The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (36 page)

As Vidur remained silent, Sanjaya chuckled sardonically and said, ‘I know everything. I just want to hear your feeble explanations, before I tell you how you’ve destroyed everything with your folly. Now tell me – why?’

‘Because…’ Vidur tried, but could not speak further.

Anger flashed across Sanjaya’s face and he strode over to where the older man stood. In a low, sad tone, he asked, ‘Is it because you wanted the fame of giving up your own flesh and blood? I can understand why Grandfather did what he did, but how could
you
? And now look at how they treat you, trample all over you, call you “Kshatta” and “Dasi-putra”! How can you bear it, when those who should be scraping at your feet treat you as their slave? Shame on you!’

Vidur felt a twinge of disappointment, but forced himself to ignore it. ‘Because I’m not ashamed of who I am, Sanjaya. I
am
a dasi-putra. Whatever else I could have been, I’m happy to be Vidur, the kshatta. That is who I believed I was for many years, just as you’ve believed yourself to be Sanjaya Gavalgani.’

Breathing out hard, Sanjaya subsided, touched by the other’s man’s simple confidence. ‘It’s not you I’m angry with, really,’ he ventured.

‘I know,’ Vidur replied, ‘but I must also confess that I don’t see what it is you really want.’

‘I want justice. Is that so difficult to understand?’ Sanjaya felt tired, impossibly tired. On impulse, he went down on his knees in front of Vidur.

‘Father…’ he tentatively said, the longing visible in his eyes.

Vidur stiffened, and then, with a nod, he yielded. He helped the kneeling man to his feet and embraced him as he had longed to for many years now.

‘Ah, Sanjaya! This has been the most painful secret of them all to keep. How many times I’ve longed to call you my son, to embrace you with pride, but…’

‘But…?’ Sanjaya asked, as he stepped back from his father’s embrace.

‘My father, your grandfather…Dwaipayana…feared that it would condemn your generation, as it had condemned mine. Already, the strife between Pandu and Dhritarastra had been passed on to their sons. To acknowledge you – it would have led not just every Kaurava, but also all of Aryavarta into civil war. Surely, you of all people know enough politics to see that?’

‘And you let him convince you?’ Sanjaya rhetorically questioned. With a groan of resignation, he sat down on a cushioned stool and buried his face in his hands. ‘What madness is this!’ he finally remarked. ‘I can’t understand what shred of dignity remains for us, with all these lies and the deceit. A man knows neither father nor brother, leave alone his lineage or right.’

‘Dignity lies in doing what is right and good in the time that we hold, my son,’ Vidur said. ‘Today we see the tangled web that has been woven over three, perhaps more, generations. But you must remember that our forebears took decisions as best they could, without the benefit of hindsight.’

‘And so you’d have me accept my lot in life, to call it my fate and submit unquestioningly?’

‘No, Sanjaya. Your fate is what you make of it.’

‘And if I refuse to accept Dharma, or even Syoddhan, as my Emperor? If I question their right to rule?’

‘Then you will certainly cause war.’

‘It’s been caused already.’

‘What do you really want, Sanjaya?’

Sanjaya looked up at Vidur in earnest, his eyes tearful and pleading. ‘If ever you’ve loved me as a son, I beg you, tell me the truth… Did you not think of claiming your right? Not even once?’

Vidur smiled at his son and squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, before sitting down next to him. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘yes, I did once. Not as long as my brother Pandu lived and ruled, not even when he died. But, for a while, just before Dharma was declared Crown Prince, I did think of claiming my right, as you call it. I toyed with the idea… with many ideas.’

‘Why didn’t you…?’

‘Because I met Govinda Shauri, Prince of Mathura,’ Vidur said.

Sanjaya tried to conceal his mixed emotions, but failed. ‘Govinda!’ he spat out before he could stop himself.

Vidur continued, ‘I dare say many people have that reaction to his name. The version that you’ve probably heard, the story that is most often told, is that of a prince hidden away at childhood, who finally discovered his true identity and saved his people. But the man I met was no prince, despite his crown and his silks and jewellery. He was a common gwala, a man true to the hard earth he’d tilled and tough as stone. And he was proud of it. That’s when I decided, Sanjaya. I didn’t want to be the kshatta who discovered his identity as something more. I didn’t want that for you, either, all these years.’

‘What else could anyone want?’ Sanjaya was terse.

