India, April 26 -- Radhay

They told me that I was born To a princess Heir apparent, second in line To the famous throne of Mathura But then my maternal uncle Wanted me dead If I were really to kill him Why did the aerial voice warn him? Make him suspicious Put up his guard, So that he even got ready To kill my mother, the gentle Devaki? My father Vasudeva had to beg For her life, his wife's life Promising to hand over All their children For Kamsa to kill in front of their very eyes

Did not the infant blood splattered stones Make them automatically abstemious? How could they risk producing Another kid, to whet the assassin's greed? Why did they not stop At a son or two? Or did they want, the vaunted prediction To come true? Did they desi...