Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (38 page)

‘
THIS IS BAD, SHIKANDIN. THAT’S THREE TEAMS OF OUR MESSENGERS
, as well as the four men Bhagadatta sent. There’s one man unaccounted for, though. Perhaps he made it through?’ said Devajit,
bristling at the sight before him.

‘I doubt it,’ Shikandin replied, using the flat of his sword to turn over one of the corpses before him. Without flinching
at the damp-decayed face, he continued, ‘He’s either still a prisoner, or we just haven’t found his body.’

The two were all that remained of the scouting party of six that had left Pragjya nearly a week ago. Three of their companions
had been lost in a skirmish with enemy soldiers in which none of the opposition had been left alive. The death of the fourth
had been terrifying in its own way for the wilderness-trained men of the Eastern Guard. He had died in his sleep without a
stir or a sound, of snake-bite. The dead messengers before them had clearly been less fortunate. Despite their already-rotting
forms it was not difficult to see that they had endured great torture and much pain before their lives ended.

Devajit pointed out, ‘The bodies … they’re untouched. No wild animal or scavenger has been near them. But they’ve decayed
pretty fast.’

‘That’s because they’ve been poisoned. Their flesh has burnt from the inside and is deadly to anything that consumes it. Wild
scavengers probably sense that.’

‘Poisoned? But why? There are easier ways …’

‘And less painful. Maybe it was a hallucinogen, or some pain-inducing concoction – either as a threat to make them talk or
as part of the torment …’

Devajit spat on the ground in anger. ‘Maraka! What sort of men do this?’

Shikandin merely shrugged. ‘You think it doesn’t happen back at Kampilya? Remind me to have you assigned on duty to our dungeons
for a week. Our father takes great pride in the way we treat prisoners, you know.’ He pointed to dead men in front of them.
‘We sent them out by different routes. If the bodies all washed up at the same spot, it means that they were taken to the
same place for interrogation. Maybe they even kept the first set of men captive and killed them all together … There’s probably
a camp or base somewhere in these forests.’

‘Somewhere upstream?’

‘Yes. Upstream, and along this tributary. The Lauhitya is too slow to bring these bodies here. These men were washed ashore
when this tributary, whatever it’s called, joined the main river. That makes things easier for us. The stream is fairly narrow.
It shouldn’t be too difficult to find something on either of its banks.’

‘In that case we’d better head back at once.’

‘
You
need to head back as fast as you can and get word to Govinda. Tell him to send out eight, maybe ten, messengers in groups
of two. They are to depart right away and head out at the same time. But they should try to make it through these forests
using different routes.’

‘But …?’

Shikandin tersely explained. ‘All these men, our men, are dead. It could mean that Sudakshin has his men watching the river
and the
forest, but not the plains beyond. There’s a possibility that if we get messengers through this stretch, they can strike out
for the southern regions and make it to Magadha that way. Or even if they get to Kalinga, our vassals there will help them
…’

‘
Our
vassals, Prince?’ Devajit suffixed his contempt with the respectful form of address.

Shikandin drew in an impatient breath. ‘They’re my,
our
, sister’s vassals. She’ll be Empress once this is done. We serve her and her purposes. Are you clear about that?’

‘I am,’ Devajit snapped, this time tellingly omitting the honorific. He studied the dead men before him for a few moments
and said, ‘It’s a good plan. Let’s both go back and …’

‘Like I said, you have to go back. The messengers are just part of the plan. If they’re to have a chance of getting through
this time around we need to find this camp or wherever it is that the enemy is. Unless that’s destroyed, there’s no point
sending more men through.’

Devajit drew himself up with all the authority he wielded by virtue of being the older man. ‘Shikandin, you can’t do this
alone. Let’s go back and get reinforcements. We know where to begin. We just have to come back to the ford with the white
rock and then keep going till we hit this fork in the river. It won’t be tough to find, and …’

Shikandin shook his head, by way of reply. ‘Go!’ he commanded. And then, before Devajit could protest further, he slunk off
into the undergrowth.

