The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (30 page)

‘Hold her down!’ Jayadrath instructed as he leapt off his chariot. His eldest son, Suratha, was with him; the others soon arrived riding horses of their own. ‘I said, hold her down. Oh, one fiery bitch you are, aren’t you, Panchali?’

Panchali struggled and kicked, but to no avail. One of the soldiers held her arms down over her head, while two others pinned down a leg each. Jayadrath laughed and knelt down by her head, while Suratha began stripping off his armour, piece by piece, and handed it to another man nearby.

‘Don’t take too long now,’ one of his brothers cautioned. ‘Leave time for us to take our turn. And then we need to find Dharma and kill him. Who knew we’d come upon such an amusing distraction in the forest?’

‘Oh no, my son!’ Jayadrath said. ‘This is not just a distraction. This is important. We will kill Dharma Yudhisthir, yes, but it is what we will do to the lovely
Empress
here that will strike terror in the hearts of men and women, king and commoner, everyone, everywhere. Her screams will ring loud and long in their ears and each time someone thinks to challenge us, our might, this memory of what we did to her shall change their minds. Death is only so powerful, my boy. If you want to be a ruler, you must know how to make them fear, really fear you. Isn’t that right, Panchali…
Empress of Aryavarta
?’

Panchali stiffened at his words and began to struggle again as a hand fell on her robes. It was the prince, now naked of his armour and clothing. The leer on his face sent rage coursing though her and she found a little bit of the courage that had failed her all the while. As the prince began to lower himself on to her, she wrested her right leg free of the guards grip, brought her knee up and drove it hard into Suratha’s groin. He doubled over in agony.

‘Hah!’ Panchali let out a cry of satisfaction, but it was in vain.

‘Bitch!’ Suratha slapped her, over and over, the force of his strokes knocking her head from side to side. Huge bruises formed on each of her cheeks and she began to bleed from the mouth. Still not satisfied, the prince stood, cursing against his pain, and began to kick her in the stomach and on her head. Panchali let out a gluttural scream as the back of her head struck the rocky ground. She stopped struggling as her vision blurred and spun in eddies of colour, before turning to black oblivion.

8

‘EMPTY YOURSELF. SEE THAT YOUR MIND IS NOT YOU, THAT THIS
body is not you…’

Dharma Yudhisthir drew in a deep breath, and complied as best as he could. Vyasa Markand was a patient, pious man, and Dharma was happy to be under his instruction, but having Dhaumya around unnerved him.

‘Let go of judgement…’

Let go of judgement
, his mind countered.
Then how will one know right from wrong? And if one cannot, then would there be any meaning left to life?

‘…of what you think of others, and of what they think of you…’

Then how can one decide the greater good? How can one define what was righteous and just?

Dharma opened his eyes. ‘Acharya…’

Markand, a moderately plump, good-natured old man, with a round face, was all attention. ‘Yes, my son?’

‘Acharya, I do not understand. Is it not right and wrong that define who we are? How can we embrace righteousness if there is no higher morality, a divine law against which we judge all our actions?’

Dhaumya interrupted, unusually scathing, ‘I thought you believe morality to be relative? Why then this search for absolutes,
my prince
?’

Dharma frowned. He was used to Dhaumya’s regression to his old, and hence less alienable title, but the tone in his voice was new. ‘It is not my place to believe, Acharya. It is my place to follow what the gods prescribe. I ask the question in all sincerity.’

Unaware of the tension between the two, Markand continued, in his genial way, ‘And a good question it is, particularly for one whose name is Dharma: righteousness. And it arises because you contemplate a situation where morality and Divine Order are against each other…else, by rational argument, that which is natural law must always be moral, isn’t it?’

‘Such a situation cannot exist?’

‘Alas, such situations do come to pass, particularly when the forces of evil are at play. But then, when the world as we know it is suspect, it is no longer a matter for us men but a matter for the gods. It is for them to descend – to destroy evil and restore Divine Order, and make law and morality the same.’

‘And if it should be time for morality to change?’ The query came from Dhaumya.

‘Then the gods will change it. They will recreate Divine Order as is appropriate, as they have done in each age. Barely one yuga ago, morality required that we speak the truth and that it must be the whole truth. In this age truth simply means the absence of falsehood. It is neither complete nor unambiguous.’

Dharma said, ‘And so morality is both subjective and absolute! Grandsire Bhisma was right.’

