Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) Page 15

  In what was to be the greatest surprise for her as yet, Dhritarastra very matter-of-factly conferred on Dharma the western half of the Kuru kingdom, with its capital at a place known as Kandava. Panchali felt elated at that, but she was also inexplicably disappointed. It was not that she expected such an announcement to be accompanied by great celebration or a vulgar show of grandeur, but she did think some degree of gravity was warranted. Dharma and his brothers, however, did not seem at all upset. Next to her, Partha and Bhim exchanged whispers, noting with glee how furious Syoddhan was. She glanced over at Syoddhan but saw nothing in his expression that suggested displeasure. True he was not jubilant, but he seemed far from jealous or irked.

  It made sense, Panchali silently noted. By giving away a part of his kingdom, Syoddhan could ensure that he held on to Hastina. Rather, that his father did. Dhritarastra looked much older than her own father, and Panchali found it surprising that he had not installed his son on the throne as yet. Perhaps he did not think that Dussasana, the third of his sons, would let his brother rule in peace. Panchali had heard much about the younger Kuru prince, none of it complimentary. His behaviour served to immediately justify the reputation he had earned, for even at that very moment the lecherous rogue was alternating between looking her up and down and glaring at the five brothers. It took much effort on her part to ignore him, but she did just that.

  After a while Pritha, the five brothers and Panchali left the assembly for the small palace that had been made over for their use. Dharma led Panchali out with obvious pride. She chuckled silently at the warmth he suddenly exuded toward her, realizing that she had perhaps finally garnered a little of her husband’s respect as an individual in her own right. But she also knew that with Dharma things were always complicated. Equality was something that he would graciously bestow on her as long as she did not take it as her due.

  19

  THAT EVENING PANCHALI MET VIDUR FOR THE FIRST TIME.

  Hardly had she reached the rooms set aside for her in the palace than she was swamped in a rush of visitors as the various royal ladies of Hastina came to welcome the eldest daughter-in-law of the Kurus. After nearly three hours of polite smiling and light talk comparing the weather and landscape of Kampilya and Hastina, Panchali had reached the limit of her patience. She found herself wondering, for the first time as far as she could remember, if things might perhaps have been different if she had been born to her role as princess and queen. She had been a misfit at Kampilya and felt all the more so at Hastina, and right then she was far too tired to be convinced otherwise.

  Just as she had flopped down on a huge, cushion-lined seat in a decidedly ungraceful manner, there was a yet another knock on her door. Panchali assumed it was her sairandhari, coming to announce one more royal lady. Irritated beyond measure, she snapped out, ‘By Varuna, Asila, if that’s another one of those dim-witted cows who’ve done nothing in their lives other than reduce their country’s coffers with their dower, I shall scream.’

  She jumped as a man’s voice responded, ‘Dim-witted I surely am, Mahamatra, but hopefully not a cow. May I come in?’

  Panchali stood up and turned around, more anxious than embarrassed, but felt instantly at ease at the sight of the kind, genial figure she saw standing in the doorway. She had heard of Vidur, the youngest of the three half-brothers, the sons of Vyasa Dwaipayana. Despite the common talk that he was born of a slave-maid, the man looked no less an Arya than his brother, the King. Like her father, Vidur was well-kept for his age and exuded great energy. His silver-white hair made him look rather distinguished and his bearing clearly marked him as a scholar rather than a warrior. Panchali found herself thinking that as Dharma grew older he might come to look something like the man now standing before her.

  ‘Forgive me. Please come in,’ she bowed respectfully.

  Vidur clucked his tongue in gentle remonstration. ‘No, my dear, don’t ever bow to me. Remember, you’ll be queen of these lands!’

  ‘Everyone needs the blessings of their elders and betters. A queen more so than others.’

  Vidur’s eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘Ah yes, he did tell me it wouldn’t be easy to have the last word with you around.’

  ‘Who …?’

