The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 (7 page)

‘Kneel, Daruka,’ Govinda commanded. Daruka, a veteran of numerous battles, complied without question or hesitation. Govinda brought his sword to rest on the nape of Daruka’s neck. ‘My answer,’ he told the astonished mercenary, ‘has changed. Because I have changed. I once told you that reason was paramount. I was wrong. I can either let myself get buried under the burden of that mistake, or I can accept it and move on to serve a cause greater than reason.’

The Yavana’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’d be a fool to listen to any explanations that you give, ever again. Do it. Strike. And if you try any tricks, it will go badly for both of you.’ Switching his sword to the other hand, he reached out and pulled out a large axe from the harness on his back even as he sheathed his sword. Using both hands, he brought the keen but heavy blade of the axe to Govinda’s neck, mirroring the sword held at Daruka’s. ‘One move, one breath out of place, and I’ll take it out on him…’ the mercenary emphasized.

Govinda nodded. He tightened his grip on Nandaka, using the moment it gave him to observe his opponent. The Yavana’s eyes were fixed on Govinda’s wrists, set to judge the least deflection in the sword-stroke. If it seemed likely that Govinda was going to miss Daruka’s neck, even by a chance error, the mercenary would strike, killing Govinda first and then Daruka. It was why the Yavana had chosen the axe over his sword – to ensure against the possibility that in decapitating one man the blade might remain stuck in the flesh, thus leaving him weaponless. An axe promised a clean cut through flesh and bone, making it the weapon of choice for beheadings. It also made for a very predictable opponent. This, Govinda knew, was his one chance.

‘Forgive me, Daruka,’ he said, lifting Nandaka high in the air, gasping from the stab of pain as the dagger in his back dug deeper into his flesh. From the corner of his eye, he saw the slight rise of the mercenary’s chest as the man pulled back his axe, drawing an unerring line to Govinda’s neck.

With a blood-curdling cry, Govinda slashed down. At the same time, the mercenary swung his axe, his eyes all the while on Govinda’s wrists. But not on Govinda’s feet. With the force of the movement that lowered his arms, Govinda kicked out with his left leg. His body tipped forward, the assassin’s axe cut through the air where his head had been. At the same time, his foot hit the Yavana’s wrist, cracking the bone. Govinda kept moving, his right foot now coming off the ground as he turned a full circle in the air, Nandaka grazing the silk of Daruka’s upper robe as it slid, harmless, off the captain’s back till the tip grazed the ground and, raising a small cloud of dust, moved on, completing its own arc to strike the Yavana mercenary on the underside of his arms, above his elbows.

By the time Govinda stood with his feet back firmly on ground, the mercenary was writhing on the ground, his arms but bloody stumps at his shoulders. Daruka let out a loud, hard breath and, at a sign from Govinda, scrambled to his feet and went to check on the horses.

Govinda picked up the fallen mercenary’s axe. Without pause, he brought the heavy, short blade down on the screaming Yavana’s face, wedging it through the skull into the blood-soaked ground below.

Govinda clenched his fists and bit down as hard as he could on a thick piece of leather from Balahak’s bridle. Sweat beaded his forehead and he tried to stay still, but the pain was too intense. And then, just when he thought he would bite right through the leather, the burning ebbed. He let the leather bit fall from his month and gasped in relief.

‘I’m yet to seal it up, Commander,’ Daruka, crouched next to him, said. He held out the blade he had extricated from Govinda’s back for the injured man to see as he pressed hard with his other hand to stem the bleeding.

‘Do we have wine?’ Govinda asked.

Daruka shook his head. ‘For the fifth time, no. The bag broke during the fight. Maybe if you’d been more cautious.’

‘Cautious?’ Govinda said, grunting through the agony of Daruka’s care. ‘I didn’t know what I was doing, to tell you the truth.’

‘That much was apparent, Commander. One would have thought it was some thorn, not a dagger in your back. Of course, you’re more than making up for it with all your whining now… The scarred man was right, you know. You’ve kept your calm in the trickiest of situations, but one graze on your beloved horse-friends and you were a madman. I think you forgot that I existed!’

Govinda did not dispute the statement. Chuckling, he let his head fall on to his forearms and forced his breath to come evenly.

Daruka continued, ‘An old enemy?’

