Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (32 page)

THE THREE MEN MADE THEIR WAY TO THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE CITY
. Govinda found a calm spot by the river, a small but strong tributary that would join the mighty Ganga not too far away.
There, seemingly
oblivious to Partha and Bhim’s questions and recriminations, he laid aside the beads and ochre robes that were currently his
only possessions, and waded into the water. He knew that time was a luxury they did not have, but he needed a few moments
in the womb-like silence of the dark, deep currents, to think his plan through. By the time he stepped back ashore, his mind
was clear and his eyes held a conviction that the glowering Bhim and Partha could not argue against for long.

‘It won’t be easy,’ Bhim cautioned. ‘We’re asking to attract attention to ourselves. One slip, one inadvertent word or action
out of place, and they’ll arrest us for being spies. Of course, once they find out our real identities, that can only make
it worse – not just for us but for Dharma and, of course, your people as well.’

‘He’s right,’ Partha added. ‘Passing oneself off as an ascetic for a short while is no matter; we’ve done it before. But to
do as you say; to not speak or eat or drink … only the best of men, or those trained for such hardships can do that, Govinda.
The mind starts to play tricks when faced with hunger and thirst. It’s … it’s a dangerous ploy.’

Govinda smiled and said, ‘But an effective one if we succeed, yes?’

‘Yes, but …’

‘Then it’s settled. Let me do this.’

Exchanging reluctant glances, Bhim and Partha finally agreed. Reminding them yet again of their newly assumed vows of silence,
Govinda made for a banyan tree, next to the river, and sat down under its shade in a meditative posture. The two brothers
exchanged sullen glances, but took their places alongside him.

At dusk, Bhim and Partha stirred, thinking of food and then sleep. To their surprise, Govinda did not as much as twitch. Whether
he remained still out of incredible discipline, or he was truly lost inside himself in meditation, the two brothers could
not tell. They waited for a while and then, rather than draw suspicion to themselves, decided to play the part of acolytes.
Silently, they gathered some fruits and made as best a meal as they could. Bhim proposed that they sit up with Govinda and
Partha agreed. They passed a quiet, restless night. The next morning, their routine
induced less guilt. They kept themselves occupied by building a small thatched hut, in case it rained. In the evening they
made do with a little food, and then slept a while, taking turns.

On the fourth day a few Magadhan citizens approached the trio, silently offering fruits and seeking blessings. Within a week,
their audience had grown into a small crowd. Many people stood around looking on with curiosity, some with suspicion, at the
never-moving ascetic. Most of them sat in prayer, waiting with patience that could only be inspired by devotion. The lack
of water, rather than food, began to show on Govinda’s appearance. His features took on frightening gauntness, his skin looked
leathery, and his lips were cracked and bleeding. Still he did not stir.

Sunset on the eighth day drew the largest crowds of both onlookers and would-be devotees, as well as a huge thunderstorm.
Partha and Bhim silently gestured to their audience to take shelter in the small hut as best as they could and stood in the
doorway, watching. Through the storm and the rain, Govinda did not move. This was no longer just an act.

At some point during the stormy night Partha could not take it any more. Under the cover of thunder, he whispered quietly
to his brother, ‘Govinda has to be the craziest man I’ve ever seen.’ Bhim simply had to agree. This madness was beyond what
either of them could understand. Hunger, pain, weariness – these were things that every soldier was trained to fight against.
But to suspend all action, perhaps even thought, to bear discomfort with serene surrender, was not the way of the warrior.
For a moment, Bhim thought himself justified in the simmering anger he had been feeling against Govinda for the past some
days. Perhaps, he wondered, Govinda was not quite Arya after all. His mind did not seem to abhor surrender – be it in the
military sense or the philosophical – the way any true-blooded warrior’s ought to. And yet, as Bhim continued to look upon
the tranquil, rain-drenched figure, he felt his rage dissolve and a grudging respect take its place.

The next morning, as the rain abated, even the most sceptical of onlookers silently bowed to the ascetic and sat down in prayer.
Many more came to join them, moved by the man’s austerities. A rumour
began running through the crowd that the Emperor himself was on his way to invite the holy one to the palace. By noon, the
approaching contingent of royal guards confirmed that it was so.

