The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (21 page)

‘Look at them scurrying to hide like rats!’ Daruka gleefully noted.

‘You know what needs to be done now, Daruka?’

‘Yes, Commander.’

‘Go on, then…’

Bowing to his commander, the captain made for the sheltered space below the deck. There, he thrust a few oil-soaked torches into the glowing embers of a brazier. Then, as an afterthought, he kicked the brazier into the depths of the hull, which was now empty of oarsmen. He understood why Govinda had insisted on carrying as few men as possible on this ship. Making his way back up to the deck, Daruka called out to the crewmen for help. Three of them rushed to take the torches from him. The flames spluttered in the strong wind, but did not go out. Acting quickly, the four of them moved to different parts of the ship, setting the sails and the dry wood on fire. Like their own vessel, the men knew, nearly every part of the enemy’s ship was easily flammable. Fire ships were an old and dreaded means of naval warfare. They seldom failed to destroy their target, especially when piloted by willing and brave men till the last.

An alarm rang out on board the Salwa command vessel as the enemy realized what was going on. In a desperate attempt to avert the attack, King Saubha’s men relentlessly launched arrows at the burning ship. Many of Govinda’s crewmen fell, pierced by the black-tipped arrows, but the fire ship did not swerve from its course. Govinda kept his place at the wheel of their infallible weapon, the faithful Daruka at his side. Propelled by the mighty northern wind, it smashed through the side of King Saubha’s craft, and remained wedged there.

Govinda held on to the wheel with one hand, and with the other kept Daruka from falling down from the impact. The two men watched as the fire spread across the two vessels caught in their ghostly embrace. Barely moments later the towering mast of the Yadu ship fell, shattering as it hit the other vessel’s iron-clad stern. Like bolts of lightning, burning shafts of wood shot out across the water. The Salwa navy’s close formation now proved to be its downfall. Fuelled by the wind and the debris, fires began to break out on many of the vessels.

The task done, Daruka readied to abandon ship but realized that Govinda was standing rooted at the wheel, staring across the mangled decks of both ships at a group of similarly unmoving men about thirty feet away. The war was over, but one battle remained.

‘Commander…’ Daruka called out, hoping to defray what he considered an unnecessary altercation.

Despite all their naval preparedness, Saubha and his men were in no position to swim to safety. Trusting in their ships, they remained attired for intense battle, clad in a shining array of mail and metal, grotesque masks covering their faces. To Daruka’s eyes, they appeared veritable monsters. Saubha himself was discernible by his large helmet, shaped in the form of a snarling beast, some strange mythical being from legends native to Salwa. It broadly resembled a bear, though its maws were longer and extended outwards at the king’s chin, making it look like he had teeth of shining black metal. Horns rose long and sharp over the bear’s head, forming a diabolical crown. The armour on Saubha’s body matched the visor, and spiked shoulder plates and claw-like protrusions from the gauntlets on his arms and hands gave him the look of a metallic monster. Slowly, the king removed his helmet to reveal his face, repugnant not for its features but for the malice that lined every bit of it.

Govinda defiantly met his enemy’s gaze, uncaring that time was running out. To remain on board the floundering vessel was to face certain death, either by burning alive in the spreading flames, or drowning as the sinking debris created whirlpools impossible to swim out of.

‘There’s no way they can swim with all that armour, they’ll just drown. Commander…let’s go!’ Daruka shouted.Govinda ignored him, and drew his sword.

Saubha rushed forward, his own sword drawn, a fearful yell renting the air. Govinda’s actions mirrored Saubha’s. The two men met over an uneven, smouldering surface formed by the wood of both ships mingled in eerie conjugation. Smoke and flame added a curtain of confusion; screams of pain and terror filled the air. But neither of the two commanders seemed to care.

Daruka stood ready, his own sword drawn, but none of the other soldiers came forward. This was, he realized, a different sort of fight. Saubha knew he was going down. And he wanted to take Govinda with him. The thought only made the captain worry more. King Saubha’s feared reputation as a ruthless slayer was a well-deserved one, and he would be all the more vicious if he had no concern for his safety. In fact, if he kept Govinda engaged long enough, both of them would burn and drown together.

