The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 (15 page)

A new, uncanny emotion stirred in his being. It took him a while to identify it as ambition, a quality he had for so long been careful to avoid. To think that, after all these years, he had nearly succumbed to it…
No!
He set his resolve back in place. He had his one last duty. To reveal himself now would compromise that great undertaking, irreparably and for generations to come. Indeed, it was in the interests of future generations, of Aryavarta and beyond, that he would keep his silence, no matter what.

Letting out a heavy breath, he set aside all thoughts of the ephemeral future and focussed on the matter before him. He had to ensure that Dwaipayana received the appropriate advice, and from the right person. And there was only one person Dwaipayana would now trust: His son and heir, Sukadeva Vasishta Varuni.

19

THE BITING WIND WAS A CONSTANT FEATURE AT DWAIPAYANA
’
S
hermitage, one that Govinda Shauri had come well-prepared for. The firm set of his shoulders under the heavy cloak was, however, in expectation of a different lack of warmth, particularly since he neither remained useful to the Firstborn elder nor was likely to be held in good esteem. After all, he had been the one to reveal the secret of Dwaipayana’s birth, thus losing his singular influence over the man. Still, Govinda knew better than to show his surprise when he was greeted without rancour by the old scholar.

‘The last time you were here,’ Dwaipayana said, ‘you didn’t need cloaks and such. Is it that these mountains have grown colder, or…?’

‘I have grown older, Acharya, there is no doubt about it. I have also grown used to creature comforts and my appetite for adventure, in all its forms, wanes.’

Dwaipayana laughed. ‘“All its forms” is undoubtedly an exaggeration. Knowing you, that is…’ His mirth gave way to seriousness. ‘See, Govinda. That is the difference between you and I. You had the courage to admit you lost objectivity as soon as a deeper emotion began to rule your heart. I, on the other hand, have stuck to stubborn denial. I continue to claim objectivity, but in truth, I have let my love for my kin drive my decisions. It was a weakness I neither anticipated nor acknowledged.’

Govinda said, ‘Love can never be a weakness, Acharya. I made the mistake of thinking it was so before I was driven by great pain to realize that it was not. Without love, we would not comprehend compassion.’

Dwaipayana nodded, as though he understood. ‘Because it is in loving one that we learn to love the world…’

Govinda was gentle with his dissent. ‘That too. But it is more, Acharya. Love helps us to comprehend compassion because it helps us to understand creation; it helps us see why the Creator made us. We perceive ourselves as we were meant to be: Beings of light, capable of great things, of incessant growth… We do not need to learn to love the world, for that is what we do naturally. We only need to see ourselves for what we are. Compassion is but a word for that sense of sight.’

‘Compassion is also an aberrant word when used by one who leads thousands to war.’

‘Surely you, of all people, understand the principle that thousands of lives are a worthy sacrifice for the greater good of Aryavarta?’

‘I don’t think your war would achieve the greater good of Aryavarta. It would, in fact, break apart the very empire you built, that I encouraged you to build, for all the reasons we have discussed many times before – peace and prosperity not the least. These kinds of squabbles weaken us. Not only do they give foreign invaders a chance to attack while we are at war with each other, but also in the aftermath of such squabbles we are left with small, fragmented nations that are powerless in military terms and inefficient in economic terms.’

‘I am aware of that,’ Govinda replied, ‘and I also remember that, once upon a time, it was I who had to persuade others to see things this way. And that is the point. If we are to talk of persuasion, of discussion, of a rule of the people, then this monolith of a system must be shaken, perhaps broken.’

‘Once upon a time, you say. Yes, it does feel like a story, Govinda, a story gone horribly wrong. And now you come to me…for what?’ Dwaipayana’s eyes held a churning rage that left his feeble body shaking.

Govinda waited for the scholar to compose himself before saying, ‘A trade. I need your help. But I do not ask of it as a favour; I have something to offer in return.’

‘And what is this wonderful trade you propose, Govinda?’

‘Give me the present, Acharya. In return, I will give you the future.’

‘Surely the future is not yours to give?’

‘But the present is yours to taunt me with?’

Dwaipayana smiled. ‘It is difficult to have the last word with you, so I shall not try. But would you care to move past metaphors and get to the point?’

