Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (34 page)

The brothers regarded each other uncertainly and then glanced at Panchali. She stared into the distance, apparently oblivious
to the tension amidst them. Govinda smiled. He knew what it was they were all waiting for. ‘The Yadus are a free people, my
friends,’ he said, with pride. ‘They are their own sovereign and they rule themselves. But I, Govinda Shauri of the Vrishnis,
shall pledge allegiance to Emperor Dharma Yudhisthir.’

The words roused Panchali out of her stupor and her eyes flashed for an instant. Then she said in a whisper, ‘Unfortunately,
Govinda of the Vrishnis, melodrama won’t hide the truth. This business will be bloody, like it or not. Many will die, and
their curses shall lie heavy on all our heads.’

Her words hung in the air as she rose and left the room.

Panchali made hurriedly for the privacy of her rooms, worried that she would blurt out the long-suppressed, decidedly dangerous
thoughts that flitted through her mind.

This, she realized, had been Govinda’s plan all along. He had known there was a way to the north. He had made sure of it.
He had moved the Nagas to their new city knowing that they would inevitably trade with other kingdoms, that they would use
their skills to build a pass through the mountains. He had burned Kandava to make them leave. To achieve that he had brought
Dharma back to Hastina, married to the Princess of Panchala. He had planned everything in meticulous detail. And now he would
lead the Kuru princes on an imperial campaign, a campaign that was doomed even before it began. Panchali’s head reeled as
she came
to see how long it must have taken for Govinda to move things into place. Then, in a singular moment, her confusion distilled
into a sparkling gem of clarity and she understood – no, accepted – what it was that he wanted.

An empire. Strong but weak, his own yet another’s. The Firewright had been right; he had warned her that this was what Govinda
was after, all along, and had begged her to somehow stop him. But she had failed. Time and again, she had failed. She had
tried to appeal to Govinda’s compassion; to his ego; and, finally, to his intellect, but her efforts had gone in vain. Govinda
felt nothing; cared for nothing.

Panchali slumped on the floor on her knees, uncaring that it was hard and cold, screaming silently in the recesses of her
mind.
Damn you, Govinda Shauri! Damn you!
She beat her fists on the floor, desperately needing her violent anger to stop her from crying. Finally, tired and defeated,
she stretched out on the cold marble, trying to control the sobs that shook her from the inside. She had no idea how long
she had been lying there, but stirred as she heard footsteps and hurriedly composed herself as Dharma burst into the room.

‘Did you know of this?’ he harshly demanded. Gripping her hard by the wrist, he yanked her up from the floor. She winced in
pain but he did not let go.

‘Did you plan this with
him
? Is this why you agreed to marry me, even though Partha won you? Did
he
tell you to? Is that why you’ve spurred me on at each step, pretending to be interested in my glory? By Rudra, how the two
of you must have laughed behind my back at the stupid, helpless puppet I’ve been!’

‘Dharma, please!’ Panchali burst out. ‘I had no idea! I assumed he …’ she stopped short, keenly aware of how her own words
had just condemned her.

‘Oh Varuna! You thought …’ Dharma’s face contorted as his shock turned into rage, the emotion genuine this once. ‘All along
you’ve been spurring
him
on. You thought
he’d
be Emperor, didn’t you? You conniving bitch, you …’

Panchali drew herself as tall as she could, channelling every bit
of her anger against Govinda into pride. ‘Dharma, I swear by my honour, I didn’t know.’

Dharma glared at her, his breath coming deep and fast. Her fiery appearance eventually convinced him that she was indeed telling
the truth. With a sigh, he relented, and pulled her into his arms. A bewildered Panchali resisted for a moment, and then,
slowly, let her head rest against his chest, bound to him, this once, in her confusion and despair. For what it was worth,
his pain was no less than hers.

‘Be calm,’ he said gently, trying to soothe her, though they both knew he meant to console only himself. ‘With Varuna’s blessings
this will go peacefully. There’s nothing to worry about or fear …’

‘What can you do, Dharma?’ she snapped at him. ‘And what do
you
need to fear? Govinda will see you Emperor of Aryavarta!’

