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

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  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.