‘He certainly wasn’t an old friend, though I think he came after us on the instructions of one,’ Govinda said.

‘The Secret Keeper?’

‘Yes. The worst adversary I could have. You see, we are enemies in principle and principle alone. We both agree on the final outcome, the importance of the task that was left to us to see through. But we no longer agree on what needs to be done to reach that outcome, and that is why we are no longer allies. In any case, he does not, cannot trust me and I – I see no point in trying to convince him of what he is duty-bound to deny…’

Daruka did not completely understand, but then, he was a man of action, not explanation. Out loud he said, ‘It’s simple enough for you to destroy him. All you have to do is…’

‘…reveal his identity? Of what use would that be?’

Daruka leaned back on his heels. ‘Don’t you think you’re taking this compassion thing too far, Commander? Unless…’

With a hoarse laugh, Govinda admitted, ‘You know me well, Daruka. No, it isn’t some misplaced sense of kindness that underlies this decision. My self-interest, which I claim is one with the larger interests of Aryavarta, would not benefit from such a revelation. You see, the Firstborn have thrown their might behind Syoddhan. Dwaipayana has said nothing in public, but Suka’s presence at Hastina leaves no doubt. As it stands, there are rumours that the Secret Keeper and I are no longer of the same mind, but it would be another thing altogether if it became known that he considers me an enemy worth killing in cold blood. It would erode what little influence I have with Dharma Yudhisthir. Dharma would have little choice to surrender to Syoddhan, or leave Aryavarta and live in exile. Nothing would change.’

Before Daruka could argue, Govinda continued, ‘I thought he was dead, Daruka – the Yavana, I mean. It’s disconcerting when the past suddenly turns up to haunt us like this when the present and future are more than enough to deal with!’

‘You mean, haunt you,’ Daruka said. ‘I take it you and he didn’t get along back then?’

‘No. He blamed me for bringing the bane of the Firewrights, their mistakes, to bear upon Elis. I guess he’s not the only one who thinks I’ve done wrong by his people.’

‘If there are more like him, Commander, you’d better watch your back.’

‘I thought I have you for that, Captain.’

‘You do now,
Govinda
. You do now. But if there should be war… who will watch your back when I’m gone? Don’t depend on me too much, old friend.’ With that, he turned his attention back to Govinda’s wounds.

Flinching with renewed pain, Govinda said, ‘It must heal before we reach Matsya, Daruka. We can’t let anyone find out about this attack. The Secret Keeper aside, our friends will want to blame Syoddhan. We cannot risk stirring anger and resentment against him at the moment. It might jeopardize my plans.’

‘I know.’

Govinda let his head fall on to his forearms again. This time though, it was not pain that he wanted to hide, but the various emotions that threatened to surface all at once.

7

BY THE TIME THE LOW STRUCTURES OF UPAPLAVYA, THE MAIN CITY
of the region of Matsya, were sighted through the desert mist, Govinda had little more to show for his recent battle than some stiffness where the gash on his back had been expertly tended to by Daruka. The swelling on his face had receded but traces of a bruise remained, not enough, he hoped, to draw comment. The journey from Hastina to Upaplavya had taken them nearly twice the estimated four days, but such things were easily blamed on the weather, or some fault with the carriage – excuses typically unavailable to riders.

Alighting from the carriage at the entrance to the royal quarters, Govinda dismissed Daruka with a grateful smile. Then he made his way into the palace that had been – and still was in name – Chief Virat’s, though it was Dharma Yudhisthir who sat on the Chief’s throne whenever the assembly was convened. He noticed the lone grey-white feather that littered the corridor, awaiting removal by palace attendants as part of their cleaning ritual at dawn. It had clearly not been long since Dharma had received a message. There were few people in all of Aryavarta who used these grey messenger pigeons and Govinda knew instantly that the missive had come from Vidur. It was the consequent implication of the messenger’s presence that interested Govinda further – few people in all of Aryavarta had enough influence over the wise courtier to make him preempt Govinda, and one alone had the immediacy.

Sukadeva Vasishta Varuni. The future Vyasa of the Firstborn.

Suka’s father, the former Vyasa, Krishna Dwaipayana, had been a prominent feature of Aryavarta’s politics as well as the personal history of the Kurus. But there had been more to that history, a fact that few had known – Dwaipayana, the one destined to lead the Firstborn to their greatest heights, was born of a Firewright womb. Satyavati, the Kuru queen and Dwaipayana’s mother, had been born Princess of Matsya, a land that had once been home to the Wrights.

