The Aryavarta Chronicles Book 03: Kurukshetra Read online

It was, Govinda realized, a perfect trap. Not only did this apparent public outburst exonerate Syoddhan of all responsibility for Govinda’s safety as an emissary, but it also put Govinda in the heinous position of having to attack hapless commoners – an unacceptable show of aggression that would compromise his position and Dharma’s at once. He could not help but register Devala Asita’s touches, not only in the planning of the attack but also in the small details: the wine-like liquid, the small, concealed weapons that the pretend commoners now produced from inside their clothing. The assault, as much as it was intended to do away with Govinda, was also meant to be a demonstration of Syoddhan’s power to his allies.

  ‘Rudra save us!’ Kritavarman exclaimed next to Govinda, clearly sharing the latter’s assessment of the situation.

  Yuyudhana was more direct. ‘Sons-of-whores! It’s a trap, Govinda!’

  Both men drew their swords, preparing to go down with a fight. Govinda stood his ground, fists clenched, searching the mad throng for the one face he had missed in the assembly, the one face that could change everything about the situation. And then he saw the large figure skulking at the back of the throng, the clear leader of the mob despite his position. The man’s gaze brimmed over with bloodlust, a feral madness that left Govinda in no doubt as to his identify. Just as he had thought… Dussasan. A small, lightning-like spark exploded in the air right where Govinda stood, turning instantly into fire and smoke.

  Govinda waited for the cries – mostly of alarm, but some of pain – to subside before turning around, a smile on his lips, to consider the scene, the cause for the stunned expressions writ on each face in the assembly. A wall of flame, dancing golden and blue, rose almost to the high roof of the hall. Against the curtain of fire and smoke stood Govinda, Kritavarman and Yuyudhana. A fleeting memory of a similar moment swept through Govinda’s mind as the soft crackle of fire filled the air. A coronation and a beheading. Shisupala. He looked toward Syoddhan, met the anger he found there with confident understanding. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he caused the wall of flame to descend and finally disappear. All that remained of the earlier episode was a mass of prone, bleeding, soot-stained forms, the light rise and fall of their chests the only sign of life in the men who had attacked them.

  Adjusting the Wright-metal bracelet on his wrist, the source of the small explosion that had proved such an effective defence, Govinda turned to Yuyudhana and Kritavarman next to him. Kritavarman, particularly, Govinda would not have faulted for being slow in coming to his aid, or not coming at all. But war was only imminent and not yet declared, and Kritavarman had chosen to show unity with his fellow Dwaraka citizens. Smiling his thanks at his kinsmen, Govinda returned his attention to Syoddhan and the others. ‘I find this a rather novel welcome on your brothers’ part, Syoddhan. Though I must admit, Prince Dussasan and your other brothers look rather becoming in their guise as commoners. They bring a certain… authenticity…to the role, don’t you agree?’

  Syoddhan did not respond to Govinda’s sarcasm, but with the silence thus broken a growl of a murmur rose all around. To attack an emissary was against law and morality, an act of dishonour and cowardice. Had Dussasan succeeded, the crime would have been its own redemption, but the Kuru prince’s failure was a fault in itself, one that left palpable awkwardness in its wake.

  The situation would have persisted, but for Vidur’s intervention. ‘See to the injured,’ he called out to the omnipresent attendants. In response, a host of servants ran to aid Dussasan and his companions, while others went to summon the medics. The crisp efficiency of the Kurus quickly restored order to the room, with all debris cleared and the injured moved out, except for an insistent Dussasan. The impressive efforts at housekeeping, however, did little to restore what little air of conciliation may have remained.

  Govinda’s eyes ran over the recently cleaned surrounds, noting that the same marble that had occupied his entire attention when he had first entered this hall was, in fact, well-worn and the walls of the palace reeked of past grandeur and dust. The men around him, too, gave the impression of being tired and weary, and youthful faces and eager hearts were few and far between. If any man stood out in that jaded, time-worn lot, it was Bhisma.

