The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 Page 8

  Devala, however, was unafraid. ‘You look lost in thought,’ he drawled.

  The statement, Asvattama knew, was a means to begin the conversation. With reluctance, he put his contemplations away and snapped in his characteristic fashion, ‘Thinking is a luxury that only those of us with minds can indulge in, Devala. I’d hardly expect you to understand that…’

  Devala studied his interlocutor with patience, like a hunter watching a deer, waiting for the perfect moment to release the fatal arrow. Timing his words to intrude on Asvattama’s exact chain of thought, he asked in a soft voice, ‘Was it painful?’

  If Asvattama was taken aback, he did not show it. ‘No,’ he plainly answered. He allowed a touch of sharpness to take over. ‘And you? Did you make it painful?’

  ‘No,’ Devala shook his head. ‘He died quietly. By his own dagger, as a matter of fact – though of course the hand that drove it into him was mine. Agnivarna Angirasa… Your uncle, wasn’t he?’

  ‘My cousin. A few times removed. I called his father, Agniveshya Angirasa, “Uncle” though.’

  ‘Aah yes, it was your uncle you killed. Well, fratricide, parricide, what difference does it make… He was a rebel. You only did what was right.’

  ‘There’s no need to compliment me, Devala. I assure you, I’m beyond seeking your approval,’ Asvattama retorted. He remained unfazed by the accusations, partly because they were true, but mostly because he knew his actions were justified. There were many heinous things he had done, but he was yet to lose sleep over any of his actions. If Devala’s only weapon was guilt, then Asvattama undoubtedly had the upper hand.

  Devala gathered as much, for he affected a subtle shift in tone. ‘Did he tell you?’ His voice held genuine anticipation.

  Asvattama looked visibly amused. He shifted, switching legs so that his left ankle rested on his right knee, even as Devala struggled to hide the true depths of expectation that lay behind his affected eagerness. ‘He didn’t,’ Asvattama answered, ‘though he admitted its existence. A weapon, he said, far more powerful than the Bramhaastra. A weapon of his own making…’

  Devala struggled yet again to maintain a neutral expression, as he waited for Asvattama to ask the inevitable question. When it did not appear to be forthcoming, it struck Devala that he had no choice but to reveal something if he wanted anything useful out of the other man. ‘I tried,’ he confessed, ‘I tried for many, many years. I followed every lead, milked every spy and used every ingredient available to replicate the poison Agniveshya had created when he had been living in the Kandava forest. My efforts yielded results, though not the results I’d hoped for. I discovered a powerful toxin, one that would vaporize and spread as soon as it was exposed to air. Your dear friend Shikandin can vouch for it. He nearly died as a result of my handiwork and suffered a great deal of pain too.’

  The statement failed to incite Asvattama on either of its implied counts. Instead, he asked, as he might, if he were enquiring about the weather. ‘What did you use? For the key ingredient?’

  ‘The venom of the mottled black cobra.’

  Asvattama snorted, disparaging. ‘I could’ve spared you the trouble, then. My uncle found snake venom highly unreliable as a toxin.’

  ‘Don’t lecture me, Asvattama. Agniveshya called his weapon the Naga-astra.’

  ‘And so you assumed it was made of snake venom? Muhira! You fool, he created it in honour of those who had protected him for years – Takshaka’s people. And so he called it the Naga-astra. As for recreating it – that seems highly unlikely now that the Kandava forest no longer exists.’

  ‘Thanks to Govinda Shauri,’ Devala hissed. ‘It makes sense. He destroys that which he cannot control. As did the Firstborn, whom you have so faithfully served. Not much difference between traitors, is there? You and I aren’t very different either, you know. We are both true Wrights; we both wait, and we both hope and fear that there may indeed be plans that are made to succeed when all others fail…’

  ‘I am nothing like you!’ Asvattama said, rising to his feet, the sudden movement sending the chair he had sat on clattering across the stone floor. He left the prison without another word.

