Narada's Warning to Kamsa

Kamsa was celebrating. Another successful day of tyranny, another feast of excess.

The celestial music came first—the unmistakable sound of Narada's veena.

Narada: "Great King."

The sage appeared in a shimmer of light, his smile as enigmatic as ever.

Kamsa: "Narada. What brings you to my court? Come to praise my conquests?"

Narada: "I come with news. A prophecy, actually."

Kamsa: "Prophecies bore me. I make my own fate."

Narada: "Do you? Then you won't mind hearing that Devaki's eighth child will kill you."

The feast hall went silent.

Kamsa: "My sister's child? Devaki is childless."

Narada: "She's newly married to Vasudeva. Children will come. And one of them—the eighth—will end your reign, your life, your legacy."

Kamsa: "You're certain?"

Narada: "The gods are certain. I'm merely the messenger. I thought you should know."

Kamsa: "Why tell me? What's your game, sage?"

Narada laughed.

Kamsa: "Game? I have no game. I simply... share information. What you do with it is your choice. You could release your sister, let fate unfold naturally. Or you could try to prevent it."

Narada: "Prevent it how?"

Kamsa: "Well, you could kill the children. Each one, as they're born. That's what most tyrants would do."

Narada: "And that would work?"

Kamsa: "Who knows? Prophecies are tricky. The more you fight them, the more they tend to come true. But then again, if you do nothing, they definitely come true. Quite the paradox."

Kamsa stood, his feast forgotten.

Narada: "If I kill all her children—"

Kamsa: "Then you're a monster. But you're already a monster, so perhaps that doesn't matter. I'll be watching, King. Your story is just beginning to get interesting."

Narada: "Wait! Why are you really here? What do you gain?"

Kamsa: "I gain nothing. Except entertainment. And you, Kamsa, are about to become very entertaining indeed."

Alone, Kamsa made his decision. He would imprison his sister and kill every child she bore.

He didn't know that this very decision would ensure his doom. That fear would make him cruel, cruelty would make him hated, and hatred would give the eighth child all the allies he needed.

Narada knew. Narada always knew.

That was the game.