Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (6 page)

He knelt down, bringing himself face to face with Dwaipayana. In a soft voice he urged, ‘Such is your sacred duty. If the
very animal that you tenderly raised from a youngling threatens to destroy the herd with its sickness, it can’t be spared.
It must be killed. And sometimes it is the best of beasts that must be offered as a sacred sacrifice. But I still have one
last question …’

‘Hmm?’

‘The matter of Ghora Angirasa’s murder …’

Dwaipayana’s smile was mysterious. ‘The Wrights had a law, Sanjaya. They said the Secret Keeper had to die for another to
take his place.’

‘So whoever killed Ghora …’

‘Is a deadly enemy. One we can’t afford to ignore. If Govinda Shauri is what it takes to divert this man’s attention or perhaps
to stand between us and all these dangers,’ the Vyasa solemnly declared, ‘then so be it.’

GOVINDA SAT UP WITH A START IN HIS MAKESHIFT BED, PRODDED
awake by some deeper intuition, and looked around the small, misty clearing. He and Yuyudhana were in the forest bordering
Surasena, the kingdom that had once belonged to Govinda’s forefathers. It was now in the hands of Emperor Jarasandha, who
used it as a base to control the central and western reaches of his Empire. But Govinda knew it took more than just being
in enemy territory to induce the prickling sensation on his neck. The peril was much more immediate. He remained still, listening
to the muted jungle sounds around him. Soon, he heard the soft but unmistakeable tread of heavy boots.

Soldiers!
Govinda was on his feet at once. Yuyudhana was missing, but the horses were still where the men had tethered them, trained
to be as silent as spirits.

He must have headed towards the road
, Govinda surmised, noticing his companion’s light tracks. But the soldiers, he judged, were approaching from the other direction.
With a quick check on his sword-belt, he went deeper into the forest, moving stealthily. Soon he spotted his quarry, thanks
to the light of the still-resplendent setting moon. Three soldiers, of the Emperor’s Western Battalion by their uniform, were
trying to trace the tracks he and Yuyudhana had left the previous night.

There was something else, too. Not danger, but something pleasant, familiar almost. He grinned, recognizing the person
standing right behind him without having to look. For once, he had been caught by surprise.

‘Panchali,’ he said, and turned around. The young woman acknowledged him with a nod and a smile. She raised a finger to her
lips, indicating to him to remain quiet.

Govinda heard the soldiers as they followed his trail into the thicket. Panchali nodded a signal, and on the silent count
of three the two of them moved, Govinda throwing himself onto the path with his sword drawn and Panchali disappearing into
the thicket behind her. It took them little time to fall upon the unwary soldiers, from opposite directions. One of the soldiers
stepped forward to engage Govinda, while the other two teamed up against Panchali, whom they judged to be the weaker quarry.
Govinda finished off his opponent with cold efficiency and made to help her, but found that it was unnecessary. Both the soldiers
lay dead. Panchali, for her part, was breathing hard from the exertion but was otherwise unhurt.

Govinda studied the attractive woman, a smile dancing at the edge of his lips. She was dressed in the androgynous attire typical
of the central kingdoms – a pleated antariya, like the men wore, and a wide band of leather branded with intricate patterns
covering her bust and midriff, fastened at the back with silken strings. Her upper garment was a long robe that went over
her left shoulder in gathers and fell till her knees in front and at the back, almost like a long tunic. Her dark skin set
off the thick cord of gold around her neck and she wore delicate gold rings in her ears as well as a thick amulet on her upper
arm. Instead of bangles she sported leather gauntlets, her only concession to fashion being that the gauntlets were trimmed
with gold studs and the leather matched her vest in colour. Over her right shoulder was a baldric-like device that strapped
a quiver of arrows and her scabbard to her back. Panchali returned her sword to its sheath with practised ease. Her warrior’s
attire and her lack of elaborate coiffure or clothing served to enhance her fiery beauty.

Panchali was not tall, barely coming up to Govinda’s shoulders, but carried herself with grace and confidence. Her piercing
black-brown
eyes were housed in large, rounded lids fringed by thick, luxurious lashes and her face was sculpted yet soft, with full,
rosebud lips that were now curved in a smile. Save for the dark kohl that lined her eyes and extended outwards from the edge
of her lids in intricate patterns, and the small designs drawn on her chin and arms in fragrant sandalwood paste, her skin
bore no embellishment. Long, jet-black hair had been pulled into a thick fuss-free braid that hung down her back, falling
below her waist.