  9

  THERE WERE FEW THINGS, SANJAYA NOTED, AS WORRYING OR AS satisfying, depending on one’s point of view, as watching a war-hardy man be truly horrified. And to see clear concern, the faint but undeniable tinge of fear in the eyes of a man such as Acharya Dron – now that was a heady feeling indeed. He had been a little anxious that Syoddhan’s meeting with Jayadrath would go on for a while and he would not be able to be here on time. And then Vasusena had put forth his idea. It was brilliant, and elegant in its parsimony. It had taken Sanjaya self-restraint to not be openly effusive, and he had to remind himself that not everyone knew what he did about the supposedly lowborn warrior.

  Everyone has a secret, Sanjaya thought. It’s what makes them weak. To know those secrets is to hold unfettered power in one’s hand. The Firewrights knew that well, as did my mentor, the former Vyasa Dwaipayana. It is time to put this invaluable lesson to use once more.

  As soon as the discussion had concluded, Sanjaya had excused himself and made his way towards Hastina’s dungeons, stopping only to check that his attendant had, inadvertently and in the most casual manner, ensured that Dron would be waiting for him. He had indulged in an unusual smile when the attendant reported that he had seen Jayadrath in conversation with Asvattama not too long ago, but thought no further of it and, focussed on the matter at hand. Tasks such as the one he was about to perform were precious, not only for the vital part they played in his plans but also for the sheer delight they provided.

  Careful not to let thoughts of impending pleasure distract him for too long, Sanjaya shifted closer to the respected teacher and counsellor standing by his side, the subtle move creating an air of confidentiality and trust. Dron was a much older man but still a fighter to be contended with. No one, Sanjaya included, would want to put the acharya to the test. As a result, he chose his next words with great care, ‘It might just be coincidence, Acharya. Just because your son had the wrong sympathies in his youth doesn’t mean he still does. He’s older now, and far wiser.’

  Dron shook his head, his eyes fixed on his son as the tall warrior exited the well-guarded stairway to Hastina’s dungeons. ‘What business did he have there, if not his own?’ he snapped.

  Sanjaya did not reply, and in the silence they heard a palace guard snapping to attention and greeting Asvattama, who in turn made a casual enquiry as to the security arrangements for the new prisoner. Muffled by the distance, their exact words were indiscernible but the general import of their conversation was obvious.

  ‘Why should he care, unless…?’ Dron allowed his imagination to suggest many conclusions, none of them palatable.

  ‘Acharya, for what it’s worth, the Vyasa – I mean, the former Vyasa – never did doubt your son or his loyalty. Neither have your benefactors, the Kurus, ever had cause to do so. Grandsire Bhisma knows that both of you have remained true to the Firstborn cause,’ Sanjaya said, careful to lower his voice further.

  ‘With all due respect to the former Vyasa and to the Grandsire, Sanjaya, I’ve known my son a lot longer than they have. I also know the tempestuous heart Asvattama hides behind that calm exterior. There are times when I think I should’ve slit his throat myself…’

  ‘Acharya, please! There’s no proof…’

  ‘My honour won’t take proof for an answer, Sanjaya. You’ve seen the sway Bhisma holds over King Dhrupad of Panchala simply because of what that fool son of his did. Am I to be reduced to the same state because my son is equally an imbecile? No!’

  Sanjaya made to speak, but realized that Asvattama’s conversation with the guard had ended and he was now walking away. He waited till the warrior was out of sight. Next to him, Dron let out a deep breath. Sanjaya placed a gentle hand on the older man’s forearm, the way he knew Dwaipayana was wont to. ‘Acharya, please…there are few men I admire more than you
and your son. And I know that even now you see what needs to be done to protect him, to protect your honour. But can you truly believe that your enemies would think the same way? King Dhrupad is more important, more powerful now than he has ever been, thanks to his alliance with the house of Dharma Yudhisthir. Do you trust that he won’t manipulate the Emperor against you? One word of Asvattama’s mistakes, of what he did before he became king of Northern Panchala, and Dhrupad will claim just cause to hunt you and your son down like rabid wolves!’

  Dron turned, his dark eyes boring into Sanjaya. Gone was the anxiety of moments ago. It was as if he had suddenly remembered that he was royal preceptor to the Kuru kings, while Sanjaya was a lowly Suta, a half-born. ‘Say whatever it is you want to say, Sanjaya,’ he said coldly. ‘Don’t presume to advise me.’