‘The point is simple. I am a Firewright. I don’t know what you think my intent or interest is in your famed project of codifying the knowledge of all Aryavarta given the longstanding dispute between your Order and mine, but in the interest of clarity I wish to tell you.’

‘And what can you tell me that I haven’t already suspected, Govinda? That you would rather the knowledge of the Firewrights spread, untamed and undisciplined, to contaminate and destroy all notions of the Divine Order?’

‘Frankly, yes. But, you see, that does not leave me opposed to your great endeavour, your books of knowledge. I don’t care what you write or do not write, or how you wish to record all that has come to pass. I will neither thwart you nor question your wisdom in presenting and interpreting matters to your convenience. You will determine how the story of the Kurus, of this entire realm will be remembered. It will not matter whether there is war, and if there is one then who wins or loses – who rules as Emperor and who dies on the battlefield without honour or dishonour, as the situation may be. Your place in history, the place of your progeny, is secure for millennia to come. Is that not power over the future?’

‘Indeed, it is,’ Dwaipayana agreed. ‘And what is it you want in return?’

‘Before long, Dharma Yudhisthir will falter. Only you can give him what he needs to continue.’

‘To what end? War?’

‘The imminence of war. Though I hope it will not come to that.’

‘And if we refuse?’

The voice that intruded on the conversation was a strong, familiar one. Govinda did not have to turn to identify the speaker. ‘Acharya Suka,’ he said. ‘I am honoured that you join us. But, last I heard, you were at Hastina. You and your companions must have ridden hard to arrive so quickly.’

‘I am just in time, I gather.’ Suka walked over to where Dwaipayana was seated and greeted the older man with a respectful bow, which was received with an affectionate nod. He then took his place at Dwaipayana’s side, a hand on his father’s shoulder.

It could have been, Govinda noted, a sign of affection, though in all likelihood it was an order to the older man to show restraint. Suka continued, ‘So let me get this clear: Dharma Yudhisthir, the very epitome of righteousness, falls prey to your war-mongering, enough so to ally himself with Matsya, the heathen dregs of Aryavarta. He is a good man, enough so to realize his own mistake before the end, but – and this is where your audacity amazes, Govinda – you want my father to reassure Dharma and convince him to continue on his forsaken path? I’d call you insane if I didn’t know better, but really, I have no other explanation.’

‘Then let me explain,’ Govinda said. ‘Dharma stands exactly where all the rulers of Aryavarta stand, caught between our two warring orders. And Panchali… Panchali is Aryavarta, ravaged and wounded by our feud. I think it’s enough, Acharya.’

Suka said, ‘Really, Govinda, I am impressed. Had I been anyone else but who I am, I’d be moved by your rhetoric, possibly to the point of agreeing with you.’

‘It is not you who need be moved, Suka. Either by rhetoric, or more reasonable qualities such as compassion and justice. It is your father I have come to see. Unless he now needs your permission to act as his conscience dictates?’

It was a battle of both word and will, and Govinda knew it. He also knew he had played it well. Despite all his actions, Suka would not, could not, openly challenge his father’s positions. He would have to defer to Dwaipayana, though Govinda had no doubt that Suka would find his own means of later countering the Elder if he wished to. For the moment, Govinda’s point was made, and he knew better than to press it. He said, ‘Forgive me, Acharya. I spoke in error. Whatever our differences may be, I cannot, in good conscience, accuse you of being anything but a faithful, dutiful son. I trust you will understand that again, for all our differences, I remain convinced that Dwaipayana Vyasa acts in the interests of Aryavarta, and only in the interests of Aryavarta. All I humbly ask is that you help me resolve this situation without bloodshed.’

Dwaipayana said, ‘And how do you propose we do that?’

‘As I mentioned earlier, Dharma will need you. He will need your counsel. Most of all, he will need Dhrupad’s support, and only you can ensure that he secures it. This is the barter I come to make.’

‘It seems more a gamble than a barter, Govinda,’ Suka pointed out.

‘It seems I have learnt something from your dearest nephews, after all.’

‘So you want me…us…to help you bring Dharma to war, though you say your intent is not bloodshed. Your reasons are your own, Govinda, but how do you expect me to…’

‘It is no secret. I want Dharma to see… I want all of Aryavarta to see who stands by our side, who fights for us…and why.’