  The Grandsire was unchanged, his hair and beard the same white since the very day Govinda had first encountered the elder. His towering, powerful build, sharp intellect and impeccable ability to maintain his calm under duress had all endured, the last quality in clear evidence at the moment. By contrast, Govinda found Dhritarastra withered. Age clearly showed on the king’s face as he stared with incomprehension and awe, a sentiment that most in the hall mirrored – except for Dron and Asvattama, as well as Devala and Vasusena. Clearly, Govinda’s methods had not come as a shock to them.

  Govinda smiled at the thought, but said nothing of it out loud. Instead, he declared, ‘With your permission, I shall leave now. Dharma will be expecting me…’

  ‘You make no offer of peace…?’ Syoddhan’s voice held no expectation as he said the words, and his face remained devoid of expression, as it had been since Govinda had entered the hall. It was a feat that many knew the prince could not have managed some decades ago. But much had come to pass over the years, which had left a mark on the man in significant ways. Syoddhan’s newfound equanimity, both practised and effortless, was a quality that Govinda found most suggestive and he saw no sense in further baiting or in games. He asked, his voice sincere, ‘Will you consider peace?’

  Syoddhan said, ‘On reasonable terms, yes.’

  ‘I am known to be a reasonable man.’

  ‘My brothers might disagree.’

  ‘If,’ Govinda said, with a sidelong glance at Dussasan, ‘you play with fire, you must risk getting burnt.’

  ‘It is not fire that is the problem here, Govinda. It is that you are a Firewright.’

  ‘A fact that has been long in evidence and needs no further discussion. Which is why I made no attempt to hide it. Why do you bring it up now?’

  ‘Only to add that even the Wrights found you to be a heretic and far too untrustworthy. There is no one you have not betrayed yet. The only rational thought one expects of you is that which is driven by your self-interest. So do me the courtesy of being plain. State your terms, Govinda Shauri, for that is what these negotiations are truly about.’

  Govinda shrugged. ‘I don’t care what you call my terms, or me – as long as you consider them. I thought I had made them clear, but since there seems to be some doubt: I wish you to declare Dharma Yudhisthir the rightful Emperor of Aryavarta.’

  Cries of outrage rang through the hall, with Dussasan too calling out weak protests from the secluded corner of the hall where he was being tended to. Others such as Vasusena were more vocal, and Bhisma Devavrata appeared far from pleased. If any remained placid, it was those who were affected more by the consequences of the statement than its content. Sanjaya and Devala were pointedly taciturn. The Firstborn scholar-seers continued to mumble prayers for the welfare of all, Suka amongst them.

  Syoddhan gestured for calm, but it took some prompting by others in the hall before the uproar faded into a buzz. He then said, ‘You really wish me to accede to Dharma Yudhisthir? Do you not know that there is no greater dishonour than surrender? Govinda, often have others called you “gwala”, accused you of lacking nobility, but I have never shared their opinion…till this moment. Now I must wonder, do you really not understand a thing about our way of life?’

  ‘You misunderstand me, Syoddhan,’ Govinda said. ‘It was not my intent to ask you to surrender. Rather, I ask you to exercise your power as the ruler of the Kuru kingdom and declare unlawful and untenable the dice game that took place here. Speak the words that you asked Panchali and Dharma’s brothers to say: that Dharma Yudhisthir had no right to wager what he did…his brothers, his wife, his people, his empire. Say that Dharma was in error and declare the gamble invalid.’

  Syoddhan chuckled. ‘Dharma was in error; there is no doubt about that. But
you’re a clever one, Govinda. Would not going further to declare the gamble void require that all that was lost revert to the one who played it as stake? And would that not further imply that Dharma Yudhisthir is still Emperor of Aryavarta?

  ‘At its furthest extent, it would.’

  ‘And I cannot bear the thought of a man who could treat his people, his family, as he did being in command of all our destinies.’

  ‘But he would not be in command. Reinstating him only proves the limits of his power, of any Emperor’s power.’

  ‘One cannot protect an ideal by destroying it, and that is what you’re suggesting I do, Govinda.’

  Govinda smiled. ‘The ideal is upheld not by the specific instance, but by the larger truth. Help me make the larger truth apparent. Declare that neither you nor he had the authority to make those wagers. We shall consider the Empire relinquished to you. Let Dharma remain King of Indr-prastha, as he once was.’

  ‘That is impossible.’

