The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (37 page)

16

DWARAKA SPARKLED LIKE A PEARL WITHIN AN OYSTER, HELD IN
a seamless embrace between the dark sea and the night sky. Viewed this way, from a peak atop the Raivata range, it seemed illusory, an island floating in nothingness, a city of angels and celestials. Philista knew that her fondness for the city was in many ways the result of her fondness for the man she always thought of as the soul of Dwaraka: Govinda Shauri. She wondered what he was doing even as her eyes sought out the tallest cluster of turrets, her gaze misting over as it settled on a familiar tower. But she had to do what she had to, no matter how much it hurt. She sighed, impatient, as she turned away and looked for signs of the man who was to meet her here. But the woods were dark and quiet. Dark, like Govinda’s eyes.

Philista sighed yet again. She had proclaimed on more than one occasion that she would never tire of looking into those large eyes, or at the sharp, strong angles of his cheeks and, of course, those perfect lips: neither too full nor too thin. She remembered how, the first time Govinda had visited her native city of Elis, men and women alike had stared at him in admiration, citing his dark skin as a curiosity. Her inquisitiveness had been more philosophical; she had found his ideas and knowledge fascinating.

Indeed, that was why he had come to the Yavana lands, seeking out their philosophers and scholars – her own teacher Pyrrho in particular – to debate, discuss and share, though the first of those debates had been more of a personal argument. Philista had walked in on the two men to find Pyrrho uncharacteristically enraged. ‘Leave!’ he was shouting at Govinda. ‘My family has done enough for you and your kind. I owe Aryavarta nothing. I owe Ghora Angirasa nothing.’

‘Acharya, please, listen to me…’ Govinda had persisted.

Philista remembered the septuagenarian Pyrrho rising in wrath on hearing the word with which Govinda addressed him – in what she supposed was Aryavarta’s native tongue. He had turned to Philista. ‘Ask this man to leave, Philista. Or else I don’t know what I will do next.’

Govinda had not said another word, but began walking out of the room. Philista had escorted him out. Torn by curiosity, she had asked him who he was. His accent had been strong, but he replied in her tongue, ‘My name is Govinda Shauri. I belong to an order of scholars known as Angirasa.’ Sensing that she did not completely understand, he explained, ‘It means Firewright.’ It had not taken her long to see the connection. ‘Pyrrho’, in her tongue, meant ‘of fire’.

When she had gently pressed her teacher for the entire tale, he had told her how he and his family had, many decades ago, escaped from the bloody scourge that had torn apart all of Aryavarta. Over the years, they had become people of Yavana in heart and soul, but memories of their past, of the injustices and horrors they and their kin had faced, remained alive.

‘What did that man – this Govinda Shauri – want?’ she had asked at the end of the narration.

‘He says he has a plan. He wants the world to be united by knowledge, by the light of reason and learning. He aims to do what we have been doing here in Elis – sharing knowledge, spreading it – and asks for my help so that both our realms may prosper.’

‘Hah! Another idealist who dreams of changing the world. His plan, can it even work?’

Pyrrho had drawn a deep breath. ‘I do not know. This much I will admit – I have never seen a man so rational and immaculate in his thought as he. If anyone can change the world, he can. But whether it will work I do not know. The question he left me with is this: Would I be able to live with not trying?’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Philista had said. ‘But that is because I would never be able to look my teacher in the eye if I didn’t.’

To that, Pyrrho had laughed and said, ‘All right. Send for Govinda Shauri. No, wait. Not immediately. Tomorrow. Do it tomorrow. Let him fester for a day, and then we shall send for him and hear him out completely.’

And so began a long association – part friendship, part collegial affinity and part desire.

Philista wished, with a little regret, that her reasons for seeking him out over the seas after nearly twenty years had not been different. But it was not attraction, whether physical or otherwise, that had brought her to Aryavarta. Her fellow scholars – the Firewrights of Elis, as Govinda had jestingly referred to them – had placed much of their faith in Govinda’s proposed plan, in what he had averred would be beneficial to both Yavana and Aryavarta, and perhaps even beyond. Pyrrho, however, had not shirked from pointing out the risks, over and over again.