  ‘My apologies, Acharya. I only wish to point out that Asvattama is indispensable to Syoddhan, just as you were and are indispensable to Grandsire Bhisma. If Syoddhan and his friends rise to be the moral restraint on Emperor Dharma’s reign, then Asvattama will be safe.’

  ‘Are these your words, Sanjaya, or the Vyasa’s?’

  ‘They are not Vyasa Markand’s – for these affairs are not his area of comfort or expertise. Which is why my former master – the Vyasa Dwaipayana – has still left political counsel to my care. And I believe, as he does, that power must have checks and balances. Syoddhan can be the balance. But for that to happen, he must grow and come into his own. There are those, especially at Hastina, who have held power for far too long. They may need a gentle hand to guide them towards letting go. Your influence in this would be most invaluable, and, if I may be so bold as to point out, to your son’s benefit.’

  ‘And who at Hastina is it you speak of as needing guidance? There are two old men here who would fit the description well. One fancies himself king and the other is king. Neither knows what it means to age with grace!’

  Sanjaya did not reply in words, but let his expression show acknowledgement. He knew he had played the move well. Dron prided himself on letting his young students rise to excellence. Often, he drew attention to the fact that when he had won Northern Panchala from King Dhrupad, he had installed Asvattama on the throne of Ahichhattra instead of taking the crown for himself – unlike Bhisma and Dhritarastra, who hung on to the Kuru throne as Regent and king, respectively.

  ‘Well,’ Dron continued, ‘I’ll do what I can to prod the old ones to let go. At the least, I shall support Syoddhan’s ventures. He will prove himself in no time!’

  ‘Thank you, Acharya. I’m most grateful. This isn’t a duty I could have ever hoped to discharge on my own!’

  Laughing, Dron gave Sanjaya a benevolent pat on his shoulder before walking away.

  Sanjaya waited till he was sure Dron was gone, before moving towards the stairway from which Asvattama had earlier emerged. He entered the dungeons, ignoring the sounds and smells, the omnipresence of pain, flesh and blood that came at him from its bowels. He was not a man of violence and he did not regret it in the least. He considered killing a menial function, one of many tasks that could be delegated and seen through successfully if one held true power. True power, he knew, came from the mind. It was this knowledge that had fed his grudge and his dream for all these years. The sense of undeniable superiority where it mattered had led him to aspire to use the Firewrights, to one day lead them despite never having been trained as one. He was determined to take what was rightfully his by sheer force, his kind of force.

  He made his way to one of the smaller cells set in what could be considered the best corner, noting that the air was cleaner here, and it was just that much brighter. He found Devala inside, pacing, rubbing at his manacled wrists. ‘Oh Rudra! Don’t tell me they still haven’t taken that off you! Guard! Guard! Come here at once!’ Devala watched, a little curious, as Sanjaya had him unchained.

  ‘It’s bad enough we have to keep you here for a while longer,’ Sanjaya continued, as soon as the guard was out of earshot. ‘Chains aren’t needed. It’s not like you’re going to do anything I don’t want you to.’

  Devala chuckled at the implied threat, but took no offence. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘It made for a good show in front of that fool who was just here. Treacherous bastard! May he wander the earth an accursed being for a thousand centuries! Men like him deserve to rot alive, the pompous fool! He knows nothing, but pretends he commands us all. You should have seen the hunger in his eyes when I mentioned the Naga-weapon.’

  ‘Hunger? The look in Jayadrath’s eyes when he mentioned you was sheer gluttony! But getting back to Asvattama, don’t underestimate him. You think that you’ve interrogated him? I assure you, he’s the one who’s interrogated you and you didn’t even realize it.’

  ‘His ambition is plain enough, Sanjaya. He wants power. He wants Agniveshya’s weapon even more than any one of those sons-of-whores kings do. The bait has been placed. But I think he knows nothing about this new Secret Keeper. In fact, he was so blinded with anger by the end of our conversation that the conceited muhira did not even realize what I was talking about.’

