The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (28 page)

Shikandin had hardly stepped through the gate in the low reed fence that ran around the landward side of the village when a young man came up to him. They exchanged no words, but Shikandin felt better just looking at the strapping young fellow. He let the youth take the reins of his horse and then reached out to pull a bundle off the saddle.

‘Here. As promised.’ He handed the bundle of berries to the eagerly waiting children before making his way deeper into the village.

Men and women called out to him as he passed by. A few enquired casually whether he had had a successful expedition, his activities as natural to them as any other task he might have been on. He answered them in brief but gave no details.

The hut that was in a sense his was situated close to the river. It was one in a cluster of four, each with its main doorway facing in a different direction. This not only ensured privacy but also made it easier for the inhabitants to gather to the settlement’s defence when attacked. For all their rustic simplicity, Shikandin knew these forest dwellers to be brave warriors and clever craftsmen. He found the meticulous organization of the settlement no less impressive than any of Aryavarta’s greatest cities. Every detail had been thought through and arranged for, from stone hearths that let the smoke quickly billow out of every hut to well-placed washing areas that allowed waste water to drain into the ground instead of flowing directly back into the river. What made it all the more becoming to him was the complete humility with which these men and women held their knowledge, believing it was a sacred trust they were honoured to keep.

Shikandin peered into the empty hut and let out a tired sigh. He began pulling off his armour, grunting softly at the mix of pain and relief that coursed through his limbs. He was not hurt, but every muscle in his body felt sore.

‘You’re getting too old for this.’

He did not turn at the familiar voice but drew in a deep breath instead, relishing the smell of jasmine that had been hers right from his youth.

‘I’d show you exactly what this old man is capable of,’ he teased, ‘except…’

‘Except?’ The woman set down the pot of water that she had been carrying and came to stand facing Shikandin.

‘Where’s Kshatradharman?’ Shikandin asked.

‘Playing. That’s what children his age do. Didn’t you see him on your way in? In that case, he’s probably wandered off into the forest… He’s started doing that a lot these days.’

‘He’s growing up.’

‘But you don’t grow old, do you?’

In response, Shikandin reached out to cup her face in one of his dirt- and blood-stained hands. She did not flinch, but leant into his touch. It made him feel healed and clean. ‘Guhyaka…’ he said her name softly and pulled her close. Not all aging was bad, he noted, enjoying how her body had changed since he had first met her. He had been barely seventeen and she around the same. She had altered his life in ways he had not understood for a long time, yet, when he had come back to her after so many years he had found her no different. The hard life of a forest-dweller meant that she was still slender and her limbs taut. But her hair now held much grey and her body had been agreeably rounded by childbirth. At that thought Shikandin placed a hand on her waist, letting it slide down to her wide hips.

She giggled, childlike, and stepped back into the darkness of the hut, pulling Shikandin in with her. He drew the heavy hemp curtain over the door as he stepped in.

Shikandin woke up with a start. He could not remember what he had been dreaming about, but it had not been pleasant. He reached out for Guhyaka’s familiar body next to him. She was not there. He sat up on the reed mat that was their bed and listened in the darkness.

‘Should we wake him up? He’ll want to go.’

Shikandin recognized the young man’s voice. He got up, wrapped on his lower robe and stepped out of the inner room of the hutment into a small living space. ‘Go where?’

The young man turned. ‘To the shrine. It’s a full moon tonight.’

‘What…has the sun set?’

‘It will shortly.’

‘Then I’d better have a bath, and quick.’

Guhyaka stepped up to help Shikandin unbraid his long, matted hair.

‘I’ll go see to the hot water,’ the young man said as he left the hut.

Shikandin said, ‘It’s time we find him a wife, since he can’t seem to manage that task on his own.’

‘Which is hardly a shock, considering he is your son… He doesn’t realize that most of the young girls in the ten tribes around us have their hearts set on him and that he’s been consistent in breaking them all.’

‘Can you ever forgive me, Guhyaka?’

‘For what?’

‘For breaking your heart, my love. I should never have left you.’

‘You didn’t have a choice, Shikandin. Besides, it was a long time ago. I know why you left. I know why you came back. I have no complaints against either decision. You did what you had to. I understand that.
He
understands that.’

