Pramila, who came to be known as Vatsasura, knew he would be next. With Putana, Trinavarta, and Sakatasura gone, his turn would come sooner than later. He waited with bated breath. He even thought of running away from Mathura. But where would he go? Which place was safe from the long arms of Kamsa’s law? 

He sighed heavily as he got up from the bed, the same condition of sleeplessness and restlessness torturing his nights in the last few years. Now, that miracle child who was rumoured to have killed his three friends must be around 6 or 7 years old. Kamsa had kept the news of the deaths of his friends under wraps. Only a special few knew of the deaths of the powerful demons who had attempted to kill children in Vrindavan. 

Kamsa said he didn’t want to spread panic. Maybe he wanted to pretend nothing was happening, hoping the prophecy would die if he didn’t acknowledge it openly. 

Like his departed friends, Pramila was one of Kamsa’s close associates, killing, maiming, and looting people and kingdoms, while helping the Vrishni kingdom grow in strength and territory. Today, Kamsa was feared across Bharatvarsha, and no one dared to oppose him and his rule, no matter how tyrannical it may be.

Yet the prophecy heralding his death by the eighth child of his sister Devaki put the fear of life into him. Kamsa lost his senses, even more when three of the demons he had sent to slay the child were brutally killed. He couldn’t think rationally. But he also couldn’t accept that his end was due, that his time would come sooner than later. 

How could anyone teach him the way of acceptance? How could anyone show him the peace that comes with acceptance? How could anyone teach the great Kamsa the importance of gratitude for all the good things he has had, despite his treachery of usurping his father’s kingdom and placing the old king under permanent house arrest?

“Transform into Vatsasura, Pramila!”

Definitely, Pramila, despite being the son of the valiant, undefeatable Muru, the commander-in-chief of the mighty Narakasura, didn’t have the courage in him to preach to Kamsa. So, he waited for the call. And it came one fine morning. Like his dead friends, he went to Kamsa and stood with his head bent down, awaiting his orders.

Pramila had heard that Kamsa was exceedingly on edge these days, losing his temper for the tiniest of reasons. His fear made him even more violent than before. His servants and workers walked on tiptoe, lest any small sound anger their highly sensitive king. They spoke in whispers, and that too only if necessary. The axe of uncertainty was killing him gradually. Perhaps that could kill him before the prophecy came true.

As his informers advised him, Pramila stood in front of Kamsa, his head bent down, not daring to meet his eyes. 

When he managed to steal a glance at Kamsa, Pramila was shocked to see how old and burnt out he looked. The fear he felt was palpable. His eyes were red. Lack of sleep or excessive drinking? His skin was sagging because he had lost weight. He couldn’t eat. The fear of death turned food to tasteless ash in his mouth. The irony of it, smiled Pramila inwardly. To have all material comforts, and yet not have it!

“Come, my dear Pramila, I think you know why I called you.” The tremble in Kamsa’s voice was unmistakable.

Pramila kept his head down and replied, “You want me to go to Gokul.”

“Yes, my dear friend. You are absolutely correct. Your king needs your service. But this time, we need to have a plan. Instead of attacking directly, let us take a tangential perspective.”

“What do you have in mind, my dear King?”

“Well, as you know, Gokul is the home of cattle-herders. I want you to disguise yourself as an innocent calf, mingle with the cattle, and then attack the boys. First, gather the information about this magical child, and attack only him. All the other children should be spared. Why should innocents pay the price? What do you think, Pramila?”

Pramila almost sniggered at Kamsa’s face; his fake concern for innocents was funny at that moment. Catching himself just in time, he replied, “Indeed, my Lord. We don’t need to touch the innocent people. We’ll focus only on the boy who has the power to harm you.”

Suddenly, Pramila realised something. He stammered, “Bbbuuut, sire, wha..wha..what disguise do you want me to use?”

“That of an innocent-looking calf! Your name could be Vatsasura – the Calf Demon. Sounds eerie, right?” Kamsa guffawed, even as the worry lines on his face deepened a little.

Pramila’s voice quaked. “But, sire, you know about my curse.”

“What curse?” Kamsa bumbled, avoiding eye contact with Pramila. “That’s all rubbish. No harm can come to you. Go, follow my orders or be ready to face death.”

Chilled to the bone by Kamsa’s callousness, Pramila left for Gokul, his heart heavy with sadness. 

How could he do this to me? He knows about my curse. I’ve told him about it. Then, he had laughed, “I don’t think you’ll ever need to become a calf, ever. Don’t worry, your curse will never come true.”

