We built Dwarka, Dau, and I. Once we


    returned to Mathura from Avantika, the next


    undertaking was to have a haven for the


    Yadav clan since I, who should have been as


    great a warrior as I was a musician, found


    myself not interested in defeating enemies. I


    came back from the ashram steeped in an


    unwillingness for war. I was the prince of the


    Yadu clan, the grandson of the King, slayer


    of my uncle Kans. The people of my land


    looked at me with a mix of love, respect, and


    adulation. They wanted to worship me. They


    wanted to shower me with all forms of love.


    I cared for none, but I played along,


    sometimes overcome, sometimes just for fun.


    Uncle Kansa''s father-in-law was King


    Jarasandha of the mighty Magadh empire, a


    kingdom to the east of Mathura. Seventeen


    times, Jarasandha attacked Mathura.


    Seventeen times we protected our land and


    people. Jarasandha craved revenge. I


    suspected revenge had little to do with it.


    Cows were central to economic prosperity,


    and the Yadav''s had almost monopolized this


    vital resource. Wars are usually waged for


    monetary benefit, although intelligent men


    and even the gods often choose to disguise


    their intentions under false righteousness.


    I did not want to indulge in the idle warfare


    Jarasandha sought, so I chose to go where he


    would find it difficult to follow.


    I reclaimed ninety-six square kilometres of


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.land from the sea and built the city of


    Dwarka. A fortressed city surrounded on all


    four sides by the oceans, where the very tides


    would be our guards.


    We built Dwarka to be the most splendid feat


    of engineering and architecture. It boasted an


    opulence that was beyond anything anyone


    could imagine—a city of palaces, towers,


    parks, and gardens. My own palaces were


    located at Bet Dwarka, a tiny island some


    thirty kilometres away from the main town.


    After my grandfather passed, I would be the


    King. Dau had categorically refused the


    crown and insisted that this particular wreath


    of thorns would best suit my head and hair. I


    had laughed at his joke, knowing that his


    love for me would not let anyone other than


    me bear the crown, including himself.


    I looked after my people from my rooms in


    Bet Dwarka, as long as I could. I built


    Dwarka to avoid war. I also built it to show


    the world what was possible. My city was to


    be the gateway to heaven. A getaway to the


    lands east of the Indus, a gateway to my


    country. Every ship from foreign lands


    would dock at my port. My city would show


    them the majesty of my world. It would be


    more than any other city on Earth. It would


    be what people aspire to achieve, a land


    where people crave to live. What I always


    knew and did not tell my people was majesty


    is always fickle, transitory.


    I had Dwarka built as a testament to human


    achievement and love. The stones that were


    used to lay its foundation had been sprinkled


    with the soil of Vrindavan.


    I had parted the ocean to snatch away from


    its waters a piece of land to call my own. The


    ocean would, in time, take it back.