  ‘It is necessary. You see, it is not the moral outcome of one dice game, but two, that must be reversed. There was one last throw, where you both wagered your kingdoms. His loss was what forced him into exile. Five villages, then? Five villages would make Dharma a vassal – your vassal. It should suffice.’

  ‘How often must I explain, Govinda?’ Syoddhan hissed through clenched teeth. ‘That man has no moral authority to command another person, ever again. You want him to be made King? I would not make him chief of a single village; why, I think he doesn’t deserve to command those of his own household. No. I will give Dharma nothing.’

  Govinda sighed and took a while to consider his next words. He then addressed the entire assembly. ‘Is there anyone here who has never made a mistake? Does not every person deserve forgiveness for their errors?’

  ‘They do,’ Syoddhan answered. ‘But not when their penitence is wrought by their self-interest, and the admission of error is to their benefit. I too have made mistakes, Govinda. For one, I believe I have stood by in silence far too often while wrong was done. And for that I know I will go down in our history as an ambitious, evil man, and now here I am rejecting your so-called offer of peace as well. But such is justice. Such is Divine Order. Nothing matters more.’

  ‘Then it is war.’

  ‘Unless, you accept my offer of peace. Peace on my terms; fair and reasonable terms.’

  ‘And what are those terms?’

  It was Syoddhan’s turn to smile, though what showed on his face was more of a sneer. He said, ‘Sit down, Govinda. It would not do to keep an emissary of your eminence standing.’

  5

  FOR MANY YEARS, SYODDHAN HAD RECOGNIZED THE EMOTION he felt at the thought of Govinda Shauri to be curiosity. Govinda had been an unknown entity, a man cloaked in questions, but that had always stirred Syoddhan’s interest rather than disturbed him. Now, watching Govinda as he allowed himself to be led to a well-decked seat of honour and plied with signs of welcome and hospitality, Syoddhan realized that it was not curiosity; rather, it was a contradicting mix to which he could give no appropriate name.

  Syoddhan envied Govinda his conviction and despised his lack of moral allegiance. He admired Govinda’s courage – for a lesser man could not have unified Aryavarta in the name of Dharma Yudhisthir – and he hated Govinda’s obvious cowardice for not daring to rule the realm that he controlled, other than through his puppet emperor. He enjoyed Govinda’s wit, but found his flippant nature irksome. He felt lighthearted when Govinda laughed, and cringed when he spoke. He wished Govinda were his friend. But right now, more than all of that, he wished Govinda were dead. Govinda was a Firewright and a friend to the Firstborn. Govinda was a traitor, a man with no allegiance. He was the essence of all that threatened Aryavarta, Divine Order and their noble way of life.

  Syoddhan turned, as he often had, to the Grandsire, Bhisma Devavrata. He found his gaze returned. Today it was he, Syoddhan, whom Bhisma looked to with affection and trust, not Dharma Yudhisthir. It was all he could have wanted.

  Letting the moment brand itself on his heart, Syoddhan said out loud, ‘Dharma must submit, in public, to my authority.’

  ‘Done,’ Govinda said.

  ‘Don’t be hasty, Govinda. Dharma must admit that he lost all to me in fair game and declare that he holds no title, no standing whatsoever. In return, I will host him, his brothers and their families here at Hastina, in state. They will be accorded all respect that is due to them as my cousins, and shall never be in fear for their safety. On that you have my word.’

  ‘I don’t doubt your word. But this serves no purpose as far as reversing the policy that was set by the game. You only affirm that Dharma indeed had the right to make those wagers, and thus passed his powers on to you.’

  Syoddhan briefly stared at Govinda before breaking into a harsh, mirthless laugh. ‘Ah, Govinda. For a while I really thought you cared. Peace means nothing to you, neither do loyalty and friendship. All you want is to get back the power that was yours.’

  ‘Not true.’

  ‘Is that so? Tell me, what would become of Matsya under the terms you propose?’

  ‘They would pledge allegiance to you. They would, after all, be part of your empire.’

  ‘How easily you throw them away, now that they are not needed.’

  Govinda shrugged. ‘It is the law.’

  ‘I see,’ Syoddhan said. ‘By the same token, you too would pledge allegiance to me? As a representative of the Yadu nation?’ Syoddhan asked.

