surrounded by the bodies of friends and enemies alike, their blood mixing and running into the river. Arjuna looked up into the many faces of the god he had loved and worshiped since he was a young boy, and slumped to his knees in the mud. “Krishna! Why have you taken so many of my loved ones along with the lives of my enemies, I thought you were with me?”
Krishna smiled his many-mouthed smile, his teeth dripping with the flesh of a thousand corpses, and his eyes burning with the light of a thousand suns. “How have you come this far with me and not seen who I am? I am god, not man. My ways are higher than your ways.
I am the creator and the destroyer, the birth mother and the open mouth of the grave.
With my thousand hands I crafted this world. Everything beautiful comes from me: every smiling babe and every burning sunrise, every moment shared between lovers in the warmth by the fire.
Yet I am also the night, swallowing the sun whole and reaping the crops I have sown with a thousand swords.
In life I delight in your brightest moments, and in death welcome you home through the savage door, scattering your remains to the wind and stars from whence you came.
That is why I have shown myself to you today. This is the fullness of my being, and only in knowing these truths can you find the fullness of yours.”
Arjuna wiped the blood and dirt from his face and shaking, rose to his feet. “I