heavy rock sinking into clear water. He gripped the edges of the chariot wheel with white-knuckled intensity, holding on for dear life. A sensation of vertigo overwhelmed him. He shut his eyes until the sensation passed.
Krishna’s hand on his shoulder caused him to open his eyes again. He looked up into the smiling eyes of his lord. “Do not fear, my good man. No harm will come to you. Any sensation you experience is due to your own fear. The celestial vehicle causes no change to human beings, no matter how high it rises or how rapidly it flies. You have my assurance on that. Here, take my hand.” And he held out his hand.
Tvasta hesitated then took the proferred hand. He felt a sense of well-being pervade him at once, and all fear and anxiety melted away. Slowly, he rose to his feet, marveling at how wonderful he felt all of a sudden. He looked out and saw that they were already racing away from Mathura City, several hundred yards above ground. Balarama’s chariot raced alongside them, the only other thing in sight that was traveling at such great speed. He could not begin to estimate the velocity at which they were traveling but he knew that no bird that had ever lived could possibly fly at such a pace, nor could any arrow fly this fast.
Krishna released his hand but touched his shoulder gently. Tvasta nodded gratefully, standing without holding onto anything yet feeling perfectly secure and at ease, just as if he were standing on solid ground and looking at a perfectly ordinary scene. He stood that way and marveled at the landscape flashing past as they flew to their destination.
12
The flight was short despite the great distance covered. When their destination came into view, the sculptor released a sound of exclamation. Even Krishna’s charioteer showed his excitement.
“Is that the ocean, Lord Krishna?” Tvasta asked humbly.
“Indeed it is, my good shilpi. Have you not seen it before?” Krishna said, standing beside the man at the railing of the chariot.
Tvasta shook his head. “I have hardly had occasion to leave Mathura, my Lord. My work keeps me busy night and day as you yourself might have seen.”
The sculptor was responsible for most of the carvings and sculptures in and around the royal complex of Mathura. Those that he had not done himself, his students had executed. For even from a very young age, he had been masterful enough in the execution of his craft that every young man and woman with talent had sought him out and desired to become his pupil. He had rejected their subservience and instead made them his associates, and with their aid, under his able instruction, The had redesigned the palace complex from end to end and overseen its construction, and had done the same for most of the great houses in the city’s richest quarters. Even at this youthful age, he was already a master architect whose knowledge of the Shilpi manuals was matched by none other in Mathura. Yet he preferred to refer to himself as simply Tvasta the sculptor.
“Tvasta,” Krishna had asked him when he had met him some months earlier and admired his work. “Why do you call yourself merely a sculptor? You have accomplished so much more than sculptures.”
Tvasta had rubbed his knotted hands and said simply, “My father and guru say that it is better to be a rock and let others call you a mountain than to call oneself a mountain while others say you are just a rock.” He smiled, his guileless face as smooth as a perfectly finished marble sculpture. “And sculpting always remains my first and last love.”
Krishna had admired the young boy’s humility inspite of his great achievements and fame and had promised him that someday he would engage his services in building a city. He reminded Tvasta of that promise now.
“Daruka, slow the chariot,” he said first. When the sarathi had done as he bid and Balarama had slowed his vehicle as well, Krishna turned to Tvasta.
Krishna’s hand on his shoulder caused him to open his eyes again. He looked up into the smiling eyes of his lord. “Do not fear, my good man. No harm will come to you. Any sensation you experience is due to your own fear. The celestial vehicle causes no change to human beings, no matter how high it rises or how rapidly it flies. You have my assurance on that. Here, take my hand.” And he held out his hand.
Tvasta hesitated then took the proferred hand. He felt a sense of well-being pervade him at once, and all fear and anxiety melted away. Slowly, he rose to his feet, marveling at how wonderful he felt all of a sudden. He looked out and saw that they were already racing away from Mathura City, several hundred yards above ground. Balarama’s chariot raced alongside them, the only other thing in sight that was traveling at such great speed. He could not begin to estimate the velocity at which they were traveling but he knew that no bird that had ever lived could possibly fly at such a pace, nor could any arrow fly this fast.
Krishna released his hand but touched his shoulder gently. Tvasta nodded gratefully, standing without holding onto anything yet feeling perfectly secure and at ease, just as if he were standing on solid ground and looking at a perfectly ordinary scene. He stood that way and marveled at the landscape flashing past as they flew to their destination.
12
The flight was short despite the great distance covered. When their destination came into view, the sculptor released a sound of exclamation. Even Krishna’s charioteer showed his excitement.
“Is that the ocean, Lord Krishna?” Tvasta asked humbly.
“Indeed it is, my good shilpi. Have you not seen it before?” Krishna said, standing beside the man at the railing of the chariot.
Tvasta shook his head. “I have hardly had occasion to leave Mathura, my Lord. My work keeps me busy night and day as you yourself might have seen.”
The sculptor was responsible for most of the carvings and sculptures in and around the royal complex of Mathura. Those that he had not done himself, his students had executed. For even from a very young age, he had been masterful enough in the execution of his craft that every young man and woman with talent had sought him out and desired to become his pupil. He had rejected their subservience and instead made them his associates, and with their aid, under his able instruction, The had redesigned the palace complex from end to end and overseen its construction, and had done the same for most of the great houses in the city’s richest quarters. Even at this youthful age, he was already a master architect whose knowledge of the Shilpi manuals was matched by none other in Mathura. Yet he preferred to refer to himself as simply Tvasta the sculptor.
“Tvasta,” Krishna had asked him when he had met him some months earlier and admired his work. “Why do you call yourself merely a sculptor? You have accomplished so much more than sculptures.”
Tvasta had rubbed his knotted hands and said simply, “My father and guru say that it is better to be a rock and let others call you a mountain than to call oneself a mountain while others say you are just a rock.” He smiled, his guileless face as smooth as a perfectly finished marble sculpture. “And sculpting always remains my first and last love.”
Krishna had admired the young boy’s humility inspite of his great achievements and fame and had promised him that someday he would engage his services in building a city. He reminded Tvasta of that promise now.
“Daruka, slow the chariot,” he said first. When the sarathi had done as he bid and Balarama had slowed his vehicle as well, Krishna turned to Tvasta.
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