Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (41 page)

A whisper of admiration ran through the gathered men and many of them spontaneously saluted Govinda. He returned the gesture
with a polite nod and turned to Partha.

‘Now what, Cousin?’ Partha asked, his voice filled with respect and affection.

‘Now,’ Govinda replied, ‘you go home.’

‘You mean we go home …’

‘No.’ Govinda was grave once more. ‘Not me. I have some unfinished business to take care of.’

KASHI, LIKE MANY NATIONS OF ARYAVARTA, WAS A NAME SHARED
by the kingdom and the capital city. In this case the nation’s fame rested indeed on that of its capital city, home to one
of the oldest and largest temples to Rudra, also known as Hara, the Destroyer. Of equal fame had been those who had worshipped
there – the most beautiful of princesses, as also some of the first Firewrights.

But fame was fickle, Govinda mused, as he looked down at the city from a small hillock on its outskirts. The Firewrights were
gone, though many self-declared magicians remained in the city claiming to possess knowledge of the most powerful spells.
As for the princesses – ever since Ambalika and Ambika had been taken to Hastina as Vichitravirya’s brides, no one spoke too
loudly of the beauty of Kashi’s women.

That distinction, though, is well-deserved
, Govinda noted with a smile as he remembered his encounter with the attractive Kritya at Pragjya.

‘Who knows … perhaps you’ll see her again,’ Shikandin teased, guessing what ran through his friend’s mind.

‘Perhaps …’

The moment passed and both men were grim as they considered the scene before them. They stood on a hillock overlooking Kashi
city. The gates to the city had been shut, the roads around it wore a deserted look, and the boats and barges on the river
were anchored upstream, well ahead of the small harbour. The Great Temple to Rudra dominated that scene of despondence, its
stone spire rising as high as the columns of smoke that billowed out from the huge square courtyard that stretched from the
main sanctum all the way to the riverbank. A little while ago a huge funeral pyre had come alight,
blazing into sudden existence like some primordial beginning. Inside the Great Temple of Kashi, the killings had begun.

The Firewrights, Govinda pensively noted, had supposedly been the ones to perfect the arcane ritual known as the ‘purushamedha’
– human sacrifice. But few knew what it involved, beyond what the name suggested, and when the Wrights were destroyed this
was one of the many secrets they took with them. That in this day and age, an Arya would and could actually resort to this
ritual was nothing less than a nightmare come true. But so it was. And it also explained something Govinda had found very
puzzling.

Ever since they had survived being ambushed by Sudakshin’s men a week ago, it had constantly bothered Govinda that an admittedly
small vassal kingdom could so quickly grow to dominate enough vassals and build such a mighty army. It was, to him, a sign
that the diplomatic strategies and the administrative processes of the imperial campaign – and the empire that would result
at the end of it – were sorely lacking. What disturbed him even more was the fact that Sudakshin’s rise had been fuelled by
none other than Devala Asita. In any case, Govinda had decided, this was one enemy they could not leave standing.

And so, as Bhim, Partha and their armies had started for Indr-prastha, he had headed straight for Kashi city. To his surprise,
Shikandin had insisted on joining him, despite Bhim and Partha’s fervent urging that he would be needed on the trail back
home.

‘Why?’ Govinda had asked him, when they had found a moment alone.

‘I have to. I have to see Kashi,’ Shikandin had admitted, a catch in his voice.

Govinda had said no more, and the two men had immediately ridden out, leading three hundred fit and fresh soldiers of Bhim’s
army and the four soldiers of the Panchala Eastern Guard who had survived the last battle. Devajit, one of the survivors,
had gone ahead as a scout and spy.

Dressed as a less-than-prosperous merchant, Devajit was in the perfect guise to spend a few days in the city and visit the
better,
though still-inexpensive, taverns and brothels that were favoured by the palace attendants as well as soldiers of the Kashi
garrison. In two days the Panchala captain had heard much and overheard even more. He silently noticed what he needed to and
spoke just enough to appear commonplace. When he considered his task completed to satisfaction, he left, after haggling a
little over what the innkeeper charged him, but not so much as to draw excessive attention.