  Govinda said, wary, ‘It is my understanding that the Yadu nation has already pledged its allegiance to you.’

  Syoddhan nodded. ‘Yes, and so they send their armies to support me, if there should be war. But the question is why are you not with them?’

  ‘Because I act in revolt against the very system that forces Dwaraka to align with you.’

  ‘Then you admit it? You admit that Dwaraka is duty-bound to fight on my behalf? Including the men under your command, and Yuyudhana’s, too.’

  Govinda said, expressionless. ‘Yes. The armies are bound to fight for you if the leaders so decide. But it does not bind me as an individual, though I may be called to answer under Dwaraka’s laws for my rebellion. Unless, Syoddhan, you’d rather have me on your side than have my armies?’

  ‘No, Govinda. I place no value on a man who is deluded. Do you even know what you fight for; what you truly want?

  Govinda said, ‘I would explain what it is I want, Syoddhan, but I doubt you would understand. Such gwala-talk is hardly worthy of your attention, so I shall put it this way: Since you have refused to admit that the wager was made in excess of Dharma’s authority and hold it as grounds to deny him his Empire, we must categorically declare that the dice game was an act of deceit. You have wrongfully deprived Emperor Dharma Yudhisthir of his realm by deceiving him into acting in excess of his authority. The empire was his, but the gamble was not. And, by Rudra, we shall now win his empire back.’

  In response, Syoddhan rose to his feet, the entire assembly following his action, save Dhritarasthra and some of the elders. Govinda too remained sitting. Syoddhan read it as the last show of defiance by a cornered man. He said, ‘You only make my decisions easier, for I see now that I must destroy you before you destroy all of Aryavarta and our way of life. On your head be it, Govinda. War. And I doubt future generations will applaud you for bringing it to us.’

  When Govinda spoke his voice seemed to ring through the hall. ‘Do you know why they call the single dot, the losing throw at dice, “kali”? Because the greatest force in the universe is Time. It’s greater than every probability, every wager, beyond the comprehension of skill. It’s inevitable, because it’s inexorable. It is time, Syoddhan, time for change.’ Grunting in an overt show of inconvenience, Govinda finally rose to his feet. He took his time to settle his robes into place, forcing the assembly to wait for his words. ‘As for our progeny cursing us for ushering in war,’ he said, ‘we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? Meanwhil
e, in the present, I do hope my friend down in your dungeons will be given the decent funeral she deserves. She was, after all, one of us.’

  Govinda walked out of the assembly, flanked by Yuyudhana and Kritavarman, Vidur following close behind. He had no doubt that the man for whom he had meant his last words had indeed heard them.

  The Secret Keeper watched the blazing pyre with regret and anger, though the second of the sentiments was not directed towards the deceased woman. She had, in his eyes, done nothing regrettable but show devotion and loyalty to the wrong man. The same man who had asked that she be given a proper funeral, as she deserved. It was, the Secret Keeper noted, a mistake on Govinda’s part. Even the lowliest prison menial who would not have thought twice about throwing Philista’s body on a pile of wood and setting it alight for no reason other than disposal and hygiene had since hesitated to remove her cadaver from the stinking dungeon in which she had been killed. When the matter had been raised to the overseer of the section, and then to the commandant of the dungeons, and from him to the palace guard, each one had refused to comply for fear that he would be seen as faithful to Govinda and thus, to the enemy.

  Finally, the Secret Keeper himself had come forward, that too in Syoddhan’s presence. After all, was it not Ghora Angirasa who had once said that the best place to hide a secret was in plain sight? As expected, the offer had been considered as motivated by compassion, not collusion, and no one had since batted an eyelid at the Secret Keeper’s actions.

  Perhaps Govinda had not made a mistake after all. He would have known that everyone would have refused to deal with Philista’s remains, leaving the Secret Keeper free to finally step in without raising suspicion. But why do so? Was it a sign that Govinda would not reveal his identity? Or did he mean to use the revelation later, as a final stroke that would turn the tide of events?

  Govinda led them all to war, of that the Secret Keeper had no doubt. It was precisely why he had chosen to part ways with the man he had once considered his most trusted friend and ally. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could compromise the task that had been left to his care, the great burden that could determine the very future of Aryavarta. Not even Govinda Shauri.