Week 14 - Storytelling - Deceptive Waters

A serene lake - by Unsplash on Pixabay

Krishna ran as fast as his legs would carry him out of the grove of trees in the direction of lake where the herders had departed before and where all the cows surely must have followed. Krishna felt deep in his gut that something was not right, but he pressed forward nonetheless.

As he reached the rounded top of the hill he slowed to a stop to survey all that was below him. Krishna fell to his knees. In a perfect circle, laid out around the shores of the crystal clear waters of the lake lay the corpses of the cattle. Young and old alike had fallen over dead. Closest to the shore Krishna could discern the figures of the cattle herders among them. They too lie still. Even the grasses and the trees close to the lake were shriveled and unmoving. The air was unnaturally quiet, void of the sound of any insect or passing bird. All that remained alive was one individual ancient tree, which progressed simply by its age and mass. Its branches stretched out over the surface of the lake, its leaves barely above the pristine surface. 

Rage and grief swelled within Krishna and abandoning all sense of danger, he ran down to where his friends lay. As he wept, something miraculous occurred. Life began to come back to the herdsmen. One by one, they were revived, and embraced on another in joy. Not wanting to risk any further possibility of tragedy, Krishna urged his friends quickly up the hill before speaking. 

“Friends, my heart is heavy. I feel I am responsible for all that has happened to you this day. I should have been more attentive, more protective, or that I should have died with you. Tell me; how has this happened?” 

The youngest of the herders spoke first. “All was well for quite some time. We cooled ourselves in the waters and drank until we were satisfied. When we saw the cattle coming from the other side of the hill, we assumed that it was you who had urged them towards us, and would surely be following. We led the cows to the water and allowed them to drink as well. And then…” He paused, his voice faltering. 

Another herdsman continued the story in his stead, “And then a great serpent rose from the water. He opened his mouth and sprayed a venom across us and then all went black. We were no more.”

Krishna balled his hands into fists. He had heard tales of a serpent that lived in this area long, long ago, whose venom was so powerful, that even the demons and the lesser gods avoided his dwelling place. Its name was Kaliya.

Krishna felt grief and anger in his heart and knew it was his duty to end this serpent, so that none other would have to experience the same anguish that he felt in the death of his friends. Krishna eyed the one living tree and walked towards it. He scrambled up its branches and shimmied out onto the farthest reaching branch, just barely a foot below the deceptive waters of the lake. Despite the growing protests from his friends over the hill, Krishna swung himself down off the branch and plunged himself into the azure depths. 

Krishna’s friends held their breath in growing anticipation. Sweat and tears clouded their eyes and they paced the hill and cried out, afraid to take a step forward to go after Krishna, but holding onto hope that he would reemerge. The water began to bubble and church and the herders gathered in horror and strange fascination. The only thing they could do was wait. 

Below the surface of the waters, Krishna found himself wrapped within the never-ending coils of the great serpent Kaliya. The serpent undulated and pulsed and Krishna comprehended full magnitude of Kaliya’s terror. Where one head would have sufficed, Kaliya sported a multitude, which must have neared one hundred. Krishna felt himself afraid for the first time and fumbled, his lightweight flute floated out of his tunic to the surface above. 

On the shore, the herders felt the end of their world approaching. The sight of Krishna’s favorite flute bobbing on the lake sent a shiver of despair through the hearts of the waiting herdsmen. Suddenly, the sky turned unnaturally black. Meteors streaked through the blackness like fire and the earth trembled beneath them. Despite the risk, the youngest of the herders ran forward and fell on his knees, wailing, “Krishna, return to us!”

As he did this, the earth settled. The waters gurgled yet again and the men assumed that this was truly the final sign of Krishna’s death. Yet, as they collapsed in overwhelming anguish, Krishna emerged. In glowing radiance, he rode on the central head of the serpent. As Krishna stepped onto the land, he dismissed the serpent, who bowed its heads in respect and departed, and the ground beneath his feet was restored. The cattle too raised themselves as if they had merely been sleeping. Krishna spied his flute between the grassy waters of the lake. He plucked it and began to play a familiar melody.

Author’s Note:

This is a continuation of the tale of Krishna Kills the Serpent Kaliya. Since this week I only watched Peter Brook’s Mahabharata, I decided to return to sister Nivedita’s Cradle Tales of Hinduism and write more of this story. In part one of my version, Krishna and his friends are tending their herds in the summer heat. Krishna suggests that they go to a nearby lake to cool themselves while he guards the cattle. Unfortunately, Krishna falls asleep and wakes to find the cattle missing and begins to panic. This is where this story begins.

So far, this portion of the story is not incredibly different from the original. I decided that I wanted to extrapolate on the events and make them more dramatic, since the original mainly focuses on the battle between Krishna and Kaliya. I wanted to include an image that would accurately portray how serene and appealing the lake would have appeared to the herders when they first arrived. According to the original story, the lake was already black and nothing was growing or alive. However, I felt like many people would not willingly wander into something so bleak, so I wanted the lake to appear more appealing.