‘If all goes as you say, Govinda, both our lands will prosper. Craft and knowledge shall drive both our civilizations to great heights. If, however, things do not progress as you promise, it will without doubt lead our nations towards war. History teaches us that where power fails to lead to prosperity and peace, it inevitably engenders envy, fear and conflict.’

‘Trust in the goodness of men and women, Acharya,’ Govinda had said. ‘Trust in yourself.’

In spite of herself, it broke Philista to admit that it was this trust, this faith in humanity, that Govinda had now lost. His plan had fallen apart, and there was nothing he could do to set things right. Worse, he was not even willing to try. Already, Aryavarta stood splintered by fear and distrust, and its many nations were competing to build their armies and arsenals. And Govinda no longer cared where it would lead them. He was broken, just as his realm was broken, the remains of a dream gone horribly wrong. It was, Philista knew, the beginning of the end, of the inevitable erosion of a way of life. And nowhere was it more obvious than in Dwaraka.

The city-state that Govinda and Balabadra had built with love and devotion, was now a shadow of its former self. In appearance, Dwaraka lacked nothing of its former glory, but Philista could see the changes, the political conspiracies and skewed views of equality, goodness and justice. The Council was no longer the democratic and representative body it had once averred to be. Kritavarman, Bhurisravas and the other Yadu princes who had given up their sovereignty as vassal princes to join the Confederation of Yadu Nations had taken the opportunity to reassert their dominance, rebuild their personal armies and replenish their personal coffers. Dwaraka was perhaps on the verge of descending into civil war, and that, Philista knew, would be the spark that would light the huge blaze in which Aryavarta would burn as would the Yavana lands, the lands she called home.

There is nothing left to do but act.
Thus resolved, Philista turned yet again to glance at the forest behind her. This time she saw the dark outline of a horse and rider. She did not move till the man stepped out from the cover of the trees and into the moonlight.

The sight of Jayadrath, king of Sindhu, filled Philista with revulsion. She had overheard, unseen, Balabadra’s careful recounting of the attack on Panchali, and could never forget the sight of Govinda on his knees, broken and utterly devastated. Finding a modicum of satisfaction in the fact that Jayadrath looked a little bruised from his encounter, she stepped forward to greet him.

‘Mahamatra, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I regret that I am not in a position to offer you any refreshment or other hospitality. But such are our circumstances.’

Philista found such politeness from a man of Jayadrath’s reputation amusing, but she kept a straight face and came to the point. ‘What are the terms? What do you want?’ she asked curtly.

‘Govinda Shauri.’

‘And what do I get in return?’

‘The promise of peace with Aryavarta’s future Emperor. He sends you a scroll. It is written in your language so you may share it with your…superiors.’

Philista took the proferred object and ran her eyes over it. ‘It is neither in his hand, nor does it bear his seal.’

‘Of course not. He’s not a fool.’

‘But I am, to take him at his word?’

Jayadrath frowned. ‘Surely you’ve been here long enough to know that to an Arya truth is not a negotiable quality.’

‘Negotiable, no. But it is adaptable – that much I have learnt.’

‘Hence he sends his terms and assurances in writing.’

Philista rolled up the scroll and tapped it against her open palm as she considered the offer. She said, ‘Is he that valuable to you? Govinda Shauri? These are generous terms to offer in exchange for the life of one man.’

‘We need one other thing. Information…of a particular kind.’

‘And Govinda Shauri has it?’

‘Yes.’

‘What is it?’

Jayadrath shook his head. ‘First, I need your word that you will fulfil this task. Only then can I tell you more. Now tell me, can you do this?’

Philista gave him a doubtful look. ‘You know it’s not easy. If it were, you wouldn’t have sought my help.’

‘It is not impossible either. But we would rather that our involvement in this be kept a secret – even from the Yadus leader we are inclined to think of as our allies.’

‘You mean Kritavarman and Bhurisravas. What makes you think I want them for enemies?’

Jayadrath’s lips curved in a leering smile. ‘It won’t make a difference. Do this, and we throw our support behind you. You an your people will have everything to gain.’

