Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (13 page)

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 wooden 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.

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, however, 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.

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.