The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (2 page)

Cast of Characters

The Firewrights

The Secret Keeper: Head of the Firewright Order.

Ghora Angirasa: Former Secret Keeper of the Firewrights. Known for his revolutionary ideas and beliefs, many contrary to the traditions of the Firewright order.

Asita Devala: A Firewright faithful to the old traditions and beliefs of the Order. Known for his skill with hallucinogens and poisons, he is considered one of the most dangerous men in all Aryavarta.

The Firstborn

Krishna Dwaipayana: The greatest Vyasa – head – of the Firstborn Order that Aryavarta has ever seen, now retired. Also biological father to princes Pandu and Dhritarashtra of the Kurus.

Sukadeva Vashishta Varuni: Legitimate son of Krishna Dwaipayana and heir to his spiritual legacy.

Markand: Current Vyasa of the Firstborn.

At Dwaraka

Govinda Shauri: Commander of the Armed Forces of Dwaraka. Formerly a prince of Surasena, along with his brother Balabadra he brought together the warring Yadu tribes to form a Federation of Yadu Nations at Dwaraka. Also rumoured to have been responsible for the fall of Firewrights, despite having been Ghora Angirasa’s student. For this reason, he is considered a traitor by many.

Balabadra Rauhineya: Govinda’s older half-brother. Known for his fair and straightforward nature as well as his skill at wrestling and mace-fighting.

Yuyudhana Satyaki: Cousin to Govinda and Balabadra and former prince of the Vrishni clan.

Pradymna Karshni: The first of Govinda Shauri’s adopted sons. Married to Rukmavati, princess of the Vidharbha kingdom.

Samva Karshni: The second of Govinda Shauri’s adopted sons.

Daruka: One of the captains of Dwaraka’s navy, and close associate of Govinda Shauri.

At Indr-prastha

Dharma Yudhisthir: Emperor of Aryavarta and king of Western Kuru. Son of Prince Pandu of the Kurus, has been elevated to the role of Emperor by Govinda Shauri.

Bhim Vikrodara: Second son of Prince Pandu. Known for his strength and skill with arms.

Partha Savyasachin: Third son of Prince Pandu. Known as one of the best archers in all of Aryavarta. Married to Subadra Rauhineya of Dwaraka.

Nakul Madriputra: First of the twin sons of Prince Pandu by his second wife, Madri.

Sadev Madriputra: Second of the twin sons of Prince Pandu by his second wife, Madri.

Panchali Draupadi: Empress of Aryavarta and Princess of Panchala. Married to Dharma Yudhisthir as a result of a wedding contest that was won by his brother, Partha. Close friend to Govinda Shauri, but banishes him from Aryavarta on her accession to the imperial throne.

Ayodha Dhaumya: Royal Priest and Counsellor to Dharma Yudhisthir and his family.

Subadra Rauhineya: Sister to Govinda Shauri and Balabadra Rauhineya. Married to Partha Savyasachin.

Abhimanyu Karshni: Son of Partha and Subadra, and adopted heir to Dharma Yudhisthir.

At Hastina

Dhritarastra: King of Eastern Kuru. Biological son of Krishna Dwaipayana, he is blind since birth and so was forced to yield the throne to his younger brother, Pandu. Becomes king subsequent to Pandu’s abdication.

Bhisma Devavrata: Patriarch of the Kuru family and once Regent of the kingdom. Respectfully referred to as the Grandsire and remains, despite his age, an undefeated warrior.

Syoddhan Kauravya: Eldest son of Dhritarastra and Crown Prince of Kuru.

Dussasan Kauravya: Third son of Dhritarastra and second-in-line to the Kuru throne.

Shakuni: Former prince of the Gandhara kingdom and Dhritarastra’s brother-in-law. Came to live at Hastina after Bhisma Devavrata annexed his nation and brought his sister to Hastina as Dhritarastra’s bride. Is especially fond of his nephew, Syoddhan.

Vidura: Half-brother to Dhritarastra and biological son of Krishna Dwaipayana by a slave-woman.

Sanjaya Gavalgani: Prime Minister of Kuru and counsellor to Syoddhan Kauravya. Was formerly a student of Krishna Dwaipayana and one of his closest confidantes.

Acharya Dron: Teacher and martial instructor to the Kaurava princes, and one of the senior advisors at King Dhritarastra’s court.

Acharya Kripa: Dron’s brother-in-law and fellow advisor at King Dhritarastra’s court.

At Kampilya

Dhrupad Parshata: King of Southern Panchala.