Dharma shuddered as the words tore through the comforting illusions he had clung to for so long now. He felt wasted and weak,
as if he were nothing, a trivial piece of existence so servile that he did not count at all. Everything he had in his life
was actually a scrap thrown to him by Govinda Shauri.

Why? Why must it be this way
, his mind screamed.

The answer rang out louder than his question. He gave a slow shake of his head, the gesture his private act of acceptance
that shook the pieces into their destined places. His voice was unusually cold as he pointed out, ‘No, Panchali. Govinda will
see
you
on the throne. He will see
you
Empress of Aryavarta. It’s the only thing that makes sense.’

With that, he pushed her aside, and stalked out.

It took a while for Panchali to understand what Dharma had meant. It took her longer still to accept the irony of the situation.
Dharma thought Govinda was doing this because he cared for her, even desired her. And why not? Partha had obviously wanted
her, and though no one spoke of it, for years now, Bhim had looked at her with a pained adoration that he’d never dared express.
But Govinda …
Hah!
All this while she had felt betrayed, she thought Govinda had given her up for an empire, she had felt enraged at that vile
barter. Now she knew there had been no question of choosing an empire over her. There was nothing to give up. She meant nothing
to him.

Panchali knew she had no right to feel hurt, but she did. Hurt, used and furious, too, that she had allowed Govinda to make
her feel this way. She longed to despise him, tried to will that emotion into being, but she simply could not. All she could
think of was that Govinda had set himself on a course that placed his very life in danger. There were those who would now
seek to stop him in ways that were for more direct than hers. As cold fear pushed all the rage and silent rhetoric out of
her mind, Panchali found herself praying for the man she wanted to hate but could not.

Oh Rudra, please, please keep him safe!

THE YOUNG, BEARDED SCHOLAR WALKED THROUGH THE PALACE
with the deference expected of him. He effusively greeted every dignitary, and stood hesitantly at doorways till an attendant
came to his aid. Even then, his manner was meek and apologetic. In all, he played to perfection the part of a young acolyte
raised to the unexpected honour of an audience with the Grandsire of the Kuru line of kings. He very nearly blushed when Bhisma
came into the room.

Bhisma, however, was not amused to see his visitor. He tersely got rid of the others present, even the attendants. ‘We’re
alone,’ he finally declared, ‘you can stop your pretence.’

Devala Asita raised his head. There remained no trace of his former deference. As a matter of habit, his hand moved to his
beard in a prelude to speech. ‘You know why I’m here …’

‘Yes. And I also know that your journey is wasted. There’s nothing I can do.’

‘But …’

‘Nothing you say can make me change my mind. In any case, it’s too late. The last of Dharma’s troops marched out of Indr-prastha
over a month ago. His campaign has now well and truly begun and it’s for the people of Aryavarta to judge Dharma’s worth as
an Emperor-aspirant, not for you or me to decide.’

‘Surely,’ the scholar began, ‘you wouldn’t refuse assistance to one who begs it of you?’

‘I have every right to refuse assistance to an immoral end. Don’t argue with me!’

‘And you owe us nothing? You, the epitome of morality, claim that you owe us nothing? Forgive me, but I always thought that
the debt of a student to a teacher is the greatest duty of them all …’

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic. In any case,
you
are not my teacher.’

‘But those of my order are. It’s on Barghava Rama’s shoulders that your reputation as an unparalleled warrior was earned …
Grandsire
. The Firewrights have been your teachers, we’ve been your friends, keeping your secrets and aiding your cause when you’ve
needed us the most. Yet you’ve turned your back on us when
we
needed
you
the most. Our blood is on your hands. I’m here to claim on that debt, to hold you to it.’

‘By whose authority?’ the Grandsire asked. ‘The Secret Keeper is dead. The order of Firewrights is broken. Go back to your
hermitage, or wherever it is that you came from, and spend your days in prayer.’

‘You of all people should know better. The order can never be broken.’

