Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (26 page)

‘A Firewright …’

‘One could say that, yes.’

Shikandin studied Govinda for a while and then said, ‘All right, so what other stupid confessions am I yet to hear?’

Govinda let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. He lay back against the pillows and said, ‘The woods, they always
mean madness. Speaking of which, what … what was I doing, you know, back then, after we left Agniveshya? I can’t remember
that part at all … how did we get out?’ he asked.

Shikandin smirked mischievously, the gleam on his face dispelling the sombre mood that had fallen over them both.

‘What?’ Govinda urged, smiling in anticipation, without really knowing why.

‘For all the trouble you’ve given me, it was worth it …’ Shikandin replied, relishing the moment. Grinning widely, he said,
‘Just after I pulled you back, I punched you so hard that you didn’t come to until we were halfway to Kampilya …’

A few weeks later, a great host convened at the place that had once had been known as Kandava. Amid much fanfare and splendour,
Dharma laid the foundation stone for a new city, the capital of his kingdom. Panchali stood on his left, holding a handful
of the freshly dug, fragrant earth mixed with auspicious unguents and incense. Govinda stood at Dharma’s right, in the place
of honour. He had found it curious that Panchali had not spoken to him even once of what had happened and, in fact, she carefully
avoided the topic. It puzzled him still, much to Partha’s amusement.

Partha’s theory had been that Panchali felt too embarrassed at her own actions to revisit the matter. Govinda knew better
than to assume so. Her silence told him many things, but he decided to let the matter go. The important thing was that it
was done, and Takshaka and his people were safe. As was Panchali. Dharma, of course, deemed the entire event a wonder of divine
providence, the vastness of which
was beyond individual comprehension. He went on about how the benevolent gods had not only made it his duty to destroy Kandava,
but also, acting through Govinda, had ensured that innocent Nagas would be safe, as was their destiny.

Destiny
…

Govinda glanced at Dwaipayana, who joyfully observed events from his place of honour on an elevated dais, next to the Grandsire
Bhisma and King Dhritarastra. It was, Govinda knew, for the same reasons of destiny that the Vyasa and Dharma both preferred
to overlook Panchali’s actions as well as the events that had followed. They had made sure that no one came to know that she
had been a part of the episode at Kandava. It would not do to reduce the dramatic version of events by introducing prosaic
explanations for what had happened.

The Vyasa frowned ever so slightly as his eyes met Govinda’s. Govinda, however, immediately bowed with every bit of respect
due to an elder and scholar. His humility was nothing less than endearing. Dwaipayana was moved to smile. Despite himself
he mouthed a blessing, ‘Varuna protect you, my son.’

Govinda’s eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. Dharma had to call to him twice before he turned to listen. At Dhaumya’s
instructions, Dharma and Govinda together lifted the consecrated foundation stone and set it gently into the ground, while
Panchali sprinkled the sanctified soil around it. Straightening up, the two men embraced each other spontaneously.

‘Swasti!’ Govinda said, wishing all prosperity on the kingdom. ‘May every harvest be plentiful and every sowing peaceful.’

Dharma was visibly stirred. ‘What shall we call this city, Govinda? What shall we name it?’

Govinda looked up as the first drops of rain fell on his forehead. In moments, the strong, sudden downpour had soaked him
to the skin. Around him, many ran to seek cover under the makeshift shelters of bamboo and woven leaves that had been set
up for the day. Dharma and Panchali did not move, letting the torrent drench them within and without.

Laughing, Govinda placed his hands on Dharma’s shoulders. ‘Indr-prastha,’ he said. ‘Call it Indr-prastha, the city of Indra
on earth … My King.’

Dharma found himself unable to speak, overcome as he was by emotion. Finally, he managed to rasp, ‘Stay, Govinda, please?’
His voice took on a note of urgency. ‘Stay here with us … Help me build Indr-prastha.’

Govinda glanced at Panchali. She showed not the slightest trace of any emotion. With a sad smile he replied, ‘This is your
home, Dharma. It’s time I went back to mine.’

DAWN BROKE OVER KAUNDINYAPURA, THE CAPITAL OF THE
Vidharbha kingdom, as Govinda rode up to the city gates. The entire city was brightly festooned and decorated in preparation
for a royal wedding. In contrast, Govinda was dressed in simple, well-worn clothes. His weapons were concealed. He observed
his surroundings carefully, as he weaved through the celebrating masses. In time, he spotted the temple dedicated to Goddess
Parvati. He swung off Balahak and led the horse to the shade of a nearby tree, pretending to tend to him as he waited.

