The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 Read online

  ‘Was it worth it?’ a rough voice intruded on his thoughts.

  Govinda could not help but feel a flicker of surprise as he recognized the voice. He turned to face the speaker and his malice. ‘You know it was.’

  ‘Liar! Nothing was worth losing her.’

  ‘You should know…’ Govinda carelessly dismissed, even as he took in the men silently forming a ring around him. Each of them was dressed in the non-descript black robes of those who did not wish to be identified and had a mask covering the lower half of his face. From the style of their robes and the designs on the hilts of the swords Govinda guessed them to be Danava mercenaries. Cut-throat soldiers available on hire, they were among the most feared warriors in the world. Despite their lack of allegiance, Govinda had no doubt they were effective – far more so than the three men who had met their demise at his hands in that drinking-house. Whoever had managed to get Devala out of prison had neither intended nor needed to settle for less.

  11

  ‘YOU SHOULD HAVE RUN WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE.’

  Govinda’s voice held no trace of the many questions on his mind when he replied, ‘You think too much of yourself.’

  Devala snarled in response, but let it pass as he took yet another look at the devastation around them. A different kind of anger, a simmering rage, steeped in visible sadness, filled him. ‘There was life here,’ he said. ‘Life which you brutally tore from its roots. Nothing can bring them back, Govinda. Nothing will bring her back…not the way she was then.’

  ‘Are you here to reminisce, Devala? In which case, we should light a fire, have a drink… Or we could just get down to the matter at hand.’

  Devala spat on the ground in response. He turned to one of the ten men with him and said, ‘Kill him.’

  The mercenary, a man with grey eyes and sun-browned skin that had, from the look of his scalp, been pale once, was not a native of Aryavarta, and his behaviour served to affirm it. ‘Kill him?’ he questioned Devala’s command with all the impudence of a man used to serving just one master: money. ‘But Lord Sau…’

  ‘He said you were to take your orders from me, or you will not see a coin from him,’ Devala affirmed. ‘Now kill him. And once you’re done, take his head. It must hang over the gates of Dwaraka. On second thoughts, take the rest of him too… We shall let a limb hang from each entrance to his precious city. Dwaraka they many-gated, they call it… We shall have Govinda quartered to adorn each of them.’

  Govinda’s eyes darkened. Devala’s arrogant words were enough to suggest that something was wrong, terribly wrong. But there was no time to be wasted in seeking explanations or engaging in arguments. He would have to settle things swiftly. Ten, no, eleven against one was in no way favourable odds, but Govinda knew better than to be intimidated. And being a veteran of such situations, he also knew better than to be complacent.

  Before any of the hired men could move, Govinda pulled the slender dagger out from its sheath around his calf and hurled it at the mercenary in the middle of the cluster. Taking advantage of the instant of shock that followed, he drew out Nandaka, his sword, and threw himself at the remaining men. The way they came forward to alerted him to the fact that they were toying with him, baiting him, though he could not explain how or why. As their swords met, he noticed the savage glee, the feral anticipation he had seen elsewhere in the eyes of victors, on the faces of men riding to bloody plunder. It filled him with a desperate strength. Dropping down on one knee, whipping his head out of the way as a spear whistled past his right ear, Govinda swung a double-handed stroke that rent the soft bellies of three men at one go. It was not a killing move, but the keen edge of Nandaka ripped through flesh and muscle, pulling out the mercenaries’ entrails. With howls of pain, the men staggered back, their weapons falling from their hands as they clutched at their stomachs before keeling to the ground. It would take them a long time to die, but they no longer posed a threat.

  Their companions, however, had learnt their lesson. They formed a ring around Govinda before he could get back on his feet. This time, though, they kept a wary distance and watched his every move instead of rushing in. Govinda guessed that they would now take it slow, moving in smaller groups, tiring him out and pushing him to make a fatal mistake. One opening was all they needed.

