The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (10 page)

BOOK: The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2
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Asvattama and Dron had done what they had to. They sold their own craft, their knowledge of astra-weapons, to those who would buy it, including the Kuru kings. In return, these kings and nobles turned a blind eye to the use of Firewright irrigation methods to revive the dying soil. Those who could not be bought, or otherwise persuaded, had had to face Dron’s ire – including Dhrupad, the rightful king of what had been a united Panchala before Dron and Asvattama had conquered the northern half.

It was then that Asvattama had briefly let fall his guise of detachment. ‘Maybe,’ he had told his father, ‘there is still hope. The Kurus see how useful our weapons are. The Vyasa knows that the knowledge of the old Wrights – the true Wrights – has saved our people from starvation and death. Maybe now they will all see that we are not evil heathens, they will see…’

‘Muhira!’ Dron had been livid. ‘Listen to me carefully, Asvattama. There is no
we
.
We
are not Firewrights. You and I are the best military strategists Aryavarta has seen in many generations.
We
are useful, and our utility allows us to do a little something for our people. Don’t outlive your usefulness to the Firstborn by holding on to the wrong sympathies. You are either a Firewright or my son. Choose!’

Swallowing his conscience and with the understanding that his words would serve to hide more than one injustice, Asvattama had said, ‘I am always your son and your student, Acharya. I am not a Firewright.’

But these days it was difficult to fully forget what he could have been. In a bid to ignore the unwarranted notion, he found himself striding faster. It brought him face to face with a jubilant-looking Jayadrath, who was stepping out of the king’s audience room.

Jayadrath grimaced at the unexpected encounter. It quickly turned into a smile, which Asvattama returned with extreme politeness and no warmth whatsoever.

‘Acharya. You were missed at our little gathering. We could have certainly benefitted from your insight.’

Asvattama did not overlook the sarcasm. He said, ‘You are too kind, Your Highness. Unfortunately, it is Syoddhan’s orders that keep me from enjoying your splendid company.’

‘You’re interrogating Devala Asita, are you not?’

‘Yes.’

‘Has he said anything…of use…yet?’

‘I’m on my way to meet him.’

‘Surely that ought to have been your first priority today?’

‘I’ve been busy. As you may or may not know, Syoddhan has entrusted the upkeep of the palace guards to me. I train them, and I make sure they keep the royal family safe. Surely you agree that their safety is more of a priority?’

Jayadrath was about to retort, but hesitated. His tone changed completely as he said, ‘As I said, you’d have enjoyed the conversation, particularly in your position as a teacher of the military arts…and we could have benefitted from your advice.’

‘My father is the teacher, Your Highness. I merely assist him.’ Asvattama’s expression remained neutral even as he silently cursed Rudra, Hari, Yama, and any other gods who cared to listen, for the unwelcome conversation. With practised disdain he said, even as he moved away, ‘You must excuse me. I have a prisoner waiting.’

Asvattama reached the narrow doorway that led into the dark, subterranean prisons of Hastina and set off down the stairs. He raised his hand in unthinking acknowledgement as the guards in the prison below fell to attention and saluted him, but his thoughts remained fixed on trying to read more into the instinctive unease he felt after his conversation with Jayadrath. Something was up. And that something could not be anything good.

Power
, his mind raced.
Jayadrath wants the power of the Firewrights. As does everybody else. Dharma is too weak an emperor to keep everyone in their place. If any of the kings of Aryavarta should decide Devala is more useful alive than dead…
The realization made Asvattama clutch at the hilt of his sword.
Unless
… One sweep of his sword, and Devala would be dead and this whole matter settled. Or perhaps not. He dismissed the last thought. It was too much to risk. Asvattama did not count himself a man of passion but he certainly was a man of honour, and it would take nothing less than cold reasoning to outweigh his sense of justice. It was not for him to decide Devala’s fate.

With the grace that came of such conviction, Asvattama walked into the dimly lit cell and waited for the guard to shut the iron door from the outside. He sat down on a worn wooden chair that was set against a small table and bent his right leg square, his hide-sandalled foot resting insolently on the left knee. Ignoring the man who was chained and manacled to the wall in front of him, he curled his open palms into fists, as though testing their strength, and studied his hands through half-lidded eyes. His long, dark lower lashes brushed lightly against his cheeks in a way that had driven even the most discerning of courtesans in the realm to fawn over him tirelessly on some occasion or the other. The fire in his eyes as he finally looked up would have had them screaming, terrified, with the same vigour.

