Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (24 page)

As the three of them watched from the hilltop, the faint flash that had begun on the tree-canopy grew quickly into a steady
blaze, the crackle and sizzle of burning wood and leaves gradually becoming louder. The arrows had done their work. Looking
satisfied, Partha released the next line of arrows, building what soon would be an unstoppable forest fire.

‘No! Stop! Stop it right now!’ Panchali cried out. She looked around ineffectively for some way to deter the archer. Her panic
seemed only to increase Partha’s amusement, and he responded by lifting Gandiva up high to release the shafts almost straight
up. The arrows flew high and covered an even greater distance before sinking into the trees somewhere well past the middle
of the forest.

Panchali bit her lower lip in exasperation. Her anger against Partha, against Dharma and his ambitions, paled in comparison
to what she felt when she turned to Govinda. The expression of calm on his face infuriated her. Spurred on by rage she ran
to her horse and climbed on.

‘Panchali, no! Wait!’ Govinda shouted after her.

She swung around to face him. ‘I won’t watch helplessly. There may still be time if only they’re warned!’ With that she urged
her horse into a gallop down the hill.

‘Maraka! This woman …’ Govinda ran to Balahak, and set off behind her.

Partha watched the two until they were out of his view and then turned back to the task at hand. This was
his
duty, Dharma had said so. Clearing his mind, he sent another blazing arrow into sky and watched it till it disappeared into
the sea of green below.

‘
FASTER! FASTER!’ PANCHALI URGED HER HORSE ALONG THE
riverbank. In blind fury she had desperately coaxed all the speed she
could out of her steed to get here, but now she slowed down as she reached the fringes of the forest. She had hoped to find
some guards or soldiers to whom she could convey the danger the Nagas were in, but not a single living creature, human or
animal, stirred. Despite the fire-arrows there did not seem to be any movement or activity inside the forest. Instead, a dank
smell reached out from its dark depths, as though warning her that it was death itself. She grimly realized it might already
be too late for her to warn the Nagas. The thought was enough to spur her on, and with a whispered prayer she turned left,
crashing through the leaves and undergrowth into the thick forest. She headed straight in until the edge of the woods was
a tiny sliver of light behind her. And then that too was gone.

Panchali slowed her horse down to a walk as she tried to get her bearings, reminding herself that she had entered the woods
facing west. Further inward the land would rise sharply, she knew, but here it was still level. The dank stink that now furiously
invaded her nostrils came from the slimy lichen that carpeted the ground. The trees grew close and thick, just as Partha had
said, forming a wall of wood as hard as one of any rock or stone. She tried looking up, but all she saw was darkness. This
was different from the darkness that night brought – thicker, its uniformity somehow oppressive. Closing her eyes, she tried
to rein in her other senses, focus them. But there was the silence, a horrifying blanket of emptiness that was more than the
mere absence of sound. The horse’s breathing, the slight jingling of bridle and rein, even the susurrus of her own movement,
nothing could be heard.

A nameless fear crept up on her. Suddenly she felt dizzy and short of breath. Gasping, choking, she fell off her horse. The
faithful steed whinnied and moved towards her to nuzzle her gently.

‘No, no, no …! Hai!’ she tried to stop the animal from turning to her, but in vain. She clambered to her feet, clutching its
reins for support. ‘Oh Rudra and Hara!’ Now she would no longer know which way was west. She was lost in the darkness of Kandava.

With a loud gasp, Panchali let go of the breath she had been holding. She became aware that this was not some horrid dream.
Somehow, the realization made her feel braver than she had expected.
Better to move, than to just stand here
, she reasoned. Squaring her shoulders, she began walking, not knowing whether her steps led her deeper inside or back toward
the light.

Panchali knew it was hardly some time since she had begun walking, but it felt like a really long time in the strange darkness.
She stopped, hoping that something had changed in the seamless black and that she could see something, anything at all. When
she heard the soft steps, she first thought she was imagining things, or had perhaps been driven insane by terror.

She very nearly screamed as someone called out, ‘Panchali! Over here!’

She heard it again, and relief broke out on her face as she recognized the voice.

