Every ending brings with it a new tomorrow.


    It was the end of an era and also the


    beginning of one. I travelled to Mathura with


    Dau and Akrur. I was excited about what


    was to come. I was to meet the infamous


    Kansa. I knew with a confidence that is only


    present in the young and the naive that I


    could hold my own against Kansa. Dau was


    blessed with the power not to think at all,


    ever. He watched the sights on our journey to


    Mathura and spoke only twice, both times to


    ask Akrur if we could stop for a bite. He was


    feeling hungry. Dau was nothing if not


    focused on the priorities in life, namely food.


    Akrur seemed sad, gloomy as if he were the


    unlucky soul burdened with the


    responsibility of taking lambs to the


    slaughter. I should have talked to him,


    assured him of our superior skill. I was not a


    child. I had killed a demoness as a suckling


    babe. I could handle whatever Kansa had in


    store for me. I should have told Akrur all this


    and more. I did not. Time would show him


    soon enough there was never anything to be


    worried about in the first place.


    We reached Mathura sometime around dusk.


    It was the first time I had left home, and for a


    moment, as I stood in the market centre of


    Mathura, I felt a sliver of homesickness for


    buttermilk I had wanted the previous


    morning. Was it unnatural that I did not think


    of ma crying herself to sleep, Baba sleepless,


    pacing the courtyard questioning his


    acceptance of my choice? The choice was


    never his. It is always mine. I thought of the


    buttermilk, I thought of tomorrow, I took in


    the buildings, the shops, the houses, the walls


    of Kansa''s palace to the left of where I stood.


    Somewhere inside, Devaki and Vasudeva


    were held, prisoners. I had been born of


    them; I had a duty towards them. But that


    would come tomorrow, tonight I would roam


    the streets of Mathura, my last night the son


    of Nanda, tomorrow I would play the part of


    Devaki''s ninth.


    The world is only too familiar with what


    happened next. Dau and I went to see the


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.famous bow of Shiva that was on display.


    There were stories about how no man could


    lift the bow. I asked to try. The people


    standing by smiled at the young boy''s


    confidence, who felt he could hold Shiva''s


    bow. I picked up the bow, and I tried to


    string it. The bow broke. The soldiers


    standing guard took me to King Kansa in


    chains. Dau was with me. He was the one


    who egged me on to try my luck with the


    bow in the first place and then enraged the


    soldiers by laughing at them when they had


    stood there perplexed by what they had


    witnessed.


    I was placed in the centre of an arena where


    the famous elephant fights took place. I


    defeated Kansa''s elephant. I was simply


    more intelligent than the animal, just like I


    had been brighter than the cobra. The arena,


    which had been resounding with the noise of


    bloodthirsty, mighty warriors who apparently


    wished to be entertained by the sight of an


    elephant trampling a young boy, was all of a


    sudden struck mute. I am not sure whether


    they were more terrified of me or the anger


    of their King as he witnessed the defeat of


    his mighty elephant. It was no doubt a


    beautiful beast, and I felt a slight turn of


    remorse a second after I had slain it, but I


    was a warrior myself. There is no point in


    harping over what is done, especially if


    needs must.


    King Kansa ordered his right-hand man to


    attack me. Dau jumped in to defend me. He


    had been itching for a fight himself. Dau


    hated being left out if there was a fight going


    on. Seizing the opportune moment, I charged


    at King Kansa, my uncle, my foe, the usurper


    of my grandfather''s throne.


    King Kansa was a strong man, well built, a


    warrior, and I was a mere boy. But that


    meant I was younger. I was faster, did not


    tire, and had no battle wounds to bring me


    down. I defeated Kansa soundly and did


    what I was born to do, rid the earth of the


    scourge of my uncle King Kansa.


    Dau let out a triumphant battle cry, a


    whooping yell of victory. The arena was full


    of giants who did not utter a word. They did


    not move a muscle. They stood at the


    ramparts looking in. Some sat on their


    throne-like stone seats, turned to stone


    themselves.


    I could feel the blood of the elephant and


    Kansa on me. I could not feel. I had done


    what was needed. But I felt no joy, no


    exhilaration of a win. I stood there breathing


    in the iron, the metallic odour of spilt blood.