Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (23 page)

PANCHALI HAD LEARNED FROM SHIKANDIN THE SKILL, OR HABIT
even, of knowing when something was not quite all right. It was not a question of instinct or some such enhanced sense, but
more a methodical and rigorous exercise whereby the eyes missed nothing and the mind meticulously registered every detail,
and went over it all to identify the tiniest aberration. He had also taught her that the most crucial aberration could be
that everything looked normal. On this particular day – the morning after a grand celebration of the hundredth day since Abhimanyu’s
birth – it was the sight of Partha riding out of the fort in his everyday clothes, his horse setting a slow, purposeless pace,
a large, innocuously shapeless white bundle tied to the animal’s side. In the plain light of morning the banality of the scene
was excessive, contrived almost.

Without a second thought Panchali headed for the stables. She left the palace through one of the smaller exits, planning to
catch up with Partha somewhere in the city. The two guards at the small trellis saluted her. She greeted them and asked after
their children by name before casually riding on. Once past the exit she glanced around before quickly wrapping a simple linen
robe around her head like a man’s turban, except that she let the end fall in folds over her face,
leaving only her eyes uncovered. She also threw a light cloak made of fur around her shoulders. It made her look bulky, almost
burly. Urging her horse on at a gentle canter, in order to not attract attention, she set off in the same direction as Partha,
towards the city gates.

Partha was easy to keep in sight, especially since the teeming crowds moved to clear the path in front of him. As Panchali
neared the city gates, she discreetly manoeuvred herself into a convoy of traders. At first glance she might just pass for
a guard hired by merchants to protect their merchandise from bandits and such. She indulged in a snide smirk under her veil.
For all the trouble she was taking to be surreptitious, she had no idea whether tailing Partha was going to be of any use
at all.

The ride was uneventful until they neared the city limits. Panchali broke away from the stream of travellers on the Great
Road and moved towards the drinking well. From this point on the Great Road bent to the south-west, taking the mass of travellers
along with it. Partha, however, continued to ride due west along a narrow trail. If she followed him, he was sure to notice
her. Under her veil, Panchali bit her lip. She would have to let Partha get a lead on her and try to track his path on the
dusty trail. Ignoring the rumble of hunger from her stomach, she pretended to check her horse’s shoes and hooves for stones
as Partha moved further away. The smell of leavened bread from a vendor’s basket beckoned but she did not dare risk discovery
by trying to buy some. Her stomach growled again, louder this time. With a silent groan she swung back on to her steed, hoping
that Partha had gone far enough ahead.

The narrow trail was cluttered with many tracks from various animals. Panchali kept her eyes on the sides of the pathway to
see if any tracks led away from it. As long as there were none, she reasoned, it meant Partha had gone straight.

The land was slightly undulating in places, but by and large it was even. On either side of the trail the dark loamy soil
was streaked with the light brown of dry husk and dead leaves, turned into the earth and left to decompose. The spring harvest
was over and farmers were preparing to sow their crops in time for the summer rains. Panchali
saw a lone gwala, a young cowherd forced to brave the mid-morning sun while the others rested and ate under the shade of some
trees. The boy effortlessly managed a herd of nearly forty cattle. She tried to imagine Govinda as he might have been years
ago. Somehow the image that came to her mind was of an indolent youth lazing in some lush orchard, while the herd milled lovingly
around him, the order and obedience among the animals nothing short of uncanny. Laughing softly, Panchali removed her veil,
revelling in the fresh, cool wind blowing on her face. As her attention returned to the path before her, she noted with some
consternation the wall of green that lay ahead. The trail she was on either went into a forest or stopped dead at its edge.

Panchali’s thoughts rushed at her in a confused jumble. It would be impossible to track Partha once he was inside the forest.
In fact, his trail was as good as lost already. At the same time, she was beginning to have some idea of where Partha was
headed, which only made her all the more reluctant to go on. Swallowing hard, she reminded herself that she had been just
as afraid to enter the forests near Utkochaka, only to later find the woods to be harmless. With a few words of encouragement
to her horse, she urged him forward.

