The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (16 page)

‘Is this all right?’ Dhritarastra’s voice cut in on his thoughts.

The king stood in his private anteroom, adjusting his robe before a mirror that he knew to be there as a matter of habit. Dhritarastra often behaved as though he were a sighted man, partly from a childhood kindness to spare others the discomfiture of his condition, and partly to prove that he was in no way incapacitated by it. Indeed, the other two men in the room – Grandsire Bhisma, still the titular Regent of Hastina though no longer its effective ruler, as well as Acharya Dron – ignored the king’s question as rhetorical. Vidur, however, stepped forward to adjust the pale blue silk over his half-brother’s broad shoulders. Barring his blindness, Dhritarastra was a splendid specimen of Kuru manhood: wide-chested and well-muscled, with a ruddy face and an excessive but not unpleasant tendency towards the hirsute. A strong chin sat well on his square jaw, the mark of King Hastin’s line that Syoddhan too displayed. Nature’s mockery was not lost on Vidur. He and Dharma looked nothing like their great ancestor, while both Dhritarastra and Syoddhan did. Yet, none of them was truly of Hastin’s descent. In them all ran the blood of Krishna Dwaipayana, once Vyasa of the Firstborn.

When the young prince Vichitravirya had met his untimely demise, Bhisma Devavrata, bound by his vow to never take a woman or the Kuru throne, had sent for Dwaipayana. As the situation demanded, the assistance rendered had been extremely direct, to the point that neither Dwaipayana nor Bhisma had ever attempted to conceal the fact that Pandu, Dhritarastra and Vidur were all Dwaipayana’s sons.

Vidur was not a man to believe in curses or boons, but he was briefly tempted when it turned out that the lack of progeny would haunt the Kuru line yet again – Pandu was, to everyone’s dismay, incapable of consummating his union with his two wives. This time, the resultant niyoga surrogacy, though not denied in fact, was never admitted in detail. No one quite knew who had fathered Dharma and his brothers beyond the metaphorical allusion to gods and their boons – a strategy Vidur had heartily approved of, hoping that it would help seal the legitimacy of Dharma’s eventual claim to the Kuru throne. He had not accounted for Dhritarastra’s fecundity or his ambition, both of which had led to strained relations between the monarch’s many sons and Pandu’s five. And now, after all these years and the building of an empire, trivial sibling rivalry was raising its head.

Vidur made up his mind to speak. ‘My King…’

Dhritarasthra interrupted, ‘Do you know, Vidur, you sound exactly like my dearest wife Gandhari did this morning. It makes me wonder if, like her, you too are going to counsel me at length to stop this evening’s entertainment. A pity, since I believe Syoddhan entrusted the arrangements to your care. Things are coming along well, I hope?’

Vidur inclined his head, the action both answering and ignoring the question at once. ‘It’s more than entertainment, Your Highness,’ he said, ‘and the queen remains as wise as she has always been, so we would all do well to heed her words.’

‘She is as persistent as she is wise,’ Dhritarastra laughed, though it sounded more like a rasping cough. ‘So much so, that I had to rely on Grandsire Bhisma here, as well as on Acharya Dron, to rescue me. I do hope their presence is enough to dissuade you, Vidur. I don’t want to go through all that again.’

‘Your Highness…’ Vidur stopped short as Dhritarastra frowned, the gesture all the more pronounced for the vacant stare that accompanied it.

‘My son is a patient man, a very patient man. He is a loving and dutiful child who is content to thank the gods for the long life and reign that they have blessed me with, instead of resenting them or me for it. The least I can do, Vidur, is to allow him these small adventures that please him so. It is but a game, a dice game. What sort of a father would I be if I were to deprive my dearest son of meaningful pleasures?’

‘My king, with all due respect, a dice game is not meaningful in the least.’

‘All the more reason to allow it then, don’t you think? Why fret over such trivialities? At best a few coffers of treasure and a few herds of cows and horses will be lost or won. At worst, my children – and I include here my brother’s sons – will drink themselves into oblivion, bed a few courtesans and leave the game forgotten for other pleasures. And you want me to forbid that? You think too much, Kshatta!’

‘But…’

‘Enough, Kshatta,’ the irascible Dron interrupted. ‘This is no longer a matter for us old men. Dharma is Emperor of Aryavarta. Syoddhan is his brother. These lions among men are more than capable of making decisions for themselves. Ours is the task to watch and applaud, to share in their joy and laughter. It is not for us to decide what must be done.’