Devala, however, was unafraid. ‘You look lost in thought,’ he drawled.

The statement, Asvattama knew, was a means to begin the conversation. With reluctance, he put his contemplations away and snapped in his characteristic fashion, ‘Thinking is a luxury that only those of us with minds can indulge in, Devala. I’d hardly expect you to understand that…’

Devala studied his interlocutor with patience, like a hunter watching a deer, waiting for the perfect moment to release the fatal arrow. Timing his words to intrude on Asvattama’s exact chain of thought, he asked in a soft voice, ‘Was it painful?’

If Asvattama was taken aback, he did not show it. ‘No,’ he plainly answered. He allowed a touch of sharpness to take over. ‘And you? Did you make it painful?’

‘No,’ Devala shook his head. ‘He died quietly. By his own dagger, as a matter of fact – though of course the hand that drove it into him was mine. Agnivarna Angirasa… Your uncle, wasn’t he?’

‘My cousin. A few times removed. I called his father, Agniveshya Angirasa, “Uncle” though.’

‘Aah yes, it was your uncle you killed. Well, fratricide, parricide, what difference does it make… He was a rebel. You only did what was right.’

‘There’s no need to compliment me, Devala. I assure you, I’m beyond seeking your approval,’ Asvattama retorted. He remained unfazed by the accusations, partly because they were true, but mostly because he knew his actions were justified. There were many heinous things he had done, but he was yet to lose sleep over any of his actions. If Devala’s only weapon was guilt, then Asvattama undoubtedly had the upper hand.

Devala gathered as much, for he affected a subtle shift in tone. ‘Did he tell you?’ His voice held genuine anticipation.

Asvattama looked visibly amused. He shifted, switching legs so that his left ankle rested on his right knee, even as Devala struggled to hide the true depths of expectation that lay behind his affected eagerness. ‘He didn’t,’ Asvattama answered, ‘though he admitted its existence. A weapon, he said, far more powerful than the Bramhaastra. A weapon of his own making…’

Devala struggled yet again to maintain a neutral expression, as he waited for Asvattama to ask the inevitable question. When it did not appear to be forthcoming, it struck Devala that he had no choice but to reveal something if he wanted anything useful out of the other man. ‘I tried,’ he confessed, ‘I tried for many, many years. I followed every lead, milked every spy and used every ingredient available to replicate the poison Agniveshya had created when he had been living in the Kandava forest. My efforts yielded results, though not the results I’d hoped for. I discovered a powerful toxin, one that would vaporize and spread as soon as it was exposed to air. Your dear friend Shikandin can vouch for it. He nearly died as a result of my handiwork and suffered a great deal of pain too.’

The statement failed to incite Asvattama on either of its implied counts. Instead, he asked, as he might, if he were enquiring about the weather. ‘What did you use? For the key ingredient?’

‘The venom of the mottled black cobra.’

Asvattama snorted, disparaging. ‘I could’ve spared you the trouble, then. My uncle found snake venom highly unreliable as a toxin.’

‘Don’t lecture me, Asvattama. Agniveshya called his weapon the Naga-astra.’

‘And so you assumed it was made of snake venom? Muhira! You fool, he created it in honour of those who had protected him for years – Takshaka’s people. And so he called it the Naga-astra. As for recreating it – that seems highly unlikely now that the Kandava forest no longer exists.’

‘Thanks to Govinda Shauri,’ Devala hissed. ‘It makes sense. He destroys that which he cannot control. As did the Firstborn, whom you have so faithfully served. Not much difference between traitors, is there? You and I aren’t very different either, you know. We are both true Wrights; we both wait, and we both hope and fear that there may indeed be plans that are made to succeed when all others fail…’

‘I am nothing like you!’ Asvattama said, rising to his feet, the sudden movement sending the chair he had sat on clattering across the stone floor. He left the prison without another word.

9

THERE WERE FEW THINGS, SANJAYA NOTED, AS WORRYING OR AS
satisfying, depending on one’s point of view, as watching a war-hardy man be truly horrified. And to see clear concern, the faint but undeniable tinge of fear in the eyes of a man such as Acharya Dron – now that was a heady feeling indeed. He had been a little anxious that Syoddhan’s meeting with Jayadrath would go on for a while and he would not be able to be here on time. And then Vasusena had put forth his idea. It was brilliant, and elegant in its parsimony. It had taken Sanjaya self-restraint to not be openly effusive, and he had to remind himself that not everyone knew what he did about the supposedly lowborn warrior.

