Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (21 page)

IT WAS SAID, REVERENTIALLY, THOUGH NOT VERY OPENLY, THAT
Dwaipayana knew what transpired in every nook of Aryavarta even before the gods watching over the land did. His hermitage
was nestled in the distant Himalayan foothills, though for all practical purposes the little hamlet was the heart of the Empire.
It was here that the Vyasa spent much of his time with his group of highly intelligent and dedicated disciples and the grey
messenger pigeons he lovingly reared; here that he devoted himself to rearranging and dividing the
scriptures, the treasure trove of Aryavarta’s knowledge; and here that all news of Aryavarta reached Dwaipayana’s ears. It
was here, too, that Ghora Angirasa had died.

And, it was where one of Dwaipayana’s trusty messengers brought news of the events at Dwaraka, which had culminated in Partha
and Subadra’s much-celebrated arrival at Hastina.

The Elder pronounced his blessings on the couple straight away, looking delighted at the turn of events. He said as much to
Sanjaya, who sat sullen, without reply. Laughing, the scholar prompted, ‘You don’t agree with me, do you, Sanjaya?’

‘This jeopardizes all our plans, Acharya! It was difficult enough to press Dhrupad to marry the girl to Dharma despite his
enmity with Dron and the Kurus. Just when it seemed all was in place and the time was right for us to make the next move,
Govinda Shauri rears his head and becomes brother-in-law to the Kurus. I should have known, I should have foreseen it,’ Sanjaya
ranted. ‘Govinda gave up far too easily on the girl.’

‘My son, you’re a good statesman. But you still have a few things to learn before you become a great statesman.’

Sanjaya looked up eagerly. He knew better than to be disappointed when the Vyasa made such statements, for they were usually
a prelude to the most valuable insights.

‘It’s like a game, of say … tiger and lambs,’ Dwaipayana continued. ‘A good statesman, someone like Bhisma, for example, will
cleverly aim to move the pieces one at a time, always keeping in mind what his opponent’s response could be. Mind you, it
is a difficult challenge and takes immaculate planning. But a truly great statesman is a philosopher of sorts. He recognizes
that it is not just one move that matters; he sees the game in its entirety. Sometimes a single move changes your position
from strength to weakness, or the other way around – not because the move itself is special but because of its effect on the
other positions and on the game as a whole. The great statesman knows that the game can, and most probably will, be upset,
and he accepts it. And he’ll be prepared.’

Sanjaya laughed softly. ‘So,’ he said, ‘it’s important to keep in
mind what the pieces were meant to achieve, rather than the moves that were planned.’

‘Precisely! Balabadra had planned to marry Subadra to Syoddhan. An alliance was inevitable. I didn’t expect Partha to go to
Dwaraka, but when he did I didn’t try to stop him. My anticipation was that Partha, being the womanizer that he is, would
certainly court Subadra. Don’t you see how this works to our benefit? We’ve used Govinda Shauri before … Perhaps it is his
destiny and ours that he serves us again.’

‘Dharma can use Govinda’s help to establish his own realm …’

‘Yes. What’s important is that Dharma sees the opportunity that lies before him. We need to bring it to his attention, Sanjaya.
Plant the idea in his head that
he
can rule Western Kuru. Get him to send for Govinda.’

‘Who, of course, will come running to Hastina.’

With a laugh, Dwaipayana asked, ‘Really, the curiosity is killing! Why does Govinda Shauri bother you so much, my son?’

Sanjaya did not deny the allegation. He squared his shoulders, glad that he did not have to politely conceal his contempt
for the man. ‘His ideas are ungodly, and worse still they are contagious. If they should spread … or endure … they can cause
more damage than the man himself could in his lifetime. It would be easy for us to discredit Govinda and get rid of him. In
any case, he has no legitimacy as a ruler and little earned as honour. He is, after all, the coward who ran from Jarasandha’s
armies.’

Dwaipayana replied, ‘He has proven himself, on many occasions, to be a formidable warrior. How do you explain that?’

‘Even demons and devils may be formidable. That does not make them different from what they are,’ Sanjaya pointed out. ‘What
bothers me is that we give Govinda too much power, assuming that what he does is to our benefit. When we’re done with him,
when we’re finished, how do we push this animal back into its cage?’

