We built Dwarka, Dau, and I. Once we

returned to Mathura from Avantika, the next

undertaking was to have a haven for the

Yadav clan since I, who should have been as

great a warrior as I was a musician, found

myself not interested in defeating enemies. I

came back from the ashram steeped in an

unwillingness for war. I was the prince of the

Yadu clan, the grandson of the King, slayer

of my uncle Kans. The people of my land

looked at me with a mix of love, respect, and

adulation. They wanted to worship me. They

wanted to shower me with all forms of love.

I cared for none, but I played along,

sometimes overcome, sometimes just for fun.

Uncle Kansa's father-in-law was King

Jarasandha of the mighty Magadh empire, a

kingdom to the east of Mathura. Seventeen

times, Jarasandha attacked Mathura.

Seventeen times we protected our land and

people. Jarasandha craved revenge. I

suspected revenge had little to do with it.

Cows were central to economic prosperity,

and the Yadav's had almost monopolized this

vital resource. Wars are usually waged for

monetary benefit, although intelligent men

and even the gods often choose to disguise

their intentions under false righteousness.

I did not want to indulge in the idle warfare

Jarasandha sought, so I chose to go where he

would find it difficult to follow.

I reclaimed ninety-six square kilometres of

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

land from the sea and built the city of

Dwarka. A fortressed city surrounded on all

four sides by the oceans, where the very tides

would be our guards.

We built Dwarka to be the most splendid feat

of engineering and architecture. It boasted an

opulence that was beyond anything anyone

could imagine—a city of palaces, towers,

parks, and gardens. My own palaces were

located at Bet Dwarka, a tiny island some

thirty kilometres away from the main town.

After my grandfather passed, I would be the

King. Dau had categorically refused the

crown and insisted that this particular wreath

of thorns would best suit my head and hair. I

had laughed at his joke, knowing that his

love for me would not let anyone other than

me bear the crown, including himself.

I looked after my people from my rooms in

Bet Dwarka, as long as I could. I built

Dwarka to avoid war. I also built it to show

the world what was possible. My city was to

be the gateway to heaven. A getaway to the

lands east of the Indus, a gateway to my

country. Every ship from foreign lands

would dock at my port. My city would show

them the majesty of my world. It would be

more than any other city on Earth. It would

be what people aspire to achieve, a land

where people crave to live. What I always

knew and did not tell my people was majesty

is always fickle, transitory.

I had Dwarka built as a testament to human

achievement and love. The stones that were

used to lay its foundation had been sprinkled

with the soil of Vrindavan.

I had parted the ocean to snatch away from

its waters a piece of land to call my own. The

ocean would, in time, take it back.