The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 (53 page)

‘Yes.’

‘And Syoddhan?’

‘Yes.’

Panchali looked into Govinda’s eyes, seeing something in their dark depths that the others could not. ‘Sleep now, Govinda,’ she told him, running her fingers through his curly hair. ‘Sleep. I’ll wake you up when it’s time.’

Govinda complied.

Dhaumya waited till he was sure Govinda was fast asleep and then let his own fears show. ‘He may not live. We’d better pray his body has the strength to resist the poison…I’ve only heard about it, all these years. It was Agniveshya Angirasa’s last and most deadly invention. They say there’s no antidote… In fact, this was probably the last of the poison…He may not…’

‘He’ll live,’ Panchali declared.

‘Panchali…’

‘The antidote is in the poultice. He will live…’

‘How…?’ Everyone turned to her, aghast.

‘The General… Back at Matsya… He had these vials…’ Panchali flinched as the memory of how it was that she had come to see them.

‘The General?’ Partha asked. He could hardly forget their year of exile in Matsya, in disguises that he wanted to not think of again, and it shocked him to hear Panchali speak of those times. ‘You knew what it was?’

‘Yes. I’ve carried it around since the war began, hoping that I’d never have to use it. When I saw the wound…’

Dharma’s face clouded over. ‘And the toxin? Where it is? Panchali, you held the chance to turn the tide of this war in your hands and you…’

‘You think I’d keep the toxin?’ Panchali lashed out. ‘What for, Dharma? Do you still not understand what this war is about, what Govinda is fighting for? All of Aryavarta has come to war to avenge an Empress’ honour; but who stands for a mere handmaiden like Malini? We cry in horror when our darling prince Abhimanyu is killed, but who cries for Hidimbya? This war is not about who has the right to hold power. It is about restoring balance, setting right the scales. Firewright, Firstborn, Kuru, Panchala…even Dharma and Syoddhan… They were means to an end, but never an end in themselves. Yet no one knows anymore what that end is…’

She trailed off, but then found her courage again. ‘Yes, I destroyed the toxin. And I’d do it again. I kept the antidote because I feared that someday the Naga-astra would come to haunt someone, somewhere. I did not think then that it would be one of us; that it would be Govinda – but I did not have to. Some things are more important than power and hierarchy, though that power may be meant to preserve our way of life. It is simply a means. Life is the end! Don’t you see?’ Overcome with anxiety and exhaustion, Panchali buried her face in her hands and began to sob, giving in to the storm of emotions she had contained for days, years now.

Yuyudhana placed a reassuring hand on her head. ‘I do see, Panchali. We all see. Most important, Govinda knows that you see, that you understand why he has done it all. Nothing could mean more to him.’

As they all watched, it seemed that Govinda’s breathing took on the steady rhythm of a man in wholesome sleep. His worries assuaged, Yuyudhana added, ‘He owes you his life, Panchali…’

Panchali looked up, a feeble smile on her tear-stained face. ‘He
is
life, Yuyudhana. He owes me nothing.’

35

IT WAS NEARING DUSK WHEN PARTHA BURST INTO THE TENT
where Govinda lay. He shook the still-sleeping man awake. ‘You have to see this, Govinda. Come, let me help you up.’

Too dazed to reply or refuse, Govinda let Partha raise him to his feet. He realized that the tent was nearly empty – Dharma had been allowed to leave, as had some of the other injured men he had seen. It was, he knew, a good sign, but try as he might he felt no excitement, just a sense of foreboding and doom. He hobbled out of the tent, blindly letting Partha lead him to the waiting chariot rig. Their ultimate destination was not too far away.

Govinda forced himself to concentrate on the scene that awaited them. Dharma, still wan and heavily bandaged, was in excited conversation with his brothers. All the surviving commanders and men had gathered there too, and a sense of joy filled the air.

‘What…?’ he asked, wincing as he got off the rig. He noticed an ashen Panchali standing to one side.

‘What…?’ Govinda repeated.

‘Govinda!’ Bhim roared with joy and came up to embrace him. ‘I was waiting for you, Govinda. Come, see what I’ve done. See how your promise begins to come true. Come, Govinda. Panchali, you too.’ He took one of their hands in each of his and led them to the near edge of the battlefield where a huge figure lay bloody and mangled beyond recognition.

