The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 (3 page)

‘Which are?’ She let her head droop, coughing from the effort of speech.

‘Ostensibly to broker peace between Syoddhan Kauravya and the exile Dharma Yudhisthir. Now that Dharma has garnered the support of Matsya’s rebel scum, Govinda finds it convenient to ally with him once again.’

Philista lifted her head to look directly at Suka. ‘Govinda could never really stay put and keep his nose out of others’ affairs.’ Her eyes moved from Suka to the other two men. ‘I can understand why a Firstborn might find his imminent arrival disconcerting. But surely that news is welcome to Sanjaya and Devala?’

Sanjaya felt his heart fall yet again at the thought of how it ought to have been so, but was not. In the aftermath of the Great Scourge, when the Firewrights were all but extinct, the feeble rumours of a last plan, of a hidden Secret Keeper who would some day rise to resurrect and lead the ancient Order, had been all that had kept hope alive. Over time, the promise had turned to prophecy, but the prophecy had then been lost as myth. When the truth had finally emerged, it had seemed to both Sanjaya and Devala that the myth had been preferable: There was indeed a Secret Keeper, but his identity, and consequently his allegiance, was held by the one man both of them considered their greatest enemy.

Devala appeared to share the emotion, for he snapped, ‘Vathu! We do not have to explain ourselves to you! Answer our questions, woman, else I have no scruples about beating it out of you.’

‘Hush, Devala!’ Suka intervened. He held Philista’s gaze as he bent down, his manner somehow turning the conciliatory gesture into a menacing warning. Bringing his lips close to her ear, he whispered, ‘There will be no need for such threats. Not with one as intelligent as she is. She knows what terrible times lie ahead. War is an undeniable possibility, and when it comes it will not leave her people, the Yavanas, untouched. Of course, if we can stop Govinda, it may prevent such terrible bloodshed…’

‘If you think that you can use me as leverage, you are wrong,’ Philista said.

The words made Devala lose some of his aggression and he found himself following Suka’s conciliatory tone. ‘Leverage? When has Govinda cared about anyone, especially those who have cared for him? No, you are not leverage. But you may hold information that determines the destinies of your people and ours… Don’t confuse love with loyalty.’

Philista stared at the three men through brimming tears. At length, her shoulders slumped in defeat and the defiant spark in her eyes faded into stony emptiness. ‘There is only one thing you could want from me. You want to know who the Secret Keeper is, don’t you?’

Suka made to respond, but she continued, turning towards Sanjaya and Devala, ‘Look at you! You would rather ally yourself with the Firstborn, your sworn enemies, than join hands with those who share your cause…Why? Because you cannot bear to let go of power. And here we have the Firstborn, who are ready to sanctify and accept those they once condemned, as long as they swear allegiance to the Firstborn way of life. To all of you, the end justifies the means. I don’t think the Secret Keeper, whoever he or she may be, should be any different from you, and I have no reason to protect him or her. If I say nothing of the Secret Keeper’s identity, it is because I do not know.’

‘You may think you don’t know,’ Devala argued. ‘But surely that cowherd has said or done something, let his guard down at some time…perhaps after an intimate moment?’

‘We had better things to do at and after intimate moments.’ She added, scathing, ‘You will stop at nothing, isn’t it? Are you so convinced of your beliefs, your notions, that you…’

‘How dare you judge us, you worthless whore?’ Devala said.

‘Judge you? For that you need to stand for a cause. If there is a whore in this room, it is not I…aah!’ A cry of pain escaped her as Devala slammed the hilt of his sword into her stomach.

‘Stop it!’ Sanjaya and Suka pulled Devala away before he could hit her again.

A defiant silence fell over the group, though it seemed to Sanjaya and Devala that unspoken words passed between Suka and Philista. After some time the scholar nodded as though they had reached a satisfactory conclusion. He turned to Devala. ‘Kill her. Make it smooth. If we leave her alive, those animals…’

‘But…’

‘Do it!’

Relief showed on Philista’s face as Devala finally pulled out a small hunting knife and knelt down next to her. He pressed the hilt of the knife into her hands. She smiled, closed her eyes and thrust the dagger into her breast without a word. As the pain flooded her body, her eyes flew open and she clawed once at the air. But her agony did not last long. Devala added his weight to the butt of the knife, twisting it deep into her flesh till it pierced her heart. Philista was dead before her body hit the ground.

