Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) Page 14

  Kundhy, Bheemavikran, Dhanurdharan, the peerless,

  Veerabaahu, Alolupan, Abhayan, the fearless.

  Dhridhakarmaavu, Dhridharathaasraya, brothers of stout heart,

  Anaadhrushya, Kundhabhedy, of courageous part.

  Viraavy, Chithrakunthalan, men of exceptional grace

  Pramadhan, Amapramaadhy, the scions of their race.

  Deerkharoman, Suveeryavaan, Dheerkhabaahu, of noble manner;

  Sujaathan, Kaanchanadhwajan of the golden banner.

  Kundhaas and Virajass answer the battle call,

  As does Yuyutsu, beloved to us all.

  Dussala fills the air with her laughter,

  Sister to great princes and the King’s sweet daughter.

  Sing well, ye bards, sing of Kuru’s lords –

  Of the mighty warriors, who outshine the gods.

  Govinda inwardly smirked at the performance. Dhritarastra, it seemed, found his virility some compensation for his blindness, and took every opportunity to flaunt the sheer number of his progeny.

  At last, the entertainers retired and a herald stepped forward to announce the guest in sonorous tones. ‘Govinda Shauri Varshneya Yadau. Govinda, son of Shura, of the Vrishni clan of Yadus.’

  Suppressing the desire to chuckle, Govinda stood up. Adopting the formal tones expected of him in the assembly, he said, ‘My king, I come as your friend and kinsman. As I am nephew to your brother Pandu, thus also do I share with you the very same bond. I pray you, welcome me into your home as your son. Queen, my respected aunt Gandhari, grant me your blessings as you would to your own child.’

  Barring Vasusena and a few other disgruntled vassals, the entire gathering was impressed. Govinda had a way with words that made even the formal, overbearing speech of the royal assembly sound sincere and passionate. Syoddhan found himself smiling openly, and Bhisma and Dron exchanged appreciative glances. In a rare show of approval, Dhritarastra gestured to Vidur, and with his help began descending from the dais. Govinda rushed forward to support the blind monarch.

  Dhritarastra grasped the young man by his arms, and said, ‘Welcome, my son. You are always welcome here, as kinsman and … Why, you were once our neighbour too!’

  The assembled audience laughed softly at the remark. He continued, ‘I’m an old man, so forgive me if I should lovingly chide you for not remembering your uncle Dhritarastra all these years. But then, you are young and wilful, as well you should be. I’m only too glad that you’ve chosen to renew old bonds. Crown or not, you are Arya, and our kinsman.’

  Govinda inclined his head in graceful admission. He did not miss the barbs behind Dhritarastra’s words, the subtle reference to the surrender of Mathura, Govinda’s ancestral kingdom, which had shared a border and part of the woodlands known as Madhu with Kuru. He also did not miss the clear insinuation that the bonds of old no longer existed. Indeed, Dhritarastra had not shirked from hinting at the reason. By law and custom, Govinda was little better than a foot-soldier. To forfeit a crown, to surrender and become ruler of nothing – men like Dhritarastra would find it unthinkable. Govinda, however, did not take the slightest offence. In fact, he enjoyed the verbal sparring, admitting the monarch’s talent with a deferential smile. In any case, he knew, his next little joust would take them by surprise.

  ‘Uncle, I ask that you allow me to present you with a small token of my affections,’ he said, in the standard prelude to the inevitable routine of gifting treasures to the host.

  ‘Thank you, my son.’

  Govinda nodded to a waiting attendant, and then personally guided Dhritarastra back up the stairs to his throne. Positioning himself a few steps below, he watched impassively while attendants brought in some trays and uncovered them to reveal heaps of gold and silver coins as well as precious gemstones and finely crafted jewellery. Vidur softly described the contents of each tray to the royal couple, even as the many noblemen present whispered among themselves.

  It was a sizeable fortune, no doubt, but hardly remarkable. The value aside, none of the gifts were novel, nor did they inspire interest. The coffers of Hastina were full, not just with wealth but with many curiosities from foreign lands, truly astonishing items. Most monarchs saw the ritual exchange of gifts as an opportunity to peacefully assert their power and supremacy. While sheer wealth never failed to impress, it was often the souvenirs of their travels and conquests that were eagerly awaited by one and all. Never-before-seen creatures, sometimes captured alive, unthinkable gadgets and devices, and of course new weaponry – all these showed the extent of the monarch’s influence, his pioneering vision and valour. Govinda’s gifts were decidedly commonplace.