  Sanjaya frowned. ‘I’m not so sure it’s as simple as that. But yes, the bait has been well placed. Asvattama is ambitious, but he is far from stupid and his loyalties have always been divided. He served the Vyasa well enough, far too well, in fact. In any case, the seeds of his downfall have been laid. He won’t last long.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘His father. The only thing more dangerous than not being trusted by the man who sired you, is being hated by the one you’ve sired. I should know. Be ready, you’ll need to go to work soon. How long do you think it will take?’

  ‘To completely refit an army? That will take months. But I can make modifications to any conventional weaponry within two or three days. Why, I remember, I had Sudakshin fire up a hundred small forges just to heat and remove the tip off all his men’s arrows to create the crescent shape that keeps the skin open so that the enemy bleeds to death from just a flesh wound.’

  ‘I can tell you now that you will be dealing with Danava mercenaries.’

  ‘That lot is a pleasure to work with. Show them any gruesome way to kill and they pick it up like trained monkeys at a village fair. I’ll equip them all right.’

  ‘Good. Now remember, at no point should anyone suspect my involvement in this affair. As far as they are concerned, you are the last Firewright, yes? Don’t worry…you will be treated well by Saubha. Still, be careful. Don’t outstay your utility, or reveal all your tricks just yet. And don’t be seen at Dwaraka. Your involvement must remain known only to those who think themselves either benefitted or condemned by it, for only they will have cause to keep it a secret.’

  Devala nodded. He was still a little stunned by the turn of events. ‘Are you sure this will work? How did you get them to agree to this?’ he asked.

  ‘Getting them to agree was simple enough. Jayadrath and his allies have much to gain if they can take Dwaraka down, especially in these newly prosperous times. The port of Dwaraka is the key to the future, to trade and wealth. He was very easily motivated, as was King Saubha, weeks earlier.’

  ‘They have much to gain once Dwaraka is gone.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’

  ‘I meant economically and politically, not in terms of moral satisfaction.’

  ‘That too,’ Sanjaya affirmed. ‘But to be on the safe side, I’ve personally ensured that Dharma’s legislators have been putting forward proposals which are just ambiguous enough to seem incursive on the sovereignty of the more sensitive kings. But the gods smile on us, Devala – something in those edicts has inspired Empress Panchali to present a controversial proposal of her own… To remove taxes on Naga iron-work so that their craft will spread.’

  Devala’s usually bitter expression softened. ‘She’s a good woman. Honestly believes in what the Wrights stood for. Unfortunately, she’s also rather malleable, as Govinda Shauri knew well…’

  ‘It’s a quality we can put to
use, just as he did.’

  ‘But this proposal, this idea of removing taxes on Naga-made goods – you must admit, it has a certain appeal. It’s not too different from what Agniveshya had hoped for, or what I myself would have wanted had I been the one to teach the Nagas the metal craft of the Wrights.’

  ‘I agree. But that is precisely the point. We were not the ones to teach them their skills, nor are we the ones now to hasten their rise. If the power of the Firewrights is to remain in our hands, Devala, so must their knowledge. Now, more than ever, the need for secrecy and caution is upon us. Only if we centralize all knowledge in the hands of a few can we control Aryavarta’s destiny. We must make ourselves indispensable to Aryavarta’s monarchs – the new generation of rulers, mind you, not these old dotards that were happy to let the Firstborn spit on them! Let the old die quietly. We will be the might, no, the masters of the new breed of kings that rule Aryavarta. And for this greater good that we will bring to this realm, sacrifices must be made. In this case, the Nagas will just have to continue to play the role they have for decades. I’m sure they must have got accustomed to being used by now.’

  With a nod that served to acknowledge but not quite yield, Devala said, ‘So, Dwaraka?’

  ‘Yes, Dwaraka. I doubt we could stop that particular storm even if we wanted to.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘After that? Hunger and fear, my friend. Hunger and fear.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Dwaraka will fall, after which it’s only a matter of time before these great kings start bickering amongst themselves, hungry to call the might of the Firewrights their own while fearful of the powers their neighbours may wield. And then, our time begins. One by one, they will seek us out. And, soon, the sound of hammer against iron and the scrape of molten metal against anvil will fill the air of every kingdom in this so-called empire. Aryavarta will never be the same again.’