Bhim expected that he would have to remind himself to keep from attacking Jarasandha as soon as he set eyes on him, but the
Emperor’s dignified behaviour surprised him into restraining himself. Jarasandha had come from the city on foot. He left his
retinue, his crown and sandals at a distance and approached the ascetic, still meditating and immune to the world, barefoot.
With folded hands and bowed head the Emperor respectfully invited him to grace the royal palace. To the surprise of all assembled,
the ascetic stirred. He opened his eyes to look at the Emperor, and slowly nodded his assent. The three ochre-clad men joined
the royal contingent, which made its way to the palace.

Jarasandha personally saw the three men to lavish rooms, and made every comfort available to them. He left them to rest in
privacy, but made sure that the attendants reported back to him on what transpired next. The ascetics, he learnt, ignored
both the courtesans and the fine silk beds placed at their disposal, and slept on the floor. They ate only fruits, and did
not speak a word, even to each other. Caught between doubt and certainty, Jarasandha invited them to his court at midnight
when, his royal priest advised, the scriptures allowed for vows of silence to be temporarily set aside.

Despite the late hour, all the nobles had assembled and taken their usual places. The ascetic and his companions, too, waited
for the Emperor. Jarasandha entered the court and, making his way directly to the guests, welcomed them.

‘And what may I offer you, wise acharyas?’ he asked most formally. ‘The Emperor’s riches pale in comparison to the gods you
seek, but whatever it is you wish of me will be yours.’

A strong voice replied, ‘My only wish is to have a duel with you, Your Imperial Highness. I challenge you to single combat
with me. Accept if you dare.’

A benumbed silence filled the space.

It was broken as Jarasandha laughed a loud, fearless laugh. Finally, turning to the trio, he demanded, ‘And who are you to
challenge me, you pretenders? Do you dare reveal your identity?’

‘Our identity was never hidden. All you had to do was ask, but you didn’t,’ the man replied. Eyes blazing, he stepped forward.
‘I am Govinda Shauri of the line of Yadu and Vrishni. With me are Bhim and Partha, mighty Kuru princes, sons of Pandu, brothers
to Dharma Yudhisthir, king of Indr-prastha.’

The Emperor appeared taken aback, but only briefly. His astonishment was soon replaced by the most apparent disdain. ‘You’re
challenging me to a fight?
You?
A man so obviously afraid of me that you’ve sneaked into my palace in disguise … Why would I fight a coward like you, Govinda?’
He sighed in mock exasperation and continued, ‘Didn’t you ever wonder why the Emperor of Aryavarta, the man whose armies are
feared and respected through the entire world – didn’t you ever ask yourself why I’ve let you be all these years? I could
have killed you as you ran, tail between your legs, from Mathura. But I didn’t. You’re just the son of a slave, for all I
care. Do you know how many of
you
fill my dungeons and clean the horse-shit from my stables? Why, some of
you
even wipe my backside! When I want one of
you
dead,
gwala
, I send him to the rat-catchers. For you, you coward, I think even that is a waste of good men. As for your challenge … Mih!
I refuse to fight you!’ he thundered. ‘I refuse your challenge, and I piss on it!’

With that, he spat on the ground at Govinda’s feet. Not a sound came from the gathering of nobles, and then, as one, they
burst into mocking, cackling laughter that rang, deafening, off the walls.

Govinda stood in the middle of it all, letting the barbs of ridicule, the shame and derision all wash over him as though he
cared nothing for it. In fact, he smiled – his very own mysterious but undeniably sad smile that he alone knew the meaning
of.

It was more than Bhim could take. Seething with anger, he stepped forward. ‘Then I dare you to fight
me
!’ he challenged Jarasandha. ‘Fight me here and now, as we stand, and I’ll prove by your blood that Govinda Shauri is no coward!’

A horrified Partha looked from Bhim to the impassive Govinda, and then at the delighted Jarasandha. The Emperor was known
not only to be a hardy fighter but also a tough wrestler, on par with Balabadra himself. Bhim had been undoubtedly one of
Balabadra’s best students, but … Partha shuddered at the thought of what defeat would mean to them all. ‘Bhim, are you …’
he began in an urgent hiss, but fell quiet as he saw it was too late.

