The Lost Flute

A Severed Head and Puny Chains

After finding him on the beach, Yashoda had dragged Krishna to the guest quarters. She had washed his face with cool water and massaged oil into his scalp. She fed him rotis ladled with the butter she had churned out herself earlier in the day. Once the moon had travelled halfway through the sky, messengers had come bearing summons from Vasudeva and from Balarama, inviting Krishna to dinner. Yashoda had watched with secret elation as Krishna had turned them all down in favour of her makeshift arrangements. They had then sat in the balcony overlooking the sparkling ocean, quietly watching the waves ebb and rise.

Eventually, Krishna had fallen asleep on her bed. Yashoda had sat on the couch nearby, staring at his sleeping form. She could not fall asleep as Krishna's previous laments swelled in her mind. While she didn't dare to sit at his head, lest she woke him from a much-needed bout of rest, she did notice how exhausted he looked even in slumber, his eyeballs racing around underneath his closed eyelids. As he tossed and turned in darkness, Yashoda carefully adjusted the throw blanket around him, occasionally running her fingers through his dishevelled curls.

Near midnight, Krishna woke up with a jolt. Yashoda, who had dozed off on the couch, sat up straight. Krishna had woken up sweaty, clearly from a nightmare. She settled beside him, gently caressing his hair while clasping his palms tightly in hers. "What's the time?" He asked groggily, "I will return to my chambers. I've bothered you enough."

Yashoda sighed, noting the finality of his tone. Once Krishna made up his mind, no one could convince him otherwise. She watched as he gathered his sword and uttariya and marched out of the room. She sighed. How different was this Krishna from the young boy that had been snatched from her! Her Krishna had never bothered with propriety or even basic societal rules. He was his own master, the one who lit up every room he was in! This Krishna, she found, was more cautious, more compliant, a man grieving and broken.

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Krishna walked aimlessly through the palace corridors, careful not to wake up the sleeping guards at first. Then, he turned back in disdain. The guards that were in charge of protecting his family at night, were themselves asleep. Was it not his lax attitude towards his servants was the sole reason that demon Shambara was able to enter his private chambers and take his firstborn? Snatching the baby right from the arms of his exhausted wife, who had lain asleep, completely defenceless that fateful afternoon! Krishna felt a rare surge of anger rise through his body. He struck his sheathed sword loudly against a sizable drum that lay at the far end of the corridor. Immediately, all guards jolted awake from their slumber and assumed their positions clumsily.

"What do I pay you fools for?" He said, in a low, but carrying voice that reverberated through the long hall. It was that voice that sent chills down the spine of all listening, "If I ever see any one of you sleeping while on duty, ever again, I swear on everything that's precious to me, you will not live to see another sunrise." He finished, turning to look each of the guards in the eye.

As his echoing words drew to a close, a quiet jingle reached his ears. He turned to see Rukmini standing silently under the doorway of her chamber. Her eyes were red and swollen, but she was not crying. Lowering her gaze after a moment, she disappeared into the dark room just as she had appeared. Krishna mentally cursed himself for waking her up alongside the guards. Turning to glare at the guards one last time, he hurried into Rukmini's chambers.

"I apologize, Vaidarbhi! I did not mean to wake you up." Krishna pleaded into the darkness, while his eyes adjusted, "Will someone please light a lamp," He called out. A couple of maidservants scurried in to light the lamps around the room. As light poured into the room, Krishna found Rukmini seated in silence, near the empty crib. Krishna felt like someone had torn his heart out. Rukmini's face was expressionless, but as she looked up slowly to look at her husband, her doe-like eyes betrayed her grief-stricken anger.