Central Aryavarta was much more conservative than the northern or western kingdoms, and it was unusual, though not unheard
of, for a woman to join or lead soldiers in battle. Govinda knew, though, that as far as Panchali was concerned the issue
was not personal. She found the status of women to be one of the many ways in which society had failed and drew on its personal
relevance as inspiration to fight for a greater cause. Yet, as she would often admit to Govinda, her defiance was flawed.
She was an elite product of their elite society, talking of others’ travails while she dressed in fine silks and slept with
a full stomach. It was this self-realization that inspired her brothers to take her with them on their adventures, despite
their father, King Dhrupad’s, constant protests.

‘Govinda?’ her voice was a pleasant intrusion on his reverie.

He quietly met her gaze.

Eyes flashing bright, Panchali laughed and said, ‘My, my! How a great warrior like you can get into such trouble was beyond
me! Now I know …’

‘Well, Princess,’ Govinda bantered, ‘I’m a simple gwala boy, a cattle-herder, and know nothing of fighting, armies or warfare.’

‘Then I’ll have to see you to your destination, safe and sound.’

‘I’d be honoured.’

‘Come,’ she said, ‘my brothers will be so happy to meet you. We knew you’d turn up, sooner or later.’

Before Govinda could ask her what she meant, she undid Yuyudhana’s tethered horse, intending to lead the stallion towards
the road. Govinda quickly rolled up his saddle bag and Yuyudhana’s, threw them both on to Balahak’s back and followed. He
stepped
out of the thicket and onto the main road to discover Yuyudhana in conversation with an old friend.

The man cut a strapping figure, standing half a hand above Yuyudhana. His simplest movements contained the suggestion of restrained
power, a mysterious mix of strength and grace as though he were both fighter and dancer. He sported his taut muscles and battle
scars with an unassuming air, and his grey-brown eyes held a dangerously feline glint, reminiscent of a wild panther that
watched and waited for the perfect moment to kill.

Like Panchali, the man wore an antariya of dark grey linen and his black upper robe was wrapped as a sash, around his waist.
A wide leather baldric went across his chest and back, leaving his sword hanging at his left hip. He wore a short string of
tiny, intricately engraved metal beads strung together in the form a thin chain – the only piece of jewellery on his tanned
body. Most remarkable about the man was his long hair, set into many tiny braids, all pulled back and tied together at his
neck. It gave him his name: Shikandin.

With a roar of affection, the man stepped forward to embrace Govinda, slapping him on the back with familiarity.

Govinda returned the embrace with gusto, saying, ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you, old friend.’

‘As usual, we’re in time to save your stiff Yadu neck!’ Shikandin teased.

A small cohort of well-armed, fierce-looking cavalrymen came up the road, led by a young man of regal bearing. Dismounting,
the man pulled Govinda into a friendly grip. Every gesture of his screamed of royalty and privilege.

‘Yuyudhana,’ Govinda made introductions. ‘This is Dhrstyadymn, the Crown Prince of Panchala.’

Yuyudhana politely acknowledged the other man, but said nothing. He noted that the prince was far more handsome than artists
and minstrels visiting Dwaraka made him out to be. While it was not unusual for bards to use their talent to embellish royal
features that were otherwise plain, Dhrstyadymn’s reputation for his statuesque looks was well merited.

‘The young lady here is his sister, Panchali,’ Govinda continued. ‘And Shikandin, their elder brother, you already know.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ Yuyudhana quipped. ‘I also know of many gorgeous women back home, from princesses to courtesans, who pine for
his company.’

‘I trust you’ve personally consoled them, you rogue!’ Shikandin bantered, as the five descended into open, hearty laughter.

‘I’d love to catch up on all the gossip,’ Panchali said as she pulled a thick cloak off her horse and bundled herself up in
it, ‘but the horses tend to cool down far too much standing around, and so do I …’

‘You woke me from my sleep, Mahamatra,’ Yuyudhana good-naturedly complained, ‘and now you want me to ride in this cold, misty
weather. Well, since you come so well-mustered, I have no choice but to obey you.’

‘You have no choice but to obey if you’d rather keep your head on your neck! There’s more where those three came from,’ Panchali
said, nodding towards the depths of the forest behind her. ‘Damn those murderers!’ she added, suddenly angry.

Shikandin explained, ‘There’s an entire unit of these soldiers on your trail and more waiting along the way.’

‘How did you …?’ Yuyudhana was surprised.

‘I have a very reliable source inside Jarasandha’s garrison at Mathura …’

‘Shikandin has a knack for finding the best of spies in the most unlikely places,’ Govinda added.

