I did not wish to the King yet. The crown of


    Mathura was not for me. My time would


    come, but I wanted to study the Vedas,


    ancient texts that were said to be the domain


    of the exalted few.


    This is what I told Lord Vasudev, Akrur, and


    the other courtiers. My grandfather Ugrasen,


    Lord Vasudev''s father, was to be the King of


    Mathura once again and my father after him.


    I wished to educate myself and would do so


    under the tutelage of the Rishi Sandeepani.


    I travelled with my brother Balram to


    Avantika. The rishi ran an establishment to


    educate students away from the distraction of


    family and home. I would learn the sciences,


    mathematics, languages, and the religious


    scriptures. I would learn to cook, chop wood,


    gather fruits, be responsible, be disciplined.


    In the idyllic environs of the ashram, I would


    live like all the others, in anonymity, without


    the spectre of fantastical foes.


    To become a great king, the first choice one


    must make is to seek wisdom. Was I to


    become a great king? Was I to become a


    king? At that point in time, as I prepared to


    go to what would later be called Ujjain, I was


    not particularly sure. Yes, of course, I was


    aware of who I was, what I was destined for,


    but that awareness was never something I


    dwelt on. I liked my thoughts to be occupied


    by the mundane trivialities of human


    existence. A friend once asked me the


    purpose of life, and I remember telling him


    that my life''s goal is to finish up all the butter


    before I am caught. When your mind can


    create universes and alter cosmic forces, it is


    wise to focus on the simple, the obvious, the


    temporal.


    I would focus on the daily rigors of student


    life in Rishi Sandeepani''s ashram. Maybe I


    would find myself evolving into a better


    human, the divinity in me finding the roots it


    was eternally in search of.


    I stayed sixty-four days in the ashram. I


    learnt sixty-four different aspects of


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.knowledge, sixty-four different skills. I was


    apparently very good at learning. I made a


    friend, Sudama.


    There was a small pool called the Gomti


    Kund where Sudama, Dau, and I washed our


    writing tablets at the end of the day. We sat


    there on the cool stone steps that were damp


    with the waters, and as the moisture seeped


    in through the thin white cotton garments we


    wore, I felt more at peace than ever before.


    Sometimes we would sip the buttermilk we


    carried with us in earthen pots tied up into a


    cloth sling so that the buttermilk would not


    spill over.


    A young girl used to come to the Gomti


    Kund every other day. I would tease her and


    play with the lamb that accompanied her.


    The girl would always leave humming a


    melody that reminded me of a past I would


    be unable to return to. She never told me her


    name, and Sudama''s favourite game was


    making up possible names for her.


    When a student''s education was deemed


    complete, Rishi Sandeepani had the


    footprints of the student that he considered


    the best of the best, embossed on a stone


    slab. My footprints remained in my Guru''s


    Ashram long after I had left.


    In the sixty-four days that I spent at the


    ashram, I never once felt the heaviness that


    had enveloped me when I killed Kansa. And


    it was because of Sudama. He saw things as


    they should be, as they are. He was poor, was


    no intellectual giant, and was not very strong


    physically, but I loved him. I loved him


    because he behaved in the most irreverent


    way and I liked it. I liked it because he


    treated me like a friend. As I spent my days


    in the ashram pretending to acquire wisdom,


    but in truth getting over the deep-rooted


    anguish of having taken the life of a man


    related to me by blood, blood that I had spilt,


    Sudama helped me forget.


    But I forgot about Sudama once I left the


    ashram. The not-so-great side to my


    philosophy of being in the present, I suppose.


    I forgot about Sudama, who was forced to


    come to me seeking help. He should not have


    had to. I have very few friends. Sudama was


    one of them. I should have stayed in touch. I


    should have looked him up. I should have


    helped before he needed it so badly. Life is


    made of should-haves but didn''t—even mine.


    There are two regrets I carry within me from


    my days as Krishna. I let go of Radha. I


    forgot about Sudama.