Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (46 page)

DWAIPAYANA WATCHED FROM AN ORNATE WINDOW OF DHARMA’S
palace as yet another royal convoy left Indr-prastha with due pomp and bustle, seen off by one or the other of Dharma’s brothers,
as was appropriate. He breathed in deep of the crisp evening breeze, feeling satisfied and content. The coronation was over.
One by one the guests were leaving, returning to their homes as the loyal subjects of Emperor Dharma. It would not do to overstay
their welcome, especially not after what had happened to Shisupala.

The old scholar smiled at the recollection of recent events. Although somewhat unexpected, the conclusion had been wholly
gratifying. Sanjaya had been right to suggest that the First Honour go to Govinda. It had indeed placed the man, officially
and functionally, in the highly useful position of protector of the Empire. Like the crack of a whip, Govinda’s cold wrath
and violence had revealed the might behind the benevolent face of Dharma’s reign. It had made the coronation that much more
effective and, to the Vyasa personally, infinitely more satisfying.

Dwaipayana continued to revel in the still-fresh memories, even as an attendant appeared at the door, announcing a visitor.
A tad reluctantly, he turned. As he had expected, it was Dharma. Somehow, the new emperor brought him less joy in person than
he did as a notion. ‘My son, come on in,’ he greeted him.

Dharma entered the room and went down on one knee in salutation.

‘Come, sit comfortably, come …’ the Vyasa prompted.

Dharma rose, and sat down on an ornate chair, saying, ‘Your carriage is ready, Acharya. But must you leave already? Indr-prastha
quickly empties of its guests. Just this morning I was crowned, and now …’ he shook his head, looking doleful.

‘Ah, the anti-climatic aftermath of a grand ending … Sadly, it’s time to stop celebrating, and start ruling, Dharma. We all
have our duties to get back to, you included.’

‘Won’t you stay a little longer?’ Dharma urged.

‘No, my son, I must go.’ Dwaipayana began bustling about the room, collecting the many manuscripts strewn about the room.
With genuine anticipation in his voice, he said, ‘And this is one journey I look forward to very much. By divine providence,
my retirement from politics in Aryavarta has come about sooner than expected, Praise be to Varuna! My students are an intelligent
and impatient lot and Suka will work me hard to make up for their missed lessons. I’m an old man … It’s time for me to go
back to my parchments and my quills. Besides, I leave Aryavarta in good hands.’

He paused, gazing contentedly at the younger man. With sombre satisfaction, he proclaimed, ‘Dharma, Emperor of Aryavarta …
And the unhappiest Emperor I’ve seen, I must say!’

‘Acharya …’ Dharma started.

With a merry laugh, Dwaipayana went on, ‘I know you, my son. You’re a man after my own heart, a man who believes in Divine
order, in destiny, and the essence of being good. And your conscience, the one that gives you your name, now tells you that
this empire, even your coronation, are tainted with things you find loathsome, isn’t that so?’

‘I … Acharya …’ Dharma began to protest but the relief at being understood without having to explain himself shone on his
face. He made to stand, as a prelude to pouring out his heart.

The Elder waved him back to his seat. ‘It doesn’t matter how you got here, Dharma. What matters is why. The mission of the
Firstborn is fulfilled, thanks to you. You see, my forefathers believed that if they could concentrate all power and authority
in the scriptures, some degree of accountability would be established. These scriptures set immutable notions of justice,
duty and goodness. And that, my son, is what gives us stability. Birth, nobility, honour – these things did not matter to
the Firewrights. They have fully paid the price. Their philosophy, their very system has failed. You now rule as emperor over
a confederation that values virtue, and will remain united by their common duty. Life will go on according to the scriptures.
But …’

Dwaipayana put the scroll he was holding down on a table and purposefully went over to Dharma. In a soft but compelling voice
he said, ‘It’s your task to maintain stability and peace. I can’t stress how important this is. You can’t concern yourself
with details, trivialities. All that has happened, loathsome or otherwise, is destiny. Destiny has brought you to rule over
us all, because it’s time for righteousness and good to prevail. This is how it was meant to be! Those who have served you,
those who’ve built this empire for you – have done so in your name and by the will of the gods. Their fate, their future is
their own to face. Don’t think yourself beholden to them for honours you’ve showed them, or feel bound by their service to
you. Do you understand me?’ He paused, knowing that Dharma understood who it was he spoke of in such veiled terms.