Jarasandha considered the exchange with an amused expression, as though waiting for Bhim to back out. He then chortled maliciously
and said, ‘Very well, son of Pandu. If the gods decree that Kuru blood be spilt for this son of a slave, then so be it. But
for my part, once I’ve beaten you I’ll avenge and honour your death by cutting Govinda’s head off his neck.’

Without further ado, the Emperor cast aside his upper robe and stripped off the crown and other jewels he wore. He ordered
his noblemen and soldiers to move back, creating a ring-like space in their midst.

Bhim could not help but notice that Jarasandha bore no signs of injury, no mark at all from their assassin’s attack. It reminded
him of what Govinda had said about the Emperor having been forewarned. With it came the chilling realization that perhaps
their presence here, too, was expected and their efforts doomed to failure. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he tried
to focus on the moment. Handing over his robe and ascetic’s beads to an anxious-looking Partha, Bhim pulled his long hair
into a tight knot and stepped up to face his opponent.

The two men regarded each other for a moment. Without warning, they threw themselves at each other, grappling furiously, moving
fast and striking hard. Around them, the courtiers shrunk away in fear, astonished at the animal rage that coursed through
both fighters. Jarasandha drew first blood, beginning with a series of hard punches to Bhim’s face and then by lifting him
up and throwing him over his shoulder.

Partha swore out loud, visibly astonished at the Emperor’s strength. Few could match Bhim move for move, as Jarasandha was.
He glanced over at Govinda. The man looked as unflappable as
always, but his dark eyes smouldered with a new emotion that Partha did not recognize.

Bhim quickly got back on his feet, but Jarasandha had a psychological advantage and he pressed it. He threw scathing remarks
at his opponent, which the many nobles around them also took up, adding a few insults of their own. Bhim responded by rushing
at Jarasandha, but the monarch was ready. Grabbing Bhim’s arm, Jarasandha used the force of the attack to twist it, slowly
forcing him down on one knee. For a while it looked as though neither man was moving, though their muscles were taut with
the effort. The audience fell silent, hardly daring to breathe. At last, after what seemed like ages, Bhim slipped out of
Jarasandha’s grip. With a cry that echoed through the air, he landed a hard backhanded punch to the side of his opponent’s
head and followed through with an elbow to the man’s stomach. Then, as Jarasandha staggered back, Bhim butted him like a raging
bull.

Unsteady on his feet, the Emperor still tried to grab hold of Bhim. The younger man deftly side-stepped the attack and wound
his left arm around Jarasandha’s neck in a stranglehold. He then locked his right hand around his left wrist and began pressing
down on Jarasandha’s windpipe. It was the toughest thing Bhim had ever tried to do. It took every bit of strength, will and
courage in his body, mind and heart to execute the move. Jarasandha kicked and flailed, clawed at his opponent’s arms, elbowed
him in the stomach. He had gone red in the face, and his eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets, but he still would
not give up.

Bhim felt his arms burn from the effort. Teeth clenched, he tried hard to coax a little more strength out of his body, but
it was all he could do just to hold on. Sweat poured from his forehead, trickling down into his eyes, making them smart. He
had to do something, and quick. In a sudden move, he let go of Jarasandha, and in the same instant brought his knee up to
hit the man hard on the small of his back. Before the Emperor knew it, he was face down, on the floor. His chest heaving from
the exertion, Bhim stepped back and waited for Jarasandha to get to his feet.

Gone was Jarasandha’s earlier arrogance. The Emperor was obviously in great pain, and though he tried to push himself up,
he was unable to. He looked around him in a helpless daze, as though he could neither see nor think clearly. With a groan,
he finally managed to get onto his hands and knees.

Bhim snarled at the spent Emperor, goading him to stand up and fight. As he waited, fists clenched, he felt a gentle touch
on his arm.

In the middle of the tumult, of that noisy torrent of primal fury and hatred, Govinda’s presence was as cool and soothing
as a spring breeze. ‘Enough,’ he gently advised Bhim. ‘This fight is over. You attack a man when he’s tired and weak, you
will kill him in ways you can’t imagine. Enough, my friend.’

Jarasandha staggered to his feet, seething with hatred as his bloodshot, bulging eyes stared at Govinda. Govinda met the Emperor’s
stare, the silent odium and the implied accusations in them, without flinching.