The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (15 page)

He turned to Shakuni. ‘Let the preparations be made, Uncle. Gather all the emissaries as well as the vassals, in attendance. The entire assembly shall witness this conquest, such as it may be, of Hastina. The game commences tomorrow evening.’

‘But…all right.’ Shakuni left the room.

Dharma regarded Syoddhan with an amused, pretentious air. ‘Well, I think I’ll call it a night. I believe there are lovely ladies, exceptionally skilled at music, and other entertainment, waiting for me. Indeed, your hospitality is impressive, cousin!’

Syoddhan nodded his thanks, but said nothing. His thoughts lay elsewhere. Despite the fact that he ruled an empire, it was clear that Dharma’s heart still desired Hastina. Would he truly ask Syoddhan to play the kingdom as stake?

It’s just a game,
he reassured himself.
A game of dice. What can either of us lose beyond a couple of horses and elephants and a few heaps of gold?
Yet, Syoddhan could not escape the sense of foreboding that shrouded his thoughts.

Someday they will speak of us,
his mind raged,
of Syoddhan and Dharma. But whatever happens next, they will remember that I invited Dharma to Hastina, and I sat him down to a game of dice…
But that mattered not. There were greater issues at stake than what would be said of Syoddhan Kauravya in times to come.

With stern resolution, Syoddhan turned his mind to the west. Saubha and his armies would have reached the gates of Dwaraka by now. A day or two more was all they would need. By then, the city would surely lie in ruins. In the depths of Syoddhan’s imagination, Shisupala’s handsome face delighted at the sight of foul vultures and carrion crows picking and tearing away at the remains of Govinda Shauri.

14

SCATTERED RUINS WERE ALL THAT REMAINED OF WHAT HAD ONCE
been Kampilya. Now the city had shifted westwards, closer to the river, and grown into a sprawling trading centre, while its original location was but a small cluster of rubble and stone, a dot in the vast moonlit fields between the city’s walls and the Great Road. Though used on occasion by travellers to rest or by lovers seeking privacy, for the most part the ruins remained deserted. The people of Southern Panchala tended to avoid the crumbling structures altogether – the result of a healthy wariness of snakes and other avoidable occupants of the area, coupled with a less wholesome but more colourful belief that ghosts and spirits too resided there.

Shikandin cared little for either kind of inhabitants as he made his way into the dark heart of the broken structures, leading his horse beside him. The bright moonlight made a torch unnecessary. Besides, a torch would attract attention, which neither he nor the person he was to meet wanted. The distinct smell of horse and bridle-leather told him his visitor had already arrived and he turned as he heard slow, measured footsteps behind him. Silhouetted against the night sky that shone through the nearly roofless ruins was a tall figure, wrapped in a black, shroud-like cloak. The man reeked of danger, an animalistic power that Shikandin found comfortingly familiar. The vistor, he knew, was in many ways not very different from him.

‘Do you still have nightmares?’ the man asked without prelude, his eyes taking in the subtle but unmistakeable glint of the silver-white beads Shikandin wore on his neck.

‘No. Not since…not since Panchali and Dhrstyadymn…’ Shikandin let the words hang between them, before adding, a hint of laughter in his voice, ‘not since you stole half my kingdom from me…Chaura!’

Asvattama laughed softly at the accusation, well aware that it was true but delighted that Shikandin did not mean it with malice. He noted with satisfaction that the last time the two men had shared a moment of mirth had been before Panchala was split in two. Laughter had been all the more precious then, for terror and bloodshed had surrounded them in the last phase of the Great Scourge, when all of Aryavarta had turned against the Firewrights. The terrible things they had seen had left scars in many ways. He was glad to know that Shikandin had found some relief from his haunted past. Asvattama said, ‘You love them very much, don’t you?’

‘As I would my son and daughter.’

‘I think the affection is mutual. Panchali can’t have an extended conversation without bringing you and Dhrstyadymn into it. I particularly enjoy watching Vasusena grimace at every mention of Kampilya.’

‘That’s a sight worth seeing, I’m sure. I take it the…erm… imperial visit is going well?’

‘Tediously well and consummately boring, as most of these family gatherings tend to be. Speaking of family…’

Shikandin pre-empted the question. ‘Yudhamanyu is well. He has grown up to be a fine young man. Makes me proud to be a father.’