Yet, today, he hadn’t batted an eyelid while ordering him to do exactly that. 

Vatsasura Relives Pramila’s Curse

Being the son of Mura, the commander-in-chief of Narakasura, the King of Pragjyotishpura, Pramila had a highly privileged upbringing, rarely hearing a no for any of desires and needs.

One day, in his youth, he wandered into Sage Vasishtha’s vast, verdant ashram, replete with hordes of cattle, beautiful, fruit-rich orchards, fields ripe with grain, and everything needed for a comfortable patashala. Recognising the young son of Muru, one of Sage Vasishtha’s many disciples, respectfully invited him in, gave him a sumptuous meal, and a big glass of the most delicious milk Pramila had ever had. 

After finishing his meal, he was taken to Sage Vasishtha. Pramila bowed low and took the sage’s blessings. Thanking him for the hospitality and the hearty meal, Pramila asked, “I’ve never tasted such sweet milk as I had in your ashram, sire. What is the secret?”

The sage smiled indulgently. “Nandini, the wish-fulfilling cow, lives here. She is in charge of our kitchen. The food you ate and the milk you drank are her blessings.”

“The wish-fulfilling cow? Intriguing! Can I see her?”

“Of course. But remember, she not only bestows wishes but has the power to curse, too.” The sage then asked the same student who had been serving Pramila to take him to the stables, where he saw Nandini for the first time. She was pearly white, her eyes were huge and beautiful. She radiated a divine warmth that enveloped those who chose to love her. 

The desire to own Nandini, to take her back with him to his home, arose in Pramila’s heart. He first asked nicely and was politely refused. Then he decided to use deception. He transformed himself into an innocent-looking calf and hid among the other calves of the stable, lying in wait for an opportunity to abduct Nandini. 

But Nandini could easily recognise craftiness too. She saw through Pramila’s deceit and cursed him. “You will become famous as Vatsasura, the Calf Demon. If you ever try to transform yourself into a calf ever again, then that will be your end.”

Pramila had stumbled away in inexplicable fear. Nandini’s words seemed to ring true, and yet he wondered how an animal’s curse could come true, even if she was divine.

Pramila went about his life, although the curse always lingered in his mind. Even when he became a close associate of Kamsa and had helped him loot, plunder, and annex many a kingdom, he avoided cattle of any form. 

One day, in a state of drunkenness, he had related this story to Kamsa, who had laughed and said! “Rubbish, Pramila. You have easily challenged and defeated so many strong warriors, and you still fear the words of a cow. But anyway, I don’t see you using the disguise of a calf ever in your life. So stop worrying and enjoy your life.”

That was then, and this was now. Despite knowing his fear, Kamsa had deliberately ordered him to transform into a calf to gather intel about the child in Gokul and find a way to kill him. 

Pramila Transforms Into Vatsasura

Pramila had little doubt his end was near, and instead of resisting it, he decided to embrace it. If the rumours are to be believed (and now be did), the child born to kill Kamsa was none other than Vishnu, come as a human to rid adharma and reinstate dharma. It would be much better for him to die at his hands than as merely Kamsa’s highly expendable slave.

With these thoughts running in his head, Pramila reached Gokul. As he entered the little village, he crossed a huge pasture in the middle of a dense forest that ran along the banks of a river in which hordes of cattle were grazing peacefully, even as the mesmerising sounds of a flute filled the air.

He approached the sound and saw an amazing sight. In the middle of a clearing, he found a young boy of 6 or 7 playing the flute while a group of boys and girls sat around him, their eyes closed and lost in the beautiful music. 

Pramila immediately recognised he was in the presence of a very powerful being. For an instant, his eyes met those of the flute boy, the peacock feather in his lock of hair dancing in the wind, as merrily as the twinkle in his eyes. 

Pramila felt a strange kind of peace in that instant, and he knew he was ready. Quickly, transforming into a Vatsasura, he mingled with the rest of the cattle and waited. He didn’t need to do anything else but wait for the events to unfold.

And it did. The boy with the flute exchanged glances with another slightly older boy, and in a few minutes, they approached Vatsasura. The flute boy held his tail in a vice-like grip, swung him around a couple like a top, before dashing him against a tree. Vatsasura regained his original form just before his body hit the tree. He fell dead instantly. The children gasped at the sight even as Vatsasura’s soul rose into the sky. 

Author’s Note:

The story of Vatsasura and his connection to Pramila, the son of Muru, has its origins in Gargi Samhita and Bhagavata Purana. Pictures created with the help of ChatGPT using prompts picked from my story.