  With just the slightest tinge of derision, Dhritarastra thanked him, ‘These are more than merited on this occasion, Govinda. Your affection for us has caused you to be too generous.’

  ‘But of course not, Uncle! Your son Dharma has brought home the first of your daughters-in-law – the princess of Panchala, no less. In fact, I’d hoped to find them here and give them their gifts in person. As it happens, I left Panchala many days ago to meet with my clansmen and conduct these trinkets here …’

  Syoddhan was forced to admit that Govinda had played the move admirably. For the past two weeks his father had been ignoring the inevitable tides of change, the fact that the sons of Pandu were alive and well. Now, thanks to Govinda, they would be forced to invite Dharma home along with his brothers and his new bride. Once that happened, the issue of succession to the Kuru throne would arise yet again. Even if Dharma’s position as Crown Prince was not in doubt, Dhritarastra would be pressed by Dharma’s father-in-law, King Dhrupad, and his allies to step down and let the next generation come into its own.

  Dhritarastra realized as much, for his face contorted into a grimace of disgust, which he tried, at once, to hide. ‘Ah, yes,’ he began, in a dismissive way. ‘Dharma and my daughter-in-law. For the lack of an auspicious day to welcome them I’m yet to send them an escort, as is customary when we Kurus bring our brides home. I’m sure that the moment a suitable alignment of the stars is found for such travel, the royal escort shall conduct them here with all speed.’ His malice unspent, he turned on Govinda. ‘I shall ensure that your gifts to the bride and groom aren’t missed in the multitude of treasures that await them here. Rest assured that I will personally point out how generous you have been.’

  The king words provoked a titter of laughter around the assembly.

  Govinda waited for the crowd to settle down and then gently said, ‘In that case, Uncle, I’d be happy to leave it all in your charge. But I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you further …’ He continued, answering the questioning look on Dhritarastra’s face, ‘If you and my dear aunt should care to step outside … I apologize that my choice of gifts are not of an adequately dainty nature to be presented to you here.’

  ‘There’s more?’

  ‘But of course, Uncle.’

  Govinda took Dhritarastra’s arm and led him to the large golden doors fronting the hall. Vidur and Gandhari followed. Behind them the courtiers scrambled towards the entrance, careful only to not precede Dhritarastra. The doors were opened and the audience poured out on to the sprawling steps out front. As one, they gasped and then broke into excited chatter.

  ‘By Varuna!’ Syoddhan exclaimed and, unable to resist, collegially clapped a hand on Govinda’s back. He received a genuinely friendly smile in return.

  Dhritarastra was shaking a flabbergasted Vidur’s shoulder. ‘Well?’ The minister had to shout to be heard above the crowd and, even then, fumbled for the words to describe the scene that greeted them.

  A procession was making its way down the wide sand road that stretched from the palace gates, across immaculate green gardens, toward the assembly hall. Where the grounds of the palace had been designed to impress, the host entering it was even more awe-inspiring. One hundred and eight massive elephants in rows of nine abreast, their heavy ivory tusks trailing the sand, pulled behind them what looked like a long w
ooden palace set on wheels. As the convoy neared, liveried men atop the houses let fall huge squares of silken cloth. Syoddhan laughed out loud with joy. The elephants pulled not one long structure, but a trail of three shorter ones.

  ‘Barges,’ he informed his father. ‘They look as sturdy as sea-faring ships, but are much sleeker in design and smaller too. I suspect they’re lighter as well?’ the last query was directed at Govinda.

  ‘Yes. It’s possible to use a lighter wood for freshwater crafts. Unfortunately, these wouldn’t last more than a season in seawater.’

  ‘By Indra’s white elephant, Govinda, this is a prize fit for an Emperor!’ Syoddhan instinctively exclaimed.

  Govinda did not reply, though he did notice the flash of anger that crossed Dhritarastra’s face, yet again.