Shikandin headed upstream, moving confidently through the thick foliage as though he were a creature of the forest. He smiled
to himself as it began raining again, and stopped every now and then to let the patterns of sound the raindrops made as they
hit leaf and bark tell him what was around him and, more importantly, if he was being watched or followed. As the day wore
on, the rain stopped and the forest around him grew denser still. Shikandin was glad for the thick leather cloak with its
rather impenetrable hood. He was not a man to complain about a leech or ten, but he
certainly did not enjoy them dropping off the branches overhead, right onto his face.

His earlier suspicions about the missing messenger were proven right when he found the body a little further upstream. Like
the others, this one too bore the signs of torture and poisoning. His theory that the enemy’s camp was situated somewhere
along the banks of the tributary now reaffirmed, Shikandin began trekking through the marshy forestland with renewed vigour.

As evening drew close, he began to slow down. Stopping more frequently, he tried hard to catch wisps of smell that he hoped
would guide him through the approaching dusk. It was tough, given that the air in the forest was, for the most part, still.
At times, the fragrance of night jasmine hung heavy over him, otherwise there was nothing but the thick mossy odour that was
native to heavy forests. Shikandin however, did not give up. Camps made for campfires and for hungry men, cooking and food
– a smell that was alien to the freshness all around and therefore easily recognized and followed.

Shikandin’s stomach appeared to be keener than his nose, for it let out a soft rumble. Moments later the smell of vegetable
porridge – a soldier’s staple – came floating on a reluctant breeze. Shikandin sniggered to himself. He was hungry, but it
could wait – and wait a while if need be. Moving carefully from thicket to thicket, he followed the faint smell of food.

The roar of the river grew louder. Shikandin surmised he was nearing some rapids or perhaps a shallow waterfall. The foliage
too had grown thinner around him. The dull glimmer of the evening sun some feet ahead told him he was approaching a clearing.
He crouched at the edge of the thicket and peered out. It was a small, rocky space that ran from the patch of greenery where
he was now, right up to a small cliff. The river was to his right, falling in a thundering waterfall down the face of the
cliff into a natural pool before flowing on into the forest. The clearing looked empty but Shikandin decided to wait, thankful
that there were a couple of muhurrtas of light left in the sky.

His patience paid off, for a man soon emerged from behind the curtain of water that was the fall, dressed in the uniform of
the
Kashi army. He looked up, scanning the sky for a few moments, and then raised one arm up while holding a piece of meat in
the other. Immediately, a mean-looking brown and white falcon-hawk, with yellow markings around its beak and eyes, wheeled
down into the clearing and dropped something from its long talons at the man’s feet before taking the piece of meat from his
hand. It made quick work of the strip of raw flesh and took wing again, letting out a loud cry that tore through the silence
of the forest.

The man picked up what the falcon-hawk had dropped. Shikandin could make out the grey-white colour and the feathery outline.
He silently mouthed a curse as he realized that it was one of Dwaipayana’s messenger pigeons.

The soldier pulled off the tiny scroll tied on the pigeon’s leg, calling out to someone behind the curtain of water as he
did. The man shouted to be heard behind the waterfall, and the sound echoed through the clearing to reach Shikandin where
he remained hidden. He could clearly make out the words: ‘Tell the magician we have another message …’

The soldier then moved to a row of wicker baskets placed at the other end of the clearing, sloshing through the pool of swirling
water as he went. It did not take much for Shikandin to guess what was within them. His conjecture was confirmed but moments
later, as the soldier removed the lid from one of the baskets and dropped the dead pigeon inside. There was a whipcord flash
of black and yellow before the cover came back down. As the man headed back to the waterfall another uniformed soldier stepped
out and made his way to the cauldron over the small fire. Shikandin saw him stack up four bowls and allowed himself a small
smile. Four men was not much to handle at all.