  Govinda stepped on a sword one of the fallen men had dropped. Without taking his eyes off his adversaries, he slipped a foot under the length of the blade and flipped it up, catching it by the hilt. He now had a sword in each hand. Twirling both blades around with strong turns of his wrists, he quickly got used to his new acquisition, the weight and length perceptibly different from his own silver-white sword. Evening out his breath, he concentrated on every sound and the slightest trace of movement around him, keenly aware that Devala had not joined the ring of attackers. His focus paid off, for he became aware of the soft creak of a bow not very far away, the smooth draw ending with a reluctant jerk, a sign of added weight on the bowstring. Govinda felt a hint of satisfaction, though he was careful not to let it show. It seemed Devala’s impatience would prove helpful.

  The moment he heard the twang of the bowstring, Govinda moved, throwing himself sideways and down to the ground. He heard the distinct sound of shattering as the arrow hit the ground, barely finger-widths away from where he had been standing. Instinctively, he held his breath. He saw at once that this was a poison of a different kind. Barely had the first whiff of a purple-green smoke risen from the broken remains of Devala’s poison-arrow than Govinda let out the breath he had been holding. He noted the positions of his adversaries and closed his eyes, pulling his torn upper robe in a band around his face to give his eyes added protection. After that he let the screams guide him.

  Govinda thought it unlikely that Devala had many more poison darts at his disposal – the toxins being rare and time-consuming to make – but even a simple arrow could prove fatal at such short range. He heard Devala’s bow swing again, but could do little other than try to let the mercenaries’ bodies shield him from the arrows. Crouching down to form as small a target as he could, he thrust and cleaved with precise parsimony, each stroke bringing down an assailant who was already incapacitated by Devala’s premature attack. Ironically, in doing this, he exposed himself further to Devala’s aim. Govinda cursed out loud as he felt an arrow graze his calf and wondered if he ought to risk opening his eyes. Reasoning that it would serve him no purpose to go blind, he fought on using sound and instinct.

  He stopped when he realized that his strokes were cutting through nothing but air and stood still and alert, panting hard. He had counted six men falling, which ought to have left one more mercenary. For all he knew, the man was already dead. But Devala remained in the fray, and Govinda now had no clue where he was. A little reluctantly, he tried to provoke the Firewright to speech. ‘Neither patience, nor allegiance. You lack the skill to be a tyrant and the honour to be a hero. Now do you see why she rejected you?’

  Devala’s voice was a close whisper that made Govinda realize that he was now in more danger than ever. ‘She rejected me because she loved you. And you betrayed her love, her trust. You used her and threw her away as you do with everyone, Govinda. Of all your crimes, this has been the worst. And, by Hara, you will pay for it. Everything that you’ve built will fall. Your precious city, your people, shall lie ravaged and broken, the way her spirit was ravaged and broken when you betrayed her! And you shall die right here. Right here, where it all began and ended.’

  Govinda felt the rush of air before he heard the stroke. More by reflex than calculated precision, he brought up his blade in a counter. A choked cry of pain escaped him as the blade missed his neck but rent his unprotected forearm, cutting deeper as Devala pressed down with his entire weight. Despite the agony, Govinda twisted his wrist around, trying to cut Devala’s sword-arm even as he pushed himself up off the ground, at the same time slashing with his other sword. He heard Devala cry out in pain, and felt the pressure give as the other man stumbl
ed back. Govinda straightened up, dropped his borrowed sword and pulled at the cloth over his eyes. Blinking as the glare of the light hit him, he steadied himself on his feet, ready for Devala to strike again. The full-body form of combat that often served Govinda so well was of no advantage here, for his adversary equally bore the marks of Firewright training. Yet Devala stepped back. Govinda understood as he saw the spreading stain on the man’s robe. Devala was hurt. In a sudden move, Devala hurled his sword at Govinda and turned around to run as fast as he could. At his whistled signal, a powerful brown stallion emerged from the edge of the woods, slowing down to a trot only to let his injured master clamber on before taking off at a gallop.