  Behind the procession of elephants was a convoy of horses, enough to seat an entire cavalry battalion. The horses were of the Qamboja breed, the same as Balahak, though not one of these was the pure silver-white that Govinda’s four steeds were. Each stallion carried on its back a trunk-like box made of either silver or gold. Govinda signalled to the attendants leading the horses to bring one each of the boxes closer for inspection.

  A shrill cry of excitement arose from one of the gathered nobles, while another let out the happy shriek of a child, as the boxes were opened. The box of gold contained innumerable perfectly rounded pearls of the most translucent paleness; the silver box yielded many pieces of a dark blue gemstone that was not native to Aryavarta. In fact, some courtiers dismissed the stones as pebbles, opaque and rounded as they were, but it was only when Syoddhan raised a large piece to the light that what had looked opaque was seen to be a medley of striations in every imaginable shade of blue.

  ‘They reminded me of the skies of Aryavarta,’ Govinda casually commented, picking up one of the gemstones and handing it to Syoddhan.

  ‘They’re magnificent!’ Syoddhan acknowledged. He passed the stone to Gandhari, who ran her hands over its polished surface and beamed, as though her mind’s eye still held the memory of having seen it in youth or, perhaps, she could imagine its beauty.

  ‘I’ll have them set for you in a necklace of diamonds and gold, Mother,’ he gently told her. ‘One fit to grace a queen’s neck.’

  Gandhari laughed and reached out to pat Syoddhan lightly on his cheek. ‘Thank you, my son. And thank you, Govinda,’ she said.

  Govinda merely bowed, his head lightly resting on Gandhari’s hand for a moment so that she would know. He then signalled to another attendant. The man came forward bearing a nondescript wooden trunk, far smaller than the ones containing the jewels.

  ‘What treasure is this, Govinda?’ Syoddhan jested. ‘Knowing you, I’d say the humble box houses the most valuable jewel of them all!’

  ‘Quite so,’ Govinda confirmed, laughing. ‘But, I’m afraid I must disappoint you by requesting you to pass this on, with my best regards, to the Vyasa, Krishna Dwaipayana.’

  ‘Of course. But may I take a look?’

  ‘Please …’ Govinda personally opened the box, to reveal many different-sized scrolls made either of thick parchment or animal hide. He nodded, at which Syoddhan reached in to pick out a scroll at random and unrolled it.

  ‘What in Varuna’s name …?’ Syoddhan clucked his tongue in appreciation as it struck him. ‘A map?’

  ‘Yes,’ Govinda replied. ‘I had my mariners and scouts prepare maps of all the places that we’ve sailed to. Of course, as you can see, some of the further coastlines remain incomplete or lack fine details, but whatever is recorded is accurate. You’ll have all the time you want to study them,’ he added, as a look of longing began to spread across Syoddhan’s face. ‘I intend for these to remain here at Hastina.’

  Syoddhan made no secret of his delight.

  Over the next couple of days, Govinda earned for himself immense goodwill among the Kurus, to the extent that Dhritarastra arranged for the royal astrologer to discover a rather propitious change in the alignment of the stars. As a result, the celestial bodies now afforded for Dharma and Panchali to be brought home to Hastina much sooner than had been originally expected. An escort was despatched with instructions to bring Dharma, his mother, brothers and Panchali to Hastina as soon as Dhrupad permitted.

  Govinda treated the news of the sudden fickleness of the immutable skies with due solemnity. He commented blandly on the mysteries of destiny and the will of the gods and ended by expressing his regret that he could not stay to welcome the bride and groom. He left Hastina and made straight for Dwaraka, though Kampilya was less than a day’s ride away. Somehow, Govinda felt as if he was at the end of a long, tiring journey. For the time being, Aryavarta would have peace. Ghora Angirasa would be forgotten for some time, and it would take a while for the inevitable conspiracies to start all over again. Until then … He breathed in deep of the fresh evening air and threw all thoughts of the future out of his head. Soon he would be home. He would sleep well, one with the rhythm of the ocean.