Govinda fought back the desire to retch at the sight. Warhardened as he was, this was unlike anything he had seen, even in the past seventeen days. The dead man, if the mass of flesh could be called a man, had been torn apart from limb to limb. With a shock, Govinda realized that much of it might have happened while life had still run through the now-dead warrior. He turned to Panchali, but she stood as she was, her eyes staring ahead, empty.

Bhim let out a savage cackle and picked up a dismembered arm. ‘You see this, Panchali? Once this belonged to Dussasan. He touched you with this hand, didn’t he? See what became of it.’ Bhim stamped down on the mutilated corpse. ‘It’s done, Panchali. You’re avenged! He lusted for you, didn’t he? Now his loins are dust. He called you a whore, didn’t he? See, I’ve ripped out his tongue. How many nights I’ve cried for you, Panchali, for what happened to you. Now, it’s done. Like I did with the General, I crushed Dussasan with my bare hands. For you, Panchali. For you!’

Only then did Govinda realize that Bhim was covered in blood and flesh. He wore Dussasan’s entrails around his neck, like a garland. His lips, his mouth, were stained red.

With a feral howl, Bhim bent down, scooping up Dussasan’s blood in his large palms. ‘He touched your hair, didn’t he, Panchali? He dragged you into the assembly hall at Hastina by your hair…’ He smeared the blood over the trembling Panchali’s head, wetting her hair, letting it soak into the dark curls.

‘See, Panchali…’ Bhim let the warm redness drip from his palms onto hers. ‘This is the blood of the man who tormented you… Drink it, smear it on yourself in victory, use it to colour your lips and cheeks or to paint your feet…Do what you will! You’re avenged, Panchali.’

Laughing like a madman, Bhim wiped his hands in her hair once again. Chest heaving, his breath coming in snorts, he paced around like a raging bull letting out a spontanous cheer. Govinda felt a sudden fire in the pit of his stomach. His eyes blurred, he looked around.

Dharma, proud, pleased, his eyes holding the satisfaction of vengeance as well as envy at knowing it was not his alone. Partha shedding tears of joy, and the twins staring at Panchali with reverence and awe. Around them, the others – Yuyudhana moving to bow to the Empress as she stood, once more, bloodstained and defiant in the midst of kings. Next to him, Pradymna, Yudhamanyu and Uttamaujas laying their swords on the ground, pledging their allegiance and service. Shikandin and Dhrstyadymn beaming with pride and affection.

All Govinda could do was watch. And when he found his voice, there was but one word he could speak, a word that stood for all that he thought and felt, ‘Panchali…’

She turned to him, slow and lifeless. ‘Look at me, Govinda. I am death.’ Blood covered Panchali; it filled her, fell from her fingertips. In nothing less than irony, it stained her robes. ‘Look at me. I am death; I am this blood, these ravaged lands, and this wanton destruction.’ She crumpled visibly, the strength in her eyes failed as she let the hatred, revulsion and despair press in on her. She knew the war was not because of her; no, she was hardly as important as that. But, she was the death that reigned over it all. ‘I am death, Govinda,’ she repeated, raising her bloody palms up to him. ‘I am death.’

Govinda grabbed her hands, bending his head over them. Panchali gasped and tried to pull back, as the blood on her hands stained his face. He did not let go. Kissing her hands, he declared, reverential, ‘Yes, Panchali; you are death. You are death, and I am life.’ He laughed and held Panchali’s hands tight in his as she wept for all that had happened, for those who had died, and all that had been lost. At that moment, he could have sworn that the Universe was, in its own strange way, finally in balance.

Govinda did not remember when they left there, or how he was brought back to his tent. He was vaguely aware of Dhaumya’s disapproval at his expedition to the battlefield, but the Acharya’s stream of complaints against Partha and Bhim as he changed his blood-soaked bandages sounded far away. Govinda felt neither pain nor succour at the scholar’s attentions; his thoughts were at the wonderful intersection where past and present came together to form reality. A drugged sleep took him again, but the smell of lotuses that lay on his skin did not fade.

36

WHEN GOVINDA STIRRED AGAIN, HE WAS GLAD TO FEEL BETTER
than he had since…he frowned, unable to clearly recollect recent events. Vague, disturbing images floated through his head, enough to make him want to go back into the dreamless state that had passed for sleep. He turned as he felt a strong touch and looked up to see a relieved Balabadra.

‘I shouldn’t have left you alone, little one,’ Balabadra said, running his large hand over Govinda’s wound. ‘It is a terrible burden that you’ve borne these past days…’

‘It’s over, Agraja,’ Govinda said.