The Emperor responded with a hesitant silence.

‘I said this to you at your coronation,’ Dwaipayana sharply continued, ‘and I say this again. Listen! You may not have realized
what a historically significant moment this is. Future generations will point to you and say that it was during your reign
that the Firstborn taught the noble Aryas to walk along the path leading to the heavens and brought to earth the power of
the gods. By your very life, you’ve earned your name,
Dharma
. Don’t let me down, do you understand? Don’t let me down!’ he finished. His voice was strained and his cheeks glistened with
tears of fervour.

The Vyasa’s words stirred a host of emotions in the newly crowned Emperor. The happiness Dharma had denied himself for the
past days, no, years, finally flooded through him, filling him with relief as it all made sense. This was how it was meant
to be. Whatever means the gods had used, in the end, dharma, righteousness, would prevail. Just as he would now prevail, restoring
order and honour to Aryavarta. Joy blossomed on his face, and he wished he could rip his soul from his body and lay it at
the Vyasa’s feet. Never had he felt so overcome with reverence and emotion.

‘The gods have brought me to my destiny. It’s my duty to see this done,’ Dharma plainly stated.

Dwaipayana placed a hand on the younger man’s head in blessing, and let out a sigh of satisfaction. Dharma, he knew, would
now rule in peace.

‘May your glory rival that of Indra himself!’ he declared. ‘Now go. Leave this old man to potter around with his memories
for few moments. I’ll see you and your brothers by the carriage in a short while.’

With a grateful bow, Dharma took his leave of the Vyasa.

Dwaipayana watched him walk away down the corridor and disappear from view.

‘So, that’s done,’ he remarked, as Sanjaya stepped out of a small anteroom. ‘You won’t need me anymore, my son. Aryavarta’s
greatest days lie ahead. Make sure you deal with the loose ends that are left, won’t you, Sanjaya. Dharma’s rule must be absolute.
Get Asvattama to hunt down that Firewright, Devala. Tell him to make sure that the bastard screams so loud that no one in
Aryavarta ever dares utter the name of those heretics again!’

Sanjaya nodded, his face impassive.

The Vyasa continued, ‘And then, of course, there’s Govinda Shauri. He should be a happy man, I think. Recognized as first
among Aryas, his sister’s blood eventual heir to the imperial throne … and he and his people are now safe. Dwaraka will prosper
under Dharma’s rule, and Govinda will prosper with it. Yes, he’s a content fellow indeed, I should expect. As far as we’re
concerned, the tiger having served its purpose has been tamed and caged, in no small part due to your foresight. Make sure,
though, that it doesn’t break free. Govinda must fade into obscurity, and if he is remembered it can’t be as anything more
than a womanizing charmer. He must stay out of Aryavarta’s affairs.’

‘And if the tiger should …’

‘Then do what you have to, Sanjaya.’ In a softer tone, the Vyasa added, ‘The Firewrights are dead, Dharma is Emperor and the
Firstborn guide his conscience, Aryavarta’s conscience. Nothing else matters. I’ve waited very long for this day. There’s
nothing I want more than to spend my time in quiet meditation, in a place far removed from these mundane shackles and material
quagmires.’ His voice fell to a whisper, as if he spoke to himself, or perhaps to
an absent one for whom he held great affection, ‘My duty is done, my promise has been kept. It’s time I seek the Truth, the
Maker … or whatever lies beyond it all.’