And then, he saw the bald man step out of the cavern. Shikandin felt no surprise, only mild resignation at recognizing the
so-called magician. Devala Asita was missing his beard and his head had been shaved bald, but there was no doubting his identity.
He now wore black robes, wrapped in the style of a fighting man. Shikandin thought for a moment of the man’s brother, and
of the close friendship they
had shared as children. The memories pained him even more as he realized what Devala Asita had done. He slipped his bow off
his back and set an arrow to the string.

‘What does it say?’ Devala asked conversationally as the first soldier handed him the scroll he had taken off the dead pigeon’s
leg.

‘It reeks of desperation,’ the soldier gleefully replied. ‘It’s coded, of course, but so obviously begging for some word that
it doesn’t take much to decipher it. It says if they don’t hear from them soon, they will have no choice but to concede the
campaign as failed, and surrender all their lands and men to their new vassals.’

‘Well done, Shulya! This is good news. On that note, let me try some of your porridge there. This development has done much
for my appetite …’

My arrow will do more
, Shikandin silently affirmed, clenching his teeth as the memory of the maimed bodies of his men filled him with cold anger.

‘But wait, pass me the meat,’ Devala said. ‘It’s time to feed the rest our friends.’ He held out strips of meat on his palm.
This time three falcon-hawks came wheeling in.

Shikandin did a quick calculation. His decision made, he stepped out of the thicket and turned his aim to the sky. Three arrows
left his bow in quick succession and flew unerringly towards their targets. Not waiting to see the inevitable, he whipped
around, a fourth shaft on the string. An enraged Devala screamed out orders as he ran towards a small path that led up the
cliff. Shikandin’s arrow caught him on the shoulder as he turned on to the path. Devala stumbled, but kept going. He knew
Shikandin would not shoot a man in the back.

Indeed, Shikandin cursed, and turned to face the three soldiers who were almost upon him by now. In one swift move he used
his arrow to stab the nearest man in the neck, then dropped his bow to the ground, reached to his baldric and drew out his
sword. The other two men came at him together. He stepped in close, slashing at the first, then pulling away to stab the one
behind him, turning the sword about in a double-handed move, before coming back to finish off the first man with another thrust.

As Shikandin stood there panting lightly, he became aware of the man and his arrow. Devala Asita stood at the top of the cliff,
his bow drawn and the shaft aimed directly at Shikandin. He fired. Shikandin did not move, except to bring his sword up at
the very last minute as a narrow shield between the shaft and his heart. The arrow broke against the metal and clattered to
the ground at his feet.

Devala smiled, a gesture of evil anticipation.

Shikandin frowned slightly as the first tendrils of uncertainty reached him. And then, he understood. Immediately, he kicked
away the shards at his feet, trying at the same time to hold his breath so as not to inhale the invisible vapour that the
hollow shaft of the arrow had contained. With a snarl of rage he dived for his own bow and, picking it up, tried to set an
arrow to it. He could not. His vision blurred. An unbearable pain shot through him and he felt as though his heart would explode.
His arms went limp and his knees buckled under him.

A hiss of pain escaped through Shikandin’s clenched teeth as he hit the hard ground. Through burning eyes he saw Devala set
another arrow to his bow. At least the agony would not last long.

It seemed the bald man had just been struck by the same thought. He let fall his arm and returned the arrow to a quiver on
his back.

‘Die well,
Prince
,’ he called out, shouting to make himself heard over the thundering waterfall. With a final, leering smile, the man was gone.

Shikandin closed his eyes and prayed for the strength to endure a slow, painful death.

THE BLACKNESS FELT BLISSFUL. SHIKANDIN WAS NOT SURE IF
this was unconsciousness or death, but he felt at peace. Just as he regained his senses enough to begin pondering the presence
of sense, it hit him. Without so much as a warning, liquid flame pooled in his stomach, searing, swirling, painfully wrenching
at him. Spasms
rocked his body, his gut cramped and, in a burst of fire, the pain shot upwards through his chest. He felt himself flip over
in a desperate effort to somehow stop the throbbing from reaching his head and making it explode. It appeared to work, as
with a great churning, he felt the fire spill out through his mouth. Cramps shot through every part of him as the heat came
up in waves, burning his throat, filling his mouth. At last, the heaving stopped. He lay back, his eyes closed, his body still
shuddering at intervals.