  ‘Balahak!’ Govinda called out to his own horse, but even as the silver-white steed came thundering up the slight slope of the riverbank with a neighed response, he knew that giving chase was not a good idea. Devala could easily lead him into a trap. Worse, with their equally matched horses, the chase could well take a day or two, time Govinda could not afford to lose. This was not over. Not yet. From what he had gathered, an attack against Dwaraka was certainly in the offing. Indr-prastha, too, could be in danger. Govinda dismissed the last thought. For all his rage and anger, Devala would not willingly harm Panchali. It was Dwaraka, then, that was in immediate danger. As he had expected – rather, as he had planned – Dwaraka would pay the price for all that he had done.

  With a sigh, Govinda remained where he was, letting Devala disappear out of view, while Balahak paced around, restless. I’ve made my choices, he reminded himself. There is no such things as coincidence, and no such thing as irony. There is only cause and consequence, and there is no room for regret. He ran his hand over the rough bark of the tree, her tree, careful not to let his blood taint its innocent verdure.

  Sheathing his dagger and his sword, Govinda strode towards Balahak. He had wandered enough. It was time to go home.

  12

  DAWN.

  The crystal spires of Dwaraka turned from a luminous gold to pure fire and then cooled to shine soothingly silver, the colours bleeding into the great ocean below.

  Every morning, Balabadra, Govinda’s brother and head of the Council that governed the affairs of Dwaraka, would stand on the terrace of his mansion and take in the glory of the city that he and his brother had painstakingly built. He would look over the shining prosperity, the proud beauty that was not just Dwaraka but also her people. Often, he would reach out to wrap an arm around his wife, Raivati, grateful for her companionship on the journey that had brought them here. Always, he would send up a prayer, thanking the gods for this, their bounty.

  But not today.

  A muhurtta and a half ago, the guards at the seaward watchtower had sounded the alarm. A great host of battleships, all of them flying the colours of the Salwa kingdom, was headed for the island-city, their sails full with the morning wind, the mighty wood and metal of their hulls shining like jewels in the sea. As they drew closer and settled into formation, the ships seemed to line the entire western horizon. Balabadra had hardly taken stock of the situation when the watch on the landward tower began a great clanging of gongs. A huge army was advancing towards Dwaraka through the marshlands in the north. Balabadra quickly assessed the situation. A part of the invading forces must have docked their ships much further north, outside the territories of the Yadu nation, and made their way down across the treacherous – and therefore less guarded – swamps. A scount’s report that the enemy had no elephants, but more than made up for it in the sheer number of their infantry and cavalry, confirmed his suspicions.

  Balabadra turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Yuyudhana, his cousin, strode on to the terrace.

  ‘I bring bad news,’ Yuyudhana began. ‘The scouts report that another array of chariot-rigs and cavalry is making its way in from the east, crossing the river at our border with the Chedi Kingdom. I guess this is Damagosha’s revenge for…’ He trailed off, not wanting to say in words what Balabadra also knew well. King Damagosha of Chedi was out to avenge his son Sishupala’s death at Govinda’s hands.

  ‘So it’s not just Saubha…’

  ‘No,’ Yuyudhana said. ‘The armies are mainly Saubha’s but Danava mercenaries add to their numbers. And of course this attack requires the complicity of others…’

  Balabadra nodded. ‘Do it. Activate the defences.’

  ‘Completely?’ the question held strain. ‘That is a risk. Dwaraka can outlast any siege. It was designed that way. But if we keep a path open, if we try to hold the plains and the bridges…I am not saying that it is wrong, but… Have you considered this carefully?’

  With a sigh Balabadra said, ‘I have. We shall trust in the Emperor and the righteousness of his empire. Leave the main bridge open. Mobilize the forces to defend. Call the cavalry in, the women included. Have them ready.’

  ‘But…the Council?’

  ‘I will address the Council right away, but you know how they won’t decide a thing before they are done cursing Govinda and blaming him for all that is happening. Kritavarman has been shouting abuses since the first ship was seen…’

  Yuyudhana turned to go, but looked back. ‘And you? Do you not blame Govinda?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘We are under attack. Is it too much to ask that our Commander be here?’