Shikandin nodded. ‘Truth be told, I was expecting you, Govinda. Ghora Angirasa’s death has thrown Aryavarta into complete
disarray. Magadha’s moving troops all over the empire and, as a result, so is every other kingdom. Armies are being mustered,
and every soldier has been ordered to report for duty. Seems to me like the kind of hornets’ nest you like playing with so
much.’

Yuyudhana said, ‘Jarasandha won’t let Dwaraka be. I can only hope that when war does come to our doorstep, it is of an honourable
kind …’

‘Then, in your interests and ours, we’d better get moving,’
Panchali cut in. ‘They won’t dare follow us into Panchala. If we ride fast, it’ll save us some needless fighting. When there’s
battle, friend or enemy, it’s still human life that’s lost.’ Even as she said it she seemed to realize that the statement
sounded incongruous coming from her, for she softly added, ‘That’s what I’ve learnt from Shikandin …’

Her innocent but fervent zeal was nothing short of charming. With a smile of submission, Yuyudhana swung on to his horse and
readied himself for the ride ahead. In a habit born of long use, he took off his quiver and made sure that the arrows were
neatly stacked inside. He then refastened the quiver across his back, pulling the belt tight to bring the edge up high on
his right shoulder. The Panchala soldiers watched him, impressed. Yuyudhana was one of the fastest archers in Aryavarta and
the best bowman of the many Yadu clans of Dwaraka. He could, in fact, as the old saying went, shoot faster than one could
blink.

Soon all of them were back in the saddle. Shikandin whistled a signal to his soldiers and the cohort set off in perfect unison.

‘I still haven’t thanked you for your timely help, Panchali,’ Govinda said, as they rode side by side. ‘As always, I’m left
in your debt.’

‘Must we play games like adversaries or, worse still, strangers?’ she asked him in a low voice. ‘Why don’t you speak to me
plainly? You come and go at a whim; sometimes you sail away for months on end. Every day I wait to hear from you, but …’ She
breathed out hard and added sharply, ‘And now, you finally turn up, but it’s taken a dead old man to bring you here. I demand
no explanations, but won’t you at least be honest with me?’

‘I have no honest words to explain my actions, Panchali, not at this moment.’

‘Then keep your mouth shut!’ she snapped.

Govinda nodded meekly as Dhrstyadymn called to him above the thud of hooves, ‘There’s no arguing with that one, don’t even
bother!’

The company had been riding for only a short while, when the sound of galloping horses closed in on them from behind.

‘Keep going,’ Shikandin ordered. ‘We’re at the border. Cross the stream, and we’ll be in Southern Panchala.’

They emerged from the woods onto a short, open stretch that led to the stream. As one, the riders urged their steeds on as
fast as they could. Hardly had the first horse set foot in the water, when imperial soldiers poured out of the forest behind
them. The first of the enemy’s arrows fell short, but by the time Govinda and his companions were halfway across the stream
the distance between them and their pursuers had decreased. With a whistle and a dull thud, an arrow caught one of Shikandin’s
men in the arm.

‘Go!’ Shikandin urged the others, as he went to help the wounded soldier. ‘Go! Don’t engage! Just go!’ The last thing he wanted
to do was make a stand in the middle of a stream.

Arrows began falling around them as they urged their horses on through the strong current. Fortunately, the stream was narrow
and soon they were all across. They kept going till they were within the first of the woods of Southern Panchala, then slowed
their horses down to a gentle trot. Barring the soldier who had been hurt, there were no casualties. They stopped and slid
off their horses, letting the animals catch their breath.

Yuyudhana cast a look over his shoulder. ‘They’re not crossing …’ he pointed out.

‘They’d better not,’ Dhrstyadymn said fiercely. ‘This is Panchala. We’re its princes!’

‘And,’ a confident voice interrupted, ‘Lord Jarasandha is its Emperor.’ More imperial soldiers emerged from the surrounding
thicket to form a circle around the companions and their men.

Dhrstyadymn growled at the speaker, a man they recognized as one of Jarasandha’s generals. ‘Emperor he may be, but how dare
you stop the Crown Prince of Panchala in his own realm!’

‘I have no quarrel with you or your men, Prince,’ the Magadhan replied. ‘It’s just that some of your companions fit the description
of much sought-after spies.’

‘I can vouch for my friends, soldier! These aren’t the men you’re looking for.’

‘Unfortunately, I’m duty-bound to take them in for questioning. I’m sure you’ll have no objection to that if these men aren’t
really traitors, or the lovely woman there isn’t a spy … You wouldn’t want us to interrogate
her
, would you? What say you, Prince?’ he turned to Shikandin, ignoring the look of pure rage that Panchali cast his way.