safe.
He helped a pair of young children out of the water, grasping each by one hand apiece and swinging them to their mothers on shore. He sensed movement beside him and knew without looking that it was Krishna.
‘Took your time,’ he said, grumbling. He had seen his brother on the hilltop, playing his flute and talking to Radha.
‘What do we have?’ Krishna asked, picking up an elderly gopi and carrying him like a babe to safety. He set the elder down carefully, nodded his head in acknowledgement of the profuse thanks and blessings, and splashed into the water again to assist the next person.
‘Something big, mean and ugly would be my guess,’ Balarama said, taking a young tyke off his father’s shoulders as the father struggled to manage two other young children.
‘Get everyone to the top of the hill first, make sure they’re all safe, then head back to the village.’
Balarama picked up a hefty young boy who was too panicked to swim properly and all but hurled him to his parents’ arms. They caught him and shouted their blessings to Balarama. ‘I’m staying with you, brother. You may need my help!’
‘They need your help more than I do,’ Krishna shouted back from several yards away. He was pulling a raft with a dozen-odd youngsters on board, all of whom were too terrified of the swirling water to swim back to shore. ‘Top of the hill, then back home!’
Balarama gritted his teeth in frustration. He was tired of playing nursemaid. He could lift ten times what the strongest grown man in the village could lift, throw as many times as far as the best pitcher, and was stronger and faster and a better fighter than even the veterans. Yet everytime there was a crisis, all he seemed to do was carry little children on his shoulder and urge everyone to move ‘faster, faster’.
But he knew better than to argue with Krishna at a time like this. So he busied himself with getting the last of the stragglers ashore. Then he turned and looked at the lake.
9
KRISHNA was in the lake, treading water, and it was all he could do to keep from being pulled along with the swirling eddy. It was no longer just a swirling, or even an eddy. This was a full-blown whirlpool, spinning madly around with great force and speed. Already it covered more than half the surface of the lake, and still it grew, increasing in fury and force as if some enormous invisible butter churner were churning the lake. Children were sobbing and screaming as their elders led them away from the lake.
Krishna could hear Balarama’s voice bellowing behind him, herding their people to safety. Then the sound of the whirlpool increased, the water churning with a frenzy that could only be described as madness, frothing and bubbling and eddying in gouts that spouted unexpectedly like boils bursting upon the back of a great beast. The sound itself resembled some furious whirlwind trapped in the lake, as if a dervish was struggling to break free.
Krishna felt the whirlpool suck at his legs, drawing him in. He fought the current, but the force was prodigious, like a storm centred upon the lake. It was then that he realized that the beast that lay under the lake was not seeking to burst free. It was seeking to suck people in . Down to its depths. Into its natural habitat.
He glanced around and was relieved to see nobody left behind. Balarama had cleared everyone to safety. They were climbing the hill even now, struggling to reach the top. He heard the shouts and cries of those who had reached the top already, calling to those still climbing to hurry. He heard his own name called out time and again and knew that every pair of eyes was seeking him out, every heart anxious for his well-being. That was what was at stake here: not merely the lives of those he loved and cared about, but the survival of mortalkind itself, and of the values and principles that made mortalkind worth saving.
He helped a pair of young children out of the water, grasping each by one hand apiece and swinging them to their mothers on shore. He sensed movement beside him and knew without looking that it was Krishna.
‘Took your time,’ he said, grumbling. He had seen his brother on the hilltop, playing his flute and talking to Radha.
‘What do we have?’ Krishna asked, picking up an elderly gopi and carrying him like a babe to safety. He set the elder down carefully, nodded his head in acknowledgement of the profuse thanks and blessings, and splashed into the water again to assist the next person.
‘Something big, mean and ugly would be my guess,’ Balarama said, taking a young tyke off his father’s shoulders as the father struggled to manage two other young children.
‘Get everyone to the top of the hill first, make sure they’re all safe, then head back to the village.’
Balarama picked up a hefty young boy who was too panicked to swim properly and all but hurled him to his parents’ arms. They caught him and shouted their blessings to Balarama. ‘I’m staying with you, brother. You may need my help!’
‘They need your help more than I do,’ Krishna shouted back from several yards away. He was pulling a raft with a dozen-odd youngsters on board, all of whom were too terrified of the swirling water to swim back to shore. ‘Top of the hill, then back home!’
Balarama gritted his teeth in frustration. He was tired of playing nursemaid. He could lift ten times what the strongest grown man in the village could lift, throw as many times as far as the best pitcher, and was stronger and faster and a better fighter than even the veterans. Yet everytime there was a crisis, all he seemed to do was carry little children on his shoulder and urge everyone to move ‘faster, faster’.
But he knew better than to argue with Krishna at a time like this. So he busied himself with getting the last of the stragglers ashore. Then he turned and looked at the lake.
9
KRISHNA was in the lake, treading water, and it was all he could do to keep from being pulled along with the swirling eddy. It was no longer just a swirling, or even an eddy. This was a full-blown whirlpool, spinning madly around with great force and speed. Already it covered more than half the surface of the lake, and still it grew, increasing in fury and force as if some enormous invisible butter churner were churning the lake. Children were sobbing and screaming as their elders led them away from the lake.
Krishna could hear Balarama’s voice bellowing behind him, herding their people to safety. Then the sound of the whirlpool increased, the water churning with a frenzy that could only be described as madness, frothing and bubbling and eddying in gouts that spouted unexpectedly like boils bursting upon the back of a great beast. The sound itself resembled some furious whirlwind trapped in the lake, as if a dervish was struggling to break free.
Krishna felt the whirlpool suck at his legs, drawing him in. He fought the current, but the force was prodigious, like a storm centred upon the lake. It was then that he realized that the beast that lay under the lake was not seeking to burst free. It was seeking to suck people in . Down to its depths. Into its natural habitat.
He glanced around and was relieved to see nobody left behind. Balarama had cleared everyone to safety. They were climbing the hill even now, struggling to reach the top. He heard the shouts and cries of those who had reached the top already, calling to those still climbing to hurry. He heard his own name called out time and again and knew that every pair of eyes was seeking him out, every heart anxious for his well-being. That was what was at stake here: not merely the lives of those he loved and cared about, but the survival of mortalkind itself, and of the values and principles that made mortalkind worth saving.
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