I died an old man. But they don't remember

  that. I lived to see my people fighting and

  baying for each other's blood. Gandhari's

  words had haunted me since the moment

  they had been uttered. For thirty-six years, I

  waited for what I knew was the beginning of

  the end.

  Dwarka prospered economically. And with

  its rise, its people grew smaller. They drank

  Madeira and walked the streets of the city

  swaying and lurching, intoxicated to a point

  where they were lost to reason, etiquette, or

  basic human decency. They forgot how to

  treat the learned with respect. They forgot

  the necessities of showing affection. As the

  coffers overflowed in abundance, their hearts

  were depleted of all good emotion. Jealousy,

  rage, and other baser instincts took over.

  Infighting, insurgency, rebellions were

  ravaging the golden city of Dwaraka. For all

  my political acumen, my wile, I was unable

  to control my clan. They seemed to have

  been led astray, pulled in different directions,

  by a force I could not control. I knew what

  was to take place, but I could not let it

  happen without attempting to restore order

  and quell the storm of madness that seemed

  to hold every person on Dwarka in a vice-

  like grip.

  I decided to take my people with me to the

  Prabhas Sea. The confluence of three rivers

  that flow into the immense sea of the west.

  The waters might be able to do what I could

  not, cool down my people so that they began

  to see again. Prabhas Patan was often called

  the gateway to heaven. A holy place where

  one could absolve oneself of all sin.

  I did not believe in sin. Sinning, sainthood

  were both two sides of the same coin. It did

  not matter whether I sinned or practiced

  righteousness. Every action, every decision,

  came with a consequence. I was ready to

  accept the consequences of my choices. I

  would have preferred that my people did not

  have to suffer in the way they did, so I took

  them to Prabhas.

  Even in those beautiful, blissful environs

  steeped in the aura of those who came

  seeking moksha, the Vrishni could not find

  peace. Maybe the Prabhas did cleanse all

  mortals, and the purified soul moved on

  while all the filth was left behind, invisible to

  the human eye but dissolved in the waters,

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  the sands, the reeds that grew along the

  banks.

  As I stood there at the banks of Prabhas, a

  sense of discomfort plagued me, a sense of

  foreboding of what was to come. Behind me,

  a fight had broken out my son Pradyumna

  born of Rukmini, Satyaki, a once valiant

  warrior now reeking of Madeira, and a bunch

  of other men who had taken part in the

  Mahabharata thirty-six years ago. One of

  them ran his sword through Pradyumna, and

  I saw Pradyumna fall into the tall reeds, his

  face dazed and confused, my son died in

  front of my eyes, and all I did was watch it

  happen. I was a God, and they a man whose

  face I do not remember stabbed my son with

  a piece of iron.

  Enraged, I pulled a spear that had been stuck

  into the earth by some forgotten soul ages

  ago and threw it in wrathful vengeance at the

  unnamed, faceless being impaling him on the

  ground. The wood of the spear was mossy

  green. I stared in rage at these fools engaged

  in a pointless random bloodthirst, and I knew

  it was time for me to walk away from all of

  it.

  Dau had come with us to Prabhas, but I could

  not see him in the crazed maniacal beasts

  that were killing each other all around me. I

  had seen him head towards the thicket

  towards the east a little while ago. I walked

  in search of Dau, leaving the Vrishni behind.

  As I entered the forest, I was pulled towards

  the clearing. I could see a little ahead, upon

  reaching which I saw my brother seated like

  a yogi, lost in a trance. My brother had been

  a bull, raging for a fight, quick to anger, easy

  to please. I was the sly one who charmed my

  way through life. Dau seated in the lotus

  position like a sage was my signal to leave. I

  stood there looking over Dau until the sun

  was in the west. I saw a shadow move away

  from Dau, slithering into the earth, a snake-

  like thing, huge, shiny, five-headed. It might

  have been the trees and the setting sun

  playing with my sight. It might have been the

  essence of Sheshnag. The mighty serpent

  leaving the physical form of the man who

  devoted his whole life to me.

  I walked away from Dau to a banyan tree I

  had crossed on the way and lay down to rest,

  closing my eyes to the world.

  They will tell you a hunter shot an arrow at

  my toe, mistaking it for a deer's eye. Others

  will say I was sitting in the branches of the

  tree swinging my feet, and the hunter

  confused my feet with a pigeon he wished to

  kill. It does not matter why the hunter shot

  that arrow. It never does. It was time for me

  to leave. I closed my eyes to this world and

  opened them where Radha waited for me.