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.