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Krishna sighed and fell to the white sand. The prophecy was coming true. He knew it would, he had even willed it but now that it was here, Krishna was wistful. Two hundred and seventy-five kilometres away, his beloved Dwarka was swallowed by the seas, never to be seen again. Ah, the glamour and splendour it once held! Krishna was sad, no one would ever experience Dwarka in all its pomp and majesty again. Although it would rise seven more times from the ashes, the city would never proclaim its former glory ever again. It would never again be what it was without her one and true Dwarkadhish, the only king worthy enough to encapsulate the spirit of a people and claim the title for eternity. Lord Shri Krishna.

Krishna felt nostalgic. He knew these were earthly pleasures that he was bound to leave behind. Krishna struggled though, as he always had to come to terms with the inevitable. His human form was fighting his divinity, wanting more time with those he loved and with those he had come to help. But, alas, his work here was done. The Great War was over, good was reigning over the throne of Hastinapur, and evil had been wiped off from the planet. Only for now though. Krishna knew it was all temporary, for the world would have to battle evil once more very soon.

A sinful age of man was not far away, where destruction would go hand in hand with man’s greed and thirst for power. The Kali yuga was closing in on his heels, eager to see Krishna leave so it could dawn, waiting to diminish religion, truthfulness, cleanliness, tolerance, mercy, duration of life, physical strength, and memory in its wake. The worst of all the ages, the Kali yuga, would reward avarice and wrath with humans displaying open hostility and animosity towards each other. Dharma would completely cease to exist with rulers ruling only for their personal benefit, not the welfare of the citizenry until Krishna would have to descend once again, this time in his Kalki form to defeat his arch nemesis, Kali, once and for all.

Krishna could feel Kali’s lecherous distant sway, once again feeling the temptation to extend his time and change his destiny. It would be easy for him to do so. He glanced at the hot sun, taking in all the sights around him, melancholy setting in. Krishna would never see his friends again; he would not see any of this again. At least, not in this form or in this yuga. Even in his final moments, he was struggling to reconcile his divinity with his humanity.

Tathaastu. Amen. Krishna had responded to Gandhari when she had cursed his people, the Yadavas.

“I know your true form, O Krishna,” Gandhari had said. “I know who you really are. You could have stopped this war, but you did not. I have lost ninety-nine of my children because you preferred bloodshed over diplomacy. I curse you today, O Madhusudan. I curse you that you too shall experience the same agony I did of losing my family, and my clan. Your great and mighty Yadava empire shall one day cease to exist, just like my family has.”

Krishna could have argued with Gandhari on the true nature of her sons or their belief in their adharmi (godless) cause, but he knew it would lead nowhere. He could have asked her why she had not tried harder to stop her son’s greed or curtail her husband’s ambitions. He could have asked her so many things…but what good would that do now? For now, it was too late and there was no turning back. Even the Creator could not change what had already come to pass.

A few feet away, the Yadava dynasty was still fighting amongst themselves, drunk, annihilating each other with glee as pre-ordained. In the distance, the orange flag of the mighty Somnath Patan temple blew in the wind. Krishna pensively recalled the last time he was here, helping erect the great temple walls with special sandalwood from Dwarka. Work would continue on the temple, as it always had since Lord Soma first started building it eons ago. Krishna knew Somnath would suffer terribly in the years to come but he also knew it would never fall. Mahadev had blessed it.

“I am always present everywhere but especially in twelve places as the Jyotirlingas. I will be present at Somnath and will protect it, always,” Mahadev had said.

Krishna felt the sudden urge to see Somnath’s might and wonder one last time. He arose and walked to the temple. Despite the fighting, everything was serene. Everything was quietly waiting to see what he would do next. Krishna walked up the steps of the temple, towards the main hall. The gods were starting to congregate. They were here to witness a divine spectacle. They tailed Krishna as he continued walking towards the garbhagriha, the inner sanctum of the temple. Once he reached inside, Krishna stopped and took in the radiance of its energy, the pure power the place emanated. There he closed his eyes and uttered a few words slowly letting them take effect. She would need the protection and the security of the inner sanctum to hold. He needed to hurry but Krishna was in no mood to rush. His older brother, Dau, could wait. All of creation could wait. This was important.

After what seemed an eternity, Krishna opened his eyes and slowly walked back out, the Gods spilling behind him. He knew he could no longer prolong the moment. Walking back towards the beach, Krishna descended the steps and sat down on the hot sand, his eyes searching for Dau, his older brother Balarama.

Far away in the distance, disgusted with the carnage of brother killing brother, Balarama decided he had enough. Krishna could do whatever he wished. Balarama was done. As he sat down to meditate under a tree, waiting for his divine form to consume him and carry him away from this catastrophic world, Balarama knew he would never return. Between all his earthly lives, Balarama had fulfilled all his roles and all his duties to Krishna. He would not be born among mortals again. At least not until after this pralaya, the predestined period of dissolution of the universe.

As the physical world around him started to disappear, a giant Naga, the thousand-headed white snake, Ananta, slowly emerged from Balarama’s mouth rushing towards the endless ocean, vanishing in its depth. Balarama was gone. Krishna saw Dau leave his mortal body and become one with his immortal form, waiting for Krishna to join him once again.

For Krishna, there would be no turning back.

The Yadavas were still fighting. Krishna decided he had seen the spectacle enough. Jara should be along any minute now. The devas started to feel the winds of change. The end was truly near.

Krishna rose from the beach, his emotions conflicted, and slowly started walking towards the forest that lay beside the temple, looking for the chosen tree. Promises had to be fulfilled. After walking for a few minutes, Krishna found her. He bowed, his hands close to his heart and asked for permission to sit down.

“O Goddess, I have come to fulfil my promise,” Krishna said, referring to Tilottama’s curse from Sage Durvasa who had sent the apsara to Earth in the form of a banyan tree to suffer for an eternity after she inadvertently made the sage wait outside her palace doors. After she conducted severe penance to be freed from Durvasa’s curse, Mahadev had granted Tilottama a boon.

431826. travails will end, and you shall re-enter swargaloka (heavens) after the Lord in his avatar as Krishna comes to you in his final moments to depart this Earth,” Mahadev had blessed.

While Tilottama had waited millennia for this moment, she also knew what it meant. “Oh Lord, I have waited for so long to catch a glimpse of you. And, now you are here. This is a bittersweet moment for me, my Lord. While my salvation awaits, it also means Mother Earth will no longer be your home.”

“My time has come, Devi. Mother Earth has her warriors and her protectors. They will fight for her and look after her. My purpose here is done. It is time for me to depart this form,” Krishna replied with melancholy.

Hesitatingly, Tilottama obliged. Krishna sat down under her shade, raising his left foot on his right thigh, the same foot injured by Barbarik’s arrow. “Barbarik,” Krishna smiled at the thought of that brave soul who unhesitatingly laid down his life so dharma could win. What a terrible injustice it was but Krishna had learnt that none in the world could match the fearsome power of Barbarik’s three arrows, bestowed on him by none other than Mahadev.