Kingdom. But they always snuck in. Once there had been more than a thousand of them. They had terrorized many of the outlying areas.

Bheeshma was responsible for the decimation in their numbers. He had forced them to flee. But some had snuck back during the time Suyodhana’s father and his uncles were boys. They had started recruiting new members and were growing strong once more when Pandu had turned his attention to them. They had again fled, but trickled back after Pandu’s abdication. It was Arjuna who had put them down the next time, in the days when Yudhistira was the crown prince. They had again sneaked back after the division of the empire and Suyodhana had personally led a campaign against them.

But it seemed that they had again sneaked back in. He crept closer. There were exactly fifty men in the clearing. He wondered if they had posted any lookouts in the trees. He hoped not. The fact that he had reached this close, unmolested, also seemed to indicate that there were no lookouts. But the trees gave him an idea.

Vasusena had been a good climber of trees in his childhood. He prayed that the skills had not deserted him as he started climbing the tree that stood closest to the hearing. The loud voices of the men drowned out all other noises.

He reached a convenient low branch in no time. From it, he could pick each one out like flies.

“-kill her!” One of them was saying. Vasusena’s hand stilled. “We should never have brought her here!”

“Bah!” Said another one. “You are too scared! She is a rich one. Anyone can see that! Her family would pay handsomely to get her back!”

“But how do we find her family?” Asked a third one.

“We ask her when she regains consciousness,” said the one who had talked earlier.

“I think it might be better to slit her throat and to take her jewels. Or take her jewels now and dump her back in the road if you are squeamish about killing a woman!”

His tone implied that, he at least, had no qualms.

Vasusena took aim. His bowstring sang as the arrow sank into the man’s chest.

The others were instantly alert, jumping behind the makeshift shelters they had made with the trees they had felled. But Vasusena, from his vantage position had no difficulty in shooting them down.

He made it seem as if his arrows were coming from all around. He had not used that technique in ages and it felt good. Some of the men sent arrows to the trees and some threw spears. One spear buried itself on the trunk of the tree on which he was sitting, but it came nowhere near him.

Vasusena felt no pity or compunction as he killed them. They had ambushed those soldiers without mercy. And he had heard Suyodhana tell about some of the atrocities perpetrated by these men. They had to be exterminated. There was no other way.

Fifty times, his bow string sang and fifty times, his arrows found their mark. Soon, the clearing was devoid of movement. Kunti was still tied to the stump and still unconscious. He had been careful not to harm her. And the men were too panicked to think of her.

He whistled softly as he climbed down. His horse nickered in response as it trotted to him. He patted it and led it to the clearing. He went to the queen and untied her. He hoisted her on to the horse and mounted it.

He would take her to the village and leave her with the physicians thought he. He did not want to tarry.

An Unexpected Twist…. Chapter Thirteen

Vasusena had got the soldier to the nearest village and left him with the physician before going back. He knew he was losing time, but he could not leave the man there to die. Neither of his wounds were fatal. Loss of blood and dehydration were the cause for his weakened condition. Under the circumstances, leaving him there would have been akin to cold blooded murder.

Fortunately, the village was quite near and the physician easy to find. He had not lost even an hour. He knew going into those woods by himself might not be the smartest move, but he had no choice. He only hoped he would not be too late.

He discounted the soldier’s babbling of monsters. The woods here were near enough to civilization and no other races dwelt in it. The royalty of Hastinapura often hunted in there and they had never come across even predators there.

Vasusena had been in these woods a few times with Suyodhana and his brothers. As such, he had some familiarity with it. Which was not saying much since woods never stayed as they were. New trees grew and old ones fell. Old paths disappeared and new ones were made. The woods changed constantly. And as such, it was not possible for anyone to be completely familiar with these.

He found the tracks almost immediately. It seemed like a fairly large party. They had left the evidences of their passing everywhere. From the trees that their weapons grazed, to the bushes they had hacked away, their trail could have been followed by a ten year old.

They had not expected pursuit, realized Vasusena. And therefore, they were so blatantly careless. It made sense too. All the soldiers were either dead or dying. There were no witnesses to the ambush. The villagers almost never went to the place where the ambush had taken place. In fact, if not for the recent spate of messengers between Hastinapura and the Pandavas, that path was rarely travelled by any. The chance of any messenger reaching the place within hours of the ambush was, at best, a remote possibility.

Vasusena could hear noises up ahead. Voices raised in argument. Or was it revelry?

He crept closer. The light was bad here. But he could see a clearing. It had been made by his quarry. They had cleared bushes and trees there. It might be a month old. Not more. And in that clearing stood a ragtag bunch of men.