Asvattama knew better than to say or ask more. He reached out to give Shikandin’s shoulder a squeeze, earning him a warm smile from the man.

‘And you?’ Shikandin went on, as he lightly looped his horse’s reins over a plant that grew from a fallen pillar, ‘I don’t suppose you’ll ever marry?’

‘It’s too late. I’m a few years older than you are, as you well know. Besides, I seem to have built up an undeserved reputation for being celibate, among other things. It has its uses, so I won’t complain too much. I do what I want to anyway.’

‘Do you? Do any of us?’

‘We can pretend to…’ Asvattama said, with a light shrug. The statement dispelled the illusion of friendly, aimless conversation for he said in a grim tone, ‘I have a very bad feeling about all of this.’

‘Devala?’

‘Yes. Why isn’t the son-of-a-whore dead yet? I don’t see what the Vyasa gains by keeping him alive.’

‘Is it the Vyasa who’s keeping him alive, Asvattama?’

‘Point well made. I fear that the Vyasas, old and new, no longer retain the power and influence they once had over Aryavarta. A development to a good end, no doubt, but…’

Shikandin nodded. ‘So, someone else’s influence is instrumental in keeping Devala alive… What could this person want?’

‘What did anyone ever want from the Firewrights? Power.’

‘Weapons?’

‘But of course!’ Drawing in a deep breath, Asvattama confessed, ‘Devala asked me about the Naga-astra – the all-powerful toxin Agniveshya supposedly created after the fall of the Firewrights, during his years of hiding.’

‘Was he trying to tempt you, do you think?’

‘He knows better. He was trying to find it.’

‘Find it? But that would imply…’

‘Precisely.’ Asvattama knew he did not have to explain as Shikandin’s brow furrowed into an unusually deep frown. He continued, ‘If it weren’t for this bastard, whatever weapons remained would soon become relatively obsolete. In any case, in a few years from now it will all be redundant. Aryavarta will be one united economic entity, and any weaponry that has been found or invented will only make us stronger against foreign invaders. Internally, we’d be bound by forces far stronger than Firewright weapons or Firstborn morals. I swear, Shikandin, we should have killed Devala the day we had our hands on him. We should never have let him be taken alive! But now, he or whoever it is that’s behind him wants whatever weapons may still be out there… An ambition that is best fulfilled now, while the Firstborn are weak.’

Shikandin considered the analysis briefly, before declaring, ‘Yes. It is also an ambition that
you
can fulfil as well as any other man.’

‘You mean…find whatever Firewright weapons are left?’

‘Yes. Why not?’

Asvattama slowly shook his head. ‘No, Shikandin.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust what I could become if the power of Hara himself came into my hands. I’m just a killer, an assassin, and a good one at that. Don’t tempt me with power. I lack your nobility to resist it.’

‘You underestimate yourself,’ Shikandin declared, forceful. However, he did not press the point. Instead he concluded, ‘So we do nothing.’

‘We do nothing. Especially since…’ Asvattama did not finish, but knew that Shikandin had understood. It was the best decision they could make in the current ambivalent situation. A situation both men suspected they would have to soon get used to. A situation that he did not like in the least. ‘It could have been you,’ he said.

‘What could have been me?’

‘You, Shikandin. You could have been Emperor of Aryavarta. The house of Panchala comes from the blood of Pururavas and Yayati. Your claim to the throne by blood and deed is as strong as Dharma Yudhisthir’s. In fact, if it weren’t for you, I know Dharma could never have conquered the east. Did you never wonder why…’

‘And what has my brother-in-law done now to irk you so?’

‘Don’t change the topic, Shikandin. I asked you a question.’

Shikandin showed neither affront nor regret. ‘And I answer:
I
would not have served the purpose. Dharma is Emperor by consensus. Whatever he thinks of himself now, he will soon see that the only way to remain Emperor is to do what serves the larger interests of the realm, not just that of his conscience.’

‘If I didn’t know better I’d call you muhira. And not just any fool, but one blinded to ineptitude by his own wisdom. I said I lack your nobility to resist power. I am not the only one.’

‘All men have a weakness.’

‘And most have the same one.’