‘Ah! One stupid myth to hold up another!’

‘It’s no myth. Ghora did his duty. He taught those who were the best of students, me included, and prepared us to take his
place.’

‘Except, of course,’ Bhisma scathingly noted, ‘he did not anoint you as his heir! Are you telling me that you’ve been so appointed?
That you are, in fact, the Secret Keeper?’

‘Alas, I’m not. But when a nation has no king, a regent must suffice, isn’t it? My time will come. I will rebuild my order
before I rightfully make my claim to lead it.’

A tense silence followed, broken at length by the younger man. ‘I had hoped that Agniveshya – Ghora’s grandson – was alive.
But with the fall of Kandava and then with Jarasandha’s death I’ve lost that hope. Now, as one of Ghora’s chosen, I am in
fact the head of our order till such time that a better Wright comes forward to
relieve me of this burden. By this authority, I charge you to fulfil your obligations to us.’

Bhisma stared at him, disbelieving. Then, with some effort, he stirred. ‘My
obligations
, such as they may have been, were discharged long ago, and many times over,’ he tersely pointed out. ‘In fact, it’s only
kindness, not gratitude, that keeps me from having you arrested and executed this very moment. You have shamelessly revealed
yourself as a Wright in the presence of the Regent of Hastina, no less. It’s a crime, one that is punishable with death. I
can only put down such folly to your youth and inexperience … Go, Devala! Leave before I lose my temper. Or else even your
brother’s good name won’t keep you alive in Hastina.’

Devala’s eyes blazed with anger and his chest heaved as he tried to keep his temper. Finally, when he trusted himself to speak
he softly said, ‘Very well,’ and made to leave. He had taken just a few steps towards the door when he glanced back at Bhisma.
‘Don’t you think I know? That neither you nor Dwaipayana imagined for even a moment that Govinda Shauri’s blood will emerge
as heir to the Kuru throne? Why do you still pretend then that you rule these lands? The truth is you are but puppets in the
hands of that bloody cowherd! I don’t know what promises the Vyasa has made to you, but he is an idiot, and you’re an even
greater one that you follow him blindly. I warn you, Grandsire, if the imperial campaign continues, your kin will die for
your stupidity. You have no idea what I’m capable of.’

Bhisma looked at the young man askance, and a cold and mirthless laughter broke suddenly from his lips. The Firewright was
dumbstruck.

‘Bakaa! You fool!’ Bhisma chortled, still laughing. ‘You poor, pitiful fool! Do you really believe that there are terrible
weapons hidden somewhere? That you’ll find these and save the Wrights? Hah! You were at Magadha … Don’t bother denying it
– everyone knows you were there! You promised to help Jarasandha defend his empire and reaffirm his power over Aryavarta,
in return for what? Did you find even a single Wright worth saving in his dungeons, or weapons
worth oiling in his armoury? What did you get for all your trouble? And at the end of it all Jarasandha died at the bare hands
of a better man. Certainly not an end you’d expect for a king with Firewrights at his beck and call. There’s nothing left!’

‘Do you really believe that? You know how desperate Govinda and Dharma both were to avoid open war with Jarasandha. Do you
really think there’s nothing left?’

‘There was a time when I didn’t,’ Bhisma admitted. ‘And, yes, perhaps a part of me still does believe that there are weapons
out there, weapons worthy of an Arya warrior. But that they were made by your people counts for nothing, and they certainly
won’t bring you Wrights back to power.’

‘Worse things could happen. If you won’t let us control these powerful things we have created, you risk letting them fall
into the wrong hands; hands that may now seem to grip yours in friendship but would just as soon squeeze your neck. Take it
from one who knows the bitter pain of betrayal – Govinda cannot be trusted.’

Bhisma clucked his tongue in an indulgent way. ‘This is Dwaipayana’s realm,’ he softly declared. ‘What the Vyasa believes
is what matters. After all that has happened, you still don’t see who holds the reins of Aryavarta in his hands? You’re the
fool then!’