He had met up with Govinda and Shikandin about a day’s march from Kashi city. After a few polite but quick words of greeting,
Devajit promptly began his report. ‘Kashi is astir with just one topic, other than the usual and many merry tales of the king’s
debauchery …’

Govinda chuckled and Shikandin laughed softly. ‘Go on,’ he urged.

‘It …’ Devajit paused and chose his words carefully. ‘I don’t suppose this is true but what’s important is that many … most
of Sudakshin’s soldiers believe it completely! There’s talk of Firewright magic. Some say a powerful magician now advises
Sudakshin.’

Shikandin’s response was a derisive grunt, but Govinda was curious. ‘What sort of magic?’

Devajit looked uncomfortable, caught between scepticism and the clear possibility of danger if the impossible were indeed
true. ‘It seems that the erstwhile Emperor Jarasandha of Magadha had earlier captured fourteen men, Magadhan princes all.
He had, it’s being said, planned to offer them as human sacrifice. The talk goes that Sudakshin had them somehow smuggled
out of Magadha after Jarasandha’s fall and held them in his prison. Over eighty-six more were taken over these past two years
– lords of the Kashi–Kosala region, and others of their families. Sudakshin is set to begin the sacrifice …’

To his surprise Govinda broke into a grin. ‘Ah, it’s our privilege to see such great minds at work. You’ve seen what the Kashi
soldiers are like – ruthless, tough and convinced of their own infallibility. If we let Sudakshin go through with his so-called
sacrifice, his men will be convinced that they can’t be defeated despite the battle they lost against us.’

‘You mean you don’t believe there really will be such a sacrifice?’

Govinda thought for a moment, staring into the distance. ‘The original fourteen captives were nothing more than Jarasandha’s
political prisoners. I suspect that the others Sudakshin imprisoned are also troublesome vassals – probably those who were
eager to join Dharma’s empire. He means for them to die all right, but the talk of sacrifice is probably nothing but a trick
to make the Kashi army believe it is invincible and to force the citizens to suffer wartime taxes without complaint. Or it
may be that Sudakshin truly believes it will make him invincible. Unfortunately, if the rest of Aryavarta believes it too,
it may even lead to him making a bid for the empire, eventually!’

‘What if the sacrifices are real?’ Devajit questioned, hesitant. ‘I mean, if there really is some power in …’

‘Then we have a much bigger problem than we imagined.’

Now, Govinda wondered if the worst had come to pass, after all. He found it ironic that the bedrock of civilization, of the
rule of law and Divine order, had come to this. Though many dark histories had been lost, perhaps wilfully, in the mists of
time, the truth remained that from the most ancient times people had fought each other just to survive. Sometimes they had
fought over who had the greater share of a hunt, sometimes it had been tribes warring over hunting grounds. Even prosperity
had not stopped war, leading only to greater fear and distrust. It only made tribes grow larger, stronger and more afraid
for their future. Food was survival. The thought that someday it would run out was never too far from all minds.

Driven by enlightenment, or perhaps by a mixture of need and fear, the people welcomed what they now called civilization.
The rule of might was replaced by the rule of law. The chief or king, sometimes a queen, was no longer just the strongest
one who led the hunt, but the one who divided the kill. It was the beginning of an era of prosperity – life was less perilous
and food more plentiful. Populations grew faster, and small migrant villages became huge, permanent cities. The fear of a
return to the older, perilous times grew just as quickly.

Civilization responded yet again, this time by turning to the gods. Earth became a mirror of the Heavens. The ritual sacrifice
of animals was born. Every morsel consumed was dedicated to the gods, all food divided only after it had been sanctified.
There were no slaughters, only sacrifices. The whole city would gather to receive their rations of the sacrificial animals,
and there was always plenty; but never excessively so. Implicit in every ritual prescription, in every detail of worship,
was the notion of justice.

That rule of law, that noble way of life, had thrived here, at Kashi. The sacrificial courtyard of the Great Temple, Govinda
knew, was stained brown with the blood of centuries; blood that was spilt for the sake of peace, never in excess, never in
violence.

Till now.

‘Hai!’ Devajit sounded despondent. Shikandin squeezed his shoulder in encouragement, then turned to Govinda.