Sanjaya went down on his knees as his emotions brimmed over. He made to speak, many times, but could not find the words. Eventually,
he gave up, and bowed his head low.

Dwaipayana stirred and looked at him with affection. ‘I’ve been fortunate indeed to have had you with me. You bear the burdens
of my conscience and are the one who truly understands what I’ve done and why. But … have I done you wrong, Sanjaya? You came
to me to learn of the gods and I have made a politician of you … You, whom I love as a son! But, it’s not too late to let
you go …’ he remarked humorously. Then, with a sigh, he declared, ‘I set you free of this old fool, of your binding to me
as student. From today, you are your own man and your debt to your mentor is discharged.’

A moment of strained, almost painful speechlessness hung over them as both men came to terms with what had just happened.
With that simple statement the Vyasa had relinquished his final hold not just over Sanjaya, but over all of Aryavarta.

Sanjaya bowed low again and remained silent for a while longer. In the end, when he spoke, it was in a measured tone. ‘Acharya,
I repeat the Emperor’s question – must you really go?’

Dwaipayana let out a heavy breath. ‘It’s a relief not to be needed. One I intend to enjoy fully and in total seclusion. Come,
the carriage is waiting. I wish to leave the city before nightfall. I shall travel till the foothills of the White Mountains
as the Vyasa, this one last time. From there on I shall become Dwaipayana the ascetic once again.’

THE SUN HAD NOT YET RISEN ON THE FIRST NEW DAY OF HER
imperial reign as Panchali rode towards the river. It was dark, but the distinct smell of morning was already in the air,
a unique mix of midnight blooms and daybreak jasmine. A gentle, insistent wind
tugged at her hair, pulling it out of its loose bun till it streamed out behind her. She smiled at nature’s wild irreverence,
thankful that some things remained beyond the control of any emperor or empress.

Empress, hah!
The thought reminded her of why she was there, and she drew yet again on the anger and bitterness of many years that served
always to give her strength.

Today, it would end.

Panchali swung off her horse and walked the remaining distance towards the river. She emerged out through a small grove of
shrubs, right on to the riverbank. Tethering her horse to a nearby tree, she waited. Govinda’s first act that morning would
be to offer prayers for the man he had killed, Panchali knew that well.

Just as the blue night lightened to a purple dawn, Govinda waded out of the river, his hair sleek with the damp and his wet
antariya clinging to his lean body. It was cold, but he seemed oblivious to it, despite his bare chest and feet. He picked
up his sword from where he had left it and walked directly towards Panchali. She knew he was daring her to look away, to act
modest and bashful as she ought to, but she did not take the bait. Instead, she brazenly met his gaze.

‘Mahamatra,’ he greeted her, his eyes sparkling with a strange light.

Panchali’s expression was taunting. As he drew closer, she said, ‘You remind me of Indra himself, Govinda, as Ahalya saw him,
emerging from the water.’

‘Do you find me that tempting, Panchali? Or do you fear that I will seduce you?’ he asked, teasing and sensuous.

‘Tempting, Govinda? Is that your opinion of Ahalya – an easy-to-seduce, desperate woman?’

‘Ahalya,’ he said, ‘was a great woman and not just for her beauty. She was forced to marry a man other than the one she loved
… marry, bear him a son. And then, after many years, she met her beloved, Indra. What did temptation and seduction have to
do with it … they’d loved each other, always. Pity …’ he trailed off.

Panchali sighed. ‘It always amazes me how such a wonderful tale was turned into such a frightening one. I’ve heard it said
that
Indra deceived her and there was no fault on her part. If so, how did he remain the King of Heaven while she was cursed to
turn into stone?’

Govinda’s words were a whisper. ‘She
was
turned to stone … They’d both known others, but it didn’t matter because Indra made love not to her body but to her soul.
And once he was gone …’

‘Why did it have to end that way? Imagine, if things had been otherwise … but it can’t be, can it?’

