Aristasura and Kamsa

Aristasura stood in front of Kamsa, his head down, lost in his thoughts, quite oblivious to the confused ramblings of his king, although he could see that Kamsa was beyond help. He had lost the ability to think clearly and rationally. He was sending arrows in the dark, and it looked as if every arrow was boomeranging with added vengeance and vigour.

All the subjects of Kamsa were now aware of the dreaded prophecy proclaiming his death at the hands of the eighth child of his sister, Devaki. Imprisoning her and her husband, Vasudev,  since that day, Kamsa had done the unforgivable, killing every child of hers within minutes of its birth.

Her pleas to let all but her eighth child live fell on deaf ears because he was consumed by the fear of death. Kamsa had believed himself to be immortal, and to be warned of his death shook him, and he quaked like a lone leaf separated from its parent tree on a windy day.  

The escape of the eighth child filled him with dread even more. He found out that the child was safe and sound in Vrindavan. He had sent a string of demons, starting from Putana, to kill the child. All of them, including the last one, Aghasura, the powerful serpent demon, were killed.

Now it was Aristasura’s turn to go. Standing before the ranting Kamsa, his thoughts were going haywire. 

If powerful beings like Bakasura couldn’t do the deed, how could he do it? And how can so many demons die at the hands of a mere child? There were rumours that not a single Vrindavan resident was harmed, not a single hair on the child was harmed. How was that possible? The only plausible explanation had to be rooted in that prophecy. Kamsa’s death was waiting for him in Vrindavan. And Kamsa was doing everything irrationally possible to protect himself.

“Aristasura!” Kamsa’s booming voice crashed Aristasura’s thoughts.

“What are you thinking? Are you scared to go to Vrindavan?”

“Hardly, my King. I am indebted to you and am ready to lay down my life for you.”

“I don’t want your life, Arista. I want you to come back alive to give me the good news of that wretched child’s death.”

“I will do my best.”

“Your best better be enough to kill.”

“I can assure you I will try my best. Whether my best will be enough, only time will tell.”

Aristasura as Varatantu

Bowing to his king, Aristasura began his journey to Vrindavan, leaving behind a very worried Kamsa. What he didn’t tell his king was how ancient memories from another birth had been haunting him the past few days, especially since the death of his good friend, Bakasura, the powerful crane demon.

Like Bakasura, when the time came, Aristasura recalled his previous birth as a brahmana, when he was a disciple of Guru Brihaspati. Although a good student, he was a reckless lad, prone to making errors without thinking, not necessarily to cause harm. However, Aristasura thought, even mistakes made in ignorance cannot escape the karmic cycle.

He recalled how, in a moment of utter thoughtlessness, he sat before his guru with his legs stretched out, his feet facing the guru. Brihaspati, in a fit of rage at his disciple’s rude behaviour, cursed him, “You sit in front of me with your legs out, like a bull. Be born as a bull in your next birth.”

Aristasura recalled his feelings of regret and remorse as he fell at the feet of his erstwhile guru, who couldn’t take back his curse but promised that his liberation from the cycles of birth and death would be at the hands of Krishna, Lord Vishnu’s incarnation during the Dwarpara Yuga.

These memories had been haunting Aristasura for the last few days. After hearing the stories of his friends’ deaths, Aristasura had come to realise the divinity of the child at Vrindavan. He had made up his mind to give in to fate, happy to know that his demonic days were coming to an end, his days of deplorable acts were coming to an end, his days of killing and murder were coming to an end. 

He walked into Vrindavan and saw the Vrijvasis going about their daily work, happy as can be. Every face was smiling. Not knowing who he was, they smiled at his disguised appearance too, welcoming him like their own. Aristasura hadn’t seen such love and happiness at all in his lifetime. He only saw anger, pain, and suffering. Today, he realised that they were brought on by the lack of contentment, by the actions of greed and desire beyond one’s needs.

Aristasura and Kanha in Vrindavan

Satiated by this realization, Aristasura decided not to delay his fate anymore. Changing his form to the original form of a ferocious bull, he raged into the streets as people and cattle scattering hither and thither for their lives, their screams of fear renting the air, shattering the happy peace of the place. He avoided the people and animals as much as he could because he didn’t want to hurt or kill anyone on his last day on the holy land of Mathura.

He knew Kanha would make an appearance as soon as the sounds of fear and dread of his people reached his ears. And rightly so, the little dark, handsome boy came running and stood in front of the ferocious bull, his hands on his hips, and anger in his eyes. 

I wish I had someone like him who loved me the way he loves Vrajvasis. Maybe my demonic mind would have calmed a lot. I feel an inexplicable envy for the people he loves.

Aristasura stared at the handsome boy, divinity oozing from every pore of his body, and it seemed as if the boy could read his mind because the anger in his eyes was replaced with an understanding kindness. In an instant, the bull demon unleashed all his demonic nature and rushed towards the boy who, with an unbelievable, held the bull by its horns, swirled it around in the air a couple of times, before dashing it to the ground, releasing its soul to conjoin with the Paramatma.

Author’s Note:

My mother has always scolded my brother and me for sitting with our legs stretched out, especially when we were facing older people in the family and society. It was considered rude, and often, if we forgot this lesson, she would give us a tight slap on our wrist. I always wondered why. In fact, I had forgotten that lesson, since we rarely sit on the floor, thanks to the widespread use of chairs and tables in modern life. While I was researching the various demons Kamsa sent to kill little Kanha, Aristasura’s story brought back memories of my mother’s knuckle rap. Even if the idea may be archaic in today’s times, I assumed this story is perhaps one of the reasons we couldn’t sit with our legs stretched out and facing older people. 

Like the earlier ones, the story of Aristasura is found in detail in Garga Samhita and Bhagavata Purana.

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