  ‘Why, my nephew, Govinda,’ Vidur replied. He saw the confusion on Panchali’s face and explained, ‘I’m married to his aunt, one of Queen Pritha’s cousins …’

  If Vidur found Panchali’s silence at this unusual, he said nothing about it. Instead, he came straight to the point. ‘I was in the assembly this morning – Dhritarastra’s court – as you may have noticed … Panchali, Hastina is not kind to women who believe themselves a man’s equal. Our ancestry is rife with many examples, some of which I find, shall we say, regretful. We don’t deal well with royal ladies in active roles, and those who choose passive roles are more than amply rewarded by being held up as ideals.’

  Inclining her head slightly to one side Panchali asked, ‘Are you here to suggest that I learn to do the latter?’

  ‘Would you accept such a suggestion?’

  ‘If Govinda has told you anything useful about me, then you know I won’t.’

  ‘In that case I won’t waste my time and yours with futile suggestions …’

  ‘But you will let me have the benefit of your wisdom, won’t you?’ Panchali said, letting the man know her intent had not been to offend him.

  ‘Hmm,’ Vidur was noncommittal. ‘All I can suggest, my dear, is that you decide the price you’re willing to pay for your beliefs.’

  ‘If they are negotiable,’ Panchali pointed out. ‘Aren’t principles supposed to be beyond question, beliefs that are worth every sacrifice?’

  ‘Would you consider discretion a high price to pay?’

  Panchali was puzzled. ‘To pay for …?’ she asked.

  ‘For … let’s say, the respect of the Kurus,’ Vidur replied.

  ‘I’d consider it a terribly high price. Because this is not an issue about women. This is about the underlying hierarchies, the very belief that a formal system of inequality is just and fair.’

  Vidur was impressed, and he let it show. ‘And you’d suffer on par with the others trapped in the system as a matter of principle?’

  ‘The suffering is irrelevant. I don’t see myself as a self-sacrificing do-gooder. To be honest, if I could extract myself from the system by my own efforts, I would. But I wouldn’t do it by conceding my beliefs. All that will achieve is the creation of one more layer, or class, in the system. Either I do wrong, in which case perhaps I don’t deserve such respect. Or I stand by my beliefs no matter how I’m treated.’

  ‘Words!’

  ‘No, not just words …’ she protested.

  Vidur looked at her with warmth. ‘Dharma and his brothers are fortunate to have you with them, Panchali,’ he said. ‘You are indeed a daughter to be proud of and a counsellor to cherish. But an argument is an argument, and so I’ll say this … There’s one thing you will realize when you grow to be as old as I am; unfortunately, never sooner. To uphold one principle you sacrifice another; to preserve one notion of goodness and righteousness you destroy another. Where then is the question of an absolute, immutable principle?’

  Panchali stared at the man, amazed. But soon she was frowning, thinking through the argument Vidur had presented, and a few moments later she demurely conceded defeat.

  ‘Don’t take what I say seriously, my dear,’ said Vidur kindly. ‘My notions are quite antiquated, or revolutionary, depending on your perspective.’

  ‘Surprising you should think so. All of Aryavarta knows you as the wisest of advisors.’

  ‘I don’t know if that is despite my lineage, or because of it,’ Vidur jested. ‘But my unique position does have its advantages. Hastina has for long been a key centre for the Firstborn. Not only does it have the most impressive collection of scrolls and manuscripts, all lovingly tended to by a congregation of dedicated scholar–sages. Few other cities in Aryavarta can even claim to
have a library.’

  ‘A library?’

  Panchali’s excitement was palpable, for Vidur smiled and added, ‘The manuscripts are in an underground vault, and only a handful of Firstborn scholars know the location. Fewer still are allowed inside, for it is also one of the sites of the Vyasa’s great undertaking. He has, as you might have heard, set about compiling all the knowledge of Aryavarta, even our knowledge of the lands beyond the seas. Much of what was orally transmitted from scholar to scholar in the past is now being set down in writing. His students travel to the furthest corners of Aryavarta, even to foreign lands, to learn from scholars there, as well as to teach from our scriptures. Hastina is one such place where many come to share their knowledge. Of course, that such things happen here is not very widely known …’

  ‘I hadn’t imagined in my wildest dreams that Hastina would hold this particular surprise,’ Panchali gushed. ‘I was under the mistaken impression that the Firstborn believed in strictly controlling knowledge, that there were many parts of the scriptures they alone were allowed to learn. Indeed, scrolls and books – these aren’t things one readily associates with them.’

