The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 (42 page)

Dhrstyadymn cursed under his breath.

In the meantime, Yuyudhana and Dharma had started to argue, and other tempers too were beginning to flare. ‘We don’t need cowards in this army…’ Dharma shouted.

‘Nor do we need fools and idiots for our leaders!’ Yuyudhana replied.

‘Say that to the ghost-woman, or eunuch, or whatever the Grandsire said he is, will you? He was right behind Abhimanyu. Why didn’t he protect the boy, if he was powerful enough to kill the Grandsire and all?’ Sadev snapped.

Shikandin was taken aback by the accusation, but said nothing. He simply turned away.

To everyone’s wonder, Subadra came to his defence, her voice trembling as she pointed out, ‘He wasn’t the one who goaded Abhimanyu into such a foolhardy venture. He wasn’t the one, driven by vanity and power to push for a head-on attack to break the Acharya’s formation when a thousand other ploys would have sufficed to defend us, buy us time till Govinda could be sent for!’

‘
Vathu
, daughter! What do you know of warfare?’ Dharma chastised her.

‘Apparently more than you do, Your Highness! And with good cause! When my turn comes to die in this war, it will not be on the battlefield with battered armour, honour and dignity; it shall be here, on the bloodless sand, naked, being fed on alive, my screams unheard by the valourous dead!’ The words flew out of her, the years of her submissive silence as the wife of a Kuru prince driving her to blatant disobedience. But it lasted for an instant. She looked down and began weeping.

An enraged Dharma swore under his breath and made to speak, but stopped as Panchali laid a hand on his arm. With a sigh, he let go of the matter. ‘Come now, Subadra, friends, brothers,’ he said. ‘Abhimanyu was a son to us all, and we each mourn him in our own way. These are difficult times, and we long to blame someone for our loss. But, the truth is, this was destiny. Who can change what the gods have written? Abhimanyu died a warrior’s death. He died with honour and shall rest in the heavens of the ancestors, a hero among them all. For so was his destiny, such was his Fate. It is these very things that we fight to protect!’

‘Try explaining that to our soldiers …’ Yudhamanyu commented under his breath.

Dhrstyadymn added, ‘The men will need more than that, Dharma. Let us use astra weapons. We only need counter the enemy, not attack them…’

‘No. Once and for all, no. No astra weapons. That is an order.’

‘You invite mutiny, Dharma. The soldiers need more than your orders. They need to know they die for something beyond your whims…they need more than some nebulous concept of destiny and Divine Order, the notion that the Emperor is Lord of their lives because that is how the world is…Indeed, they gather here to challenge that very notion. How then can we explain to them that it happened because it was destined to happen? That we can neither protect, nor give them victory, because we won’t use astra weapons, and they have no choice but to die for us, because they are bound by duty and destiny to do so? That simply won’t do! They need you to lead them, to give them more…’

Dharma stared at him, shocked. ‘What do you want me to do? Go out there and beg them to fight for me?’

‘Dharma…’

‘It’s not me they fight for! It is not my ambition! I lead this war because I am Emperor, but not for my personal gain. It is their duty to fight for me!’

‘Dharma, please. Listen to yourself. You say they are destined to fail, but bound by duty to die for you. How is that fair?’ Dhaumya pleaded.

Dharma was incredulous. ‘But that is the point! It’s not me, Dharma the man, they fight for! They fight, because they’re bound by duty and honour. I am Dharma Yudhisthir, the righteous, and true Emperor of Aryavarta. My destiny has brought me to this moment, as theirs has brought them to it. That is all!’

Panchali glared, unimpressed, at Dharma. Then she turned on her heel and began to walk to the head of the convoy, where Partha’s units waited to lead the march. She thought she heard Dharma call her name, but she did not turn, she did not glance back. Solemn and determined, she climbed onto Partha’s chariot, intending to use the elevation to address the entire army.