A sudden flurry of activity on the street announced the arrival of Vidharbha’s princess. Rukmavati stepped out of her royal
carriage and walked into the temple. An amazed Govinda studied her discreetly. Despite her bridal finery, she looked younger
than he had expected, hardly eighteen or so. Her skin was even and creamy, touched with shades of pink from the warmth of
the sun. Her long brown hair had been done up in a large, complex knot on the crown of her head, highlighting her slender
neck and graceful gait. Large doe-eyes were set in a rounded face, conveying the innocence of a child. Only her lips, full
but unsmiling, showed the state of her mind.

A crowd began gathering as a grand procession made its way towards the temple. At its head rode the bridegroom – Shisupala,
heir to the Chedi throne. To his right was Syoddhan, his friend and ally, and on the left rode Rukmi, the Crown Prince of
Vidharbha and father of the bride. The three men also had the distinction of being Emperor Jarasandha’s most trusted vassals,
and Shisupala was as dear to the Emperor as a son.

Son or not, Govinda noted, Jarasandha’s hand was clearly behind the wedding. The nations of Vidharbha and Chedi had consistently
refused to join the Confederation of Yadu Nations, preferring to align themselves with Magadha. Now that the Panchalas were
kin to the Kurus or, more precisely, to the fast-rising power that was Western Kuru, Vidharbha was the next political prize.
The kingdom was strategically located to control the southern route across the span of Aryavarta. As a result, if Rukmavati
married Shisupala, it would seal the Emperor’s influence over the southern roads, and leave Dwaraka in an extremely precarious
position.

The chain of events was far from unexpected. Govinda had known well that something like this was inevitable ever since Kandava
had gone into Kuru hands. And so, despite Dharma’s invitation to stay and help build the new city of Indr-prastha, he had
returned to Dwaraka. He had waited and watched patiently for nearly three years, almost certain that it would be Vidharbha
that came up as a political issue. But, he admitted to himself, he had not expected it would also become a personal one.

I’m here because it’s essential to the security of my people, to the future of Dwaraka – even Aryavarta
.

Or was it? He ignored that doubt, along with the other question that nagged him:
Wouldn’t I be here even if this weren’t Vidharbha?

Govinda had been compelled to act when he had seen Rukmavati’s message, smuggled out of Vidharbha in the hands of a travelling
monk. It had been simple and direct: ‘Come, save me from marrying that ogre Shisupala, or I shall die.’

Rukmavati’s description of Shisupala, while excessive, had also been dramatically effective. Indeed, it had brought a smile
to Govinda’s face, though admittedly Shisupala had his strengths as he did his faults. The man was old-fashioned in many ways,
notably in the belief that some men were meant to rule, while other men – and all women – were meant to serve. When it came
to his preferences on how women might best serve him, though, Shisupala’s views were as innovative as they were vile. Having
now seen the young, innocent Rukmavati, Govinda could not bear the thought of her in Shisupala’s
bed of horrors. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on the scene before him. If he had any plans of getting past Shisupala,
Rukmi and their armies, not to mention Syoddhan and the battalions of men sent by Jarasandha as guard of honour, he had to
stay focussed.

Her prayers over, Rukmavati was about to exit the temple. She glanced at the assembled crowd of onlookers as she gracefully
came down the steps. For an instant, her gaze rested on Govinda before moving on. Then, oblivious to the furious shouts from
her brother and the others of her escort, she walked away from her waiting carriage. There was no turning back now. What the
girl had just done could not be ignored. Govinda swung on to Balahak in one fluid move, ready for what was to come.

Rukmavati beamed, radiant with delight, as she realized her daring had not been in vain. She clung tight to the strong arm
that went around her waist, lifting her on to the silver-white steed. ‘Hold on,’ a voice whispered in her ear, and she complied.

Before anyone could make sense of what had just happened, Govinda was weaving expertly through the crowd, making for the city’s
main gates. The guards made to draw shut the huge metal-spiked doors, but he let loose a slew of arrows, jamming the hinges.
Rukmi shouted out orders, but they were lost in the general confusion. It took the soldiers a while to respond to the commands,
but they finally dropped their weapons and began heaving at the doors, sheer brute force straining the precisely wedged arrows.
With a great, cracking sound, the arrows broke, allowing the hinges to swing the gates shut. But it was too late. Rukmavati
was gone.