‘No, it can’t. The world as we know it wouldn’t make sense unless Ahalya were turned to stone. A world where love remains
unrequited is an anomaly, an imperfection. Judgement and blame are the only way we can reason out the imbalance and continue
to believe in a Perfect Universe.’

‘Oh please!’ Panchali was suddenly scathing. ‘Spare me the philosophical explanations. I’ve had enough of you acting like
the consummate model of reason and dispassion. I once used to think that you were just a masochist who believed that if he
makes enough sacrifices, if he keeps giving himself up for the sake of some greater cause, he can fight the darkness. Then
I realized you’re something worse. Whether that makes you a god or a demon, I don’t know …’

Govinda looked amused. He clucked his tongue and said, ‘What complicated threads are you getting in a tangle? I can sense
your mind working into knots. You can’t stop thinking, even if you try. But go on,’ he urged, ‘you know I find it absolutely
wonderful.’

‘Really? And I suppose you’re equally amused by the way it has all fallen into place, aren’t you? Aryavarta lies under your
feet … What will you do next, Govinda? What will you conquer now?’

For once, Govinda’s eyes betrayed confusion.

Panchali stepped forward. She was much shorter than Govinda and had to look up at him, but the subtle pride with which she
held her head up made her seem no less tall. ‘Or are you done with your manipulation?’ she taunted. ‘I don’t think you are,
but you know what? It’s too late. It’s over. I’m done with being your figurehead, the so-called Empress of Aryavarta, through
whom you will rule
us all. It’s all over and you’ve failed! You’ve lost, Govinda! Your condescension has been your folly. You never thought your
puppet, your dear little Princess Panchali, would amount to anything on her own, did you?’

‘Panchali …’

‘I won’t be your toy empress. I will not give you that pleasure. This is the land of the noble and there’s no room here for
demons such as you. At every step of the way, I’ve fought you, don’t you see …?’

In a tearful whisper, Panchali added, ‘Don’t you see? I know everything, Govinda – right from Ghora’s death to Shisupala’s,
it all makes sense … You are nothing but a traitor of the worst sort, for you stand by no one. You’re a man without allegiance
or identity. All you want is supremacy, you want to lord over us all, and no, not even the First Honour can satisfy your appetite
for power. I tried to stop you once. Yes. I’ll confess that I did try to stop you. I was the one who kept Devala informed
about all your plans. I tried so hard to save Kandava …’

‘I know,’ Govinda interjected. ‘I know that it was Asvattama who pointed you to the old bow and that’s how you ended up meeting
Devala. I also know that you tried to turn me away from war, from killing Jarasandha and, ultimately, from building you an
empire. I won’t deny that sometimes you made sense on the face of it, but for the most part you were just trying to stop me
because you thought me ruthless and ambitious.’

Panchali looked away, biting her lower lip in frustration. She wished he would at least try to explain or defend his actions.
She would willingly accept any excuse he gave, if only he would say that he really did care. That he had used her, yes, but
had never meant to hurt her this way.

He remained silent.

Unable to bear it, she went on, wanting to hear herself say the words out loud. ‘Kandava … You know, that day in Kandava –
oh yes, I remember every moment of that day. That day, Govinda, for the tiniest moment, I thought … I thought I was more than
just amusement to you. I thought you cared. And the truth is, you do!
It’s been your only weakness. You care for me, and so you trust me … I’ve longed to believe it and to deny it. I didn’t want
to betray you, but I can’t bear the notion that you …’

Fighting back her tears, Panchali made herself look at him. Govinda’s face was cold and emotionless. It made her want to scream,
but she willed herself not to. ‘And so,’ she continued, her voice even. ‘I waited and I watched you as you built
your
empire, as you stripped Aryavarta of every shred of dignity, killing those who defied you. That’s why you destroyed the Wrights,
all those years ago, isn’t it? And you went against those same Wrights in Kashi, not to weaken
them
but to destroy
us
! You’re like the rest of them, Govinda. This has nothing to do with principle and everything to do with power. The good become
heathens and the bad turn sacred. These are just words that the powerful ones use to justify their might. The victorious always
became the noble, because they define nobility.’

