A Voice uttered for all to hear,
A message ominous from Sky;
O Kamsa! Count your days with fear!
A warning that you soon shall die!
On hearing what the Voice had said,
Trembled and swayed the mighty king;
His eyes were filled with doubt and dread,
And blindness spread like nightly wing!
The Voice announced its grave decree,
As motionless the world remained:
The eighth child born to Devaki,
The one who’ll slay you as ordained!
In silence that was grim and dark,
The cruel king like pillar stood;
An evil thought, a wicked spark;
Should Devaki…? Perhaps he should!
An evil smile adorned his face,
He searched for her, possessed and fey;
On finding her, he raised his mace;
She flinched and tried to run away!
Vasudeva pleaded for her life:
What has Devaki done to thee?
I beg you, O king, spare my wife!
I beg you, listen to my plea!
What children she and I beget,
I promise to give them to thee!
I beg you, O wise king, forget
The thought of slaying Devaki!
The angry king spared them awhile,
But locked them in a dungeon dark;
The firstborn when he wailed his cry,
In came the impatient monarch!
One, two, three, four, five, six, were gone,
As Kamsa smashed them to their deaths!
Forlorn and weak, the two looked on,
And deeply prayed with silent breaths!
Like wintry nights the months did pass,
The darkness even stifled sighs;
Devaki stared at twinkling stars,
And fell asleep with teary eyes.
Lord Vishnu, with his subtle smile,
Revolved the wheels of decreed doom;
From Devaki, the seventh child.
He transferred to Rohini’s womb!
The king came in, his mood was wild;
Vasudev said: stillborn, O lord!
He heard no wail and found no child,
The eighth now, laughed the king and roared!
Despite the shackles firm and cold,
A ray of hope they felt anew;
To each other, with awe, they told:
The Lord, perchance, will see us through!
The eighth day of the waning phase,
In Shravan month when clouds were high;
Past midnight, by Lord Vishnu’s grace,
The eighth was born without a cry!
The chains that held them broke apart,
The doors of prison opened wide;
A thrill ran through Vasudev’s heart,
The eighth could yet be saved, he cried!
A basket held the giggling eighth,
The father fled the guards asleep;
The river, alas, rose in spate,
How could he cross the fury deep?
He stood holding the newborn high,
As if waiting for divine deeds;
And then the waters parted nigh,
He sped to Nanda, his friend in need!
Yashoda, wife of Nand, had borne
A girl that same astounding night;
He exchanged her for one his own,
And returned ere the morning light!
In swaggered Kamsa with vicious eyes,
He madly laughed and howled and clapped,
And raised his fist and mocked the skies,
He felt his foe was firmly trapped!
He flung the child with all his might,
She vanished like some fleck of flare;
The cruel king turned pale with fright,
He knew his foe was somewhere there!
Kansaratva Chronicles 