Krishna and Shishupala's Mother - The Promise of Forgiveness

The baby in Krishna's arms had stopped crying. The third eye had closed and vanished. The extra arms had withdrawn into the body. What had been a terrifying birth defect was now a normal infant.

Shrutashrava fell at her nephew's feet.

Shrutashrava: "You are his death. The prophecy is clear. You held him when the transformation happened. You will kill my son."

Krishna: "Someday. Yes."

Shrutashrava: "Then kill him now! If he must die by your hand, let it be now, before I love him more, before he becomes someone whose death will destroy me."

Krishna looked at her—at this aunt who was asking him to murder her infant to spare herself future grief.

Krishna: "You would rather lose him now than later?"

Shrutashrava: "I would rather lose him before he becomes himself. Right now, he's just... possibility. In twenty years, he'll be a person. With a life I'll have watched. With achievements I'll have celebrated. The loss will be greater then."

Krishna: "And if the loss being greater means the life was worth living?"

Shrutashrava: "What?"

Krishna handed the baby back to her. Shishupala—no longer marked by divine mutation—slept peacefully.

Krishna: "The pain of loss is proportional to the value of what was lived. If I kill him now, you lose a possibility. If I kill him in twenty years, you lose a son you knew and raised and loved. Yes, the grief will be greater. But the grief is not the only measure."

Shrutashrava: "What else is there?"

Krishna: "The twenty years between. The first words. The first steps. The arguments and reconciliations. The pride when he accomplishes something. The frustration when he fails. All of that would be erased if I killed him now. You're asking me to spare you grief by robbing you of joy."

Shrutashrava clutched her son.

Shrutashrava: "He'll grow up hating you. The prophecy doesn't just say you'll kill him—it says he'll oppose you his entire life."

Krishna: "I know."

Shrutashrava: "And you still won't spare him—spare both of us—this fate?"

Krishna: "I won't spare him the chance to live. What he does with that life is his choice. Perhaps he'll oppose me. Perhaps that opposition will teach him something. Perhaps at the moment of death, he'll understand more than he would have if he'd died in infancy."

Shrutashrava: "Or perhaps he'll die cursing you."

Krishna: "Perhaps. That's his right. We all have the right to meet our end with whatever emotion we choose. Aunt, let me offer you something instead of his death."

Shrutashrava: "What could you possibly offer?"

Krishna: "Forgiveness. I will forgive him one hundred offenses. One hundred times, he can insult me, attack me, curse me—and I will do nothing. Only when he exceeds one hundred will the prophecy complete itself."

Shrutashrava: "That's... generous."

Krishna: "It's a chance. One hundred opportunities to turn back. One hundred moments where he could choose differently. If he persists beyond one hundred, then his death is his own choice, not fate's imposition."

Shrutashrava looked at her sleeping son. Her face was a war of emotions.

Krishna: "Will you raise him to hate me?"

Krishna asked.

Shrutashrava: "I... I don't know."

Krishna: "Whatever you choose, I'll understand. I am prophesied to kill your child. Your hatred would be justified."

Shrutashrava: "And if I don't hate you?"

Krishna: "Then perhaps Shishupala will learn something from your example. Perhaps he'll find a way to live that doesn't lead to the hundredth offense. Perhaps the prophecy will be fulfilled in a way neither of us expects."

Shrutashrava rose, holding Shishupala close.

Shrutashrava: "I will take your offer. One hundred offenses."

Krishna: "And in return?"

Shrutashrava: "I will not raise him to hate you. I will tell him the truth—all of it—and let him choose his own path. If he chooses hatred despite knowing the cost, that will be his choice. Not mine."

Krishna: "That's all I ask."

She began to leave, then turned back.

Shrutashrava: "Do you enjoy this? Knowing you'll kill my son?"

Krishna: "No. But I accept it. There's a difference. Some duties are not enjoyed. They're simply done."

Shrutashrava nodded once and left with her child—toward a future neither of them could change but both of them could still shape.