‘But …’

Bhisma came up to the young man and placed a hand on his shoulder, as he would with one of his grandsons. His expression showed
a mixture of emotions – pain, anger, even despair – as he said, ‘There’s a demon that haunts us all, my boy. Within us all,
within every human being, even Aryas, there is a corner of darkness. With the blessings of the gods and the help of the scriptures,
we fight this darkness, overcome it to become honourable men. He … he guides us through that darkness. Every human weakness,
every foible, each despair and every hope – he knows it all, and he helps us fight it.’

‘And what if he fails? Dwaipayana – what if he fails?’

‘And what if he doesn’t?’

‘By Hara! What power does Dwaipayana hold over you that
you fear him so? You, the man who once defeated the best of the Firewrights in fair battle?’

Bhisma glared at Devala. His tone was again clear and commanding as he firmly said, ‘I can’t do what you ask of me. I can’t
stop Dharma.’

Devala’s eyes held grim resolution. ‘Then you leave me no choice.’

Syoddhan watched as the young ochre-clad scholar left Bhisma’s chambers and quickly made his way out of the grounds of the
palace. With a sigh, he turned back to where his son, Lakshmana, was training with Vasusena’s son, Vrishasena.

‘Higher there. Block him! Block him! And you, Lakshmana, go under his shield-arm,’ he called out instructions to the boys
with the instinct of experience, even as he turned back to watch the scholar till he disappeared out of view.

He tried not to bristle at the thought that followed, but was only partly successful. Hardly had the news of Dharma’s imperial
campaign made its way to Hastina, first as rumour and then as fact, than Dwaipayana had begun his persuasion – persuasion
that Syoddhan found to be less than palatable. First the Vyasa himself and then his acolytes had consistently impressed on
Bhisma and Dhritarastra how important the campaign was to the Firstborn, to the establishment of an empire of divine order
and to sealing the fate and prosperity of the Kurus. It was, Dwaipayana had pointed out and Sanjaya had echoed, of great economical
and political benefit to Eastern Kuru should its western namesake become the imperial capital of Aryavarta. Syoddhan, however,
had been less taken in by the talk than his father or his grand-uncle. He had soon understood what Dwaipayana wanted of him:
Silent support, not only his own but also that of his friends and allies – support that Dharma did not and could not hope
to have on his own.

Syoddhan had found it rather amusing that he seemed to enjoy far greater popularity and support in Aryavarta than the Emperor-aspirant.
In fact, the more he dwelt on it the more convinced he became that perhaps his own claim on the imperial throne would have
been better justified and certainly more successful. But his patience
had prevailed and he questioned neither Dharma’s campaign nor the Vyasa’s injunction that he support it. Slowly, as he watched
the armies of Indr-prastha march out in different directions, many of them through Eastern Kuru, Syoddhan came to terms with
the sad fact of the matter – if he made a bid for imperium, it was bound to fail.

The reasons were many – the foremost being that he certainly could not trust his brothers the way Dharma trusted his. If he
sent Dussasana or some of the others out to conquer the periphery, he could surely expect them to declare themselves rulers
of those lands with the intent to sooner or later annex Aryavarta. Those who remained with him at Hastina would constantly
be on the lookout for the opportunity to capture the throne from within. Indeed, this was the very reason his father gave
to justify his remaining king of Kuru – to keep his heirs from squabbling for the crown. Yet another reason, Syoddhan sullenly
admitted, why he could never aspire to be Emperor. At the end of the day, he was not even a king. He was just a prince.

‘Ah! Why you …’ A shout went up from one of the two boys, drawing Syoddhan out of his ruminations. Vrishasena stood clutching
at one shoulder, his training sword on the ground, even as Lakshmana stood apologetically by.

Syoddhan rushed to the injured boy, dispelling all thoughts of Dharma’s imperial campaign from his mind. The only trace that
lingered was a casual calculation of how imperial campaigns were few and far between and, even so, for every five campaigns
that were well-begun four were doomed to failure. Dharma’s had no cause to be an exception. Indeed, he noted with a trace
of grim satisfaction, there was nothing exceptional about Dharma at all.