‘But…’

‘He is right,’ Bhisma added. ‘It is time we learnt to gracefully accept the honour these youngsters still show us, and leave them be. Let Syoddhan do as he wishes.’ The subtle implications of the statement carried far more finality than the words themselves.

Vidur allowed his gaze to rest lightly in turn on each of the three men. He did not fail to notice Dron’s defiant glance, or the Grandsire’s patronizing smile. Dhritarastra’s face was set in a careful expression of apathy that Vidur knew was the king’s attempt to conceal ambition. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I shall go see to the arrangements right away.’

The royal assembly of Hastina was, even in these times of prosperity, a marvel that could only be described as excessively lavish. Those who stepped into the hall could not help but raise their gaze upwards each time they entered. The high, vaulted ceiling was painted to rival the blue of the clearest skies, and a series of precisely placed skylights allowed for the sunlight to colour the hall in the shades that nature was disposed to don. Against this tapestry of light were set the images of gods and ancestors, great men who looked downward at the mortal occupants of the hall. They were meant to be a constant reminder to those who sat on the Elephant Throne of King Hastin.

And now, the grand legacy of King Hastin comes to this…
Vidur dismissed the thought and squared his shoulders in resolution. He briefly observed the on-going preparations for the dice game. A multitude of activities were underway – from laying out the seating to decorations and lighting – for the Kurus had no qualms about playing through the night. Sharing a few words of instruction and encouragement with the attendants overseeing the arrangements, Vidur made his way to the slim, pleasant-looking man who stood against a pillar, watching.

‘Don’t tell me you condone this travesty?’ Vidur began as he neared the man.

Dhaumya shrugged. ‘Dice? I have no love for it. But I have no principled argument against it either.’

‘Dharma insists that it was Syoddhan who proposed a game and that to refuse to play would be cowardly. I tried speaking to Syoddhan for the few trasenus he would suffer to hear me. He agrees that he suggested a friendly game, and this…’ he waved his hand at the elaborate arrangements around them, ‘…was Dharma’s idea. As a host, Syoddhan was bound to honour the request. My brother will not heed my warning, and the only person who shares my concern is Queen Gandhari. Unfortunately, this once, she is as powerless as I am.’

‘It is not like dice has never been played here before, or that it shall never be played hereafter. I don’t understand why you are in such a state.’

‘Even when you know what sway it holds over a man like Dharma?’

‘He is compulsive…’

‘Compulsive?’ Vidur’s eyes took on a faraway glaze. ‘Compulsive may be one word, and an apt one for sure. But it is not enough. No one knows Dharma better than I do, Acharya… Not his mother, not Panchali, and not you. Perhaps not even Dharma himself. His ambition is of the most dangerous kind, for its existence is neither suspected nor admitted. He is Emperor, but he wants more.’

Dhaumya said, ‘What more could he want?’

‘He wants to deserve his title.’

‘He can deserve it by ruling well. Really, Uncle Vidur, you make the Emperor of Aryavarta sound like a child.’

‘I make him sound like a man, Acharya. And a man he is. He wants to believe that what is his is so because he has earned it by his own deed, or because he was destined to it by a greater power. And that sense of self-respect is really not too much to ask for, if you think about it.’

‘It’s not self-respect; it’s sheer self-indulgence. And, frankly, I care little about it at the moment. There’s something else that has been bothering me,’ Dhaumya said with a frown.

‘Oh?’

‘Panchali tells me we are missing a report, and the man who was supposed to bring it.’

‘A report?’

‘Yes, she had instructed that a daily summary of all administrative reports be delivered to her…to Emperor Dharma, that is, here at Hastina. Yesterday’s messenger has not arrived as yet.’

‘But today’s has?’

‘Yes. His material was the most mundane, but our interview with him was not. He said that he and his possessions, including the scroll he carried, were subject to inspection. Possibly, the other messengers too were so searched.’

‘It is unusual, and not the most diplomatic of behaviours, but certainly not cause for suspicion? Unless you think that… Surely the scrolls were sealed?’

‘They were,’ Dhaumya confirmed. ‘In fact, Panchali insisted on receiving written messages for that very purpose. These may be days of peace but she knows, as an Empress should, that such times are cause for more caution, not less.’