Markand nodded. ‘The Grandsire is a wise man. As are you, Dharma Yudhisthir.’

The compliment pleased Dharma and he was about to break into a wide grin, but instead set his face into an expression of placid composure as his brothers approached.

Bhim began the conversation without prelude. ‘Have you seen Panchali?’

Dharma replied, ‘She was hunting, was she not? Why, what happened?’

‘One of the disciples reported horses and men, in the forests.’ Bhim turned to Markand, ‘Do you have visitors, Acharya?’

‘No, and I am expecting none. This is most strange.’

‘We have to find her,’ Dhaumya rose to his feet at once. ‘I’ll come with you.’

Bhim nodded. The others looked eager to begin the search. Dharma, however, remained seated. ‘Come back here with her, when you find her,’ he casually instructed. ‘I would love for her to hear the Acharya’s explanations on morality and its imperative. She will surely find it fascinating.’

Bhim thought he heard Sadev mutter under his breath, but was not sure. It could have been, he reasoned, just the wind.

Nevertheless, Dharma said, ‘On second thoughts, I’ll come with you.’

In retrospect, Dharma could see that it was destiny. He was meant to go in search of Panchali. He was meant to be there when Nakul, who was gone ahead as a scout, came back filled with rage and incoherent ramblings about Panchali and what Jayadrath and his men were doing to her. He had been needed, to stop his brothers from running headlong into danger, instead, suggesting kindly but imperiously that an ambush was better – a fact which Sadev grudgingly admitted and Partha endorsed. And now Dharma knew that he had been destined to what lay ahead, the ultimate test of who he was, as a man, a righteous man. But first there was Panchali.

‘That’s it. They’re in position. Come on,’ Partha whispered, as the call of a jungle fowl came through the air. ‘Nakul said there are about twenty of them. Taking them down should be no problem if we have the element of surprise to our advantage, but we need to make sure they don’t have time to react and hurt Panchali or hold her hostage. So get to her, and get her out of there, Agraja. Get your wife out of there.’

It struck Dharma that he ought to find it offensive that his brother was commanding him, but he reminded himself to make allowances for the stressful nature of the situation, and Partha’s genuine zeal to rescue Panchali. ‘All right, Partha,’ he said.

Another bird cry came through the air. ‘Go!’ Partha urged and set off at a run, an arrow notched to his bowstring.

Dharma drew his sword and followed close behind, moving to his left so as to circle in better on their quarry. He stumbled out from behind a small thicket into a clearing that was just as Nakul had described it. Already, Partha had brought down four men, including the naked man hovering over the prone figure that Dharma realized, with a shock, was Panchali. More men fell, caught in the arrow-fire from all directions as Bhim, Sadev and Nakul closed in.

Just as Partha had warned, Jayadrath went for Panchali. He tried to swing her inert form over his shoulder and retreat, but before either he or Dharma could do anything further, a wide-eyed figure clad in the ochre robes of a scholar jumped out of the foliage with a bloodcurdling yell that was completely uncharacteristic of his kind. ‘Let her go!’ Dhaumya commanded. ‘Let her go before I curse you and seven generations of your ancestors. Let her go!’

The declaration failed to have the desired impact in full, but the unexpected move served its own purpose. Jayadrath stood as he was long enough for Dharma to reach him.

‘Now, Jayadrath! Let her go!’ Dharma pointed his sword at the king for emphasis.

Jayadrath took a look around him. One of his sons was dead. About fifteen of his soldiers and courtiers were down. The others were nowhere to be seen. With a frown, Jayadrath lowered Panchali and let her fall to the forest floor with a thud. The impact seemed to bring her to her senses, for she moaned and her closed eyes twitched. Immediately, Dhaumya was at her side.

‘You bastard! You animal!’ An enraged Bhim advanced on Jayadrath, who responded by pulling his sword out of its scabbard.

‘No, Bhim!’ the injunction came from Dharma. ‘Don’t! He is, after all, Dussala’s husband, and she’s our sister. Just because he does not know the meaning of nobility and respect, we should not forget who we are.’

‘She’s Syoddhan’s sister, not
our
s!’

‘Bhim!’

‘But, Agraja…’ Partha stepped forward.

Dharma ignored him and turned to Jayadrath. ‘I will let you leave here alive, Jayadrath, so that you may reflect on how sinful, how depraved your activities have been. If a lesser man had committed these heinous acts, then by morality and law he would be dead. But you are a kinsman and a king, you are Arya… I trust that you will see the error of your ways. Go now, and remember forever that you owe your life, not to me but to the principles of righteousness and Divine Order, our Arya way of life that compels me to show you mercy. Go!’