The Elder nodded his agreement. ‘This is what I like about you, Sanjaya. You see things that even I don’t. “Far-sighted” should
be your title! Indeed, it isn’t just I who think so, but Suka said something similar about you the other day …’

Sanjaya inclined his head, gracefully accepting the compliment. However, he was not done. ‘Acharya, it’s never too early to
lay the foundations of doubt in people’s minds, a tiny suspicion that we can later use to control Govinda. As you’ve often
said, a beautiful woman can be a dangerous weapon … There could always be rumour of … improprieties. Govinda clearly holds
some affection for the girl, innocent or otherwise …’

‘On the contrary. I want you to avoid any such rumours, whether baseless or not, at all costs,’ Dwaipayana instructed. ‘It
would spoil our plans completely.’

Sanjaya was not convinced. ‘If you say so, Acharya,’ he grudgingly admitted. ‘But coming back to the original point, I’m afraid
Dharma is still unprepared to claim a realm for his own, with or without Govinda Shauri. Kandava is a very dangerous place
indeed.’

‘Which is why, Sanjaya, your king and his son, Dhritarastra and Syoddhan, didn’t hesitate for a moment to cede Western Kuru
to Dharma. Besides, when have my son and grandson ever refused me anything? The idea of giving Dharma a kingdom of his own
should please the Grandsire Bhisma, too. As for Kandava, there’s nothing to be afraid of. The blessings of Indra himself shall
be on Dharma. Go and tell my grandson to do his duty and rightfully claim his own.’

Sanjaya hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was the best time to share his true suspicions about Govinda with the Vyasa.
He immediately thought better of it. Bidding his farewell, he left the hermitage, riding straight for Hastina.

As soon as he arrived, Sanjaya quickly washed up and changed his clothes, doing away with all evidence of his recent travel
and the urgency with which he had returned. Then, picking up one of many minor administrative scrolls he had kept by just
for such an occasion, he called on Dharma. As was common between men of learning, the two spent a long time in pleasant conversation
on many topics. Only when the palace guard changed for the night, did the two become aware of the late hour. Sanjaya immediately
took his
leave, remembering at the last moment to deliver the scroll that had brought him there in the first place.

Alone, Dharma cast a quick glance at the parchment and threw it aside, wondering distractedly why Sanjaya had considered the
meaningless document so important. Brushing the question away, he sat down and turned his attention to the niggling idea that
had arisen quite suddenly at the back of his mind. He lay wide-eyed and sleepless through the remaining hours of the night.

The next evening, when Dharma joined Panchali for a walk on the pristine lawns, as was their routine, he told her about Sanjaya’s
visit and the chain of thought that it had set off in his head.

Panchali cursed silently, as she puzzled over what it could all mean. She felt a chill run through her, though she was fairly
snug and warm in a woollen tunic and the matching shawl of thick yarn that she had worn over her usual antariya. Some years
ago, she had borrowed one of Shikandin’s woollen tunics and found it to be most comfortable. Laughing at the sight of her
in his oversized garment, her brother had immediately sent riders to Gandhara, where the women wore such clothing through
their harsh winters. The feminine woollen tunics of that region had become Panchali’s winter staple ever since. The rich,
brocade-embellished garment she now wore was, however, a gift from Queen Gandhari. When she had heard of Panchali’s fondness
for clothing from her homeland, Gandhari had arranged for her best seamstresses to create a tasteful wardrobe of matching
tunics and shawls for her. The queen had commented on the occasion that Hastina, after all, was both colder and windier than
Kampilya. Panchali had not missed the innuendo in her words.

‘What do you think, Panchali?’ Dharma intruded on her reverie.

Panchali dithered a moment, but not for reasons of discretion. Unlike the palace, with its many hidden corridors and keyholes,
the garden afforded a rare privacy. This once, however, she was unsure of what to say. ‘I’m honoured that you ask me, Dharma,’
she eventually said, ‘but shouldn’t you consult with your mother and brothers?’

‘I’d be most grateful for your opinion,’ he told her.