‘Devala! Oh, thank …’ she began, but he silenced her with a finger on her lip. Grabbing her wrist, he began walking into the
darkness with familiarity. She had no choice but to follow. Completely unaware of where she was being led, and bursting with
questions, Panchali matched the scholar’s long strides. In her other hand she held the reins of her horse, who faithfully
trotted alongside. After a while it felt as though the darkness around her was lightening up a bit and she peered ahead hopefully,
looking forward to getting out of the damned forest. Her heart fell as the light took on a reddish hue and the smell of smoke
began teasing her nostrils.

Devala was leading her towards the blaze.

Panchali stopped in her tracks. Unbidden memories of another fire made her stomach churn and she dug her nails deep into her
palm to keep from screaming. Devala pulled at her, but she did not move. The light was enough now for her to see him clearly.
She looked at him, letting him see the terror and panic she felt. Slowly, almost pleading, she shook her head.

The man considered her, frowning, and let go of her wrist.

‘Are you satisfied?’ he asked her, his voice cold. ‘Do you see what your precious Govinda Shauri has done? As long as Kandava
existed, as long as the Nagas held some scraps of our old skills, there
was hope. Now it’s all gone.’ His voice dropped to a sad whisper. ‘I’d believed you could stop him. I thought you
would
stop him! I thought that where every human emotion had failed, you could perhaps get Govinda to show compassion. But he feels
nothing, does he?’

Panchali failed to hold back her tears, though she only half understood Devala’s words. ‘I didn’t know,’ she screamed. ‘Trust
me, I had no idea it would come to this. I thought … How could I have known that …?’

‘How could you not have known? Govinda lives to destroy us! All you stupid fools ever see are his petty squabbles with Jarasandha,
you see him defy the Emperor and assume he’s just another idiot of a ruler. His true feud lies with us, with the Firewrights!
If only you knew what a son of a whore he really is …’ Words of contempt finally failed the scholar and he spat on the ground
in disgust.

‘No,’ Panchali protested. ‘
You
don’t know him … He’s not like that, he’s not like that at all!’

Even as she said the words, it came to her that this horrific fire had been
Govinda’s
plan.
He
had led Partha and Dharma to burn the forest.
He
was responsible for this horror! Devala was right, she should have known, right that very day when Dharma had first spoken
to Govinda of this; she should have said something right then. But she had not. She failed in the very task Devala had entrusted
to her. A part of her longed to run, to hide from the reality of her mistake by drowning in the sea of fire ahead, but even
as confusion and fear dimmed her senses she was reminded of the events that had led to this moment, of why she had ridden
into the forest. She turned to Devala, frantic. ‘We must get the Nagas out of here,’ she declared.

‘Muhira!’ the Firewright snorted in contempt. ‘It’s too late. No one defies the gods and the gods show no mercy to those who
try. I shall pay for trusting you.’

With a last look at her, he walked on, right towards the raging fire.

Panchali watched, aghast, as he stepped through a wall of flame and disappeared from view. Devala’s parting words rang in
her mind. She had failed. She had been nothing but a child, indulging in her pretended revenge against the system; she had
lived in the
make-believe worlds of those around her. How stupid, how careless of her. She should have confided in her brothers, in Shikandin
if no one else. He would have done something to stop Govinda, to prevent this destruction.

Screams and shouts echoed around her all of a sudden – the voices of men and women, the agonized cries of children. Panchali
vaguely recognized her own wails of despair, adding to the din. Falling to her knees, she sobbed out loud, helpless and defeated.
How had it come to this?

Her mind rifled through scattered memories, of the day she had first met Govinda, the day he had kissed her hand in an innocent
gesture of friendship, the days spent laughing and talking, with him, with her brothers … The happiest days of her life, when
she had felt neither like an orphan nor like the princess of Panchala, but just a person, just who she was. A person with
dreams of a better world, a better life. How naive, stupid, childish she had been!

No one defies the gods and they show no mercy to those who try
.

Panchali closed her eyes but she could still clearly see the burning forms, the faces of the dying. She felt a fleeting moment
of clarity, of being able to understand many things. It turned into numb acceptance as she came to terms with her failure
to stop the horror around her.