Kunti was tied to a stump. She was unconscious, dusty and dishevelled. Vasusena knew instantly who these men were. They were the robbers that first Bheeshma, then Pandu, then Arjuna and finally Suyodhana had subdued and exiled from the Kingdom. But they always snuck in. Once there had been more than a thousand of them. They had terrorized many of the outlying areas.

Bheeshma was responsible for the decimation in their numbers. He had forced them to flee. But some had snuck back during the time Suyodhana’s father and his uncles were boys. They had started recruiting new members and were growing strong once more when Pandu had turned his attention to them. They had again fled, but trickled back after Pandu’s abdication. It was Arjuna who had put them down the next time, in the days when Yudhistira was the crown prince. They had again sneaked back after the division of the empire and Suyodhana had personally led a campaign against them.

But it seemed that they had again sneaked back in. He crept closer. There were exactly fifty men in the clearing. He wondered if they had posted any lookouts in the trees. He hoped not. The fact that he had reached this close, unmolested, also seemed to indicate that there were no lookouts. But the trees gave him an idea.

Vasusena had been a good climber of trees in his childhood. He prayed that the skills had not deserted him as he started climbing the tree that stood closest to the hearing. The loud voices of the men drowned out all other noises.

He reached a convenient low branch in no time. From it, he could pick each one out like flies.

“-kill her!” One of them was saying. Vasusena’s hand stilled. “We should never have brought her here!”

“Bah!” Said another one. “You are too scared! She is a rich one. Anyone can see that! Her family would pay handsomely to get her back!”

“But how do we find her family?” Asked a third one.

“We ask her when she regains consciousness,” said the one who had talked earlier.

“I think it might be better to slit her throat and to take her jewels. Or take her jewels now and dump her back in the road if you are squeamish about killing a woman!”

His tone implied that, he at least, had no qualms.

Vasusena took aim. His bowstring sang as the arrow sank into the man’s chest.

The others were instantly alert, jumping behind the makeshift shelters they had made with the trees they had felled. But Vasusena, from his vantage position had no difficulty in shooting them down.

He made it seem as if his arrows were coming from all around. He had not used that technique in ages and it felt good. Some of the men sent arrows to the trees and some threw spears. One spear buried itself on the trunk of the tree on which he was sitting, but it came nowhere near him.

Vasusena felt no pity or compunction as he killed them. They had ambushed those soldiers without mercy. And he had heard Suyodhana tell about some of the atrocities perpetrated by these men. They had to be exterminated. There was no other way.

Fifty times, his bow string sang and fifty times, his arrows found their mark. Soon, the clearing was devoid of movement. Kunti was still tied to the stump and still unconscious. He had been careful not to harm her. And the men were too panicked to think of her.

He whistled softly as he climbed down. His horse nickered in response as it trotted to him. He patted it and led it to the clearing. He went to the queen and untied her. He hoisted her on to the horse and mounted it.

He would take her to the village and leave her with the physicians thought he. He did not want to tarry.

An Unexpected Twist…. Chapter Thirteen

Suyodhana was having a weird dream. He was seeing a battlefield. Lakshmana was there with him. They were fighting. Then Lakshmana dropped his weapons. “I’m really tired, father.” He said.

“But this is a battle, son!”

“So? Dying in battle is glorious, isn’t it? I don’t want to fight now. I want to die and get glory.”

The arrow came out of nowhere and Suyodhana jumped in front of it. It pierced his heart and he fell on to his son’s lap. Only, it was his father sitting there. He felt his face. “Suyodhana! My son!”

“Why do you weep?” An unfamiliar voice asked. “Death in battle is glorious!”

“But who shall do our last rites?” His mother’s voice floated in the air.

Suyodhana woke up with a start. His heart was hammering. He was also sweating profusely. He looked around the clearing. He judged it to be early morning. The faint rosy light of dawn was filtering down.

He looked around and saw he was alone. He rose, cautiously. He wondered if he might be able to escape. He walked to the edge of the clearing where the horses were tethered. Only his horse was there. He untied it, looped the reins and climbed on to its back. The horse took a few steps and stopped, refusing to go any further. He dismounted and walked forward, only to be stopped short by an invisible barrier.

He sighed. He had expected something of the sort. It was not in Krishna’s nature to be careless. He wondered if the barrier could be breached in anyway. He clenched his fist and punched it with all his strength.

A jolt went through him. He was thrown back, his arm numb. He hit his head and his side as he fell. He half rose, feeling his head with his other arm. It came away stained with blood.

His chest hurt. He looked down and saw the blood. Drawing breath was also hurting. It dawned on him that he had broken his ribs and punctured his lung. It felt like he was breathing in fire.

He coughed twice and lost consciousness.