‘We don’t have a choice, do we?’ Panchali ventured, a little hesitantly. ‘The only alternative is to let things remain as
they are …’

‘True,’ Dharma agreed. ‘But are we, in fact, better off as dependants? I assure you, it is not possible to win Kandava from
Takshaka in battle. It may well be a way to see us to our deaths. I don’t fear conflict, Panchali, but I do fear dishonour.
This wouldn’t be an even fight by any token. But, as you said, do we have a choice? We’ve been here, at Hastina, for two years,
come the next rains.’

‘And you believe that Govinda can find a way to conquer Kandava?’

‘Perhaps,’ Dharma began, ‘there are such things as destiny and coincidence, as Dwaipayana often tells me. Govinda Shauri is
my maternal uncle’s son, but that relationship has been long neglected. Now he is kinsman anew and, so, my ally. I hear he’s
dealt with the Nagas before. Perhaps it’s a good time to invite him to Hastina.’

Panchali laughed softly. In a wistful tone she said, ‘Brahman, the eternal universe, knows no coincidences. What we humans
call coincidence is just our failure to see deeper meaning and purpose.’

‘Panchali, your words are worth their weight in gold.’

‘These aren’t my words, Dharma. Call it coincidence, but it was Govinda Shauri who once said this to me.’

The two walked in companionable silence till they reached Panchali’s rooms.

‘There is one more thing …’ Dharma slowly began, sitting down on a couch. ‘I shall take courage from what you said a while
ago and share something that’s been on my mind for some time. I’m sure you know that Subadra is with child …’

Panchali nodded. She brought him a glass of wine and sat down beside him as he continued, ‘I am of the opinion that her child,
as the eldest of the next generation, ought to be heir to whatever domain we rule …’

‘Dharma, that’s wonderful,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s … I mean … I’m at a loss for words!’

‘Thank you, my dear. But there’s something more I need from you, if this is to be done.’

‘Of course!’

Dharma reached out to take Panchali’s hand in his. ‘Legally, you and I will be the parents of all children born to us five
brothers. I want them all to be brought up as one and never know any differences among them. You’ve seen how our cousins and
we have been torn apart by such issues. I don’t want that to happen to the next generation, at all costs, and so …’

‘Hmm?’ she gently encouraged.

‘We’ll have no children of our own, Panchali. That way, there will be no difference, no basis on which the heir’s title can
be contested.’

Panchali repressed the surge of anger that she felt, forcing herself to look at the outcome rather than consider Dharma’s
true intentions. Despite his claims that his idea was rooted in a sense of fairness and in the interests of peace, she knew
what his real motivation was. He needed Govinda on his side if Kandava was ever to be reclaimed, and this was to be Govinda’s
inducement, his bait: The thought of his line, his blood, on the throne of the Kurus in generations to come.

Or, she wondered, as she remembered her strange encounter with the Firewright scholar, was this entire plan of Govinda Shauri’s
devising after all.
Who manipulates whom? Who holds the strings that makes us all puppets?

She realized that Dharma was anxiously awaiting her response to his proposal. One that was for the greater good, no matter
what other private motives it served.
An individual for the sake of the family
…

Panchali nodded her assent. ‘But of course,’ she affirmed. ‘I agree that it would be best …’ She faltered, gasping as, without
warning, Dharma pulled her close and into his arms.

To Panchali’s surprise, there was no trace of the man she had known on her wedding night, the guilt-ridden, morally tormented
man. Instead, Dharma was far from restrained as he romanced and seduced her. As he led her to the bed, she thought to resist
him, out of sheer spite. She felt as though she were outside of her body, watching herself in Dharma’s arms, amused and abstractedly
pondering her own dilemma because the problem was far more interesting than the solution. Laughing softly, she gave in.

Later that night, as she lay in Dharma’s arms, sated and tired, Panchali smiled softly into the dark. She would see Govinda
again, very soon.

ALL OF HASTINA TOOK ON A FESTIVE AIR TO GREET GOVINDA
Shauri. Dhritarastra gave explicit orders that no cost or effort should be spared on the occasion. If the order arose from
the king’s genuine affection for Govinda, that appeared to have been overlooked entirely as everyone, from the attendants
to Dhritarastra’s sons, laboured to show off Hastina’s might and glory. Even the stones of the fortress and the marble walls
of the palace seemed to shine brighter, almost dazzling the eye.