Saubha knew this. He prowled around, biding his time. He was fast on his feet and used his curved, whip-like sabre to good effect, keeping his opponent out of striking range but still engaged. Daruka cried out in alarm as Govinda rushed in recklessly. For a while, all the soldier could hear was the soothing rhythm of the waves against the shattered hull of the ship, punctuated occasionally by the whiplash sound that meant a dodge or the clang of metal hitting metal.

Saubha drew first blood. He aimed for his opponent’s neck, but Govinda deflected the blow. Relentlessly, Saubha whipped his sword round to catch him on his upper arm, inflicting a deep gash that began to bleed profusely. He stepped back, satisfied, and once again the two men began circling each other, oblivious to the flames and smoke around them.

Sensing that his opponent would be weakened by the loss of blood, Saubha moved in. His next stroke came down hard. Instinctively, Govinda brought his sword up in a double-handed counter. It was just the opportunity King Saubha had been waiting for. He pulled out a thin dagger, coated with a distinct, brown liquid, from a secret compartment set inside his metal gauntlet. A smile curving one side of his mouth, he struck hard to drive it in between Govinda’s ribs. In an instant, his delighted expression changed to one of panic. Mortal terror filled Saubha’s eyes as he realized what had happened. He had stepped in close to stab Govinda, but it was a bit too close.

Govinda had switched his sword hand and used his now-free right hand to grab Saubha’s wrist and pull him in closer still. Saubha tried to thrust the smaller, poisoned blade in where he could but the pain in his arm from Govinda’s grip was unbearable. Not one to give up so easily, Saubha slashed wildly with his curved sabre. But at this proximity, the thin whip-blade was no match for the unyielding Nandaka. Govinda deflected Saubha’s attack and in a left-handed sweeping thrust caught him from the side, finding a gap in his armour between his shoulder and chest plates. The white metal blade ran clean through the king’s chest and stayed wedged in his flesh. Saubha looked down at it, his mouth stuck in a disbelieving, idiotic grin. He staggered back a few steps and fell.

Govinda wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword and pulled it out of the dead king’s body, sending a spray of blood and fine flesh through the salty sea air. He would have thrown himself at the rest of Saubha’s warriors, who stood paralysed with awe and fear, but for Daruka’s insistent calls.

‘Commander! Now! We need to get off the ship
now
!’ The captain pulled at Govinda’s arm, gesturing wildly to another wayward Salwa ship that now bore down on them, no longer under the control of its crew. The two men had hardly climbed over the edge of the deck, when the vessel ran into theirs. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, for the impact of the collision threw both Daruka and Govinda into the water, well away from the huge swirling eddy that was created by the three battleships sinking in unison.

The two men watched the ensuing chaos as they treaded water, waiting for the Yadu rowboats that were already heading in their direction. Their plan had worked

‘There’s just one thing…’ Daruka said ‘Where are our other ships? The ones you moved during the night? The ones Saubha thought you’d bring back in a surprise attack?’

Govinda managed a tired, but irrepressible grin. ‘Under water, in the cove north of Dwaraka. Saubha saw the ships leave the habour and assumed that I was just hiding them there. He planned to turn the trap against me with his naval formation. But I didn’t hide those ships, I sank them.’

Daruka laughed out loud at the matter-of-fact declaration. By sinking the ships, Govinda had created an artificial barrier that had the same effect as shoals and sandbars had in nature. As the natural flow of the landward tide was barred by the submerged wreckage, it pooled near the shore eventually becoming a narrow but strong rip tide that flowed
away
from land, into the sea.

Amidst the clamour, the shouts of victory and the desperate cries of drowning men, the destruction by fire and water, the two men looked fondly over the waters at their beloved crystal city. Trumpets and horns blared from the towers of Dwaraka, and thousands raised their voice in a united war cry. Spurred by the victory on sea, Balabadra and Yuyudhana were leading what remained of their soldiers against Saubha’s landward forces.

‘What…?’ Daruka frowned.

Govinda said, ‘I told him to. There is no way those mercenaries will fight without their paymaster, nor will the Salwa soldiers fight without their king. Once they are gone, the rest of the forces – Damagosha’s men and the others – will scatter and disclaim all involvement. The blame for this will fall on Saubha and his ambition alone.’