Not very far from where Panchali was making her way into the forest, Partha slowed his horse down to a trot and took in the
pleasant coolness of the woods around him. He had continued from the trail directly into the forest, moving along a straight
path until he reached the River Yamuna. He had then turned north. Fording the river at its shallows he continued northward,
but started moving away ever so slightly from the water’s course. Soon the land to his left began sloping gently upwards in
the form of a small, grassy hill with just a few trees in a clump at the top. Ahead of him, the river curved steeply around
the hill and was lost from view. Partha made for the crest. It was an easy climb and he was soon at the top of the hillock.
The lands that lay before him simply took his breath away.

‘By Yama’s black bull!’ he exclaimed. In contrast to the gentle slope that he had climbed, the other side of the hill fell
away in a
sheer, steep cliff. The small hill was the beginning of a series of crests and ridges, many of which were twice as high. Dark
peaks jutted out above towering green-blue mountains, the dense forest that covered the slopes and ridges beginning at the
lower foothills and rising almost two-thirds of the way to blend into a thick carpet of moss and creepers that grew in the
many clefts and crevices. Only the peaks were bare, as though nature had intended them purposively ominous. The densely forested
mountain range ran northward for many leagues, eventually blurring into the horizon.

Partha swung off his horse, and focused his attention on the nearer stretch of undulating land. He saw the occasional flash
of blue as the Yamuna meandered on along the edges of the forest, but for the most part it was an impenetrable canopy of green.
Huge trees rose to towering heights, their leaves thick and dark, their wood hard as iron. Thick branches, each the girth
of a well-built man, intertwined with an unnatural grace to seal darkness in and keep light out. An eerie stillness hovered
over the place, no shrubs rustled or creepers moved; no birds perched atop the trees or hovered, chirping, around the branches.
It almost made Partha believe the stories of the weird and terrible animals that roamed the deeper parts of this forest, where
even the sun and wind could not enter. He was a brave man, but the heavy stillness of this place was enough to send a chill
down the spines of stalwarts. This was Kandava, the dreaded realm of King Takshaka.

Drawing himself out of his initial awe, Partha raised his eyes to consider the rest of the landscape. Further away, to the
north, the river curved in to come closer to the forest. It then ran around it on two of its three sides, forming a border
on the eastern and north-eastern flanks. The hill that he stood on was part of a range that similarly enclosed the woods on
its southern and western flanks.

Impregnable Kandava. Hah!
Partha laughed out loud at the forest stretched out before him. From his elevation it almost felt like the expanse of green
lay at his feet. Dharma had certainly outdone himself this time.

When his brother had sent for him late the previous night, Partha had hardly expected it to be for this. It had been a day
of unrestrained
celebrations in Abhimanyu’s honour, but the celebrations and festivities were long over and even the palace guards had been
slumped over in a drunken stupor.

‘Why the secrecy, Brother?’ Partha had asked.

Dharma had looked grim, uncharacteristically determined. ‘Like it or not, Partha,’ he had said, ‘we are merely guests at Hastina.
There are many here who would be happy to see us all dead and even the walls of the palace have ears … I could not take any
chances. What I shall ask of you today, Brother, is to attempt the near-impossible. It’s not a task without danger. I would
not assign it to the father of a newborn child without good cause. For years Kandava has been unconquered, defended by the
skills of the Wrights. The time has come to take from Takshaka what is rightfully ours. This is our chance.
Your
chance. I’d wager anything on this. If anyone can do it, it’s you. Burn the forest down, Partha.’

Partha had been shocked. But there was more to follow. ‘Don’t worry,’ Dharma had added, ‘you won’t be alone. You see, Govinda
has a plan … But this is
your
duty to fulfil, Partha. In the name of all that is sacred, good and moral, burn down that pit of snakes.’

That simple encouragement had been enough and he, Partha, son of Indra and heir to Pandu Kauravya, had only been happy to
comply.

Trembling with anticipation, he carefully undid the bundle that Dharma had given him. His mouth fell open. It was a bow unlike
any he had ever seen before. The light, supple metal blazed in the sunlight as if it were molten fire. Not even the most burnished
of mirrors showed such a keen reflection as the silver-white metal did. It was strong and light enough to lift up high, if
required, and yet large and firm enough to prop up on the ground to avoid recoil. Partha ran his hand over the weapon, admiring
its impeccable craft. His eyes then fell on the inscription. Partha read it out loud, his voice solemn with respect: ‘I am
Gandiva, whose call fills terror in the hearts of enemies.’ With the softest of touches, as if caressing his lover, he plucked
and then released the bowstring. It twanged a low, rich note, booming deep and long. Extremely flexible, it would
let him vary the thrust and distance on his arrows without having to adjust its length every time.