‘What’s your point?’

‘Do you really want me to make the accusation in plain words, Govinda? And what is it you want me to point out – who you really
are or what you’ve done?’

‘That’s up to you. You know it doesn’t bother me at all. I am, however, curious as to the reasoning behind the assertions
you make – or don’t make.’

‘Careful, Govinda. You’ve made me
your Empress
. It’s a little late for insubordination, don’t you think?’ Panchali paused, her eyes locked defiantly with Govinda’s as she
searched for the words she wanted. ‘I hear,’ she casually began, ‘that for all their radical thinking, the Firewrights do
hold themselves bound by law – their own laws, that is. Particularly in the matter of succession. One Secret Keeper must die
for another to take his place, isn’t it?’

‘So I hear, too.’

‘So you hear. I think you’ve done more than hear, Govinda. Of all people, you had the most to gain or lose when Ghora Angirasa
died. His death set off the chain of events that has brought us to this moment.’

‘The ancients call it karma, as you well know. The things we do, or don’t do, have consequences. I fail to see how this implicates
me.’

‘Ghora took many secrets with him.’

‘I suppose so. He was the Secret Keeper.’

‘As did Shisupala. He wasn’t the Secret Keeper, though, just a smart man who’d figured out the truth.’

‘Battle doesn’t turn into murder based on the acumen of the deceased, Panchali.’

‘Irrespective of acumen, Ghora’s death was murder.’

‘Suppose it was. And my fault in that is …?’

‘You didn’t look for his murderer, Govinda.’

‘True, I didn’t. Why should I?’

‘Why not?

Govinda shrugged, a look of amused puzzlement on his face.

‘Why not?’ Panchali repeated. A hint of smugness crept into her voice, as she continued, ‘You know who the murderer is. You
know it, and you’ve done nothing. Is it too much to wonder why?’

‘No, but the explanation could be a simple one. What if I just didn’t care?’

‘Oh, you do care, Govinda. You certainly do care about this. Your true enemies are those who see through you, who see the
truth. And that’s why you killed Shisupala, isn’t it? But what are you going to do, now that I have seen through you? Will
you kill me too, like you did Shisupala?’

Govinda laughed.

He threw his head back and roared with unrestrained mirth as a stunned Panchali watched, waiting for him to stop. He eventually
did, with an acquiescent, grudging sigh. Then, clearing his throat and gathering his thoughts, Govinda said, ‘Perhaps I should
apologize, seeing as you’re hurt. But I won’t. You want to know what I really care about? Not the Firewrights nor the Firstborn,
not kingdoms and titles. But I do care about Aryavarta, its people, and I care about
you
. I’ve done what was necessary, Panchali, and I won’t apologize for it. This empire,
your
empire, is Aryavarta’s greatest hope.’

‘My empire!’ Panchali sarcastically exclaimed. ‘Hah! Don’t you get it? I let you make me Empress because I was the only one
I trusted to resist you, to stand up to you. For years, I’ve waited for this moment, waited to stop pretending that I’m just
your puppet and tell you that it’s all over. I won’t let you use me to lord over Aryavarta. Neither is your plaything, Govinda.
You’ve wanted us both, but you’ll have neither.’

‘I …’ Govinda hesitated, finding himself at an unusual loss for words. He then chuckled resignedly and said. ‘Is that what
you really think of me?’

‘Then tell me what to think. Tell me the truth, at least now.’

Govinda drew in a long, wholesome breath, cherishing the moment of anticipation, the allure of freedom and the imminent relief
of finally sharing his deepest secret, though both of them already knew the truth. At last, he said the words he had longed
to say to her for years.

‘Panchali, I am a Firewright.’