‘As do I…’

Asvattama smiled, the edges of his eyes creasing to reveal warmth that few had seen in him. ‘Someday, Shikandin, I will tell you what I think your weakness is. But not today.’

‘In that case, you had best leave now. The road is well-patrolled, and though I have no doubt of your skills, I don’t want to lose any of my soldiers in an unnecessary scuffle.’

‘But of course! I’d sooner be taken for a spy and arrested than be seen fraternizing with you, you old crone!’ He gripped Shikandin yet again by the shoulder. Shikandin clapped him on the back in return and walked with him a few steps to the horse that had been tethered outside. Without another word, Asvattama swung on to his steed. He was soon gone, a silent shadow vanished into the night.

Shikandin stood as he was for a while, listening intently. Then he mounted his horse and made his way back towards the city.

Silence fell once again over the ruins as the soft thud of hooves on grass faded away. A sigh that was almost a sob tore through the heavy stillness. Assured that he was alone and could not be heard, or uncaring that he might be, Dhrstyadymn fell to his knees in the shadowed corner that had hidden him all this while. Not a word of the conversation had escaped him. Indeed, every word was etched in his mind, stirring questions too painful to answer. He was oblivious to the sharp shards that cut into his knees as he crumpled into a heap, relishing the sting on his palms as jagged debris cut into the skin.

My brother! My brother!

Never had he believed the rumours that had floated around the palace, the hushed whispers hinting at Shikandin’s dark deeds, at actions that had irrevocably stained King Dhrupad’s honour. He had always thought their father’s anger against his brother was undeserved, and used every opportunity he got to try and prove his brother innocent. Now he wondered if it truly were so. What else was he to think after having heard and seen what he had?

What did anyone ever want from the Firewrights? Power.

Dhrstyadymn shuddered at the thought of an ambitious Shikandin – it felt unnatural, even frightful. There was no doubt he had been denied his right, been treated unfairly at many a turn – but to resort to treachery and deceit of the worst order? Shikandin had only to ask and Dhrstyadymn would gladly give him the throne, no matter what Dhrupad had to say about it. But to join forces with Asvattama? To find Firewright weapons? And to what end? Rebellion? Patricide?

The last thought made Dhrstyadymn retch silently. He had no idea how long he remained that way, before finally pulling himself together and forcing himself to face facts. If things did come to that, he reasoned, if he had to protect his people, his family and their kingdom against an attack… Could he? He felt anger – wide, undirected rage – swell up within him as a sense of being completely alone fell over him. Not just he, but his kingdom, his beloved Panchala was on its own. For all his talk condemning the Firewrights, Grandsire Bhisma of the Kurus had not balked at learning from them or taking the best of their weapons. His grandchildren too had been trained by Dron and Asvattama, not to forget Acharya Kripa, Dron’s brother-in-law. Rumour had it that Vasusena of the Angas had also acquired Firewright weaponry. And Panchala? Panchala had nothing, except a fearful king, a traitor of a prince and, worse, an inept muhira of a crown prince!

An ambition that is best fulfilled now, while the Firstborn are weak.

The words continued to haunt Dhrstyadymn as he slowly trudged across the silver fields to the city he had called home for as long as he could remember.

15

IN ALL THE YEARS THAT VIDUR HAD SERVED THE BLIND KING
Dhritarastra of the Kurus as minister, advisor and companion, he had taken the utmost care to never impose on the ties of blood that bound them. He could not, for they were not equals. Though they shared the same father, Dhritarastra was born of a queen, whereas Vidur was the child of an unknown serving woman who had died at childbirth. Or so he had been told as a child by Bhisma Devavrata, then Regent of Kuru and its effective ruler. Bhisma had also ordered that despite his unequal birth he be brought up in the same manner as his royal half-brothers.

Vidur had soon developed a reputation for great intelligence and wisdom, and the young boy quickly learnt his place in the larger scheme of things. He was not a prince, but a kshatta – the polite term used for sutas, those of his kind. The same acumen had made him Dhritarastra’s constant companion over the years and, more importantly, the blind king’s eyes. It was a role Vidur had played with consummate discretion, never transgressing the bounds he had set for himself in childhood. He had, thus, earned Dhritarastra’s affection and implicit trust. Now, for the first time in all these years, Vidur wondered if he might impose on the privilege and proffer his opinion, though unsolicited.