Shikandin Draupada: Son of King Dhrupad and once Crown Prince of Panchala. Known for his skills in the wilderness and for his distinctive braided hair.

Dhrstyadymn Draupada: Adopted son of King Dhrupad. He and his sister Panchali were foundlings who have no recollection of their lives before their escape from a burning structure in the middle of Panchala’s forests. Since his adoption, King Dhrupad has declared him the heir to the Panchala throne, superseding Shikandin.

At Upaplavya

Chief Virat: Chief of the desert nation of Matsya.

Uttara Vairati: Virat’s daughter.

General Keechak: Virat’s brother-in-law, and General of Matsya’s armies.

Others

Vasusena: King of Anga and faithful friend to Syoddhan Kauravya.

Jayadrath: King of Sindhu and Syoddhan’s brother-in-law.

Asvattama Bharadvaja: Son of Acharya Dron and King of Northern Panchala. Brought up by his father as an incomparable warrior.

Part 1

1

‘DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?’ THE WOMAN PRESENTED A SMALL BUT
imperious figure against the stately Elephant Throne of Hastina.

Krishna Dwaipayana, in his memory once again twenty-eight and the youngest to have ever been chosen Vyasa of the Firstborn Order, nodded in reply, and mumbled, ‘Yes, Mother.’

The woman continued, ‘You know then how I, Satya, came to be here, queen of this lauded line of Kuru. Terrible wrongs were done to my…to our people, Dwaipayana. All that I have lived for, all that I have ever wanted, is a chance to take back what was stolen from us. My father was the emperor of Aryavarta, the great Uparichara Vasu of Matsya, and my soul will not know peace until my children and their children sit on the Imperial Throne once again.’

Dwaipayana willed the image of his younger self not to speak – and, if he did, to say anything but the words that had defined his life. But there was nothing he could do. The Wheel of Time had long since turned, and Dwaipayana, now old, frail and almost forgotten, could not undo what had already been done. The words that escaped his lips bound him inextricably to the cause of his step-brothers, of each and every Kaurava: ‘Mother, I promise you now, so it shall be. Your line shall rule all of Aryavarta. I shall see this done.’

Her eyes remained on him as he felt himself sliding into an endless pit of darkness. When finally he stopped falling, he was in another time, another place.

Dwaipayana entered a room where his mother, old and spent, lay dying. He knelt by her bedside and took her frail hand in his. She opened her eyes at his touch. They were as clear and keen as the day he had first seen her on the throne. Again, she wasted no time on affection. ‘Do you know who I am?’ she asked him.

Dwaipayana lived again the capricious emotions – the surprise, the sympathy, as he wondered whether her age-addled mind was merely re-enacting their first meeting. ‘Mother?’ he ventured.

Satya laughed, soundless, her shrivelled body shaking with the effort. ‘You don’t. Neither did your father.’

Dwaipayana longed to shut out the words he knew came next, but they echoed loud and unearthly in his mind. ‘No!’ he cried, and fell to his knees. ‘No, it cannot be!’

As his mind swirled with disbelief, he heard Satya speaking again, her voice the feeble and hoarse rasp of an old, dying woman. ‘…and that is the truth, the truth that you have been blind to. But now you have no choice. Don’t forget your promise to me, my son. Your blood – my blood – must sit on the imperial throne once again. You must not go back on your word, Vyasa of the Firstborn.’

‘I won’t,’ Dwaipayana spat out.

Satya laughed again, her eyes fiery even as her spirit dimmed. ‘This is my revenge,’ she declared. ‘And it won’t end quite as soon as you think.’ The old queen closed her eyes and sighed, a smile curving the corners of her mouth. Dwaipayana watched as life seeped out of her and she died, as though settling into a content sleep at the end of a long, tiring day.

Lightning cracked across the sky, the searing white flash lighting up the darkness outside the warm, oil-lamp lit hut. Dwaipayana sat up in his bed as the rumble of thunder shook the very core of the earth.

A dream.

A dream that was a cruel memory, a reminder of his near-failure as Vyasa of the Firstborn. The acknowledgement of it left his mouth as a quiet gasp.

He heard a gentle voice from the corner of the room ask, ‘Are you all right, Father?’

Dwaipayana turned to look at the speaker, the one being he had allowed himself to truly love and cherish, the one familial bond that he had neither resented nor ignored. His son and the heir to his spiritual title as Vyasa: Sukadeva Vashishta Varuni. Dwaipayana felt nothing but pride when he heard the best of scholars praise Suka as the living embodiment of Vashishta, the first of the Firstborn. Though he did not admit it, even to himself, his son was also the very image of his father, Parashara of the line of Varuni – tall, handsome and strong. Unlike Dwaipayana himself.