‘That’s it. Get it all out. Don’t hold back,’ a kind voice was telling him.

Partha!

Shikandin opened his eyes and shut them again as sunlight pierced through them. He wanted to speak but his mouth felt dry
and his throat seared with pain.

‘Here, drink this,’ another voice held a bowl of water to his lips. Shikandin gulped down the water, flinching at the way
it tasted in his mouth. With effort he forced himself up on one elbow, into a half-sitting position. His burning eyes slowly
focussed on Govinda.

‘The last time I saw someone get this sick and throw up with such violence,’ Govinda calmly began, ‘was Samva, when he was
fifteen. Gulped down an entire jar of wine on a bet or some such. Made a mess all over his best silk robes, not to mention
the entire courtyard of our house and part of the dining chamber too.’

Shikandin groaned and clutched at his head.

‘Oh yes, Samva had the most horrible headache as well. He was miserable for three days and gave us the worst time of it. I
hope you’re not going to be as troublesome, Shikandin.’

‘And it’s good to see you alive too, Govinda,’ Shikandin grunted in reply. He sat up straight and gestured for more water.
Taking the bowl that Partha held out, he sipped cautiously from it before emptying the rest over his head. Wiping his eyes
with the sleeve of his tunic, Shikandin took a deep breath, letting the fresh air clear his lungs.

Partha let out a sigh of relief at seeing him visibly recovered. ‘What happened here?’ he asked.

In as few words as he could, Shikandin told them the whole story.
Partha walked over to where the shards of Devala’s poisoned arrow lay and gave them a disbelieving look. He said, ‘You’re
a lucky man, you know. All we had was the antidote for snake-bite. Of course, we’ve pretty much filled you up on enough anti-venom
for about twenty-five bites. I’m just glad it worked on whatever it is they used on you.’

‘It
is
snake-venom. Concentrated and vapourized,’ Shikandin said, nodding towards the wicket baskets at the edge of the clearing.
‘In there. You want to be careful, now.’

‘Speaking of careful, that really was a close call, my friend …’ Govinda said, his words finally betraying his concern.

‘It was,’ Shikandin admitted. His throat hurt less now, though his voice seemed to belong entirely to another creature. ‘And
all it took was a single, stupid, arrow! Moments like these make you reconsider your life, all your decisions. It’s never
the best times, of course, but the regrets that come to mind … Or perhaps they go together …’ He apparently thought that he
had said too much, for he fell quiet.

‘Do you have any regrets, Shikandin?’ Partha asked, a little amused.

Shikandin managed a wan smile. ‘Don’t we all? But never mind that,’ he forced some cheer back into his voice. ‘How did you
two know where to find me?’

Before Govinda could reply, Partha interjected in a disapproving tone, ‘There was a Kritya.’

‘A Kritya? Wait, did this woman happen to appear just after I’d left?’

‘Yes,’ Govinda said. ‘In fact, she said she’d seen you. She told me where you’d be … Rather, where she thought you’d be taken.
We followed her directions and ran into Devajit on the way. We left him and the rest of the men at the fork where this stream
joins the Lauhitya and made our way here. Just as well, as it turns out. I didn’t really believe her at first, but she was
sure you’d get yourself into trouble …’

‘And you trusted her? You trusted her enough to go where she told you to? Yabha! Govinda, are you out of your mind?’

‘She was right, wasn’t she? Not to mention that she didn’t kill me when she had the chance.’

Shikandin immediately turned to Partha. ‘And you? How could you let him do such a silly thing, like romance around with a
Kritya? Or were you too busy looking up your courtesans’ robes to care?’

‘You stinking Panchala dog, how dare you …!’

‘Enough!’ Govinda commanded.

To Partha’s surprise, Shikandin was smiling roguishly at the exchange, and did not appear at all bothered by the insult. Nevertheless,
he felt compelled to apologize.