  18

  IN THE WEEKS THAT FOLLOWED PANCHALI’S WEDDING, THE RAINS set in. By the time she, Dharma and the others were ready to leave Kampilya, the roads were flooded and in many places the River Ganga had spilled over her banks. In all, it would make for a slow, soggy journey to Hastina, especially since Pritha, Panchali’s mother-in-law, would make the trip in a large palanquin. Such low-slung litters, which took anything from two to eight men to carry, made for a slow and restful ride on longer journeys despite the vagaries of the terrain. Carriages and elephant-mounted platforms could be bumpy and often went too fast for the occupants’ comfort.

  In addition to Pritha’s palanquin, over fifty other litters were deployed to carry the array of precious, sometimes fragile items in Panchali’s dower. The sturdier things were loaded on to well-decorated elephants and horse-drawn wagons, the animals themselves forming a fair portion of her generous dower. After all, Dhrupad had insisted, Panchali was his only daughter.

  The scale of these events made Panchali feel all the more like a helpless puppet, and she took to acting the part of a childish, petulant princess because it was all she could be. She knew she would regret it later, but for now she found herself quibbling incessantly over trivialities, pausing only to curse Govinda Shauri and his infernal meddling. Her petulance turned out to be of some use, for an exhausted Dhrupad eventually gave in to his daughter on one count. He agreed to her bridal escort being unconventionally small, barring the ceremonial guard of honour who would travel to Hastina and then return to Kampilya.

  Panchali also adamantly refused the huge retinue of handmaidens and attendants that had been placed at her disposal, insistent that she would not separate them from their families. Instead, she asked for volunteers from among her sairandhari and welcomed the two ladies who came forward. Finally, feeling terribly sad about leaving her brothers behind, Panchali set out for her new home, and her new life, both of which, she feared, would be insignificant and boring.

  She could not have been more mistaken.

  The surprises began from the moment Panchali entered Hastina. While thousands thronged the streets, crying out their welcome, the city itself had little of the festive look she had expected. But before she could dwell on it further, they had entered the palace. Unlike the undulating lands on which Dhrupad’s fort at Kampilya stood, Dhritarastra’s palace was set on level ground, which made the enclosure seem more sprawling than it actually was. It also appeared that there was no garrison, or even a small force, within the environs of the palace. Instead, most of the space had been given over to well-manicured gardens dotted with dazzling recreation pavilions. Panchali quickly learned from one of the guards in their escort that the armies were quartered at the far end of the city, just behind the royal enclosure, but it still shocked her that the palace was so obviously undefended. Clearly, the kings of Hastina took their pleasures seriously.

  The group was shown directly into the assembly hall, which Panchali had heard so much about. Her attention, how
ever, was drawn neither to its sky-like ceiling, nor to the huge gathering of royals it accommodated. Instead, her gaze fell immediately on a slight but majestic figure. The Queen.

  Gandhari had to be the stateliest and most imposing woman Panchali had ever seen, and came across as a stark contrast to the homely Pritha. She was slender, with features that still showed traces of the beauty of her youth, but it was not her attractiveness that took one’s breath away. It was the way she held herself, with a subtle pride that came partly from who she had been and mostly from what she had done. Panchali had heard how, as a young bride, Gandhari had chosen to forever cover her eyes the moment she discovered her husband was blind.

  Had it been out of love, Panchali wondered. Or was it spite? The story, as she had heard it, went that the strong and valiant princes of Gandhara had refused to wed their sister to the blind Dhritarastra. Outraged by the rejection, Bhisma had laid waste to their country with his armies, personally killing all but one of Gandhari’s many brothers. Shakuni, the sole survivor, now led an almost servile existence at Hastina as some unimportant functionary or the other – a rather dishonourable end for one who had once been a great prince. Perhaps brother and sister had both thought to be constant reminders to Bhisma and the Kurus of what they had done to the people of Gandhara.

  Panchali turned her attention back to the assembly as Dharma formally introduced her. She gracefully saluted all those gathered with an elaborate bow, ignoring the hushed whispers that hurtled around. She knew they were mostly varied tales of her wedding, of how she had been won by the younger brother, who had led her home by the hand, only to be wedded the next day to his eldest sibling. Slander was inevitable with all that had happened and Panchali refused to be affected by it. The enigmatic smile on her lips did not fade for even a moment. She took her seat next to Dharma and feigned a polite air of disinterestedness as the assembly went through the affairs of the kingdom for the day. In truth, Panchali missed neither a single word nor the most subtle of gestures.