They rode at breakneck speed, as fast the horse could go. Rukmavati clung on, oblivious to the world, looking up at the young
face of her rescuer. Heading west and south, they reached a river. Just across the waters, on the opposite bank, the first
hills marked the beginning of the Western Mountains that ran down into Dakshinavarta. The stallion slowed down and made for
a small copse of trees, stopping on command.

Rukmavati let go of the man, feeling suddenly self-conscious at all
that had happened. He nimbly got off the horse and began leading the animal towards the water. She could wait no more. She
dismounted, and threw her arms around him in a passionate embrace. He gently pushed her away, smiling to put her at ease.

‘Mahamatra, I consider it an honour that you called on me to help you,’ he chivalrously began, ‘though I’m sure you would
have found a way out of that … erm … situation even without my assistance Now, if you’ll tell me where you wish to go, I’ll
see you there without further delay.’

Rukmavati hesitated, surprised. She then asked, ‘When you came to rescue me didn’t you know what it would mean? Won’t you
take me with you to Dwaraka?’

‘I came because you asked for my help in getting away from Shisupala. I can’t offer you more. I can’t take my country, my
people, to war over you.’

She hung her head in despair. Despite her best efforts, her body heaved with silent sobs.

‘Princess,’ he began, but she snapped her head up to interrupt him.

‘Please allow me to speak before you say anything further,’ Rukmavati stated, wiping her tears away with determination. She
took a step back and looked up at the tall man. ‘I know I put you in a difficult position when I sent you that message. Whatever
I may feel for you, I can’t demand that you find affection in your heart for me,’ she gracefully admitted. ‘I’ve heard of
how the women of Dwaraka throng around you, driven to madness by your looks and your manner. That may be a ridiculous exaggeration,
an astounding fact that defies all reason, or maybe even the truth. But I don’t care. All I know is how I feel.’

Rukmavati paused as she noticed the man’s sudden tautness. She gently rested her cheek against his unyielding chest and said,
‘If you choose not to take me with you, I’ll wait right here for my father and Shisupala to find me.’ She laughed as he looked
at her sharply. ‘What,’ she taunted, ‘did you think that I’d want to kill myself? No, I won’t die. What use is that when it’ll
still lead to war between our nations? If you leave me here, I shall marry Shisupala. And every time he touches me
I’ll think of you and call out your name. No matter what he does to me, whether I feel ecstasy or pain, it’s
your
name that I will call out.’ With a charming look, she added, ‘There. I’ve finished.’

A warm, pleasantly deep voice cut in and said, ‘Indeed you’ve finished, my dear. I doubt the vagrant will ever dare cross
you for the rest of your lives together.’

Rukmavati turned, startled, even as she heard the surprised whisper from the man next to her. ‘Father!’

Govinda Shauri stepped into view, leading Balahak and a brown charger from Vidharbha behind him. ‘I had a feeling you’d try
something like this, Pradymna,’ he said.

‘Father!’ the younger man repeated and ran forward to embrace him.

Govinda wrapped one arm around his son’s shoulder, and extended his other arm out and nodded to Rukmavati. She made to kneel,
but he pre-empted her.

‘You’re now a daughter of mine,’ he said, ‘so behave like one. Never be afraid to speak your mind or stand up for what you
think is just and good. Honour and virtue lie in your heart, not in the judgement of others. Freedom and self-respect are
yours to assume and keep, and not another’s to give. Not even,’ he said, with a pointed look at Pradymna, ‘your husband’s.’

Rukmavati regarded Govinda doubtfully. She had not expected a man so young, or so cheerful. His frank words and honest face
won her over. ‘Yes …
Father
?’ she said.

‘That’s right.’ Govinda nodded. ‘Come, we have to decide on our next step. Let’s get you on to a horse each, it’ll be faster
that way …’ He moved away to check the saddle on the brown horse.

Rukmavati turned to Pradymna and whispered, ‘Maybe I should have written to your father instead … he’s a wonderful man …’

Pradymna looked deflated at the comment.

‘Wait for a while, and I’ll show you exactly how wonderful I think
you
are …’ she teased, restoring cheer on the young man’s face.

Govinda pretended to be busy with the horses, and did not show that he had overheard what was clearly a private exchange.
Life and
time move on, Govinda Shauri
, he told himself with a quiet smile.
Your son is already his own man
.