Philista said, ‘It can’t be done in Dwaraka. We need to get him out of there. He is under guard on the Council’s orders…’

‘If you invite him to your ship… I mean, it is well known that you…’

Jayadrath’s tone made Philista’s head buzz with anger. She was about to protest against the insinuations, but then decided not to waste her time. ‘If I invite him, the Council will certainly not let him leave Dwaraka. They don’t trust me and might even suspect that I am planning to help him escape. On the other hand, if you can get one of the traders to ask for Govinda’s services – say with a ship’s repairs or such…make it about money… The Council doesn’t like to lose any. Let me know which ship. I will take care of the rest.’

‘Chop his body into pieces and throw it into the sea. That way it won’t wash ashore and everyone will think he has escaped. Particularly, if your involvement is not known and you stay at Dwaraka a while to mourn him…’

The urge to hit Jayadrath hard, to chop
him
into bits and throw
him
off the cliff, coursed through Philista. She fought it back, breathing hard from the effort, and managed a single nod.

Jayadrath raised an eyebrow at her reaction but dismissed it. He continued, ‘All right. As for the information we want…’

Philista felt her heart thunder in her chest as Jayadrath told her what it was that he was looking for. She had only to hear the beginning of it before her mind began speeding through many horrible possibilities, including the thought that possessing such a powerful weapon might tempt Jayadrath to turn against his own allies and his liege-lord. Yet she felt grateful for the cold, benumbing fear, for it helped her pretend that her guilt was assuaged. She had no choice but to betray Govinda.

When Jayadrath finally left, she shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
One man for my homeland…it is a reasonable trade.
She had been with Govinda long enough to know that if he had been in her place he would have done the same. It helped Philista make her peace with what would happen next.

17

THE DISCOVERY HAD BEEN UNEXPECTED. DHRSTYADYMN HAD
ridden east, as Asvattama had directed, and begun scouring the region without much result. Shikandin was a hard man to find if he did not wish to be found. Dhrstyadymn would have counted it his good fortune but knew it was a matter of patience and persistence when he finally heard a piece of gossip in a small drinking-house about arson and rebellion in the Anga kingdom. The fact that no one had ever seen the man, or men, responsible for the acts had been enough to convince Dhrstyadymn that he had found Shikandin.

Dhrstyadymn headed to Anga, but instead of making his way to the capital, he had followed the rumours to a corner of the kingdom that adjoined the nation of Kashi. It gave him an idea. He crossed over into Kashi and sought the help of the captain of a small border garrison, claiming that he was a Panchala soldier in pursuit of a wanted man. As he had expected, the captain was happy to assist, if only to demonstrate how the warriors of Kashi were more efficient than that of Panchala. In the same vein, the captain arranged for all the permissions needed to take their search across the border and into Anga.

Three days later, they came upon the tracks of a single man, hardly muhurttas old. They followed the trail to the scene of a massacre in progress. Dhrstyadymn had no doubt, even from their unobtrusive distance atop a small hill, that it was Shikandin. He watched as his brother methodically disposed of the guards around the simple hut-like structure and he wondered whether he had been right to have come looking for him, after all.

The Kashi captain escorting him intruded on his thoughts. ‘You see, this could hardly be the fellow you’re looking for. This man is a rebel, a spy the Anga forces have been trying to get their hands on for ages now. Finally, he walks into their trap.’

‘Trap? Oh please. There are hardly any men positioned around. What sort of a sorry trap is that?’

‘There are soldiers hiding in the woods, on the other side. Not many, because nearly all of Anga’s troops have been deployed westwards. In any case, the soldiers are not needed – they intend to kill this rebel, not capture him. You see, this man follows a pattern. He kills the guards and destroys the workshop they protect. This time he is in for a shock… Anyway, make yourself comfortable. The Angas won’t want us to interfere, not in this one. The border commandant told me to make sure we stayed out of the way.’

One word in all of the captain’s speech caught Dhrstyadymn’s attention. ‘Workshop?’ he asked.

The captain was taken aback. ‘Yes. Workshop…forge. Oh, by Hara, you really are a novice aren’t you? Else you’d know…unless, you Panchalas are such fools that you’re the only nation in Aryavarta that isn’t building up its armouries…’ Before the garrulous man could finish, Dhrstyadymn drew a dagger from his waist-sash and plunged it directly into the man’s heart. He put his hand over the dying captain’s mouth, in case he cried out, but it was not necessary. The man was dead in an instant.