Everyone has a secret
, Sanjaya thought.
It’s what makes them weak. To know those secrets is to hold unfettered power in one’s hand. The Firewrights knew that well, as did my mentor, the former Vyasa Dwaipayana. It is time to put this invaluable lesson to use once more.

As soon as the discussion had concluded, Sanjaya had excused himself and made his way towards Hastina’s dungeons, stopping only to check that his attendant had, inadvertently and in the most casual manner, ensured that Dron would be waiting for him. He had indulged in an unusual smile when the attendant reported that he had seen Jayadrath in conversation with Asvattama not too long ago, but thought no further of it and, focussed on the matter at hand. Tasks such as the one he was about to perform were precious, not only for the vital part they played in his plans but also for the sheer delight they provided.

Careful not to let thoughts of impending pleasure distract him for too long, Sanjaya shifted closer to the respected teacher and counsellor standing by his side, the subtle move creating an air of confidentiality and trust. Dron was a much older man but still a fighter to be contended with. No one, Sanjaya included, would want to put the acharya to the test. As a result, he chose his next words with great care, ‘It might just be coincidence, Acharya. Just because your son had the wrong sympathies in his youth doesn’t mean he still does. He’s older now, and far wiser.’

Dron shook his head, his eyes fixed on his son as the tall warrior exited the well-guarded stairway to Hastina’s dungeons. ‘What business did he have there, if not his own?’ he snapped.

Sanjaya did not reply, and in the silence they heard a palace guard snapping to attention and greeting Asvattama, who in turn made a casual enquiry as to the security arrangements for the new prisoner. Muffled by the distance, their exact words were indiscernible but the general import of their conversation was obvious.

‘Why should he care, unless…?’ Dron allowed his imagination to suggest many conclusions, none of them palatable.

‘Acharya, for what it’s worth, the Vyasa – I mean, the former Vyasa – never did doubt your son or his loyalty. Neither have your benefactors, the Kurus, ever had cause to do so. Grandsire Bhisma knows that both of you have remained true to the Firstborn cause,’ Sanjaya said, careful to lower his voice further.

‘With all due respect to the
former
Vyasa and to the Grandsire, Sanjaya, I’ve known my son a lot longer than they have. I also know the tempestuous heart Asvattama hides behind that calm exterior. There are times when I think I should’ve slit his throat myself…’

‘Acharya, please! There’s no proof…’

‘My honour won’t take proof for an answer, Sanjaya. You’ve seen the sway Bhisma holds over King Dhrupad of Panchala simply because of what that fool son of
his
did. Am I to be reduced to the same state because my son is equally an imbecile? No!’

Sanjaya made to speak, but realized that Asvattama’s conversation with the guard had ended and he was now walking away. He waited till the warrior was out of sight. Next to him, Dron let out a deep breath. Sanjaya placed a gentle hand on the older man’s forearm, the way he knew Dwaipayana was wont to. ‘Acharya, please…there are few men I admire more than you and your son. And I know that even now you see what needs to be done to protect him, to protect your honour. But can you truly believe that your enemies would think the same way? King Dhrupad is more important, more powerful now than he has ever been, thanks to his alliance with the house of Dharma Yudhisthir. Do you trust that he won’t manipulate the Emperor against you? One word of Asvattama’s mistakes, of what he did before he became king of Northern Panchala, and Dhrupad will claim just cause to hunt you and your son down like rabid wolves!’

Dron turned, his dark eyes boring into Sanjaya. Gone was the anxiety of moments ago. It was as if he had suddenly remembered that he was royal preceptor to the Kuru kings, while Sanjaya was a lowly Suta, a half-born. ‘Say whatever it is you want to say, Sanjaya,’ he said coldly. ‘Don’t presume to advise me.’

‘My apologies, Acharya. I only wish to point out that Asvattama is indispensable to Syoddhan, just as you were and are indispensable to Grandsire Bhisma. If Syoddhan and his friends rise to be the moral restraint on Emperor Dharma’s reign, then Asvattama will be safe.’

BOOK: The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2
5.31Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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