It had been a bittersweet moment for Shikandin to come back to Guhyaka after many years to find that she had a child. He had not asked her, even once, whether Uttamaujas was his or not. He simply had not cared. Guhyaka was his. In his heart, he knew she had always been his, and he hers, though neither a rite nor a word had bound them together. In the same vein, as far as he was concerned, he was the boy’s father. As Uttamaujas had grown into youth, his resemblance to Shikandin had become more apparent. Now, the young man – barely a couple of years younger than Yudhamanyu – stood as tall as his father and shared his green-brown eyes. Uttamaujas wore his hair shorter and it tended to curl a little, like Guhyaka’s. If ever he grew it enough to wear it in braids, as Shikandin did, age would be the only factor telling the two men apart at first glance. By contrast, Kshatradharman, who was barely nine, took after his mother, though the entire village proudly declared that he had his father’s brave heart, as did his brother.

Guhyaka said, ‘He wants to go with you, you know… On your…expeditions.’

Shikandin shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

‘You trained him, Shikandin. Uttamaujas is a good fighter.’

‘He is. But I can’t risk it, Guhyaka. If anything were to happen to him or Kshatradharman…or to you…’

‘It would break your heart…as it would break mine if anything were to happen to you,’ Guhyaka pointed out. ‘Yet, this is what we must do, Shikandin. You know that. Come now, it will be moonrise soon.’

Shikandin sighed and made his way out of the hut and to the bathing area behind it. He did not fail to notice that Uttamaujas had already cleaned his cast-off armour and polished it till the metal shone.

Moonrise brought the forest alive in a medley of light, shadow, sound and smell. Shikandin walked barefoot on the mossy ground, Guhyaka on one side of him, Uttamaujas and Kshatradharman on the other. Around them, other villagers walked in silence or in hushed conversation with their own families, cherishing the companionship of loved ones. Shikandin felt one amongst them in many ways. In fact, he had traded his usual robes for the knee-length sheath that the men of the tribe wore on such occasions, and he had allowed Guhyaka to wrap many strings of beads around his wrists, each one with a prayer for his life and well-being. He turned to her to find that she was looking at him with unrestrained affection. On impulse, she reached up to run her fingers along the wrinkles around his eyes and trace the line of his strong, firm jaw.

Shikandin bit lightly at her finger and she pulled it back with an embarrassed look at Uttamaujas, who pretended he hadn’t noticed.

The moment filled Shikandin with peace and guilt. A part of him was glad to be here, away from the larger world, from the wounded realm that was Aryavarta, and his own, scarred life as a prince. Yet, he felt guilty that he could find peace and happiness when Panchali was suffering as she was, that he could think of beginning a new life when so many old bonds and duties remained to be fulfilled. But how could he turn away from Guhyaka, who had accepted him as he was, without question; from Uttamaujas, who had treated him with the love and respect that Yudhamanyu had never shown; and from Kshtradharman, who had given him a glimpse of the innocence and childhood he’d never known.

Shikandin pushed all such thoughts out of his mind as ahead of them a small stone shrine gleamed in the moonlight. His hand went, in an instinctive move, to the Wright-metal beads around his neck. He felt that every man, woman and child in the village was looking at him, but he knew it was just imagination. With an effort, he brought his hand down, forcing it to fall at his side.

One by one the villagers went down on their knees before the stone shrine, their eyes closed and heads bowed to the ground in prayer. All except Shikandin. He knelt down with the others, but his eyes remained on the single pillar. Its surface still bore the dark scars of fire. Uttamaujas had been right, Shikandin had not wanted to miss this gathering. It was the only time he could stand in front of the shrine without wanting to break into tears, without hearing the screams of pain from the past. It was the only time he dared look upon the spirit within the stone and ask for forgiveness for all that had happened and all that he had failed to do.