Govinda the gwala dared defy a king to become Govinda Shauri, just as I, a nameless, kinless orphan dared to become Princess
Panchali. We are the two halves of a whole. I shall burn alive for his wrongs
.

A sudden calm settled on her. Wiping away her tears, Panchali waited.

The fire drew closer.

GOVINDA PUSHED BALAHAK ON AT HIS FASTEST, BUT PANCHALI’S
fury seemed to have given her horse wings. Nevertheless, he had managed to keep her within view and was swiftly gaining on
her. If only she had stopped to listen … But he knew her well enough to
realize that no quick explanation would have sufficed. It was best that she took a closer look for herself. He could always
get her out of the forest before she put herself in harm’s way.

A quick movement in the forest just beyond the first rows of trees caught his eye. He turned in his saddle to get a better
look, even as he began wondering if Panchali was doing the right thing after all. Yes, he decided, there was no question.
It was clearly a human figure, and it certainly was not Panchali. Govinda hesitated, wondering whether to continue his chase,
or to find and warn whoever might still be inside the forest.
She’ll never forgive me if I don’t
…

With a groan of resignation, he wheeled Balahak around and made for the gap between the trees where he had last seen the form.
He stopped at the edge of the forest, letting his eyes, and Balahak’s, get used to the dark before they went forward. He looked
around intently, but saw no trace of any living creature. And now he had lost Panchali’s trail. Cursing, Govinda promised
himself that when this was over he would really let her hear it. Anger gave way to hope as he heard a soft sound behind him,
but before he could move a sharp pain pierced the flesh on his left side, just below his ribs. An arrow, he recognized. But
he could think no further as on the wings of the weapon came a terrible horde.

Through the umbra rushed creatures of darkness and shadow. Govinda did not know how he was able to see them in that empty
blackness, but see them he did – in immaculate detail. The shadows were alive, distinct and varying in texture, in light and
colour. Except that here, in this forsaken place, even light was black. Birds, beasts and other creatures of hideous form
let out screeching wails that he felt rather than heard. The nameless creatures sank their teeth and claws into his flesh.
Stirred by the pain, he tried to fight. With great effort, he pulled his sword out of its scabbard and swung at the enemy.
The silver-gold flash of the blade pierced the darkness as though it were soft flesh.

Suddenly, the shadow-creatures were gone. Breathing hard, Govinda tried to regain his bearings. As the darkness thinned a
little, he thought he could see the vague outlines of trees and huts
in the distance, silhouetted against a dull light. He could also clearly hear sounds he had not heard before – the buzz of
insects, the rustle of leaves. As if to prove it, someone called out his name. Children ran around laughing and playing. A
boy ran up to him. Laughing, the child held out his hand. In response, Govinda swung his blade, hacking off the boy’s head.
And then he could not stop. Children, their companions, the mothers who ran to protect them, all lay dead. His sword cut clean
through each one of them, hacking at their bodies, their limbs until they collapsed in heaps of flesh. Their eyes remained
alive and accusing.

‘No!’ Govinda gasped in vain.

Laughing, the shadow creatures returned to peck at the bodies of those he had brutally murdered. He ran among the dead as
a madman, till the creatures turned their attentions back to him. This time, Govinda decided, he would welcome the pain as
they ripped off his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he bore the searing touch of the shadow creatures, but he could only take it
for so long. A terrible scream rent the air, followed by more such ringing screams of agony. He realized that it was a familiar
voice, a very familiar voice. Pain shot through him anew, as many more screams came through the darkness. An abyss opened
at his feet, its depths beckoning. His last thought before he fell headlong into the chasm was of Panchali.

If only she were safe
…

Her long, dark hair streamed behind her, gleaming like a black sun. She turned, saw him and ran to him, laughing. But before
he could reach her, she burst into flames. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to put out the flames. Surprisingly, they
did not burn him. But he could hear her scream in pain, the sound shrill and piercing. Her face, her lovely, innocent face
contorted in unimaginable horror. Then she was gone and Govinda was alone in the woods – dark woods that now took the shape
of indistinct memories.

