The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (38 page)

Dhrstyadymn began sprinting down the gentle slope. He thought of calling out, but decided against it, since he might alert the other waiting soldiers. He saw that Shikandin was done with the last of the guards around the forge, and was making his way towards the dark doorway.

A blast of heat, like thunder and lightning, exploded out from the bowels of the earth, and Dhrstyadymn felt himself thrown backwards and on to the ground. He pulled himself up, horrified to find that the forge, if it was that, had been reduced to burning rubble. By the light of the fire, he saw Shikandin’s still outline on the ground, his limbs splayed at an awkward angle. With a yell that was part rage and part fear, Dhrstyadymn ran to his brother. He was just in time, for more Anga soliders poured out of the woods.

Dhrstyadymn counted nine of them. He skidded to a halt as he reached where Shikandin lay, and took up a position with his bow. He knew he did not have much time, but this was his only chance to reduce the enemy’s numbers as much as possible before they got too close. He let his arrows fly in quick succession, moving without hesitation from one target to the next. He managed to down seven men, one of them taking two arrows to fall, before the remaining two were upon him. Letting his bow fall, Dhrstyadymn drew his sword and met them head-on.

Metal rang against metal, and birds stirred near and far, taking to the air with chilling shrieks. Dhrstyadymn added a cry of his own as he felt a burning pain run from his left shoulder all the way down his arm and back. His vision blurred, but as he staggered back he realized that two men had come at him from the side. Only then did he realize what an odd number nine was. Why hadn’t it occurred to him earlier? A group of ten, with the eleventh in command, was a basic army unit. His failure to see the obvious sent panic coursing through him. He pushed it out of his mind.
Four against one. I can do this.
But even as he made the assertion, he felt the heavy, cloying emptiness of doubt spread through his body, slow down his limbs. He told himself it was impossible, that no weapon, nothing but his mind could defeat his own will. But his will was fast fading.

This is why. This is why Dron did not think me worthy. It does not matter how many years I train, how hard I try. I lack a warrior’s spirit. I was willing to doubt my own brother. I am not worthy.

Blood trailed from his hands, his wrists, down his arms. From the corner of his eye, he could see the drops falling off his elbow and on to the mossy earth, creating dark, wet patches. He thought of Panchali, of the dark stains on her body and robe as she was dragged through the halls of Hastina. He thought he heard a crowd far away, cheering and screaming, but all he felt was silence. Silence, and then the small voice that was always there, telling him to let go, to lose, because he would be defeated anyway. He tried not to listen to it but the voice,
his
voice, grew louder and louder till it was shouting in his ear. It taunted him, broke him and rent his very being till he knew that giving up was all he had to do, and he would know relief, the lightness and freedom he constantly longed for. He would have let go at that very instant, except that one of the four men made the mistake of turning away from Dhrstyadymn to kick the prone Shikandin hard in the ribs out of sheer malice.

Dhrstyadymn’s heart quailed as Shikandin neither stirred nor made a sound. With a yell of rage he threw himself at the man who had dared touch his brother. Anger made him near-invincible. He was aware of a whiplike stinging again, this time on the back of his thigh, but he didn’t care, snarling in satisfaction as the first soldier went down with a dazed look on his face and Dhrstyadymn’s dagger in his throat. Another burst of pain, and Dhrstyadymn realized his mistake. Intent on the first soldier, he had nearly ignored the other three.

Childish mistakes!
Dron’s harsh reprimands came to mind. He always made childish mistakes such as these, errors that even a boy smaller than a sword knew not to make.

Your anger is your strength. Right now it controls you. You will have to learn to control it.

‘Aaaaah!’ the cry was a roar, not of physical pain but a sensation far more unbearable. Dhrstyadymn ran his sword clean through the first man, and then lashed out at the second soldier, his back turned completely to the third. If the choice was between anger and dismay, he would gladly choose anger; he would gladly go down ablaze than live without hope. In his fury, he had no clear notion of what he was doing, but a few moments later, the second man lay at his feet, dead. But he too had paid the price. He knew he had been slashed at least six times and stabbed at least once. His head throbbed and spun from exertion. His stomach heaved, threatening to bring up a few inner parts along with the bile in his chest and it was all he could do to stand. His eyes closed as he swayed from side to side. He tried to hold on, but felt his sword slide out of his grasp. It seemed to fall a long, long way, as though the earth had opened up to claim it deep inside her core. Dhrstyadymn knew she awaited him the same way.