A few days before Govinda was due to arrive, every vassal and saamanta, every friend and ally of the Kurus rode to Hastina,
accompanied by impressive guards of honour and some with even a full battalion of soldiers. At Dhrupad’s insistence, Dhrstyadymn
led in a full division of the Panchala army. Shikandin, however, came into the city as a discreet, lone traveller. He used
one of the minor entrances to the palace grounds, a small portcullis manned by just two guards. Bhim met him at the gate and
escorted him directly to Dharma’s palace.

The moment Shikandin stepped into the hallway, Panchali threw herself into his arms and burst into tears. A thoroughly perplexed
Shikandin tried to console her and she finally got a hold of herself.

‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve missed you so much …’ Panchali smiled through her tears and added, ‘Who’d have reckoned me
for a sentimental woman?’

‘Woman?’ Shikandin exclaimed in mock astonishment. ‘Panchali, only adults are considered women, not blubbering children …’

‘So say you, you overgrown infant!’ Panchali retorted, and the two siblings laughed heartily.

The next few days, Panchali felt almost as happy as she used to back in Kampilya. Dhrstyadymn bore the brunt of the inevitable
diplomatic meetings and exchanges with good grace, leaving Panchali and Shikandin with all the time they needed with each
other. Despite his happiness at seeing his sister, though, Shikandin was clearly not comfortable being at Hastina. At first
Panchali thought it the result of their father’s usual distrust and malice, which indeed was reflected in how the Kurus dealt
with him as compared to Dhrstyadymn. But she understood the real cause of Shikandin’s unease when she saw his reaction to
the small figure who sat alone on a stone bench under one of the many broad arches that artistically dotted the gardens of
Hastina’s palace.

Subadra saw Panchali look in her direction, but pretended that she had not noticed. She tried to ignore the pang of jealousy
she felt for the slightest of moments, but gave up, feeling tired of the simple purposelessness of her own life. If it had
not been for Panchali, Subadra knew, she would have gone mad at Hastina.

It had been easy for Subadra to be a rebel in the comfort and safety of her brothers’ indulgent care. She had spoken freely,
thrown caution to the winds and lived a carefree life. But Hastina was not Dwaraka, and to her own surprise she had found
that she did not have Panchali’s courage. She submitted to the expectations of Kurus and pretended to be the shy, passive
woman they wanted her to be. A part of her wondered if she did so just to be anything but the person Partha had seen at Dwaraka.
Perhaps, she concluded, this was her way of seeking a convoluted revenge for what he had done.

Panchali’s support and affection had been unconditional. Not once did she judge or question Subadra’s submissive behaviour,
but in her own, silent way she signalled that she would not hesitate to stand up for her younger companion. In turn, Subadra
had been what Panchali had needed to resume a cordial relationship with Partha. Still, his attraction for Panchali was not
something he managed to hide successfully. Subadra, for her part, pretended not to notice, more for Panchali’s sake than Partha’s.

The young woman looked unseeing into the distance, fighting back the tears that welled up in her eyes. This was not what she
had
thought she would become. Worse still, this was not what Govinda had wanted for her. She dreaded her brother’s arrival, as
much as she longed for it; she dreaded to let him see her this way.

A painfully familiar voice intruded on her reverie. ‘You look worried, whether you’ll admit it or not …’ Shikandin was alone.
Panchali, now a distant image, was headed back indoors.

Subadra looked at him with mild disapproval. ‘I’m just bored,’ she responded lightly.

‘Bored?’ Shikandin teased, ‘Mahamatra, you break my heart. Barely moments of my company and you’re already bored!’ He clucked
sadly. ‘I really must learn to be more interesting.’

‘But you don’t need to be more interesting! In fact, your wretched situation is to your advantage. Women would lavish their
affections on you out of pity, if nothing else. Then, of course, you’d have little time for me, but I suppose I must make
this sacrifice for you,’ Subadra finished with feigned resignation.

Shikandin stared into her eyes, marvelling at the innocence, the openness they held. She was trying to be playful, he knew,
but every emotion, every move of hers was so obvious and clear to him.
How could anyone be so trusting
, he asked himself.