The shadowy form of Shikandin was next to him, looking at him but not quite. At his signal, other shadows stepped forward,
drawing their swords, and they all jumped out into a clearing, taking
the Emperor’s soldiers by surprise. Govinda hacked down two men, but his mind was not on the battle. There was something else
he had to do, but he did not know what. Through a haze that clouded his vision, he saw the wooden trapdoor set in the ground.
Grabbing the iron ring set into the wood, he raised the trapdoor and peered in. She reached out to him from within, arms thrown
out, beckoning him to her. He wanted to jump inside, but could not. Shikandin pulled him away and shouted out orders to his
shadow companions to withdraw. The door slammed shut, sealing her inside.

Govinda yelled out. Writhing free of Shikandin he tried to scramble back to the trapdoor. She was inside; he had to save her.
A withered figure, his face and body covered with burn scars blocked his way. The words he spoke came in an insane cackle.
‘She’s dead … She’s dead. We killed her, you and I!’ the man said.

Govinda got to his feet and grabbed the man by his shoulders. ‘Where is she?’ he roughly asked. ‘Where is she, Agniveshya?’

In reply, there was only laughter.

Abruptly, the maddening cackle gave way to soundlessness. Govinda was now in a dark pit-like cavern, watched by a tall, thin
man who was both familiar and threatening. Pain coursed through him as he tried to move, to push himself off the ground and
onto his knees. The chains around his wrists clanked. He looked down at his almost-bare body, bloodied and gashed. He tried
to stand up but slipped, falling flat on his face on the slime-covered floor. His outstretched hand touched something … something
he did not want to see. Something he had seen before. Bile rose up in his throat, flooding his mouth with a sick taste.

This, Govinda knew, was the most terrifying apparition of them all. Worse still, this was neither just imagination nor memory.
He was living it, every excruciating moment of it, but with the added torment of knowing what lay ahead. If he turned, he
would see …

He tried to scramble away with a feverish energy, but the darkness with its terrible creatures rushed towards him. Slowly,
bit by bit, it pushed him closer, close enough to touch … He tried to push the
darkness back, but it slipped through his fingers and came at him again. No light could enter this forsaken hell.

Unless …

Some deep instinct brought to mind words, lost words of long ago, learned and forgotten, the forgetting but a means of keeping
them safe for this moment.

Govinda did not know what the words meant, nor did he immediately understand their purpose. But he knew he was meant to remember
them.

The creatures of the darkness laughed at him.
How can it be that something is alive and yet you don’t know it; alight, but you remain surrounded by the dark?

In a voice that was his but not quite his, Govinda raised his head and silently replied,
Because I am that light … I am Brahman, the Eternal Universe, self-perfecting, alive, incessantly in action
. He laughed out loud. In a stronger voice, more powerful than he had ever known his could be, he declared,
I am the darkness
.

The gloom vanished, along with its shadow creatures. In its place, at his feet, lay the headless body of the boy who had run
up to him. Govinda did not flinch. A figure emerged from the darkness. Arms outstretched, blue-black hair flowing behind her,
she ran towards him as if to throw herself into his embrace.

I am an illusion, as are the things I have done
.

Unperturbed, unruffled, he ran his sword clear through the one he had loved for as long as he could remember.

Govinda opened his eyes to find himself on the damp ground. Balahak stood nearby, whinnying anxiously. With a groan he pulled
himself to his feet. His head throbbed, and he felt sick. As he pressed his
temples, he felt a sharp sting on his side, just below his ribs. The arrow was light and sleek. Govinda pulled it out easily;
it had not gone deep into the flesh. The tip was sharp and engraved with a tiny crescent-shaped groove, which served to hold
the dark poison the needle had been dipped in – not unlike the shafts that were used to deploy the Bramha-weapon, the terrible
and powerful poison that could kill by causing the most grotesque and fearsome visions, hallucinations. His stomach gave a
lurch, and for an instant Govinda wondered just how much longer he could have lasted against the illusions.

Blood dripped from the sword in his hand. Looking around, Govinda found the body of his attacker, almost cleaved in two. His
assailant’s identity did not surprise him in the least: Aswasena, son of the Naga king. Where Takshaka lived for his people,
Aswasena, reckless and ambitious, cared for no one but himself. The man had been in the forest for a reason.