‘So…it is over?’

‘Yes,’ Govinda replied, with a content sigh, ‘it is over. Dwaraka is safe.’

22

DUSSASAN’S TOUCH SEARED, VIOLATED. PANCHALI FELT ANGER
prick the back of her neck and she pulled her shoulders back in instinctive defiance. The sensation lasted for just a moment and then fell heavily to the pit of her stomach, turning into a cold, clammy, desperate trepidation that became an incomprehensible sorrow. She no longer felt his touch, no longer cared where he touched her. The pain inside her was incorporeal and endless, as though the most sacred part of her being, the core, which held love and hope and happiness, was being ravaged into a bloody pulp.

It did not occur to her to beg for mercy. She felt her rage to fight tamed into numbness by shock and fear. She willed her hands to move, her legs to kick and her voice to scream, but they did not. Thoughts swirled through her mind. Words, voices, images – she was racing through them, in search of something. Some meaning, or an anchor. Lucidity came in torturous bursts, and she realized that the screaming in her head was not against her aggressor but against her own sense of helplessness and despair, the petrified stillness that had taken over. Her being was hers, every pore of it, to always own and give as she wished. And that was precisely why Dussasana wanted it. His was not an act of lust. It was an act of dominance.

Pleasure was something any one of these men could easily have in greater measure and at a lesser cost. Dussasana hungered for power, as did Vasusena and the rest. Over her body, her will, and over those they considered the owners and protectors of her being. To take her was to destroy Dharma, his brothers, the empire; to burn to cinders their hearts and will and reduce them into tiny specks of shamed subservience. It did not matter that she was not anyone’s to own or protect. She was no longer a woman, a person, a human being. She was simply the embodiment of everything they wanted for their own, a thing – not unlike the land they wished to conquer, to plunder in the name of right, duty and morality in perverse proof of domination. Like soldiers in the heat of battle, like hyenas that had scented blood, the entire hall seemed to her a mammoth, slithery creature of legend, with many sharp-fanged heads but a single body and collective will driving it. She was no longer aware of Syoddhan or Vasusena, or the crazed Dussasan, the silently acquiescent Bhisma, submissive Dharma or maddened Bhim. There was neither friend nor foe, just one fell, foul creature, a mindless mob that sought to affirm its own being.

Some things are defined only by their property to destroy another. Every antidote is defined by its poison.

She could not remember where she had heard those words or who had spoken them. It was strange that they came to mind at a time such as this but she knew why they did. It was because she felt now what she had felt when she first heard them – a debilitating fear that left her with no strength to fight, no will to protest, given the futility of it all. She remembered fire and screams, though the screams were not hers, and she remembered thinking that to be burnt alive was far better than to survive, that pain lasted longer and did not always bring death at the end of it. And that was what it had come to – the thought of one doom being better or worse than the other, because doom was all that was left to come. For that which gave meaning to the world as she knew it had collapsed, utterly and completely.

Kings and queens, wise courtiers and acharyas of great learning, and those of no station at all, but still people, living, sentient beings, had all failed and now looked on in mute awe as one of their own dared to do what ought to have been unthinkable. There had been law, a system beyond the folly of human beings and their fickle minds, but that too had failed, as had the ultimate fibre of life as ordained by Divine Order – morality. She had called on the noble keepers of the empire to deliver justice, but they had failed her. Dharma had not spoken a word, and by their laws she was a slave.

While Panchali weaved in out of the universe in lightning bolts of thought, time expanded, and the single action of Dussasana pulling at her robe spanned many lifetimes. Instinct told her to resist, reason told her to submit.

This is not justice
, her inner voice railed
. An unjust law is no law at all; an unjust monarch is no ruler.
The realization made Panchali more despondent than before. She felt surrounded by the empty blackness of a soul in despair, stripped of every hope, every joyful feeling she had ever known, of any sense of calm and contentment. Her fingers, which had clutched reflexively at her robe, were weak and lifeless, and she let go. Like the slow, inexorable movement of the planets, Dussasan kept pulling. She did not know if she was smiling but felt as if she did – a sad curve of the lips that was worse than tears.