‘I’m the father of a ten-year-old boy, Subadra. I don’t think there is room in my life for a woman’s affections anymore,’
he casually said.

She did not reply. Shikandin took a seat next to her on the bench and looked at her. She was every bit as gorgeous as he remembered
her to be. Subadra had Balabadra’s light skin, and oval, cherubic face, but Govinda’s cheeky grin. She wore a long antariya,
wrapped around her hips to fall till her ankles, with a few pleats thrown in to allow for easy movement. A short, fitting,
tunic covered her bust, and her upper robe discreetly hid the tell-tale bulge of her abdomen.

‘I’m glad to see you, Shikandin,’ she told him. ‘It’s been long, far too long.’

‘I didn’t think I’d ever see you here of all places, Subadra,’ he replied.

‘Or perhaps you didn’t want to see me at all? I’ve been here so long, and Kampilya is but a day’s ride … It would have meant
so much to me to hear a kind word from you …’

‘Hmm, let’s see, a kind word. Do you remember when I told you that even if I were the dumbest stone, I’d come to life at the
sight of you? That I’d gladly become a brick in the walls of Dwaraka just to have a glimpse of your enchanting face every
day?’

Subadra laughed. ‘You were drunk that day!’ she reminded him. ‘And you still haven’t told me which poor poet you stole that
line from,’ she teased. ‘Or will you now admit that you were driven to your wits’ end by my incomparable beauty?’

‘Beauty? What beauty? It was the shock of nearly being run down by you and your horses!’ Shikandin roared with mirth as Subadra
feigned offence. Finally, their laughter softened and stopped. The two enjoyed the brief quiet that followed.

‘I’m glad to see you, too,’ Shikandin suddenly declared, his voice hoarse. ‘I just wish the circumstances had been otherwise.’

Subadra gasped and looked at him in amazement. His eyes said more than he had. ‘What … what do you mean?’ she whispered.

Shikandin looked down at his large, calloused hands. ‘When I heard that two of Govinda’s stallions had been yoked to the chariot
it was easy to guess what had happened. If you’d eloped of your own accord, you’d have driven all four horses. I doubt Partha
can manage that, skilled as he may be. The fact that only two horses were taken …’ He shrugged.

Subadra said nothing, but turned away to stare into the distance once again.

‘I hope you’re happy here … with Partha.’ With that, Shikandin stood and bowed regally before he walked away.

Inside the palace, Bhisma watched from a window as Shikandin strode across the green lawns.

‘He would have made a great monarch,’ Asvattama pointed out in his slow, sardonic manner, relishing the way Bhisma’s smug
smile
disappeared. ‘He’s the kind of man who deserves First Honour at every ceremony he graces. But, alas, neither distinction will
ever be his, will it?’

Bhisma glared at the younger man. ‘I’ve done whatever it takes to preserve the honour of the Kurus. The son must pay for the
sins of the father. Shikandin must pay for Dhrupad’s errors, just as you must pay for Dron’s. For my part, I’ve wished no
one ill, but I won’t hesitate to destroy anyone who threatens the glory of this great dynasty. Is that clear?’

Asvattama nodded. It was not without cause that Bhisma had mentioned his father.

‘You wished to speak to me about something, Grandsire?’ he asked, emphasizing on Bhisma’s epithet. He wanted there to be no
doubt that his deference to the older man was based on age alone and not on title. Bhisma was just a regent, where Asvattama
was a king.

‘You know that Dharma has been given the western half of Kuru as his to rule?’

‘I do.’

‘And? What do you think?’

‘It’s not for me to comment on the internal policies of the Kurus,’ Asvattama said. ‘After all, yours is a sovereign state,
just like mine
.’

The older man did not rise to the bait. He said, ‘And the Nagas, what are they?’

Asvattama said nothing, but waited in silence, as if Bhisma had not finished speaking.

‘You are a Firewright …’ Bhisma said at length.

‘No. I’m merely a descendant of Agni Angiras.’

‘It is more than birth, Asvattama. I’ve seen you since you were an infant, my boy; you have the Firewright talent, something
that your father and your uncle Kripa both lack completely.’