It began to rain. One by one, the villagers made their way back to the settlement, those most content with their lives the first ones to leave and seek the dry sanctuary of their hutments. Shikandin and his family were the last to leave, but it was not for lack of happiness. They walked back in silence, uncaring of the rain. Shikandin hoisted a sleepy Kshatradharman on to his shoulders and wrapped an arm each around Guhyaka and Uttamaujas, who gave him an indulgent smile, as though he knew he were old enough to protest against the excessively paternal gesture but cared for his father enough to allow the transgression.

That night, Shikandin slept with the contentment of a man who had everything to lose and knew it. His last waking thought was of his sister.

6

‘AAH! I HATE IT WHEN THAT HAPPENS,’ PARTHA SAID, SPITTING
vehemently on the mossy forest floor.

Bhim snorted, partly amused and partly in derision, and continued to skin the dead deer with relative ease. ‘The greatest archer in all Aryavarta, they call you, and you can’t skin your kill without getting blood and bile in your mouth. Stop pulling at the hide, muhira, you need to let it slide off!’

‘I’m an archer, not a butcher, Bhim. I don’t care how long I do this, I’ll never get used to it.’

The statement brought on an unintended silence as both brothers thought of a conversation that had begun on many occasions, but had not yet been concluded. They worked together in silence until where there had been a deer there was now meat, ready to be cooked. They took a bath in the pond nearby before sitting down under the shade of a tree, far enough from the smell of raw flesh.

Partha spoke first, ‘He must have a plan.’

‘What makes you say so?’

‘Govinda Shauri always has a plan!’

‘Doesn’t the fact that he has made no move tell you that he has no plan...that he has failed? It’s over, Partha!’

Partha smiled. ‘What is faith, Bhim?’

‘You tell me.’

‘It is believing in a man who has lost faith in himself. I know that even if I were to ever lose my will, my courage, Govinda would never lose faith in me – his faith in anyone, in humanity. That faith has kept him going, and it keeps him alive still. But he has lost faith in himself and so he can do nothing. He doesn’t trust himself, so he refuses to act. There is no plan. This is what it is, what it has been for years now.
He
is our ruler.’

‘Syoddhan?’

‘Why not? You have to admit he is doing an admirable task of running the empire, even though he has not taken on the title of Emperor. He can’t even impose edicts, but he still gets the other vassals to do what is needed by sheer force of reason and diplomacy. Of course, the price he pays for that is allowing the militarization of all of Aryavarta, but frankly I don’t see a problem in that. We are safer than before. We are more prosperous than before. And no one knows that better than us – common people as we now are. He’s good. He’s really very good.’

‘Maybe that’s why Govinda has done nothing. He knows this is best.’

‘Hah! For all your doubts, you too want to believe this is yet another of Govinda Shauri’s complicated plans, don’t you?’

‘You have your way of keeping faith in him; I have mine.’

Partha did not argue the point. Bhim, he knew, was right. This was a matter of faith and there was no single way to keep it. Just as there was no right way. For all they knew, Govinda was gone, truly gone.

Yet again, Bhim broke the contemplative silence. ‘Did…did you ever think of him as a brother, Partha?’

‘Govinda?’

‘Syoddhan.’

‘Not really. I wonder why… He’s older than the both of us and it should have been natural, I suppose, to treat him the way we’ve always treated Dharma. I don’t know why we never did. You were with him at Kashi, Bhim. You trained under Balabadra at the same time as he did. Surely you’d know him better.’

Bhim hesitated. ‘Can I be honest? I’m not sure I’ve quite admitted this even to myself, but I found Syoddhan easy to get along with. I guess the only thing I didn’t like is that whenever there were others around, especially one of his brothers, he used to pretend that this so-called rivalry between us was a big thing. But I’ve spent enough time in relative solitude with him to know he’s not like that at all. I’m not saying I like him – his behaviour is, in my estimation, hypocrisy. I think I’ve just learned to dislike him less since…since I’ve realized that I may not have been too different. Everything I thought and felt about Syoddhan and his brothers was what I had learnt to believe, as Dharma’s brother and Pandu Kauravya’s son. Never did I question why things were that way, and whether it was right.’

‘I think that’s a mistake all of us have made, but…’ Partha trailed off and waved a hand in welcome as Nakul and Sadev walked out through the foliage on the far side of the pond and made their way to where Partha and Bhim were seated.