‘She is a wise one,’ Vidur noted with a dash of affection.

‘Dharma is a fortunate man.’

‘All the more reason for him to be careful.’ Vidur frowned. ‘I don’t like it,’ he repeated, this time with far more vehemence.

Dhaumya shook his silver-grey hair out of its loose knot and decisively pulled it back, securing it with a scrap of ochre cloth. ‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘I don’t like it either. And it’s time I did something about it.’

‘What…?’

‘For one, I’m getting out of here. I shall find Shikandin, or send a message to Asvattama. By Rudra, I’d feel so much better about everything if either one of them were here.’

In a sad, hushed whisper, Vidur declared, ‘I’d feel better if Govinda were here.’

Dhaumya stiffened and then forced himself to relax. His eyes held warm memories but his voice was cold as he said, ‘There is no point speaking of those who are gone; of those who had best stay away. Trust in those who remain. Trust in our Emperor and Empress…’ He left the hall, making his way directly to the stables.

With a heavy heart, Vidur turned back to supervising the preparations for the evening’s festivities.

16

THE HYENAS LOOKED UP AT THE SOUND OF HOOVES, BUT DID NOT
retreat. The carcass was just a day old, far too succulent to pass up. Cackling, the bold leader of the pack buried its face back into the young soldier’s flesh. An arrow whistled over the animal’s head, grazing but not wounding it. With a yelp, it fled into the depths of the woods, its cronies close behind.

Govinda felt a pang of pain at the sight of the disfigured soldier, but he knew better than to take his anguish out on the hyenas. They were merely following nature’s dictates. A seasoned soldier, he ignored the flies and maggots and pulled the arrow sticking out of the fallen soldier’s back. The shaft was short and made of black iron, a common metal in Aryavarta, but it was the vane that told him more. A huge feather, curved nearly like a horn, was attached to the end of the arrow by means of thread and wax. Spitting out an expletive, Govinda cast the arrow aside. The curved feather, with its brown, white and black markings was from the wings of a gorgeous, graceful eagle native to the mountains of Kyrghis, far to the north of Aryavarta. The thread, on the other hand, came from the land of the Danavas, even further away.
Add to that sweet beeswax from their mountains and, of course, iron from Aryavarta
, he mentally noted. His face grew grim as the implications jumped out at him. More Danava mercenaries.

When Govinda had left Central Aryavarta, right after his encounter with Devala, he had headed south-west, through the wooded lands of the Nishadas. He found the entire route abuzz with troop movement. It made him fear the worst and yet he had hoped for the best. While it was the prerogative of every ruler to move troops in whatever manner he pleased within his own borders, the extent of the present deployment was still enough to merit mention in the daily reports of imperial affairs that Dharma would receive. Even if the Emperor did not find anything suspicious or significant in these events, Panchali would ask questions and that might just spur Shikandin or Partha to investigate. However, Govinda had considered the possibility without optimism. If his friends tried to help, they would walk right into the cordon that the Nishada and Chedi forces had set up, sealing the west off from the rest of Aryavarta. It had been one thing for a lone traveller like him to slip through, largely unnoticed, but it would be impossible for even a division of men to get through without a fight. Now, finding Dwaraka under attack from a mercenary army explained everything.

Letting the mercenary’s tell-tale arrow fall from his hand, Govinda briefly retraced his path before cutting away from the main road, into the woods. Instead of taking the direct route to Dwaraka, he headed up one of the smaller promontories that dotted the shore north of the island. Finally, he could see the blue of the sky beyond the last line of trees on the cliff. Dismounting, he surveyed the scene before him. The rocky hill fell in a sheer cliff right into the ocean, to his right. To his left, in the distance, the Raivata mountains ran parallel to the sea. The gentle green slope eased down on the seaward side to form a huge cultivated plain dotted with creeks and lakes. Golden sands fringed the plains and natural dunes offered protection from tempestuous sea winds. Shoals of rock dotted the seascape, leading to the huge outcrop that extended out into the sea.

Dwaraka! His magnificent city was surrounded – like a mighty lion cornered by jackals. A large fleet of ships waited, anchored on the open sea at a distance from the city. Closer to land, two of the huge vessels swayed on the lashing waves, wrecked or abandoned. Govinda smirked. Few knew how to navigate through the series of sharp ridges that were hidden in the waters of the channel between the port and the city.