Free KRISHNA CORIOLIS#1: Slayer of Kamsa by Ashok K. Banker Page B

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    Twelve

    Kamsa could scarcely believe his eyes as he approached the uks cart. He slowed downbefore it, feeling his mouth twist in a leery grin.

    ‘Vasudeva? Clan-chief of the Vrishnis, lord of the Sura Yadava nation? Riding only an uks cart?’ He laughed, and his men, tired and satiated from another successful and richly rewarding raid, laughed as well. ‘Does your nation have no chariots for a king? No entourage, royal guard, nothing?’

    He turned to his men, grinning and winking. ‘At least they could have sent a few of those Gokuldham milkmaids along to protect you!’

    A loud round of guffaws greeted that comment. The camp’s attention was centred on their leader now, and word spread quickly up and down the cantonment of Vasudeva’s presence. Many off-duty soldiers and other workers crowded around to catch a glimpse of the great Sura king whose prowess as a general as well as a ruler was legendary. Kamsa saw their surprised reaction as they took in the rusticity of Vasudeva’s transport and his simple gowala apparel.

    He also noted the absence of any visible weaponry.
    Vasudeva replied in a disarmingly good-natured tone, ‘We are like this only, Prince Kamsa. Simple cowherds and dairy farmers, we are not sophisticated castle dwellers like you Andhakas. We live close to the soil and love the smell of the earth and cattle around us.’
    There was a buzz of amusement at these words. Some of Kamsa’s men even clapped and cheered at the response. Kamsa glared around in sudden fury, losing his good humour instantly.
    Conscripted soldiers though they were, even the most hardened Andhaka veteran was at heart a gowala. Cowherds with swords, Kamsa called them contemptuously during drill rehearsal, working his whip arduously ‘to beat out the traces of milk from your bloodstream’. Never having worked a field or milked a cow, growing up in the lap of luxury in his father’s palace, Kamsa had a deep, enduring resentment against rustic men. The resentment came from envy, from hearing other boys and men talk of crop cycles, soil types, the effect of climate on harvests, bird migrations, cow feed, cattle ailments and such matters. These were things from which he had always been excluded, and his lack of knowledge had often been greeted with laughter and derision in the early years, giving him a powerful sense of inferiority. His first fights had been over this very difference between him and other Yadavas, and he had never truly gotten over being an outsider to such things.
    Now, he sneered at Vasudeva:‘Yes, well, we seem to be stamping your countrymen back into very the soil they love so much, mingling their blood and brains with cow shit. I’m sure they’re very content now.’
    At once, the gathering grew grim. His men, knowing Kamsa’s peculiarities and nature, immediately lost whatever good humour they had, and began to drift away to their respective tasks. Curious to a fault though the Yadavas were, they knew better than to incur the wrath of their lord. Kamsa was given to flinging maces randomly at his own men, killing anyone who happened to be unlucky enough to be standing nearby. His sensitivity at being reminded of his lack of rustic skills and knowledge was equally well known.
    The sight of Vasudeva’s face – and that of his companion – helped restore much of Kamsa’s good cheer.
    ‘Then you admit to killing innocent Suras,’ Vasudeva said in a level voice.
    ‘Suras, certainly. Innocent, no.’ Kamsa made his horse trot a few steps closer to the cart, placing the head of his Kambhoja stallion almost nose-to-nose with the uksan which made unhappy sounds and tried to retreat. Kamsa’s horse snickered and snorted hot breath down on them contemptuously, showing its superiority.‘They were about to transgress into our territory, some even in the act of crossing the river, others illegally diverting channels from the river for irrigation. My soldiers and I were merely upholding the terms of