Akrur came to take me to Mathura on a

  special invitation from the King, the much-

  hated, much-feared Kansa. Dau, Lady

  Rohini's son, was also invited. Dau was the

  son of Lord Vasudev. Lord Vasudev being

  held prisoner by Kansa along with his second

  wife Devaki for over twelve years. Dau used

  to live with us. He was a couple of months

  older than me. He was my brother, my

  friend, and my confidante-most of the time.

  The day Akrur came, I had been hanging out

  with Radha all morning. A sense of

  foreboding seemed to have been plaguing

  her. I had a feeling it was more about me

  frolicking about too much with my other

  friends, not spending enough time with her. I

  had been trying my best to lift her spirits, but

  it was one of those days when even my

  music could not hold her attention. She was

  quiet, withdrawn, and sat lost in her

  thoughts, unsmiling, uninterested.

  Deciding to give some space to deal with

  whatever was more important than me, I

  headed back home feeling annoyed with

  Radha, hoping to find solace in the

  buttermilk ma must have kept aside for me.

  I came home to chaos. Ma was crying,

  shouting at Baba and a gentleman I had not

  previously met. The story of my birth, the

  secret, was finally out. That Ma was finding

  it difficult to accept would be an

  understatement. All the assaults on my life

  had been the handiwork of King Kansa. I

  was born of Devaki, the King was my uncle,

  and he wanted me in Mathura. The King had

  invited me as a guest along with Dau to

  witness the glory of his dominion in the

  Dhanush Yagya celebrations.

  A month after Akrur had walked out of

  Devaki and Vasudev's prison cell holding the

  baby girl wrapped in a shawl leaving Kansa

  confused and perplexed, one of the Vrishni

  guards who had arranged the horse for

  Vasudev had blabbered in drunken abandon

  about the incident. The guard meant no

  harm. He was loyal to the Vrishni clan and

  Vasudev, just a little too fond of alcohol.

  Alcohol has a strange and varied effect on

  those who partake of it. It can make you do

  crazy things, steep a coward in bravery, soak

  a brave heart in fear. An introverted recluse

  will seek company, and the gregarious will

  become aloof. In this case, our normally

  trustable Vrishni loyal was hit with a bout of

  verbosity, and so he talked to his drinking

  buddy, telling him how they had saved the

  infant who was born to rid the world of the

  evil Kansa. He told the story with pride,

  feeling a sense of self-importance at having

  played a part in shaping history. The

  drinking buddy had not been similarly

  inebriated and was hardly a buddy. He

  reported the man to Kansa's aide, in return

  getting twenty gold coins and a mid-level

  position in Kansa's army.

  My birth was an open secret within Kansa's

  coterie of ministers and chieftains. Ma was

  still unaware that I was not the child she had

  given birth to. Until Akrur came to our

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  doorstep, looking to take me to Mathura, she

  did not know. Her heartbreak was twofold,

  they told her I belonged to another woman,

  and they said I was to go.

  I had always known I wasn't born to ma and

  Baba, at least since I was six. I had a cleft

  chin. Ma and Baba did not.

  I still believed, however, that they were my

  parents, my father Nand, my mother,

  Yashoda. They always would be. Years later,

  I would continue to think of Devaki and

  Vasudev, as Lord Vasudeva and Lady

  Devaki, Baba and Ma would always be my

  parents. Maybe it was painful for lady

  Devaki, but to be completely honest, I never

  did think of her much. I have loved many

  women. I understand love in many forms.

  Unfortunately, lady Devaki was not one of

  them.

  Ma was on the verge of an emotional

  collapse when she had a sudden bout of

  clarity, "where is the daughter I birthed?" she

  asked Akrur, locking her eyes onto him as if

  she would destroy him with laser beams in

  the next moment if he were not able to

  provide her with an answer.

  Every story about my life has mentioned the

  daughter born of Yashoda who was replaced

  with me. They call her Yogamaya. They say

  she disappeared into thin air. The reality is

  different. Akrur was present that day in the

  prison cell with Kansa. He took her away

  with him and handed her to his most trusted

  aide, who carried her beyond the borders of

  our land. She was taken on a ship to an

  island called Japan. The rumours about her

  being in the Vindhya Mountains were just

  rumours to throw Kansa off. All Akrur knew

  was that the people who took her would keep

  her safe. They called her Amaterasu, but

  there was no way for us to reach her. I later

  found out that Amaterasu was worshipped as

  a goddess in Japan. I remember chuckling to

  myself at the irony of it all. But Amaterasu

  would never come back to her home, and we

  would never meet on this earth.

  I announced to the room, almost drowning in

  Ma's incessant weeping, that I would

  accompany Akrur to Mathura. I had killed

  Kalia last year. I was not afraid of a human

  being; however satanic a king he might be.

  Dau would be with me. He was even

  stronger than me, and together we could take

  on the world. I was growing out of Gokul

  Vrindavan. It was time to move on.

  Even as I spoke, I felt my heart suddenly,

  inexplicably sink. I would be leaving

  Vrindavan. I did not know if I would return.

  Yet, even at that tender age, I knew myself

  self-enough to know that I would not turn

  back to look at the past. I was going to

  Mathura. This would be the beginning of my

  life without Radha.

  I headed out; I had to meet her. I needed to

  explain. What did I need to explain that I

  would come back for? Would I? Would life

  permit me to? If I asked her to come to me,

  would she? Radha never came to me; it was

  always me who went running to find her. My

  music flowed through me to reach her, keep

  her enthralled by me. She did not need to

  resort to such base tricks. She believed I was

  hers and hers alone. She did not need to keep

  me tied to her with intangible tethers. I was

  afraid she would set me free. She did.

  Radha had been apprehensive about the

  future, a feminine intuition giving her the

  sense of an ending. But when I reached her,

  agitated, heartbroken at our parting, Radha

  was calm. She was trying to smile now that

  whatever she had sensed had come to pass.

  She was able to accept it with equanimity.

  I was bidding goodbye to Radha when I first

  hugged her. It was the first time she held me

  in the warmth of her embrace. It would also

  be the last.