The scattered contents of the bag at Aswasena’s waist confirmed Govinda’s suspicions. He disregarded what he knew were trifles
– highly precious gemstones and heavy gold ingots – and reached for one of the many fallen scrolls. They were letters of credit
from various foreign personages, including kings and merchants. A quick look through a few of the notes had him clucking his
tongue in astonishment. The sum Aswasena could collect on these would surely exceed what the Nagas had in their treasuries.
Govinda stuffed the scrolls into his own leather pouch. He would deliver them to Takshaka himself and leave the monarch to
form his own conclusions on how his son came upon such personal riches.

Bending down, Govinda quickly examined the arrows in the Naga’s quiver and the bow that had fallen from his hand. It was light
and made of a silver-coloured metal, not unlike the Gandiva, though the workmanship of the Naga’s weapon left much to be desired.
But there was no doubt. Aswasena’s bow had been made by a Firewright, or someone who had been taught by one. Which meant …

Smoke stung sharply at Govinda’s eyes, bringing him back to the moment and reminding him where he was, and why. Immediately,
he
pulled himself on to Balahak and urged him deeper into the forest. Soon he saw a massive wall of orange and red crackling
in the distance. It rapidly drew closer, a host of shapes framed against its brightness. Among them, a silhouette that was
clearly Panchali’s.

She stood like a statue, still and unmoving. Her horse was free of its bridle and reins and trotted around her, nearly insane
with terror but still faithful to his rider. Panchali finally moved, gently patting the animal and then pushing him away hard
as though in the hope that the animal’s instincts would lead him to safety.

Govinda could feel the heat on his face as he dismounted and ran towards her. Grabbing her hand he pulled her back, not bothering
with questions or explanations. He helped her climb on to Balahak and then swung himself up behind her. A sharp whistle, and
her grey stallion responded with a neigh and trotted alongside. The flames were still a fair distance away, but the heat and
the smoke were enough to kill them well before the fire came close. Govinda tried to work out directions based on the fire
and the wind driving it. As long as they were headed the right way – to the river beyond the edge of the forest – they had
a chance, but the thick undergrowth slowed their progress. Looking around, he cursed. The forest was on fire, in many places,
from many sides. It could only mean that the entire area had become so hot that fires were starting spontaneously. Anything
could begin to burn at any moment.

‘Why do you think I’d given up, Govinda?’ Panchali said softly, reading his thoughts. ‘I suppose it’s only fair. I’ve failed.
You’ve won. So many living creatures, so many innocent people, so many children, so many animals and birds will die such horrible
deaths. I deserve to burn with them.’

Govinda looked down at her, shocked at her words. She leant back against him, visibly weary. Her tears had mingled with the
soot from the fire, staining her cheeks. He gently wiped away the smears as best he could and held her close. ‘There are no
people or children in Kandava, Panchali, and the few animals and birds that may have been left would have escaped by now.’

‘How do you know?’ Panchali countered, unconvinced. ‘You don’t have to make me feel better, Govinda. I’m ready to die.’

‘You’re not going to die. At least not today. And I promise you, Kandava is uninhabited. I’d hoped to share the news with
you and Dharma this evening – Takshaka has left the forest and taken his people north, to Kuru’s Fields. The last of the Nagas
left during the night. I’d love to discuss the niggling details of the treaty that Takshaka and I have spent days thrashing
out, but this is not the time. Trust me, they are all safe,’ he urged.

‘All right,’ Panchali said, her tone indulgent but still disbelieving. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, as if she were
about to take a restful afternoon nap.

Govinda wrapped one arm around her and held Balahak’s reins in his other hand. The smoke was slowing him down, making him
weak and sluggish.

Think, you foolish gwala
, he goaded himself. A bolt of panic shot through him as Panchali’s breathing turned shallow, even as she lay in his arms.

‘Wake up, Panchali!’ he tapped her roughly.

She responded with a soft chuckle. ‘You do care … Don’t you?’ she whispered, managing a weak smile. Then, with a contented
look on her face, she went completely limp in his arms. Govinda cursed, and tried to shake her back to consciousness, but
to no avail. He realized they had very little time left. He had no choice. There was only one way out of this. He took one
look at the senseless woman in his arms and resolutely moved on.