No one was more surprised by the sudden declaration than Jayadrath. He still did not sheath his drawn sword, but began edging towards one of the horses, tethered to a shrub. The five brothers kept their eyes on him till he was gone. They turned around to find Panchali, revived, watching in silence.

‘How could you let him go?’ Bhim was beyond himself. ‘We should have gutted him alive. And that son of his, the one who…’ He glanced at Panchali, not daring to ask the question whether they had been in time, or not. Her eyes answered, telling him that it did not make any difference, for something inside her had been destroyed anyway, that it was but part of an ongoing horror that had begun many, many years ago.

Out loud she said, ‘Dharma did the right thing, Bhim. Killing Jayadrath would have put us in a difficult position. All of Aryavarta would have held us accountable for his death. By leaving him alive, the problem is now his. He cannot speak of what happened here without explaining what he was doing here in the first place, and that he cannot disclose. Dharma did the right thing…though not for reasons I find right.’

Dharma beamed. His eyes held unfettered affection for Panchali, but it was to Dhaumya he addressed his words. ‘See, Acharya. Morality is indeed a subtle thing, both subjective and absolute at the same time. But what is important is that we never act against it.’

No one cared to counter his statement, and Dharma took their silence for enlightened acceptance. He stepped forward. ‘Come, Panchali, let me carry you back.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s all right. I’m fine. I can walk.’

Dharma shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘as you wish’, and began making his way back towards the hermitage. His brothers fell in behind him, Bhim the last to follow.

Dhaumya helped Panchali to her feet, trying hard to keep the many things he wanted to say and ask within him. Finally, he settled on a topic that he hoped was trivial enough to be neutral. ‘The brothers said one of the disciples told them about Jayadrath and his men. How would a child know…?’

‘Because I’ve taught them to be on the lookout, Acharya. I teach the youngest and newest ones every year.’

‘For how long have you been doing this?’

‘Ever since we’ve been here.’

‘What are they watching out for, Panchali? Who was it you were expecting? Enemies such as these…? Or are you waiting for a friend? Because if you are…’ Dhaumya faltered. ‘My dear child, if you are waiting for him to come, he won’t. He won’t. Don’t you see? He has lost all hope. It is useless to wait for him.’

Panchali looked up into Dhaumya’s face. It looked familiar through the blur of her tears, not as the face of one she had seen all these years but a memory she had almost forgotten. She thought she had heard him tell her stories that had made her laugh but had also made her ask questions. There had been one tale, in particular, about a princess in a desert, and a vulture. No, that story had been told by an older man, a much older man she could not identify, though his image flickered in her mind’s eye. She tried to remember, but it only brought the darkness spinning down again to hit her hard, and she gave up.

‘Panchali?’

‘It doesn’t matter, Acharya…Govinda Shauri
is
hope.’

9

‘GOVINDA!’ THE NAME ESCAPED HER LIPS IN A GASP, HER BODY
taut with ecstasy, fingers digging into a strong, sweat-stained back.

Govinda Shauri smiled, but it was merely a curve of his lips. His eyes remained as they had been for twelve years now, like a mighty fort gone to ruin: haunted when empty, pitiable when filled.

‘Govinda!’ the woman cried out again, clutching at his shoulders as if by doing so she could bring their naked forms any closer. Govinda closed his eyes and let his body surrender to pleasure, finding relief not in his being’s release but in the sharp ache it left behind in his heart. All joy was torment, all desire was punishment and all pain was penance. Yet, he felt no closer to forgiveness.

Sitting up as the whirl of sensations faded, leaving behind nothing but the dull throb of reality, Govinda looked out of the window at his beloved city. Dwaraka, the western jewel of Aryavarta, shone with muted grace by the light of the moon. It was late. All lights except those that burnt incessant – flares that lit the city gates and its roads, and the huge torch that blazed at the mouth of the port as a warning to approaching ships – had been put out for the night as the city’s residents slept. The fateful events that had shaken their lives over a decade ago were now a part of a past that would not fade with time, partly because the people of Dwaraka had changed since and partly because the empire around them had transformed. All lights but Govinda’s own. Darkness had always soothed him and so he denied himself of it. Now, lights always shone in the tallest turret of Dwaraka, which had been home to Govinda Shauri since the day the city had been built.