The last man rushed at him and slashed downwards, right on target towards his neck. Dhrstyadymn felt his knees buckle but remained upright and caught the sword with both hands. It remained inches away from his head. All his training told him that he ought to hold tight and try to sidestep the man, whirl around him, pull his arm into a twist which could give him the upper hand and then he could try to fight on… He forced himself to keep his fingers curled around the blade, ignoring the unbearable pain as the soldier tried his best to rip his sword out from his grasp.

Give up! It will all be over! You cannot do this anyway! You are nothing!

Dhrstyadymn could feel his strength ebbing away as his blood fell, drop by leisurely drop, each speck heavy and rounded with its own weight, each globe shimmering red with life. The next few moments lasted an eternity. Time, he thought, had decided to wait, while his entire being turned into an ocean of red, a cohesive union of millions.
Like rain. Each drop complete in itself.
He closed his eyes.
I am what I am
, he told himself, neither the slayer nor the slain, nothing more and nothing less. Trusting in the instinct that spoke to him without words, he let go of the blade.

Before the soldier could react, Dhrstyadymn turned and stepped in close, mimicking the soldier’s stance like a live shadow. Grabbing the man’s wrist with his left hand, he added his own strength to his swing. He heard a scream. It sounded like him, yet it was not completely human. He felt the soft resistance of flesh, the iron tang of blood as it filled his mouth, the warmth of it satisfying in its own way, as it drenched his face and flew generously down his chest. The blade stopped inches from his own neck, even as his right hand came up and across in a precautionary gesture, his palm meeting the sharp edge before it could touch him. He let the headless torso fall to the ground and stood as he was, his chest heaving. Slowly, the world stopped spinning.

‘Shikandin!’ Dhrstyadymn ran to where his brother lay still. He placed his head on the warrior’s heart, but he could neither feel nor hear a beat. ‘Shikandin! No!’ He shook his brother, thumped his chest and tried his best to revive him, but it was of no use.

Soon, dawn brought the forest around them alive in a melody of sound and activity but still Shikandin did not stir. As the sun forced its way through the canopy, Dhrstyadymn could hold on no longer. He felt himself fall over his brother’s torso. The last thing he remembered was the stinging in his eyes as the tears broke through.

18

DHRSTYADYMN OPENED HIS EYES TO FIND HIMSELF IN A BOWER
in the forest. Sunlight and shadow fell in dappled patterns of green and gold, and the musical hum of honeybees filled the air. Yet, it was a gentle, familiar, touch that sent life and joy coursing back through him.

‘Shikandin!’ He sat up at once, the action causing a sharp pain to pierce through his abdomen.

‘Easy…’ Shikandin cautioned, helping his brother up into a sitting position. He looked tired and worn, but otherwise unhurt.

‘How…? Where are we?’

‘We are, politically speaking, in the Kashi kingdom, but these forests are…well, they are like our Eastern Forests: a world unto its own. As for the how – I carried you here. I was stunned by the explosion, but have a faint recollection of you dancing on my chest before you fell over me. Still it appears you managed to revive me with that battering, so I shall not complain about it. Especially since you look like you’ve tried to mate with a crocodile.’

Dhrstyadymn looked down at the profusion of cuts on his body, most of them already cleaned and bound. He knew he should not have survived, but was glad that he had. Slowly, as he began to take stock of himself and his surroundings, he noticed that his wounds had been treated with a green unguent that had an unfamiliar smell. He also noticed two lithe, dark men sitting on their haunches, preparing what he supposed was the same unguent by chewing certain berries in their mouth to a paste-like consistency and then spitting out the paste into a bowl made of woven leaves. Dhrstyadymn let out a sullen curse at which the men looked up, waved their greetings and resumed their chewing.

Shikandin laughed. ‘It’s a mighty useful healing salve, brother. Saliva activates the healing power of the leaves – even crushing them won’t have the same effect. And if you’re feeling well enough to notice these things, I’d say the medicine has served its purpose. So I suppose you can return the favour and tell me how it is you came to be at the forge last night.’