‘A world where there is no shame in being who you are. I don’t want to be raised out of my lowly creed, my son. I want to be respected for who I am. Do you understand?’

A silence fell over the two men, and they sat that way for a long time. Eventually, as the sun’s blood-red rays faded and darkness crept into the room, Vidur stirred. He went over to the door and opened it. An attendant had left a small wick lamp on the doorstep. Vidur picked it up and walked around, lighting the large earthen lamps that hung around the room.

Sanjaya followed his father’s actions with his eyes, realizing for the first time the stark simplicity, the poverty almost, that Vidur lived in. There were many, he knew, who were less close to the king, but had received much greater rewards over the years.

Was this nobility? Or was it merely a stubborn refusal to come to terms with reality?

Dwaipayana had chosen a different kind of power, but he was no less a ruler of men than any king in Aryavarta. But Vidur had chosen to remain the son of a slave, condemning himself and his progeny. Few knew the name of his acknowledged son – a minor clerk in an administrative function, or that of his daughter, a girl married away into comfortable obscurity. Vidur’s children, for all practical purposes, barely existed.
No!
Sanjaya noted.
Not all his children
.

He stood up, causing Vidur to turn and look at him.

‘I don’t believe you,’ Sanjaya said. ‘I don’t believe it was principle alone that stopped you all these years. It was shame. You were ashamed, as your father has been! And that shame is what has led the rest of Aryavarta to trample on us for years. You are as responsible for what happened to us as any Firstborn bastard!’

‘And what would I be so ashamed of, Sanjaya? Or my father?’

‘That which you pretend to be ignorant of even now, even here. You know as well as I do who your grandmother was, Father. You were young and I was just a child, but I remember the things she said as she lay dying, even if it took me decades to understand. She was proud of who she was. But you, and her son… It doesn’t matter. I am proud of being of her blood. I am proud of what she was. And I shall say it without shame: Your grandmother, my great-grandmother, Queen Satya, from whom all of us of the Kaurava clan have descended, was a Firewright.’

15

IF VIDUR WAS STUNNED, HE DID NOT SHOW IT. LIKE THE PATIENT
advisor he was, he tried to meet Sanjaya’s passionate rhetoric with reason. ‘Don’t make this personal, Sanjaya. All that matters is the good of the people. You have unleashed an animal you cannot tame. Already, the kings and warriors of the realm have begun to compete with each other, they begin to fear and loathe each other as they struggle for supremacy. If you were to let Syoddhan attack Matsya, then it is the beginning of the end. Not only will you allow war to break out in Aryavarta, but it will be war of unimaginable proportions. Matsya…’

‘…is the last bastion of the Firewrights. It is what I need to rule.’

‘Sanjaya, please. It doesn’t have to be this way. You must think of the people, of the larger good. Dharma’s reinstatement as Emperor can make the people believe in themselves, in benevolence and goodness, and that is why I plead with Syoddhan to share his throne. You can’t make a man dream of the stars if he refuses to look up. The people must believe that they deserve their prosperity and happiness and shrug off their shackles of fatalistic subservience. Dharma is what Aryavarta needs. And now, with you by his side…’

Sanjaya laughed. ‘Dharma? As Emperor? Surely that particular bird fled its roost a long time ago. I cannot believe that you are still hoping…no, dreaming… But then, you always did show exceptional affection for Dharma. Should I start wondering why?’ His tone, however, made it clear that he knew too much to truly have to speculate.

Vidur did not appear to be affected by the possibilities of what Sanjaya did or did not think. ‘What more will you do just to be rid of Dharma? Sanjaya, I admit it, as does everyone concerned: You are the most powerful man in Aryavarta. You control our destiny. Syoddhan and his allies are at your command. And so it is that I urge you to use your power wisely. You can guide us all to peace, if you will. Please…’

Sanjaya sighed, sounding tired. ‘You still don’t understand, Father. If I had been born a Suta, I wouldn’t have regretted it. It’s the fate that the gods would have ordained for me, as I deserved. And my pride, my honour, would lie in loyally serving my masters, not in seeking to be their equal. But that is not how it is. Time and again my right was stolen from me – by Dwaipayana, when he relegated you to nothingness; by you, when you submitted without protest; and by Govinda Shauri, when he destroyed those I consider my true family. It is my duty to reclaim that which is rightfully mine.’

‘And in doing so, you’ll destroy your own.’