Dwaipayana had no regrets. The power he had as the Vyasa was more than enough to compensate for his unseemly appearance. Yet, power alone meant little to him. He had a purpose; the reason why he had been conceived. He was Varuni, Firstborn, filled with the essence of life-giving water. His duty was to nourish and nurture, to protect and care for Aryavarta, and to keep its people safe – from themselves if need be. As he had kept them safe from the Firewrights…

Dwaipayana ran a hand over his sweat-stained forehead. He did not like to dwell on the complex journey that had brought him here, preferring to enjoy his well-earned rest in seclusion and silence. He rarely spoke, even with his own students and fellow scholars, and received no visitors from the outside, not even those who had once been his means to achieving his desired end, an empire ruled by Dharma Yudhisthir Kauravya. He hoped to spend the last of his days in such peaceful silence, engaged in nothing but meditation and penance. But the occasional dream, like the one tonight, returned to remind him that much could still go wrong. These days, the dreams came often, during the day as well as at night.

‘Father, are you all right?’

Dwaipayana became aware that his son’s gaze was still on him. He nodded.

Suka’s reed stylus was poised over the scroll on which he had been working. Despite his father’s response, he did not continue with his writing. With a soft grunt of effort, the elder got up from the thin reed mat that served as his bed, and made his way over to where Suka sat cross-legged on the ground, a sheaf of parchments set out before him. The younger man moved his shaded oil lamp to the other side, making room for his father to take a seat. Dwaipayana sat down, again with a little effort and, picking up a scroll at random, perused its contents with pride. ‘You’re better at this than I ever was, or your grandfather, even.’

Suka dismissed the praise with a chuckle, though his face beamed to rival a bolt of lightning. ‘A few more years, and it will be done, Father,’ he said. ‘Soon, you will not just be Krishna Dwaipayana, but the
Veda
Vyasa, the great leader of the Firstborn who brought together the entire knowledge of Aryavarta in the Vedas, the books of knowledge.’

‘Just an honorary title now, my son. For we must give serious thought to your investiture in my stead.’

‘Father, I have been meaning to tell you… You should consider declaring Markand as your successor. He is, after you, the most senior among us.’

‘He’s a quiet old fellow, Suka. Seers are of three kinds – the good ones, at least. There is, first, the politician – that’s what I am. Then there is the scholar…’

‘That’s me, I suppose?’

‘Exactly. And then there is the holy man, the man of prayer and ritual, the one people turn to for blessings and consecrations and a word of faith in troubled times.’

‘Ah. That might also be me, now that I think about it. But I suppose the description suits Markand more.’

‘That is precisely what Markand is.’

‘And that makes it the seventh time you’ve said so in the last two days.’

‘It does? When did I last…?’ Dwaipayana frowned, trying to recall the instance.

‘Just before you also said that he would make the perfect successor in times such as these. The politican’s work is done, for you now have an infallible empire. As for the scholar’s work – that’s another good reason to leave me alone, though you didn’t mention that. And you did also say that Aryavarta now needed spiritual and ritual guidance. “This is the time for piety to lead prosperity”, were your exact words.’

Dwaipayana laughed. ‘Well did I name you “Suka”. You do have the memory of a parrot! But if I appoint Markand as my successor will you reconsider your decision to… Well, you know what I want you to reconsider.’

Suka set down his quill with just a touch of exasperation. Dwaipayana smiled indulgently at his son, knowing him to be too mild a man to be so easily vexed. ‘Really, Father,’ Suka said, more amused than annoyed. ‘I’m far too old for you to go on about my marriage. The time for that is well past. My life’s work is to see your life’s work done.’ He gestured to the scrolls in front of them, and added, ‘Truly, no wife could serve as a better companion than these tomes, nor could any child sing our praises better in times to come. I am content.’

A gust of wind whipped past the heavy hemp and cloth curtain that served as the only covering over the doorway to the modest hut. It brought with it a spray of rain, and the gentle flame of the oil lamp guttered as the wind howled through the confined space. Suka rose to his feet and secured the curtain in place, tying the threads that ran around its sides to the wooden slits set into the doorway for just this purpose. That done, he gathered the parchments that lay scattered on the floor of the hut and placed them in front of Dwaipayana. ‘The world will speak of us, Father, of you and I, in millennia to come. I ask for nothing more. Announce Markand as your successor. And if you still wish, I am not so old yet that I may not ever have the honour of the title. And for whatever political threads that remain to be tied up, there is always your old student, Sanjaya.’