  ‘Ah! Then yes, you were mistaken, though perhaps not that much. Codification can be a way to control access to knowledge. The Firstborn believe in a method by which the obvious is obscured, and then permanently recorded, copied and circulated. That way it shall never perish, but will also remain safe from misuse. They can leave the object in plain view, as long as they hide the key to it.’

  ‘Like a secret message or a cipher,’ Panchali commented.

  ‘Hmm … Something like that, though not so obviously secretive. As you know, even among the Aryas not everyone can read or write to a scholarly level, and it’s very rare to find Sutas, like me, who can read. To achieve a level of understanding that can penetrate the mysticism the Firstborn douse all knowledge in isn’t easy. This project was on even in Dwaipayana’s father Parashara’s time, but it has taken on a new lease of life in recent years. The Firstborn scholars have taken to collecting anything and everything they can, zealously hoarding every bit of useful knowledge they can get their hands on. For the past decade or so, Govinda has been travelling all over the world for this very purpose, collecting various records that the Vyasa deems important to the future of Aryavarta.’

  ‘Yes, I see …’ Panchali faltered, as she understood what had kept Govinda on the high seas all these years. If only he showed those who’ve always been loyal to him a fraction of the loyalty he has for the Firstborn …

  ‘Panchali …? Are you all right?’ Vidur asked, concerned.

  She managed a smile. ‘Yes, yes. I’m sorry … I don’t know where I lost myself.’ To change the topic, she asked, ‘Have you seen these vaults, Your Highness?’

  Vidur leaned forward and in a hushed, conspiratorial whisper said, ‘I’ll tell you, on one condition …’

  ‘Anything you say,’ Panchali affirmed.

  ‘Stop calling me Highness, Panchali. I’m just the son of a slave-maid. It won’t do to address me this way, especially in the presence of others.’

  Panchali looked at the courtier with surprise. ‘How does everyone address you? Dharma, his brothers, how do they all address you?’

  ‘They all call me Kshatta, or Dasi-putra, the son of a female slave,’ Vidur replied, ‘it’ll be fine if you call me Kshatta.’

  Panchali pouted in disapproval. ‘What about Govinda? How does he address you?’ she asked.

  Vidur hesitated, then said, ‘He calls me Uncle Vidur.’

  ‘Then,’ she stated, ‘I shall take the liberty of doing the same. And now, Uncle, since I’ve met your condition, you must answer. Have you seen the vaults?’

  ‘Yes,’ Vidur nodded, ‘I’ve seen the vaults. And I can tell you that what’s written down is just one-fifth of that great treasure hoard that still lies in the minds of those who are at work on this task. But in this lifetime or the next, this task will bear fruition.’

  Panchali’s eyes widened. ‘Amazing!’ she whispered. ‘What passion, what great foresight the kings of Hastina must have had to create such a thing, a vault for the storage of books and manuscripts …’

  ‘Hastina’s kings!’ Vidur said, and then clucked his tongue in mock regret. ‘I didn’t know any king of Hastina in the last twenty generations who has had that kind of good sense. Nor did our dear friends, the Firstborn, have the ability to build something of that sort. The vault that houses the treasure-trove of the Firstborn was, as strange as it may sound, built by the Firewrights.’

  ‘The Firewrights?’ Panchali exclaimed. ‘You mean the magicians? But I thought …’

  Vidur laughed out loud, amused by her reaction. ‘My dear child, the Wrights were no such thing! They were great scholars, committed to logic, reason and scientific discovery. Only the ignorant see their work as magic, sorcery or evil. What today is the vault once used to be a great workshop, a forge.’

  ‘What? But …’

  ‘Let me explain. The Wrights, in all fairness, were genius scientists. It suited the Firstborn to label them as demons and heathens, and denounce their science as magic. Needless to say, it also made it easier to then get rid of anyone who took their side – as many of Aryavarta’s kings did, some generations ago, in their own interest, mind you.’

  Panchali failed to hide her amazement. ‘Unbelievable …’ she gasped.

  ‘Ah my dear, I wonder how you will react to the next bit of unbelievable trivia that I am going to share with you …’ Vidur’s eyes twinkled as Panchali looked at him eagerly.