The soldiers began murmuring, anxious and curious at her sudden appearance. Panchali opened her mouth to speak but suddenly realized she had no words. She stared into the crowd; she saw their faces – men who were fathers and sons, brothers and husbands, lovers, friends… simply men, and yes, a few women, too, in the Matsya ranks. She could not speak. If anything, she longed to tell them to leave, to walk away; she longed to say that this was not their battle. They were bound by nothing, not their sense of servitude, not the moral burden of duty, and certainly not a false sense of honour that condemned them to die for another’s pride. She felt crushed. She had betrayed the thousands who had fought and died for them. She had betrayed Abhimanyu, the boy she loved as her own. She longed to cry for him, but the tears had not come. All night she had tried to weep, but had failed. The anguish was unbearable.

Panchali remembered the times she had teetered on the brink of a dark abyss: The day of the dice game, the day Jayadrath had assaulted her, and the many days and endless nights since. She had survived all that, but now she felt as though every trasenu atom of strength had been drained out of her, that she could no longer fight the void of hopelessness that seemed to be sucking her in. She felt the darkness rise out of the abyss, tendrils that snaked towards her and wrapped themselves around her waist, her ankles, the black bonds searing her skin the way Dussasan’s gaze once had, burning her flesh as Suratha’s touch once had, leaving her as nothing but a cadaver without so much as the shadow of a soul. The dark bonds pulled, her knees buckled. She was going to fall.

21

IN ANOTHER PLACE, AT ANOTHER TIME, PANCHALI WOULD HAVE
laughed.

But now, she could not. As always, he had come up on her from behind, silent as a prowling tiger. The touch on her elbow was light but reassuring. Her eyes went numb with pain and then clouded with confusion as she turned to him. Silently, she asked him the same question that she knew haunted them all.

For what?

He gave her a reassuring glance and helped her off the chariot.

She backed away, looking at him all the time.

Blazing with determination, Govinda turned to face the assembled men. Every eye was on him as he stepped forth with neither weapon nor armour, nor crown on his head. His chest was bare, for his upper robe was tied around his waist as befitted a man who served, not led, and his hands were empty.

‘I am Govinda…’

His voice rang loud over the assembled armies. ‘You know me as Govinda Shauri but that is not who I always was. Once, I was simply Govinda…not an honoured soldier like you, but a common cowherd. Then how is it that I stand here today; here, before you, on this sacred battlefield? Some claim that it is divine intervention, others call it destiny…’ He continued, scornful, ‘Destiny…Hah! My son is dead. Abhimanyu – truly, he was as a son to me… And I couldn’t save him, not while he lived nor once he died. Those who console me tell me that it was inevitable, that it was his destiny, just as it was yours to leave behind your homes, your families and children to come here, to fight, to die. I cannot begin to imagine how frightened you must have been. I was frightened, too, once, when so-called destiny came knocking at my door. I know how you felt when these kings gave you the weapons you hold and told you that you were duty-bound to fight, because it was destined for you to do so. Destiny!

‘But is that all we are? Toys in the hands of kings and gods? What of your strength, the true strength of Aryavarta? The gods bless us with rain, yes, but they don’t till the earth with their sweat. It is you who do that. The kings, they tell us that they rule us with wisdom and benevolence, but it is by our blood…
your
blood and might that their realms are defended, kept verdant and prosperous. And you worship these gods and fear the kings and seers, but why can’t you see yourself for what you are? Why do you bow and bend in reverence, respect and fear?

‘I don’t cry for the son I’ve lost, nor do I ask you to cry for all that you’ve suffered. But that does not make me helpless; it does not stop me from doing what I must. And so I say to you now: Time and again, in every age, a Govinda will be born to set right the scales of life. The oppressors shall be destroyed, and the innocent shall rule. Because that is who we are: the self-perfecting Eternal Universe. I was born Govinda, but it is the force of humanity that has made me Govinda Shauri!’

His voice seemed to flood the entire camp, reverberate off the earth and fill the sky as he went on. ‘This may not have been your battle. This may not have been my battle. But it is now. Not because my son is dead, but because his death was wrong. Not because Panchali is our Empress, but because what happened with her was wrong. Several such wrongs have led us to this moment. I am no king, nor am I a wise seer. But I can tell just from unjust. I am not here because I am some emperor’s soldier or slave. I can feel and think and ask why things must be so; I love and cherish, just as you do, because we are human, and that is how we are. It does not take destiny to know love, to show the compassion that has brought us here. Our strength is ours to wield; to do with as we choose, even if that choice is to let it ebb from us or to surrender it in the service of others. And so I ask you to choose, and to fight for what
you
think is right.’