The clatter of hooves drew his attention. ‘What …?’ he whipped around in alarm.

Panchali pulled on the reins to bring her horse came to a stop in front of Partha. She had hardly dismounted when he came
forward to meet her.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, angry at her sudden appearance.

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she retorted. ‘What in the name of the gods is going on? We shouldn’t be here.’

‘It’s destiny, Panchali. Kandava will be destroyed today.’

‘And you’re going to be the one to do it? You’re going to take on the Nagas all by yourself?’

‘It’s my duty, what my brother has commanded me to do, and I won’t fail. Indeed, today the world will wonder if the two ancient
powers Nara and Narayana themselves have descended to earth in my form,’ Partha proudly declared.

‘Surely,’ a deep, familiar voice drawled from behind Panchali, ‘to be one ancient power is achievement enough? To comprise
both Nara and Narayana in one human form seems extravagant. I don’t suppose you’d care to spare me one of your two alter egos?’

Govinda walked out from a small copse of trees, leading Balahak by the reins. He nodded casually at Panchali and told Partha,
‘I didn’t expect you here till much later, Partha. I was having a rather restful nap, an exceptionally fragrant nap, I must
say, under that jasmine tree – the one with its flowers in full bloom. But now that I’m awake, we might as well get to work.’

Partha slapped Govinda on the back, laughing. It was almost like being back at Dwaraka, he thought, those wonderful months
of friendship, selfless and without expectations.
A true friendship between equals
. Momentarily he revelled in the notion.

Panchali was unimpressed. She drew in a sharp breath and demanded, ‘Now? You mean you’re going to do this now? But … how?’

As if in answer, Partha pulled an arrow out of the quiver on his back.

Panchali noticed that these were not the usual arrows archers used – these were flint-tipped. The shaft of the arrow, too,
was longer than usual, no doubt to give it greater thrust to reach its target. Her eyes narrowed as she realized that the
metal itself looked different; it was a lot lighter and shinier than the dull iron that was mostly used.

In growing alarm she cast her eyes upward at the sky. There was not a single cloud overhead and the sun shone down with unrelenting
fury despite winter being hardly a month past. Even if the weather turned, it would take nothing less than a storm to extinguish
a blazing forest.

‘By the gods, you are going to do this! You’re going to burn it down, you’re going to burn them all!’ she frantically said.
‘Partha … have pity, those are people in there, human beings … children even …’

‘How else can we fight this battle, Panchali? This isn’t just about reclaiming what is ours. There is a greater purpose here:
to destroy that which is evil. The forest is a labyrinth. Its complex, twisted paths are designed to drive any unfortunate
wanderer insane. Neither sunlight nor moonlight can find their way in and deeper in the forest the trees grow close enough
to form an impassable wall. Within that infernal darkness, the flowers and trees themselves bear poisons and hallucination-causing
saps. Fire is the only answer.’

He laughed coldly at Panchali’s furious stare, and added, ‘Ask Govinda here, if you don’t believe me, Panchali.’

‘He’s right,’ Govinda affirmed.

‘And so,’ Partha declared, ‘the demons of Kandava will burn in the very flames of the netherworld! This is war!’ Then, closing
his eyes, he whispered a prayer as he thrust the tip of an arrow into the hard ground. The impact set the arrowhead alight.
Panchali watched, at first with fascination and then with increasing horror, as the flame, an iridescent blue streak rather
than the yellow-orange of a normal fire, burnt strong. Setting the flaming arrow to his bow, Partha drew back the string and
let fly the shaft. The arrow took a long, looping path to disappear into the canopy of treetops. Many more arrows quickly
followed, all landing to form a perfectly straight line from where the first shaft had pierced the canopy to where they now
stood.
Partha’s reputation as one of the best archers in all of Aryavarta was undoubtedly merited.