‘I’m sorry,’ he perfunctorily declared. ‘It’s this miserable weather, not to mention that scheming bitch. What could I do
if she seduced Govinda?’ he directed the last statement towards Shikandin.

‘That she did,’ a sombre Govinda affirmed. ‘She seduced me, all right. Completely and, I may add, effectively.’

The ostensibly weighty declaration forced Shikandin to chuckle. He shook his head in disapproval and muttered something about
Govinda and trouble, but beyond that let the matter go.

Partha did not know whether to be irritated or amused. He settled for mild consternation, but nevertheless voiced his complaint
about the affair. ‘Of course, I still don’t understand how you could let her go without finding out who had sent her …’

‘She wouldn’t have told me,’ Govinda protested. ‘She wouldn’t have betrayed the one who hired her, even under duress and torture.
It takes great discipline and the most rigorous of tests, before one is declared a Kritya. There was no more information to
be got from her. Besides, I’m quite sure that Bhagadatta didn’t send her, which is what you really wanted to know, isn’t it?’

‘Then who?

‘Sudakshin.’

‘Sudakshin? But that doesn’t make sense. It isn’t likely that he would dare do all this on his own. Someone must be behind
him,’ Partha argued, still looking surly.

Shikandin said, ‘You’re absolutely right about that. There is someone behind him …’ he favoured Govinda with a meaningful
look, to which the other man responded with an equally meaningful nod.

‘You two need to see this,’ Shikandin said as he picked up a grey and white feather he found on the ground. He set it on his
palm and held it out for Govinda and Partha to examine. The woolly edges clearly showed that it came off a pigeon or dove
of some sort.

‘They had falcon-hawks,’ Shikandin explained, ‘which caught and brought in the pigeons. I saw one of the soldiers pull the
scroll off from the pigeon, before he fed it to the snakes … It’s not just our messengers, our men, who couldn’t get through.
Dwaipayana’s pigeons have failed too. Sudakshin has both land and sky covered.’

Govinda looked grim as he took the feather from Shikandin.

Partha mournfully observed, ‘Then in Indr-prastha they probably think we’re dead. They might even think it’s all over. For
all we know, Dharma might’ve conceded failure already …’

Govinda shook his head. ‘Panchali and Dhaumya would never let him do that, not to mention Dwaipayana.’

‘Never is a long time, Govinda. I heard these soldiers talk about the last scroll that had been sent from Magadha and, like
it or not, Dharma is considering admitting failure. We need to take this victory back to where it belongs, else it is just
a matter of time before Dharma cedes his position – Panchali or no Panchali.’

Govinda said nothing, and appeared to be lost in thought as Shikandin stared pointedly at him. Partha looked from one man
to the other, before realizing that Shikandin had something to say but would not do so in front of him. He felt a momentary
pang of jealousy, one that he was slowly getting used to, but brushed it aside and said, ‘I’ll go find Devajit. We should
gather the dead men and give them a proper cremation.’ Then, with a final glance at the two men, he walked away.

Shikandin waited till Govinda looked up of his own accord. Without prelude he said, ‘You could ask for help. You’ve had help
in this terrain before …’

‘Do you think I haven’t considered that? It’s not worth it. Such help would come at a price. Not in terms of what I’d have
to give to receive it, but in terms of the larger questions it would raise. It could compromise the entire campaign.’

‘The campaign is already compromised. Nevertheless, it is up to you … Just remember you weren’t above such trade-offs the
last time you were at Pragjya, a fledgling prince with nothing but a plain cloth for his banner …’

‘The stakes were different then, Shikandin. Or do you doubt my judgement? Perhaps it’s my intentions you question, my loyalty?’

‘Your loyalty to whom, Govinda?’ Shikandin said. ‘This is your empire as much as it is anyone else’s. Why would I doubt your
loyalty to yourself?’

Govinda did not reply, but met the man’s cold gaze with a haughty glare of his own.

Shikandin knew better than to continue the argument. ‘Like I said, it’s your choice. As long as you’re sure it’s only the
stakes that are different this time …’