‘That’s the garrison,’ he pointed out, ‘that’s the temple and, of course, the courtyard itself. To the left is the palace.
Behind that, I think, is the royal boathouse …’

Govinda said, ‘Sudakshin knows we will attack him sooner or later. He may even expect us to try and stop the sacrifice.’

‘In that case,’ Shikandin continued, ‘he’ll have troops around the temple and near the river, but …’

‘… not many in the main city itself,’ Govinda finished.

‘Be that as it may, we’re too late,’ Devajit said, his voice full of regret. ‘Too late to stop the travesty.’

‘But not too late to avenge the dead,’ Govinda declared as he urged Balahak to rear up and spring into a gallop. The men followed.

The sun shining bright off their armour, Govinda, Shikandin and their men crashed down on the main gates to Kashi city like
a bolt of lightning across a cloudless sky. The few sentries on duty stood awestruck at the sight of the two men in the lead
– one with long, matted hair and blazing eyes, the other bearing a huge, fierce-looking eagle on his shoulder as if it were
a tame pigeon. They scrambled for cover as the riders broke through in an unstoppable tide.

Unchallenged, Govinda and Shikandin led their men through the crowded mix of marketplace and dwelling houses that formed the
first section of the old city. Both men could have sworn that they were in Hastina or even in Kampilya. It was only when they
entered the more affluent quarters reserved for the nobility that the city would take on its own, unique look.

Speed, and the element of surprise, gave them the upper hand as they thundered down the main street towards the Great Temple.
However, as they entered the huge square that fronted the Great Temple it was their turn to be caught unawares.

‘Pull back!’ Shikandin ordered his men as the first rain of arrows showered down on them. He and Govinda managed to guide
their horses under the wooden awning of a nearby structure, just in time.

‘Go!’ Govinda commanded the bird, still perched on his shoulder. Immediately, the eagle took wing. A few of the archers tried
to shoot it down, but it wheeled deftly to avoid their shafts, and was gone.

Govinda turned to Shikandin. ‘Now what?’

Before Shikandin could reply, a hail of stones rained down from the rooftops above them, cutting them off from the rest of
their forces. Taking advantage of the moment, the soldiers guarding the temple set fire to a couple of hay-filled carts nearby
and completely barred the way.

‘I’ve no clue,’ Shikandin said. He swore loudly and added, ‘Where in Yama’s name did so many men come from? And how did Sudakshin
get them fitted and mustered so quickly?’

Govinda solemnly gave him the answer to that and many other unspoken questions. ‘Devala Asita.’

‘That miserable Firewright! If we get out of this alive I’ll rip his head off his neck!’

As if to punctuate Shikandin’s wrath, a powerful explosion ripped through the air. The ground shuddered with the impact and
the awning above them came crashing down, throwing both him and Govinda off their horses. Coughing and cursing, they quickly
got to their feet, shaking the collapsed awning off them. Shikandin spat out the blood pooled in his mouth from a cut lip,
while Govinda pressed
at his head, trying to rid it of the unbearable ringing in his ears. It took both men a few moments to realize that the explosion
was not the work of the enemy army. Their own soldiers looked on, unharmed and astounded, as Sudakshin’s men ran wild with
terror. Many had thrown down their weapons and were screaming like madmen.

‘Look!’ Shikandin pointed.

Many of the buildings that adjoined the Great Temple were ablaze. Tongues of flame darted out from inside some of the buildings,
and a dark layer of soot stained the crumbling walls. The streets around them were littered with debris and a heavy dust hung
in the air.

‘Come on!’ Govinda nodded towards the temple and began moving towards it. Shouting out instructions to Devajit to take their
horses, Shikandin followed.

Ahead, the huge iron doors leading to the temple complex were shut. As Govinda and Shikandin came closer, a small wicket-gate
set in the door swung open and more soldiers poured out, making straight for the two men. Slashing and cleaving, the two friends
forced their way through the attacking mob, each step taking them closer to the gate even as they left bodies strewn in their
wake. Finally, they managed to squeeze in through the wicket-gate. Shikandin slammed it close behind them and Govinda quickly
secured an iron rod through the latch to bar the way. Then the two men turned to face the hordes that they expected would
rush at them.

But the temple courtyard was empty.