These complex considerations had influenced Dwaipayana and, in turn, his direction of Aryavarta’s moral fabric. For his part, Govinda had never hesitated to twist those strands to his own ends. Suka, however, was spun of a different thread altogether. As far as Aryavarta was concerned, Suka remained a relatively unknown entity. A tall, handsome man who bore an uncanny resemblance to his famed grandfather, but none at all to the dark, diminutive Dwaipayana, he was to be seen occasionally at rituals and yagna-sacrifices as part of the large group of scholar-priests always by Dwaipayana’s side. He hardly spoke, and if at all he did it was in restrained tones that suggested a perpetual sense of being an imposition upon the moment. No one noticed him. No one bothered with him. He came and went as he wished, did as he wished, for no one stopped to think that he might wish anything at all.

The thought of Suka made Govinda stop in his tracks. He took a deep breath of the crisp morning air. He was not a man who lacked courage, but neither was he foolish enough to not know fear when it was due. The idea of having Suka for an enemy made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.
What needs be done must be done. It matters not who stands with me and who stands against me. It doesn’t matter whether I succeed or fail. All that matters now…

He pushed all thought aside as he arrived at Dharma’s chambers. The solitary attendant let him in without a word, the act indicating that he was expected. Govinda entered.

Dharma Yudhisthir looked as an emperor ought to. Even in solitude, he sat proud and erect on a cushioned chair as though it were a throne. He had a clean, sharp face that was more refined than rugged, and the wrinkles that time had etched in were thoughtfully placed, as though to suggest wisdom and kindness rather than age and exhaustion. He was reasonably tall, but lacked the broad shoulders and thick chest common to the Kurus and clearly visible in his cousin, Syoddhan, and where Syoddhan radiated energy and vigour, Dharma was the epitome of quiet certitude.
One is the perfect emperor for war, the other just what we needed in times of peace
, Govinda noted, wondering at the same time whether he had made the wrong choice decades ago. It had seemed to be the best option then, but now…

Don’t
, he chastised himself.
This is not about you, your decisions, your actions any more. This is far bigger than any of us. Syoddhan and Dharma are but two halves of a whole. It is that whole you question, not its parts
.

As Govinda neared the seated Dharma, the former emperor sighed and looked up. ‘So…’ he said. ‘It appears that Syoddhan was not easily convinced, was he? And now you have no choice but to make do with me, as you did years ago when you made me Emperor.’

Govinda walked over to where a wrought iron jar filled with spiced wine was set out, along with matching goblets carved in the same intricate patterns. He poured himself some wine before sitting down in a chair made of the same metal. He took a sip from the goblet, enjoying the way the liquid slid down his throat and into his veins, warm and soothing, and said, ‘Your empire was supposed to be the foundation of peace and prosperity.’

‘Hah! Peace! Prosperity! You say those words like they have some magical power, the ability to set everything right. But they didn’t. How could a weak empire be a peaceful empire? It was nothing more than an empire of consensus, Govinda. An empire led by a weak emperor. That is why you chose me, is it not?’

‘Is that what you thought? You thought yourself weak?’

‘Didn’t everyone?’

‘Not I, Dharma. In retrospect, I should have been more forthcoming about it. I saw strength, the power of people bound by reason, the only kind of strength that matters. I saw an emperor who would place righteousness and the interests of the people before himself.’

‘Then…’ Dharma let his confusion show. ‘What happened to you, Govinda? All these years? And now? Things are not the same between us. You are not the same. I know what I did was… Well, that Govinda Shauri had no thirst for blood.’

‘I haven’t changed, Dharma. I wanted peace then, why would I not want it now?’

‘That is not what you declared at Hastina. What you said there is no rumour.’

‘Then you know war was declared in your name. That implies your assent.’

‘What made you think I’d go to war?’ Dharma asked.

Govinda settled back against some cushions and reached out to take another long sip of his wine before saying, ‘What makes you think
I’d
go to war, Dharma?’

‘A feint then?’

‘A feint. Syoddhan doesn’t want war any more than we do; no one does. We just need to play this along till such time as we get what we want: an admission that…’ he trailed off.