Chapter 11: The Rise of Krishna – A Tale Before Shon
Long before Shon had taken his first breath in Aryavrat, before the rivers carried him to the banks of destiny and the divine eyes of Mahadev fell upon him, the land was burdened by the cruelty of a single man — Kansa.
The Tyrant of Mathura
Kansa wasn't born a demon. He was, by birth, the son of King Ugrasen, the ruler of the Yadava dynasty in Mathura. As a prince, he had charm, strength, and ambition. But ambition, left unchecked, often grows teeth. And in Kansa's case, it grew fangs.
Greedy for power and manipulated by darker forces, Kansa imprisoned his own father and took over the kingdom. The throne that was once a seat of justice became a nest of fear. Kansa ruled not with wisdom, but with a whip.
Under his reign, Mathura changed. What once echoed with the melody of flutes now quaked under the boots of soldiers. Farmers feared to reap their harvests, artisans worked in silence, and traders paid taxes so heavy they bled profit. Kansa's wrath spared none. If a child cried too loud, the family might vanish by morning. If a priest prayed for justice, he was branded a rebel. The rivers stopped singing, and even the cows walked quietly.
He wasn't just feared — he was hated.
But Kansa didn't care. His paranoia was only matched by his ego. Anyone could be a threat. And that fear would one day become prophecy.
The Voice from the Sky
On the day of his beloved sister Devaki's wedding to Vasudev, Kansa did something rare — he smiled. He even offered to drive the couple in his royal chariot. All of Mathura cheered as their princess departed with her new husband.
But fate had other plans.
As the chariot rolled through the city, the sky turned gray. The winds howled, and a divine voice thundered from above.
"O Kansa! The eighth child born to Devaki shall be your death!"
Silence fell. Then chaos.
Kansa stopped the chariot. His eyes narrowed. He turned toward his sister, his face no longer smiling, but twisted with fear.
In that moment, he lost whatever goodness remained. His hand reached for his sword.
"If her child will kill me," he growled, "then she must die first."
But Vasudev, calm and brave, stood between them.
"Spare her," he pleaded. "I promise you this — every child born to us will be yours."
Kansa hesitated. Not out of kindness. But calculation.
"Fine," he spat. "I'll wait. But if you lie, I'll make you wish you had died instead."
Devaki and Vasudev were shackled and thrown into a dark prison, where the walls wept and hope barely flickered.
The Slaughter of Innocence
Time passed. Devaki gave birth to her first child. As promised, Vasudev handed the baby to Kansa.
The tyrant did not blink.
He raised the infant in his hands… and smashed the child's skull against the cold stone wall.
The jail echoed with the scream of a mother. But no one came.
Then came the second child. Then the third.
Each time, Devaki begged. Vasudev pleaded. And each time, Kansa murdered the child with a heart colder than iron.
By the time the sixth son died, the prison felt less like a cell and more like a tomb.
The Seventh – A Divine Escape
When Devaki conceived for the seventh time, something strange happened.
In the dead of night, as the guards slept and shadows watched, the goddess Yogmaya arrived. With a wave of her divine hand, she transported the fetus — a healthy baby boy — from Devaki's womb to Rohini, another wife of Vasudev, who lived in secret in Gokul.
Devaki awoke feeling empty. The guards assumed the baby had died in the womb. Kansa didn't bother to ask.
But far away in Gokul, Rohini gave birth to a strong, radiant child.
His name? Balaram.
Krishna's elder brother. His shield. His companion.
The Eighth Child
And then… it was time.
Devaki was pregnant again.
The walls of the prison grew still. The air felt thick. Even the guards stopped taunting. Something had changed.
As the months passed, Kansa grew more restless. He sharpened his sword daily. He looked into mirrors, waiting to see death in his own eyes.
And then, on the midnight of the eighth month, in the darkness of the cell, he was born.
Not with cries, but with silence.
Not in weakness, but in divine glory.
The cell filled with light. The chains fell. The guards slept. The air shimmered.
Krishna had arrived.
A voice spoke to Vasudev:
"Take me to Gokul. Exchange me with the daughter of Yashoda. Return before dawn. The way will be made clear."
The Journey of a Lifetime
Vasudev, guided by divinity, placed Krishna in a basket and walked out of the prison. Not a single guard stirred. Not a single lock resisted.
Outside, the Yamuna river raged. But as Vasudev stepped in, the waters parted. The skies, still storming, let down rain that touched everything except the child.
Above them, the serpent king Sheshnag spread his massive hood, shielding the newborn from the storm.
Hour after hour, Vasudev walked through mud and rain, past wolves and spirits, never once looking back.
Finally, he reached Gokul, the village of cowherds.
There, inside the home of Nand Baba and Yashoda, a girl had just been born.
She lay sleeping beside her mother, glowing faintly with a strange energy.
Vasudev made the switch, placed Krishna on the bed, and gently took the baby girl into the basket.
Without a sound, he turned back.
The Yamuna waited. The path cleared.
He returned to the prison, closed the doors behind him, and chained himself again.
The moment he locked the last shackle, the crying began.
Kansa's Last Mistake
Kansa burst into the prison, breathing fire.
"The eighth child! Give it to me!"
Vasudev, calm and composed, handed over the baby girl.
Kansa roared with laughter.
"A girl? This is the child I was warned about?"
He lifted the baby high, ready to kill her like the others.
But before his hands could strike, the child slipped from his grip, rose into the sky, and transformed into a glowing goddess.
"Fool! Your killer lives. He is safe. And one day, he will come for you."
With that, she vanished into the clouds.
Kansa stood frozen.
He had been tricked.
And far away in Gokul, the blue-skinned boy opened his eyes and smiled.
The age of darkness had been challenged.
The savior of dharma had arrived.
And the wheel of fate began to turn again.