Suka sensed there was more to Govinda’s words than the obvious, but was not sure if it would help or hinder him to delve further into them, particularly in front of his father. He made a noncommittal gesture of understanding and said, ‘I’m sure my father would like some time to think on this matter…’

Govinda understood. He smiled and said, ‘Now, if you will permit me…’

Dwaipayana sighed and nodded. With a simple word of thanks, Govinda left.

Father and son waited till the sound of Govinda’s footsteps gave way to the sounds of a horse being untied, mounted and then ridden away. Only then did either of them stir.

‘Suka…’ Dwaipayana began. ‘Trust me, Father.’

‘But…’

‘Govinda is right. Dharma will need your urging to go on. And he will need to go on, to come to the very brink of battle before he sees, as does Syoddhan, that this whole war is nothing but an elaborate illusion constructed by the Firewrights to seduce the kings of the land into undermining their own power. For similar reasons, we must also convince Dhrupad that he is free to ally with his daughter and son-in-law, despite his ties and promises to Bhisma Devavrata.’

‘What purpose does that serve?’

‘By letting Dhrupad ally with Dharma, we lessen the difference in strength between Dharma’s armies and Syoddhan’s. The more equally matched the two opponents, the greater the chance that they will sue for peace instead of heading to war. Surely that is what we want?’

Dwaipayana’s eyes held doubt. ‘Is that what you want?’

Suka knelt and took his father’s wrinkled, gnarled hands into his own. ‘I want what you want, what your father wanted. An empire bound to Divine Order. But such order is now is at a precarious edge, and we must do all we can to keep the balance. Your personal differences with Bhisma apart, you trusted his allegiance enough to make him custodian of every Firewright weapon, of each astra that came into our hands during the Great Scourge. Can you trust his grandchildren the same way? And what about Dhrupad’s children? It is not who made the astra that matters, but rather who now wields it. Bhisma, Dron, Asvattama – their loyalty to the Firstborn is beyond doubt.’

Dwaipayana studied his son, frowning as he tried to read Suka’s thoughts in his eyes. ‘What if, Suka…just what if…it comes to war? What will be said of us…that we acted to incite bloodshed when we ought to have acted to prevent it?’

‘No, Father. The imminence of war is but a means to an end, and not the only means. As for how posterity will judge us, our actions… Did Govinda not say, quite accurately, that you control the future? It is always the victor’s story that is told, Father. And we are going to win. Now, I hate to make a fuss, but it is time you rested. Sleep in peace. I am here now.’

Dwaipayana let his son settle him into a reclining position, and closed his eyes. Suka sat by his father’s side, his large, strong hands lovingly curled around Dwaipayana’s age-shrivelled fingers. His thoughts, however, rested on Govinda Shauri.

20

‘
RUDRA BE PRAISED
!’
SYODDHAN EXCLAIMED, AS ASVATTAMA LED
him into yet another immaculately designed room in the royal palace of Indr-prastha. Most chambers they had surveyed had been large and airy, and designed to achieve balance between nature and the work of humans. What astounded Syoddhan about the particular room they had now moved into was the view that it offered.

From the high reaches of the royal palace, the city could be seen as more than just an aesthetic creation. Moving from room to room, Syoddhan had been able to appreciate the strategic layout of the city as a whole, its impregnable defences and ability to withstand long sieges being one of its numerous wonders. What he saw from the chamber they were in – a large, sparsely furnished room that provided a view in all directions – made him more certain of his ideas, and he said as much. ‘I’m not sure I agree with you, Asvattama. I was intrigued when Dhaumya initially kept asking for Indr-prastha on Dharma’s behalf, but I don’t think that is what Govinda ultimately wants. He built this city, he knows well that it is easily defended. Why not ask for it back?’

‘Patience. There is more to it than that.’ Asvattama said. ‘Indrprastha is brilliant in ways that I can’t begin to describe. The layout, the defences, the sheer beauty…these are things that can be seen, as you already have. But none of that shows you what this place truly holds.’

‘Which is?’

‘What if I told you that this city is a record, a comprehensive account, of all the scientific knowledge set down by the Firewrights?

‘A record…but where… You mean like a scroll?’