‘Asvattama sent me.’

‘Asvattama? That is a surprise. But…’

Dhrstyadymn continued, ‘He said, “Shikandin is one of the strongest men I know, but even the strength of the greatest man can fail if he loses hope. Your brother needs you; he needs you to believe that he is not a traitor to his people.” The rest of that conversation was in his usual, insolent style, so I won’t bother with it, if you don’t mind. But this seemed important. It…it stayed in my head.’

Shikandin smiled, deep wrinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes as he did so. ‘Some things never change. Asvattama always loved to prove that he was the most intelligent man of the three of us.’

‘Three of you?’

‘He, Govinda and me. Asvattama was forever berating me as impulsive and reckless. Govinda was more like him back then – he was a serious man in many ways, though to see him now…’ Shikandin trailed off as the irony of the statement struck him. ‘Anyway, if those were Asvattama’s words, then he was doing more than telling you where to find me. He was sending me a message: even the strength of the greatest man can fail if he loses hope. And just as I needed you to give me hope, brother, Govinda now needs us to find his own strength.’

‘Govinda? But why…?’

‘Yes indeed. Why?’ Shikandin frowned. ‘It can only mean one of two things. Either Aryavarta is in great peril, and Asvattama believes Govinda can help. Or…’

‘Or…’

Shikandin took a deep breath and let it out. ‘Or Panchali is in trouble.’

Dhrstyadymn’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Asvattama also said something about you…and your friends…being in danger. You don’t suppose he meant..?’ He nodded towards the two swarthy men, who politely ignored the brothers’ conversation.

Shikandin did not answer the question. Instead, all he said was, ‘Come on, it’s time to go.’ With that, he got up and signalled to the two men to break camp. He set about putting his own things together.

Dhrstyadymn tried to stand up, but felt his head spin.

‘Sthuna!’ Shikandin called to one of the men for help.

Immediately, Sthuna was at Dhrstyadymn’s side, holding him up. With his other hand he pulled out a container, which he opened to reveal a dry powder inside. ‘Ashwagandha,’ Sthuna explained, in an accent that Dhrstyadymn found new but not incomprehensible. ‘It will make you immune to the pain. Your heart will beat faster and you will find some energy. It won’t last long and you will feel like a skinned snake later, but for now…’

‘Thank you.’ Dhrstyadymn took the proffered container and poured the contents down his throat in one go. Sthuna passed him a skin of water right after, which he gratefully consumed. To his surprise, Dhrstyadymn found a fiery heat coursing through his body. He could stand, no, walk even, and his head felt much clearer than it had. The pain from his wounds, too, seemed dimmer.

‘No wonder people think these forest-dwellers are magicians. Imagine how useful that little box of magic dust would be after a long night with a concubine,’ Shikandin teased, falling in next to his brother as they began making their way through the forest.

Dhrstyadymn said, ‘Who are these people?’

‘They are the native inhabitants of these forests. People we pretend don’t exist anymore. In many ways, they don’t. Most of them have given up their old lives to become one more body in the teeming mass of commoners that we call our subjects. Others remain here, living reclusive lives. Our soldiers are often ordered to hunt them down as troublemakers and thieves…or magicians.’

‘Magicians? You mean these people are Firewrights?’

Shikandin laughed. ‘What is a Firewright, Dhrstyadymn?’ He waited, letting his brother ponder over the question. Eventually, he said, ‘It took me a long time to understand. Fire is more than an object, it is an element. The first Firewrights were ordinary people – probably children of the earth like these forest dwellers. Look what has become of them now. Look what has become of us all.’

Dhrstyadymn’s head ached with the many questions that he had, but Shikandin was in no mood to continue the discussion. The four trudged on in silence for the rest of the day.

A smile lit up Shikandin’s face as a dim outline of huts was seen on the far side of a gurgling stream. It disappeared as Sthuna let out a pained yell.

Before Dhrstyadymn could react, his three companions ran forward, splashing through the stream towards the village. He followed as fast as he could, feeling glad that his strength had returned, but the sight that greeted him made him bend over and retch. Ahead, stood the village, quiet in the smoky haze that hung over it. Right at its entrance, set on stakes a foot high from the ground, were over thirty severed heads.