Sanjaya moved back as fresh warm blood made its way across the stone floor. Suka, however, remained as he was, staring down at the remains of a once-beautiful human being. His lips moved, soundless, as though he was saying a prayer over the corpse. Devala sighed, withdrew his blade and wiped it off before returning it to its sheath. Then he joined his companions.

The three men walked in silence as they left the dungeons for the crisp, clean dawn mist that hung over the palace of Hastina. It was only once the vast distance between the garrison and the main royal quarters had been covered that Devala’s impatient voice interrupted the soothing rhythm of their feet on level pebble pathways: ‘If only we knew who the Secret Keeper was…’

Suka said, ‘You’d do what? Kill him?’

‘Kill him, turn him to our cause, imprison him…or her.’

‘A woman as Secret Keeper?’ Sanjaya sounded amused, all the more so for seeing that Suka had deftly avoided revealing what he knew.

Devala made no response, but Suka did, sticking out his lower lip in thought. ‘They say that Ghora Angirasa once intended for his great-granddaughter to lead them all.’

Sanjaya said, ‘What happened to her?’

‘I heard she died. As did her brother. But if that is true, it is no surprise, I suppose…’

‘Why not?’ Devala asked.

The conversation ebbed as an anxious attendant ran up to them. Sanjaya spoke in hushed tones with the man and dismissed him before turning to the others. ‘They are waiting for us.’

Suka smiled. ‘So it begins. And there you have the answer to your very pertinent question, Devala.
Why not?
Because death is what inevitably comes to those who place their trust in Govinda Shauri. Now, it is time to see how many more shall share that fate.’

2

HASTINA, BHISMA DEVAVRATA OBSERVED, WAS UNUSUALLY COLD
for the time of year. He tried not to think of the summers and springs of his youth, but failed as he looked out over the mist-covered ground, oblivious to the wind that blew in through the window. Age was yet to take its toll on him, and he instinctively attributed this to the true Kuru blood that ran in him. This thought, too, he quickly dispelled. He was not the last of the true Kurus. By law and by divine will, and as a result of multiple acts of surrogacy, the line continued.

Decades ago, when his half-brother, Vichitravirya, had died without an heir, the stability and future of the entire Kuru kingdom had been threatened. Bhisma could never think of what had happened next without a churning in his stomach, which he steadfastly refused to identify as guilt. Even under the circumstances, Bhisma had refused to break his vow of chastity to ensure the continuity of the Kuru line, and it had fallen to Krishna Dwaipayana to sire, as a surrogate, the princes Pandu and Dhritarastra. Surrogacy had been needed, once more, when the Kuru line failed yet again with King Pandu. Dharma Yudhisthir and his brothers had been born to Pandu’s queens Pritha and Madri through interventions of a more discreet nature. Nevertheless, Dhritarastra’s children consistently held that fact against their cousins, particularly once their father had become king.

Not all of Dhritarastra’s children, Bhisma reminded himself, as he took in the room and its occupants.

His eyes came to rest on Syoddhan, Dhritarastra’s eldest son, the young, lithe prince of his memory now a powerful, handsome man in the prime of his life. In Syoddhan’s eyes Bhisma saw the same, silent need for approval that had so often surfaced in his nephew’s youth. Perhaps, he told himself, it was time to place his faith in the prince, after all.

As though to emphasize the notion, a voice intruded on Bhisma’s thoughts: ‘You see then, Grandsire, what is at stake here. It is not land or titles or wealth. Our spies tell us that the Firewrights who remain, this alleged Secret Keeper included, have chosen to part ways with Govinda and his cause. It is obvious to them, as it must be to us, that staying on his path puts our very way of life at threat. Dharma Yudhisthir’s claim to have Indr-prastha returned to him questions the basis on which his throne and his title were lost. It questions the very hierarchy that has made Aryavarta what it is today. Above all, it questions the moral authority, the notion of Divine Order that determines good and bad.
That
will have consequences which cannot be underestimated.’

Suka paused, letting his words sink in before he continued, ‘Once again, it falls to the Kurus and Firstborn to protect this noble realm, and the Divine Order that it mirrors. Destiny has not been kind to you, Grandsire, or to my father. Whatever your personal differences may be, both you and he have given your lives, your happiness, to ensure that Aryavarta becomes the reflection of the celestial realms on earth, a truly noble land. Like you, he too desires peace. He desires that his grandchildren may live in mutual affection. But at what cost? Surely…’

Shakuni, Syoddhan’s maternal uncle, intervened, ‘Oh, I don’t think the Grandsire needs convincing, Acharya. He knows well that Divine Order, as maintained by the kings and the Firstborn, is what decides whether my brother-in-law here was, in fact, the rightful heir of King Vichitravirya of the Kurus, or merely a bastard son of his widow and another man.’

