THE REVEALATION
[“Nanda, the time has come. We should say the truth to Krishna. Now he should know the reason for his birth.” Sage Garg said and continued speaking looking at me “Krishna, you aren't one from Gukula. You were born to Prince Vasudeva and Devaki. But it was predicted that their eighth son will kill King Kansa, so the ruler of Mathura, Kansa imprisoned your parents and their eighth child is you. The day you were born, your father smuggled you from prison to Gokul, to Nanda’s house. Only Nanda knows about it. It’s your responsibility to help people. It’s you who should help the people of from the cruelty. It’s predicted that you will be the leader of your race and the savior of all humanity. You will be the one who will establish Dharma on the earth. This world’s future and humanity are in your hand. Kansa wants to kill you when you leave Gokul. But I know it’s you who is going to kill Kansa when you reach Mathura."]
SAMRAT:
The fires are burning at numbers of wood piles. The same fire is in our heart. The smoke is trying to reach the sky. We are several yards away still my eyes are burning. The wind is strong and so is the sun.
My father comes to me when we get alone; the crowd of my people disappears from the sight. I’m standing near Tarun.
As my father comes near me I look into his face. He has wound over his body, some over his face, too.
“Are you okay?” he asks. He reaches out and brushes his fingers, once, against the scar on my neck.
“I’m okay,” I lie, “and you?”
He nods.
Then my mother comes, rushing. She hugs me and starts to cry.
“Don’t cry, Ma,” I say, “I’ve promised. I’ll come back, alive.”
“Yes,” she says, “but now you are going beyond the wall, among enemies.” Her voice is sad, “you’re going to fight with the creator itself.”
“Do you remember Ma?” I say.
“What?”
“You have said we shouldn’t take this name.” I say, “it’s holy and we aren’t enough holy to speak his name. Do you still think like this?”
“I’m not,” she says, “I’ve never thought like this. I just…”
“What just…?” I ask when she left her sentence incomplete.
“I just wanted to distract you,” she says, “I knew he isn’t a god but you are.”
“I’m,” I ask, “what are you saying Ma?”
“nothing.” she tries to hide. She isn’t a good liar.
“We should tell him,” my father steps near her, “when he will go beyond the wall he should know who is on his side there.”
I can’t understand what they are talking about. How can anyone be there on my side?
“What should I know?” I ask.
“Samrat,” my father says, in the strangest voice as though my name is a strange thing for him, a word that tastes strange in his mouth, “I have to tell you something.”
His voice is stronger but sad now, and something about his tone makes me afraid to let him speak ahead.
“What?” I cut him off.
“You are…” my mother pulls me closer to her side, rest her head on my shoulder, takes a deep breath and says, “You are not our son.” Her voice is fallen.
I feel the ground beneath me is shaking. "What do you mean, Ma?"
Her eyes search my face, and I don’t know why but I’m scared now, “you are not our son.” She says. For a moment I close my eyes and imagine I’ve misheard her, imagine I’ve only confused the shushing of the smoky wind around for her voice. But when I open my eyes she’s standing there, staring me, looking crestfallen, looking sad and pale and guilty and I don’t have words to describe her emotions.
“You never were our son.” She says, again.
-and I know I heard her correctly. She just said – I’m not her son, I was never her son- which is impossible.
“Are you kidding, Ma?” I say, my body is shivering, my mind i8s going numb and I realize my heart is pounding fast“This isn’t time to joke.”
“I’m serious.” she wipes tears and looks away, and says under her breath, “I don’t know how to explain.”
I can’t believe I’m not her son. Everything from the top of my head to toes of my feet goes icy. My mother’s words start to spinning in my head. I don’t want to feel them, I don’t want to hear them again and again in my head but they go on, in my head and around my heart as though they want to crush my heart and shatter my head.
I stand staring at her. My father, Tarun, and Jagpati are also standing near me.
It’s stupid. Ma has gone mad. The fight and funeral have made her crazy.
“Impossible, Ma.” I say but my words barely come out, a whisper, “what you say isn’t possible.”
I look skyward, frustrated. The sky is also spinning above me; all blue colours are disappearing from it into the blackness of funeral smoke. In the horizon, the redness of morning is still visible and I feel like my heart sky is also bleeding.
She doesn’t speak. No one speaks.
I close my eyes again. I choke down the feeling and when I open my eyes I feel the weight of realization breaking my back. “You are my Ma,” I say, “maybe I’m an avatar of Kalki but that doesn’t mean I’m not your son. Avatar is also someone’s son.” I wipe the tears, “can’t the Avatar have parents?”
“You have,” my father says, “We don’t want to lie to you anymore.” He’s staring me so intently that I feel his eyes like a touch and I feel cold instead of the warmth of them.
“Where?” I ask, louder.
For a moment my father is silent, everyone is silent and t think he’s going to refuse to tell me anything more and I almost wish he refuses to tell me. I don’t want to hear all this. Nothing of it makes sense. Perhaps what happened today has made them mad.
But then he speaks, “beyond the wall.” he says, “your parents are beyond the wall. You weren’t born in the wall.” he is speaking in the tone that seems punches to my stomach, stronger than the blows of the Devata that I faced in the station.
“Beyond the wall…?” I ask, unable to understand what he is saying.
I scold myself. I don’t have to ask. Why should I ask? Not even the smallest part of me is ready to believe him. What he said can’t be true.
Jagpati and my teacher come toward me. The look on their faces is strange.
“Did you hear what my parents are saying?” I ask, looking into my teacher's eyes.
“They are right,” Jagapati says, his compassionate hand over my shoulder, “you are the son of a Devata.” He says, or maybe I just imagine he says it. His lips barely move but the meaning is clear.
I ball my fists and suck in a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm but I can’t.
“I’m the son of a Devata.” The words taste sour, something like stale food in my mouth instead of the words. “I can’t be the son of such a merciless beast.” I feel a fit of anger coming on, followed by a surge of hate.
“Your father isn’t like them,” he says. I have the impression of something flickering behind his eyes, even as the rest of his face stays totally neutral “not your mother. They are good.”
I'm so angry and sad that I feel like I could burst into tears. I don't though, obviously, “NO.” I say, loudly.
“That’s true.”
I take a step back, “Then why I’m not with them?” I ask, my throat is squeezing up and I'm on the verge of crying.
“You was different when you born. You had no green veins over your body. Your eyes were as clear as human eyes, not crisscrossed with red veins.” Nirbhaya leader Jagpati says it quietly, evenly, and I start to believe him. And yet my heart won't stop it's frantic winging in my chest, spinning higher and higher, and I feel the way I do whenever I get to the top of the Kaal-Stambha in the night and can see back down at all huts in the wall.
He goes on without a pause, “Your father is the person who has knowledge of old books and he knew what you are. But he knew the creator also knew about the prophecy of the Divya child. If the creator or other Devatas know about you they will kill you. That was the fact and your father knows that so before your mother sees you your father steals you and hides you somewhere.” He pauses a while and takes a deep breath, as he's speaking, he reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. Just like earlier, the touch is as somber and as cool as the wind. “Your father was the person who tests the minds of labourers coming from inside the wall. He kept the child hidden and started to find a Sunya who is conversant. When he found your father he decided to give that child to him. I helped to bring the child in the train and your father was getting news about you through me.”
A cloud skitters across the sun, and shadows dance over Jagapti’s face. He's still staring at me, "this is the truth?"
I have nothing to say.
*
To be continue.....
