In which I narrate the story of the Syamantaka jewel rather quickly.
Roughly five thousand years ago, in the auspicious land of Aryavarta, when the pseudo emperor wrecked havoc upon the Yadava tribes— there came a savior who uplifted their melancholic spirits. Fighting off Jarasandha seventeen times, during the eighteenth ambush, Krishna: the sole surviving son of Devaki and Vasudeva, took his kinsmen to the safety of the sea.
The thalassic city of Dwarka as it was named, the one with numerous gates was the capital of the Yadavas. There lived a prosperous merchant named Satrajita. He had the gem Syamantaka, and a gem among women for his daughter— Satyabhama. Several springs back, while offering his dawn worship to the solar god, he had found her in a gigantic lotus bloom floating on a pond.
Now, it was when the Syamantaka jewel went missing that the merchant lost his senses, clouded by roaring vexation.
“This! This Vrishni prince, this Krishna of notorious mien has stolen my property which was a blessing from Suryadeva!” Satrajita shrieked, fixing a furious gaze at the dark-complexioned lord who had arrived at once when he heard of the unfortunate incident. Krishna gaped at him incredulously, wordless at the pang of emotions that hit him like the celestial Vajra. With his signature grin robbed away, he shook his head ever so slightly, war-like shoulders sagged in sadness.
The father of Satyabhama continued his lament, “He had come wishing for the Syamantaka to be submitted in the treasury. Surely I turned him down, for it belongs to me. Now he took it away by force when his vanity was injured!”
Behind the slightly parted gates of her residence stood Satyabhama, aghast and devastation written on her golden visage, oddly mirroring the turmoil of the accused. An emptiness swirled in her chest and she staggered a step, never knowing when her knees would give in.
The lotus born was not a stranger to the kingmaker. She knew him like the back of her palm— like the rains know petrichor, like the constellations know the moon and how the sun is wont to the seamless ether. She’d admire him from a distance, barely in touch but so much in his mind, Krishna could never truly shake off her orphic presence.
All her dreams and all his exuberance shattered at the wrath of Satrajita.
“Father, you sent Uncle Prasena to the eastern forests with the gem, didn’t you?” Satyabhama strode into the privacy of her house, turning the heads of her extended family along with the beautiful dusky prince. Her eyes pooled with fury driven tears and she turned her head down, ashamed by the shock in her father’s eyes and found him let down by her gall. But how could she let go of her strong sense of justice?
Prasenajita, the brother of Satrajita and Satyabhama’s uncle was known to be fond of hunting. Since not many days, neither him nor the gem were heard of.
“The jungle is guarded by the king of the bears, the immortal Jambavan. I apologize for the humiliation, Your Highness. I’m terribly sorry for my transgressions against you too, father.” She hastily brushed away her tears and swallowed the guilt gnawing at her throat. Her parents were rendered mum by her demeanor, known to maintain dignified silence unless not spoken to. She was immensely self respecting and knew her strengths— but this was something not envisaged.
“Be victorious in your pursuits. I must take my leave.” And she marched into her chambers and shut the doors in a frenzy, cursing at her stars.
Taking his cue, Krishna set off to find the jewel and clear his reputation. Even the common folks were influenced by the senseless words of Satrajita and eyed him with suspicion, him who had earned a venerable position for his clan in the political dynamics of the subcontinent. But he was known to steal butter back in his boyhood days, and old habits die hard.
Krishna’s ilks who had accompanied him in his quest, returned from the frightening jungle. However, without him by their side.
For twenty-nine days and twenty-nine nights, Satyabhama neither knew rest nor sleep. Her thoughts would often drift to the ignominy of the man she had come to love and the dejection in her father’s eyes. She tossed and turned on her bed all night, haunted by all sorts of morbid possibilities. “Why did you pit me against my own father, Gauri Maa? Will you not protect the marital serendipity of Princess Rukmini who has left everything and all for him?” She wept afore the mother-goddess presiding over the local temple, never knowing how to face the first wife of her beloved. Am I the root of her sorrow? I shouldn't have led him to his doom. The wretched thing isn’t worth the dust of his feet.
On day thirty, His Highness made a grandiose reappearance. Darker and gleaming like winter eventides, brawn and glorious in the same vein as that of rain clouds— Krishna came, like an elixir upon barren earth, with the Syamantaka tied around his nape in a flower festoon and a new wife in his arms. The woman was about as tall as him, if not more, which was surely a lot. She had the complexion of blue water lilies and embodied the goddess of the forests, Aranyani. Like Seeta would follow Rama and like how Rama would be fond of his bride, Krishna and the woman casted coy glances at each other. Satyabhama added two and two to find she was Jambavati, the daughter of Jambavan.
Prasenajita had been mauled to death by a lion and the beast was vanquished by Jambavan, who had then acquired the jewel. Nearly two moons of a brawl later, Krishna had defeated the bear king and revealed to him that he was the Raghava Jambavan had aided in the previous era.
Satyabhama knew neither envy nor dismay. All that mattered was Krishna being safe and sound, and happy.
Dwarka clamored in bliss once again, echoing the chants of the god incarnate’s name. People fell at his feet and he patiently made his way through them, making them rise again and beaming their way. Eventually, he reached the palatial foyer and formally greeted his family and friends.
Satrajita mumbled endless apologies, bowing to the usually gregarious youth who was going beet red in shame at the wallowing of the merchant. Elders weren't supposed to be belittled so, Krishna believed.
“Please- this is the least I can do, son. I have falsely tarnished your image when—”
Krishna shook his head, the opal diadem with a fluttering iridescent feather the only thing adorning him. He was ethereal through and through, the ocean of compassion. “I cannot have your gem, Arya. It should be under your protection. I have never desired it for myself. Besides, this is not the best jewel that you have.” He turned to glimpse at Satyabhama who gaped blankly at the trio— Satrajita, Krishna and Jambavati.
The bear princess winked at her. I know your secret, her mischief seemed to articulate.
“In that case.” Satrajita took his daughter’s crimson painted palm in his own and led her entranced self to the kingmaker with a flute. “You may have the best one, Vaasudeva. You are the only one I deem competent to have my true fortune. She has guided my maligned mind away from the dark and brought me undying glee. My sweet child Satyabhame, do you consent to this marriage?”
Flustered, she nodded in affirmation and her bridegroom gladly looped an arm around her. Rukmini circled the veneration platter around the three of them, a broad grin splitting her gentle face.
Reverence softened his lotus eyes and he whispered to her, slightly leaning to her side, as if praying for Devi Lakshmi to grace him, “Welcome home, Bhame. I could never not have wished for your hand in mine.”