Bhisma spun around to address Syoddhan, though his words were directed at Shakuni. ‘There never was,’ he hissed, as though daring anyone to disagree, ‘and has never been, anything immoral about the surrogacy!’

Ignoring the conciliatory nod that came as response, Bhisma walked over to Syoddhan, so far a silent spectator to the proceedings, and placed a warm hand on the younger man’s shoulder. It was an unusual gesture that held more affection than the Grandsire had shown Syoddhan in many years.

Syoddhan faced his grand-uncle with resolution, struggling to acknowledge the display of faith without letting his joy show through. Before he could speak, however, Bhisma said, ‘I am sworn to Kuru to defend this kingdom, this line, and its honour. As far as I am concerned, to question the legitimacy of the Kuru court’s justice is to question our right to rule. I do not approve of what happened; I believe that ill-fated dice game will remain a blight on the glory of this line. But that is no reason to allow the dynasty to fall. Syoddhan is the rightful ruler of Kuru, and by consequence of his actions, the overlord of Aryavarta.’

‘But…’ The sole voice of dissent came from Vidur, half-brother to Dhritarastra. Bhisma had always thought it poetic justice that the wise Suta embodied all the qualities desired in a king, but did not have the right to rule the kingdom. It was rare for him not to seek Vidur’s counsel or to ignore his direction. Yet, the times had changed. ‘Do you question my judgement, Vidur?’ he asked.

‘No, Grandsire. But I question the political motivations of others in this room. Have we made a genuine attempt at peace, before we resign ourselves to war in the name of Divine Order? For months now, Dharma’s emissary, Dhaumya, has come and gone with terms of negotiation and lesser terms still. He offers peace in return for what is undoubtedly fair – the empire is Dharma’s by right. Yet Syoddhan has found nothing worth accepting, even discussing. It would appear that he is determined to
not
find anything satisfactory… And he has put this time to good use, mustering his forces and those of his vassals, preparing for the war he is determined to have.’

‘And do you think Dharma does otherwise?’ Syoddhan said. ‘He too, like us, has been preparing his armies and plotting his moves. The only reason Govinda Shauri comes here now is because he knows, whether Dharma does or not, that from this point on, time is not on their side. They are as prepared as they can ever be, and to wait any longer will be to their disadvantage and our advantage. He is the one determined to have this war.’

‘Are you not listening to me? Have you not heard a word I’ve just said?’ For a moment, Vidur sounded far more like his mighty half-brother Dhritarastra than his usual, soft-spoken self. He continued in the same tone, ‘This discussion is not about the viability of war, but about its morality.’

Suka said, ‘If I may…Morality is a subtle thing. It would be immoral to not fight a war we are bound to win, just as it would be unthinkable that we not win a war when we fight to preserve Divine Order and our way of life. Surely, Vidur, you know that! Or does affection for Dharma and his brothers affect your judgement, that you call into question the Grandsire’s?’

‘Why you…!’

In all his life, no one had ever heard Vidur speak a harsh word but the possibility that he might now do so threatened to prove Suka’s assertions of irrationality beyond all doubt. It was enough for Bhisma. ‘Vathu, Vidur! The acharya is right. There is no room for dispute. I will serve Syoddhan and this nation till my final breath, on the battlefield or in the assembly. We will prevail. Divine Order will prevail.’

The categorical assertion drew many reactions, mostly of jubilation. The Grandsire’s declaration of loyalty gave Syoddhan both moral and martial advantage, a fact that was not lost on the others in the room, particularly Syoddhan’s numerous brothers. Dhritarastra fought back tears of joy, while Dussasan drew Syoddhan into a hearty embrace while spewing profanities meant for Dharma and his brothers. Shakuni gave the brooding Syoddhan a look of admiration.

Bhisma did not miss the exchanges that filled the room, nor did he ignore the sense of foreboding that filled his heart. But he had no choice. Once, he too had placed his faith in Govinda Shauri; like Dwaipayana, he had believed that Govinda was one of them, one who understood what it meant to be Arya, to be noble. Now that Govinda had failed… He gave Syoddhan’s shoulder another squeeze and turned away to stare out of the window once again.