‘Yes.’ Balabadra was solemn. His eyes held great sadness at the carnage that had taken place.

Govinda sat up, trying to recall when he had come back to the tent. He asked his brother, ‘Is it dark already?’

‘Yes. Well past midnight.’

‘And the battle?’

‘It’s over. Hardly five hundred horses, fifty elephants and four thousand men remain, both sides put together.’

‘Was there more battle? How did Partha…?’

‘Pradymna drove him. Made some dramatic statement about following in his father’s footsteps, I believe.’

‘So that’s it, then? And Syoddhan? Shakuni?

‘Shakuni died at Sadev’s hands. Syoddhan is still alive, along with Kritavarman, Kripa and Asvattama. Syoddhan’s younger brother Sudarsa was also alive, but mortally hurt… he won’t live through the night. Devala has escaped, but I suppose that should not come as a shock to any of us. Loyalty was never all that important to him. And before he left he ransacked the library at Hastina, burning whatever was in there. Vidur wasn’t able to save anything, Govinda. But I still do not understand how the Firstborn let it happen. Suka…’

‘Sanjaya…’ Govinda interrupted. ‘Where is Sanjaya?’

‘Sanjaya has been captured. Yuyudhana took him alive. He awaits your instructions…’

Govinda said, ‘I need to talk to Sanjaya. Perhaps, since the battle is over, I’ll kill him myself. Yes, I’d enjoy that,’ he finished with an unusual hint of rage.

‘It’s a punishment he would well deserve, my son,’ an old, feeble voice added.

Recognizing the voice, Govinda made to sit up straight out of respect, but the old man shuffled forward to make him lie down. Krishna Dwaipayana, former Vyasa of the Firstborn, seated himself next to the injured man’s tress. ‘I don’t know what to say to you, Govinda,’ he confessed. ‘I don’t know where to begin. A part of me wants to embrace you, while another part of me wants to curse you for all that you’ve done. Tell me, what should I do?’

‘What you’ve always done, Acharya. That which you think is in the best interests of Aryavarta.’

‘Then you understand what I’ve done; why I did so…?’

‘I do. I also know that Aryavarta, this earth and all of existence, these are beyond our little judgements of right and wrong. All we can hope to do is remain true to ourselves.’

Dwaipayana said, ‘Then you’ll also understand when I say that this isn’t over between you and I?’

‘Time is the most inevitable, the most powerful of all forces. It does not depend on you and me, on our little roles in the larger scheme of things, to find its way, to fulfill itself. If not you then someone else; if not here then somewhere else. The Universe goes on. But, for now, yes, it’s not over between you and I…’

‘Then you’ll also understand if just this once I ask you to explain a few things to me rather than me attempting to convince you?’

Govinda shrugged.

Dwaipayana asked, ‘Tell me from the beginning. There is no denying you helped bring the Firewright order down, you hastened their fall. Why did you do it? Your relationship with the Wrights was more than just that of teacher and student… wasn’t it? Then why? Why set Aryavarta on the path of glory only to then destroy the realm with this war? If there is anything I have learnt about you in these years, Govinda, it is that you are not a power-hungry man. But if that is not the explanation for your actions, then what is?’

Govinda said, ‘Reason, compassion…or simply because it had to be done. Aryavarta’s soul was prisoner to its own systems. We had surrendered to a third power, for we had crafted a way of life that had grown larger, stronger than us…’

‘And so you wanted to destroy it?

‘Yes. But I did so with no sense of heroism. What Aryavarta is today, what we all are, is the product of Time, the inevitable turning of the wheels of its fast chariot. What I have built, someone else will destroy and so it will go on.’

‘Then it is all in vain?’

‘No, Acharya! Some things don’t change. Love doesn’t change. Compassion and humanity don’t change. Our search for something larger, for the Divine, doesn’t change.’

‘And what does love have to do with matters of state?’ Dwaipayana scoffed. ‘Is love and compassion enough to quell greed and ambition? What you speak of is a way of life the gods long for. It’s far beyond our reach as humans. The same corruption and lust for power will guide us in the future, as you claim it does now.’

‘Yes, it will. And then another Vyasa will rise, as will another Secret Keeper, and another cowherd, though we may call them by different names.’

Dwaipayana said, ‘What you propose is…unnatural. We need Divine Order; we need destiny. How can we leave righteousness and justice to the care of flawed, ridiculously imperfect human beings? We do so at the risk of doom!