Sanjaya nodded. Vidur did indeed have a flair for the dramatic and much as it could sway Dhritarastra and Bhisma, it had little effect on him. Snidely he replied, ‘You and your father have done that already…’

‘Sanjaya…’

‘Enough. I came here, Father, with the faint hope that you’d understand what I am about to do and why. But you will remain the shame-tainted bastard son of a slave you consider yourself to be, living in your make-believe world and pretending to be wise and noble. I, however, am Arya: a nobleman and a warrior. And I won’t rest till I win, or die! Whether you like it or not, I must say this: Tell that old fool Dwaipayana to spend his time in prayer and, if he feels so inclined, contemplation of how his twisted ideas of morality and virtue have led us here. If he tries to interfere, to stop the attack on Matsya, I will bring him down in a way he’s never imagined.’

‘Stop being a fool, Sanjaya…’

‘I’m no fool! No, not at all. You see, Dwaipayana himself taught me that every man has his secrets, dangerous secrets that the wise can use to control and even to destroy. What he forgot, in his pride, was that he too is a man and that his secret is the most terrible of them all. The day all Aryavarta comes to know that Krishna Dwaipayana, the greatest Vyasa of the Firstborn, was born of the womb of a Firewright… Well, that will be the end of him and his precious order. If he wants my silence, he will have it. But in return I want Matsya. As for your precious Dharma… As always, he is a regrettable inconvenience, and I honestly would be relieved if he died and spared me the trouble of going around him all the time. Oh, don’t look so shocked! I will leave him alive unless he gets in my way. And the same goes for your dear father, too. Otherwise, I assure you, three generations will pay the price.’ With a stiff bow, Sanjaya walked out.

Vidur sat as he was, lost in thought. He stirred only as he felt the weight of another on the seat next to him. ‘What now?’ he asked the man next to him.

He had never seen Dwaipayana looking so forlorn in all his life. ‘He was always the cleverest of the lot. He knows what he’s doing. Three generations, he says. You and I are lost for sure, but so are Dharma, Syoddhan and Suka… Hai! Varuna save us! Nothing can stop Sanjaya now.’

Slowly, Vidur began, ‘There may be hope…’

‘Hope…? Where on earth can we find that?’

‘You and I haven’t seen eye to eye on many things, Father, and I know what I’m about to propose now may be unpalatable to you. Reach out to Govinda Shauri.’

‘And destroy in an instant the only legacy I may have left? He has already eroded our legitimacy and power. If he fails again it will condemn us forever.’

‘But he need not fail. Govinda…’

‘Stop! Don’t even say it! Don’t mention that cowherd by name!’

‘But there’s no other way. You willingly relied on him once…’

‘And he betrayed me, just as he betrayed the Firewrights. I can’t trust that man, Vidur! We can’t. We can’t trust Govinda any more than we can trust Sanjaya.’

‘Trust yourself then. Trust your upbringing, if not your blood.’

Dwaipayana felt the sense of being old and feeble wash over him once again. It had become his constant state now. He had come to think it was who he really was – an old fool. ‘Everything, everything that I have worked so hard for will be taken from me. Was I so selfish, Vidur? You know I’ve wanted nothing more than a righteous realm, a realm that mirrored the Divine Order on earth. And, yes, I’ve been human enough to want to leave that righteous realm as an enduring legacy to my son. I wanted him to remain untainted by my past, by the blood and politics that has brought us to our glory. Is that too much to ask for?’

‘Perhaps it is, Father,’ Vidur said. ‘Perhaps, this is the ultimate sacrifice that you must make.’

‘You mean…?’

‘Yes. Send for Suka. Tell him the truth. Let him decide what must now be done. He is the future Vyasa. Leave Aryavarta in his care. To ally with the Firewrights or not. To defy Sanjaya or not. To trust Govinda or not. They are his decisions to make, and he will do what is right. Suka is a good man. Trust in that.’

Dwaipayana thought for a few moments, each instant an effort of will to persist and not give up completely. At length, he said, ‘You’re right, Vidur. If only I’d found the courage to do it earlier, Sanjaya would never have had such a hold over me nor would the Firstborn stand in such danger. Now, I don’t know of what use it is to tell Suka who I am, who he really is… But I can no longer carry this burden on my own. Let my son bear it for me henceforth. Even so…’

‘Yes, Father?’

Dwaipayana’s eyes held uncharacteristic agony. ‘I fear it may already be too late.’