Asvattama frowned, not sure if the old Regent meant to condemn or compliment him. His father Dron, he knew, would not be pleased
at either possibility.

Bhisma went on, ‘I just thought you might be in a good position to assess the chances that Dharma has of getting rid of Takshaka.
It seems to me that the Nagas have always had a surprising affinity, friendship even, with the Firewrights. I only wonder
how deep that affinity goes. Is it possible that they have weapons more powerful than ours? I can’t help but worry sometimes
… What if there is some astra, weapon, far more powerful than every other force on earth? Do you believe in it, Asvattama?
Do you think someone has it?’

Asvattama now understood what Bhisma wanted. It amused him a lot more than he let show. ‘You must have considered all possibilities
before you advised the King to give Western Kuru to Dharma. Ghora Angirasa’s death, Agniveshya Angirasa’s death – you must
have considered the fact that no Firewrights remain to fight for your enemies, and against you and your kinsmen. What makes
you doubt your own conclusions?’

Bhisma fixed Asvattama with a penetrating look. He found the man just a little too perceptive for his comfort. He turned away
to look out the window, again. Shikandin was nearly at Dharma’s palace, at the far end of the grounds, and would soon disappear
from view.

‘What about Govinda Shauri?’ Bhisma asked, disdain ringing in his voice.

‘What about him?’

‘Is he … dangerous?’

‘He remains undefeated in battle,’ Asvattama replied.

‘Which is no great feat if one surrenders or runs away from a fight,’ Bhisma snorted. ‘Besides, I can’t think of any notable
wars he’s fought. Dwaraka was built on uninhabited land and there was no conquest there. His only claim to valour is the killing
of Kans and, of course, the so-called downfall of the Firewrights. Frankly, that’s far too much credit to a man who did nothing
but stand aside and watch while others finished them off.’

‘Itself a great achievement, I’d venture. Others would have gladly scavenged on the remains.’

Bhisma glowered with restrained rage. He was not as tall as Asvattama, but had the burly physique that was quite common among
Kuru men. As a matter of habit, he hovered over Asvattama menacingly as he said, ‘I am the Regent of Kuru, born of the blood
of Pururavas himself. I’ve earned my arms and my reputation both by defeating the great Firewright warrior Barghava Rama in
battle. Don’t try my patience, young man!’

Asvattama, however, was not a man to be intimidated. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,
Grandsire
,’ he lightly replied, adding, ‘it’s unfortunate that you should think I would.’

Bhisma paused, then leaned closer still. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he hissed, ‘Tell me, plainly, do you think Govinda
is capable of treachery? Do you think he was a traitor?’

‘A traitor to whom?’

A strained, palpable silence followed as Bhisma stepped back, carefully avoiding his companion’s eyes. Eventually he said,
‘Thank you for coming to see me. It’s kind of you to indulge an old man.’

Asvattama nodded and turned to go. He was almost at the door when he turned around to ask, softly, ‘Is there anything else
I can do for you?’

A look of relief flooded Bhisma’s face, as though he had been waiting for the offer. He nodded. ‘Kandava is not an easy conquest,
even for the best of men. Dwaipayana is a scholar and may have overestimated his grandchildren. Dharma and his brothers will
need help if they really are to have a chance at conquering the Nagas …’

‘And what is it you want me to do?’

‘My teachers – the Barghava warrior–scholars – had some of the most excellent weapons ever crafted in the history of Aryavarta.
I’ve heard that the last of the Jamadagni line passed many on to your father, and to you …’

Asvattama nodded. ‘I understand. I’ll make the arrangements.’

‘It’ll have to be done very discreetly. I don’t know if Dwaipayana …’ Bhisma hesitated, and then continued, ‘it’s best that
these arrangements are known only to those who understand – not all scholars are warriors and many warriors are not politicians.’

‘Yes, Grandsire,’ Asvattama nodded reassuringly and left the room.

Bhisma turned back to the window. All was quiet and still, almost as if the palace was uninhabited. There was neither bird
nor cloud
in the sky, and nothing moved. Nothing at all. He found the scene oppressive. It made him feel helpless, as he had most of
his life. A life filled with virtue, painstakingly earned by fulfilling every duty destiny had laid at his door. But it gave
such little satisfaction.