  In a low voice that held a faint touch of regret he began, ‘They once had such workshops in each of the nations of Aryavarta. Not very long ago the Firewrights fuelled all the industry in Aryavarta, making us the mightiest empire in the world. But, like heat and light from the same lamp, the fire is now dim and the light fades. The order is broken and the last of the Wrights are dead. You see, the Wrights became far too powerful, their knowledge far too extensive and beyond understanding, and so for decades both seers and kings have worked hard to stamp out what they considered a menace and take control of all Wright knowledge. But they … we … have perhaps been too successful. For with the Wrights has died their vast store of knowledge. Some of it was destroyed by us and some of it lost by them. It leaves us in a far more precarious position than we’re willing to admit. If ever we were attacked by foreign invaders …’

  ‘But surely,’ Panchali argued, ‘necessity would drive us to industry and inquiry. Great as the Wrights may have been, it is not impossible to emulate their discoveries, is it? Especially if, as you say, it’s a matter of survival?’

  ‘No, it’s not impossible. Indeed, that is what prompted the Firstborn to begin recording all that is left of our knowledge, as well as add what we can that is new. But they have learnt from the Firewrights’ mistakes, and so they do their best to control knowledge, cloak it, making themselves the all-powerful interpreters and arbiters of all access to this knowledge. They can never be wiped out the way the Firewrights were because we need them. Their survival is essential to ours.’

  ‘Be that as it may, isn’t codification and control a good thing? You said that we need knowledge and discovery to survive, and now we have the Firstborn to protect us, our knowledge …’

  Vidur gave a sad chuckle. ‘That is what many believe. That is certainly what my father – Dwaipayana – would have us believe. Perhaps you’re right, my dear, it is better to have something than nothing at all. But as far as survival goes …’ he shook his head. ‘We stand on the shoulders of giants. It’s one thing to build on the collective wisdom of generations, and another to survive but begin afresh. The first Angirasa was Fire itself, one who learnt that this mighty element could be worshipped and tamed to our use. It seems commonplace today, but imagine: What if we somehow lost that first discovery, the fundamental idea that we can create fire using flint? Why, the very moral fabric of Aryavarta would be threatened. We would be nothing but primitiv
e animals – hardly the noble race that worships the sacrificial fire as a symbol of Divinity. And that is the problem. With the Wrights gone not only have we lost a line of inventors and philosophers, but we have also lost the huge legacy of knowledge that was in their keeping. Aryavarta may soon be in the dark. Few men … or women … remain, who would dare question the Firstborn, and with good cause. Time and again Dwaipayana has proved himself worthy of receiving First Honour at every gathering of Aryas and the entire realm looks to him as its conscience-keeper. It is my unique position – as his son and a man of no consequence, unlike my half-brothers – that gives me leave to say what I think.’

  Vidur paused and then suddenly said, ‘But enough. I’m an old man and I pontificate like one. Come, let’s walk around the gardens and I shall show you where the best flowers in all of Aryavarta bloom.’

  Keeping her thoughts to herself, Panchali silently followed.

  20

  IT TOOK A FEW WEEKS FOR PANCHALI TO REALIZE THAT DHARMA had no say whatsoever in the running of the Kuru kingdom. Not even his half of it. In fact, he showed little interest in participating in its governance and appeared to have no intentions of leaving Hastina. Though he received many, if not all reports on the political affairs of the Kuru kingdom, he seemed easily bored by them and mostly left to Panchali the drudgery of going through the scrolls or listening to the accounts of administrative functionaries. She paid meticulous attention to all that she read or heard because they helped her see many things through new eyes. Including, she noted with an instinctive frown, the harsh realities that Shikandin and Dhrstyadymn had protected her from.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Dharma asked, noticing her preoccupation.

  She nodded to tell him she was. The two of them were walking back to their palace from the just-concluded session of the royal assembly. As was their habit, they headed for Panchali’s chambers. Entering, Panchali threw herself on to what had now become her favourite cushioned chair while Dharma moved around the room with familiarity, pouring himself some wine from a cask. In a way that was difficult to describe or explain, the two had become affectionate companions, though they had not been lovers since their wedding night.