  ‘He is. In Govinda’s absence, you are the Commander. That is clear. Go now. We don’t have much time.’

  Dwaraka’s unparalleled defence mechanisms were called into action right away. The sluice gates on the River Gomati were closed, cutting off the flow of water to the city’s huge storage tanks in case the enemy should attempt to poison them. All but one of the wooden bridges connecting the island-city to the mainland were burned down as the impregnable city prepared for a siege. The harbour, too, went up in flames in a bid to keep the enemy’s ships out. Still, the terrifying hordes descended on them from land and sea.

  Trapped between the enemy’s army and navy, Balabadra knew it was only a matter of time before the city fell, unless the Emperor, or their Panchala friends, came to help. He had made a choice to place his faith in the empire for no reason other than that it was of his brother’s making. His faith would now be put to the test.

  Taking a deep breath, Balabadra called out to Raivati to fetch his armour.

  13

  SYODDHAN’S INVITATION TO VISIT HASTINA HAD ARRIVED AT Indr-prastha with its own royal escort, as would benefit a scroll of such importance.

  Though pleased at this overt display of ceremony, in his typical fashion Dharma had not shown it. He had dismissed Bhim’s suspicions with a wave of his hand and all the conviction that came of being Emperor. ‘It’s only fitting that our cousins entertain us first, before the rest of Aryavarta shows its regard for the empire. It would be most impolite to refuse, would it not? What say you, Sadev? You’re the diplomat among us.’

  ‘You are right, Agraja. But a state visit…a visit from you, as Emperor, has its own formalities. One does not simply call on a brother on a whim.’

  Dharma had said, ‘Then all the more reason to show that I remain his brother, even though I am now Emperor. I am as brother and father to all Aryavarta, am I not? Or do you think me a tyrant, a self-centred overlord? My position is a burden, brother, a great and honourable burden of duty. I bear it because I must, because it is my destiny to do so. Surely, you cannot expect me to stop being the man I am because of it?’

  Dharma’s brothers had received his righteous declaration with practiced acquiescence. They knew their place in Dharma’s world, as Panchali knew hers. They were the pillars on which the Emperor stood, a man raised to great heights on the shoulders of others. But pillars and shoulders had no voice, and so they remained silent, even as Dharma functioned as their head and heart both. It had always been this way, a bond forged through love and respect, and an acceptance that the elder was always meant to lead. If anything, becoming Emperor had convinced Dharma all the more that this was how it was meant to be. It was,
therefore, with quiet certitude that the four allowed themselves to be treated as nothing more than Dharma’s servitors, though that in itself commanded respect. Each one was entertained at Hastina by one of Syoddhan’s brothers, and all of them bore it without complaint, their personal likes or dislikes for their cousins notwithstanding. Panchali remained Dharma’s near-constant companion, except when he chose to indulge in pursuits that were considered an essential mark of royalty, particularly among the Kurus. She asked no questions when he did not come to her bed at night, and made no mention of it the following morning. Not that she had much of an opportunity to, for the rest of her time was spent in the company of the royal ladies of Hastina. While she entertained most of them out of courtesy, her visits to Syoddhan’s mother, Queen Gandhari, and his wife, Bhanumati, were enjoyable enough. In all, quite to her surprise, she found the entire visit turning out to be an undeniably pleasant affair.

  On the fourth evening of their stay, Panchali found herself involved in an interesting conversation. Dharma was with her, as were Syoddhan and Asvattama, who remained a frequent and welcome visitor at Hastina. Panchali was glad to see him, just as she was glad that Vasusena was not around. She knew that despite the passage of time Vasusena had yet to get over his perceived shaming at her wedding competition. He could never look at Panchali without grimacing, while the hatred in his gaze made her flinch.

  The final member of the group was Shakuni, Syoddhan’s uncle, though he looked no older than Dharma. Shakuni was a man of varied learning. In keeping with his comparatively liberal Gandhara roots, he did not share the patriarchal Kaurava view of women and social hierarchies, and took pride in flaunting it – with the result that Panchali had no lack of stimulating conversation. Neither did Dharma.