Breathing hard, Govinda paused and looked around him. He knew how each soldier, each warrior, felt – confused, uncertain, yet strangely uplifted. He knew that feeling well.

It was hope.

It brought tears to his eyes and he felt his heart brim over with immeasurable affection, a love like no other for all that existed.
What amazing creatures we are, to carry this very essence of existence within us. Hope – the undefined potential of all creation, the power of the Creator itself
. For all his efforts at composure, Govinda felt himself shaking. He clenched his jaws, and his nostrils flared with emotion as he merged heart and mind into one. He closed his eyes, letting the thoughts rush at him, as he knew they would.

Nothingness
.

Dark, like the core of the earth
.

The dark nothingness inside an atom
.

The single dot on the side of a die
.

The endless circle of time
.

Kali
.

In a hoarse, but compelling voice, he continued, ‘Do you feel afraid? Do you feel weak and helpless? I do not know whether it frightens you that when death came to Abhimanyu it was not by means of an astra weapon but simply the hatred and anger that human beings are capable of. And that is why it is so easy to see that it was wrong.

‘But then, you think: who are we to decide such great matters. You raise your eyes to the heavens, asking for answers, begging for mercy. But you won’t find the answers there. Look down instead. Look here, on this earth, for the answers you seek are inside your own soul. The next time you curse your fate and you speak of destiny, remember my words. Remember me. Remember Govinda. Remember the Govinda within each one of you, the spark of divinity that is not the small voice of one man, but the collective soul of all creation. Remember that you are a part of Govinda, of the very purpose of the Eternal Universe. I am Duty, I am Destiny! I am the Everlasting Being that shines within each one of you! I am a free man. And I will fight!’

As one, the army broke into a great cheer. Men shouted, rang their war-horns and blew their conches, shouting with joy in their newfound courage and hope. Some laughed, some cried, and some embraced each other as a solemn peace took their hearts.

Dharma and the others gathered in front of the Command Tent were equally moved. Dhrstyadymn and Bhim openly, proudly, wiped at their eyes. Emotions brimmed over in each heart, nameless feelings of joy and fullness so pure that it was sorrow. Wordless smiles and impulsive embraces were exchanged till finally they settled down to soft, quiet chuckles as though they had all laughed loud and long.

Partha alone remained still. He held his bow upright in front of him, its tip resting on the ground. Both hands were wrapped tight around it, head bent as if in deep thought. His brothers patted him on the back and squeezed his shoulder, but he did not move. Panchali smiled at the sight, knowing well what Partha saw in the solitude of his mind, what he had been journeying towards since the day of the dice game. The day he had broken every sacred rule of duty and obedience and spoken in defiance of Dharma’s authority. The day he had nearly cast down his weapons. Now, he had seen what it was that Govinda had spoken of. He had found the Universe within. The way she once had.

Slowly, the chanting began. One name rang from every tongue, in adoration, in prayer, as a war-cry. To say it was to feel courage and to find hope.

Govinda.

Dhrstyadymn lost no time in making the most of Govinda’s efforts. He directed Bhim and Sadev to lead the roused armies out of camp and onto the battlefield, making sure that each of the division commanders knew to keep the soldiers’ spirits up. It took some time, but eventually the camp emptied out. Govinda was one of the last people to make for the gateway, a silent and preoccupied Partha with him. The two men paused as they saw Panchali.

‘That was some speech…’ she declared, without prelude. Her voice was still strained, and Govinda could tell she had not let herself feel the pain or cry for Abhimanyu. But now was not the time.

‘You have no idea,’ he said. ‘I seem to be making far too many speeches these days. At this rate, people won’t believe I’m much of a warrior.’

‘What now, Govinda?’

‘The men will fight. That should upset Syoddhan’s plans for a while. In the meantime, I’ll try and find a way to Jayadrath. The scouts report that Dron has his armies in the needle formation. He’s stacked his divisions one behind the other. It’s typically an offensive formation, but he’s used it well as a defensive one. We’ll have to get through the whole of Syoddhan’s army to catch a glimpse of Jayadrath…’