Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (48 page)

Govinda said nothing. He pushed his wet hair back and watched as Panchali flicked off with her slender fingers the drop of
water that had landed on her cheek, admiring her perfectly oval nails, which had been henna-reddened for the coronation.

Panchali studied him, no longer angry. ‘Go away, Govinda,’ she said at last, her voice flat and dull. ‘Go away, or else we’ll
all become soulless monsters like you. I’ll pray for you. I’ll pray that someday you find something that moves you to the
very core of your being. Then you’ll understand what I’ve done and why. For now, go. And, on my honour, as long as I am Empress,
don’t ever, ever come back!’

Govinda smiled to himself. Much as he wanted to pretend that this was the angry rant of a heartbroken, scorned woman, he knew
it was far too rational for that. It was far too accurate for that. In her heart, Panchali knew he was right. She also knew
he had to leave, throwing her aside once again. This was her way of lashing out, of perhaps trying to salvage some last modicum
of hope from her otherwise shattered soul.

Worst of all, Govinda had no regrets. He had dealt with Panchali exactly as he dealt with himself; he had been ruthless with
her and treated her as little more than an idea, an instrument, and the means to a greater end. But her eyes, dark and innocent,
haunted his dreams
and pored deep into his soul. They had always seen the things he hid from the rest of the world. Well, almost always.

He watched Panchali intently, drinking in his fill of her, wanting to feel the warmth, the honest affection for one last time
before he left her and his beloved Aryavarta behind. He yearned for one last smile to hold in memory along with the smell
of lotuses, the sense of her that filled his very being. For a fleeting moment he wanted to stay, and for an even smaller
instant he wished things could be just a little bit otherwise. Most of all, he longed to take her in his arms and whisper
the words of affection he had held back for so many years, to make one last confession before bidding her farewell.

Smiling, Govinda told himself it did not matter anymore. It had all happened exactly as he had planned, and that was enough.
To be understood was a luxury he ought not to desire.
Rudra, give me strength
, he prayed silently. Out loud he said, ‘Goodbye, Panchali. Rule well.’

And then he was gone.

THE LONE RIDER MADE FOR A SAD, FORLORN FIGURE AS HE STOOD
silhouetted against the sun, looking down at the city – except for the private, satisfied smirk that spread across his face.

Of course, he had much to smile about. He stood with Indr-prastha, why, with all of Aryavarta at his feet, in more ways than
one. Soon, the entire land would pay for what they had done to him, his family and his order. For what they had done to the
Firewrights.

His plan, he mused, had been well thought out and immaculately executed. Dwaipayana would now relinquish control and truly
distance himself from the affairs of the empire, ensconced in his illusion of righteousness and security. By the time the
old, self-absorbed scholar could think to act it would be too late.

The man allowed himself an uncharacteristic chuckle. It still did not fail to amaze him how easily men were blinded by their
beliefs and by their ambition. It had been unexpectedly simple to manipulate that impassioned muhira Devala to his purposes.
In the aftermath of Ghora’s death, the young Firewright had fancied himself the logical successor to the mantle of the Secret
Keeper – in future if not in the present. Moreover, the ambitious idiot had assumed that he alone had any legitimate claim
to the Firewrights’ legacy. With his newfound sense of responsibility and power it had taken little to goad Devala and he
had been only too eager to openly defy Govinda and his imperial ambitions. As for the fool – that cowherd – he too had surely
aspired to the role of Secret Keeper, to the position, if not the title. But it had not been too difficult to make sure that
Govinda had been left with no choice but to reveal his own secrets and who he truly was.

And then it had been just as easy to stir Shisupala into action at the coronation, to make him speak up and place seeds of
doubt in the minds of all those kings. They would not forget his questions in a hurry. They would not forget that Shisupala
had died for asking those questions. In any case, the rider noted with a sneer, he would make sure that they did not forget.
The kings of Aryavarta would soon rise against this mockery of an empire, and their wrath would bring down not just Emperor
Dharma but also the hypocritical Firstborn order.

What would they feel, he pleasantly mulled for a short while. Rage that the Vyasa had betrayed them? Shame that the Firstborn
had failed? Or just sheer horror that this, a supposed empire of righteousness, had been built on the might of the Firewrights
they had condemned? How would Dharma react?

The speculation brought the man much satisfaction. For all his self-recrimination and denial, Dharma would have no choice
but to embrace those who were truly the fount of his power. As would all the other rulers of Aryavarta. Soon, it would be
the Firstborn who were declared heathen outlaws and hunted down like animals throughout the kingdoms, while the Firewrights
took the glory that was theirs by right.

The rider let the rays of the setting sun bathe him in their glow, drinking in their golden touch. He threw his head back,
as a rare
gasp of joy escaped him and he revelled in his hard-won contentment. A part of him humbly suggested that it was not smugness
– no, this satisfaction had come at too high a price for that. For all that he had found easy, there had been many trials,
much pain that he had endured. He had kept these terrible secrets buried deep inside for so many years, from the world, even
from Dwaipayana Vyasa. Sometimes, he recalled, he had forced himself to forget the truth, lest he somehow say or do something
to reveal what he knew. To reveal who he really was. The hardest part had been to watch and keep his silence as the last remaining
dregs of the Firewrights had been systematically destroyed, one by one. So many times, he had reminded himself that it was
necessary, that this was the only way. Sacrifice was inevitable.

In any case, it was done, and his selflessness would soon have its reward. Somewhere in the larger tide of events that would
sweep across Aryavarta, was his own, personal revenge. The man who had brought the Firewrights to this, the traitor who had
betrayed his own, would be destroyed. Before the end, Govinda would watch his beloved city fall, his people die, and his loved
ones scream in agony. Or, perhaps, it would be immensely more pleasurable to keep him alive and make him suffer the same fate
as those he had betrayed. Blinded and maimed like Agniveshya, or tortured for his secrets and knowledge like the old Agnivarna.
The possibilities were endless.

Slowly, the man let out the breath he did not know he had been holding, forcing himself to relax and think calmly, to acknowledge
the force of destiny that had brought him to this, to his rightful inheritance. It was time. The Firewrights would rise once
again from the embers of their pyre, more potent, more powerful than ever. Soon, he would find the new Secret Keeper, the
one Ghora Angirasa had left in his stead to rule not just the Firewrights but the entire empire. And then …

Sanjaya Gavalgani laughed softly at that thought. Aryavarta would never be the same again.

A NOTE ON SOURCES AND METHODS

The Aryavarta Chronicles
is the product of research and analysis, with the latter drawing on the former. A slew of work is out there – critical, unconventional,
even controversial – that revolves around the world of the Mahabharata. Many are in regional and vernacular tongues, existing
as folklore and tales that have never made it into print as a cohesive tome. The
Chronicles
rely on a mix of these scholarly and popular sources, on histories that tend towards established fact, as well as those based
on socially constructed beliefs of what constitutes fact.

THE EVOLUTION OF AN EPIC

The Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute (BORI) version (also known as the Poona Critical Edition) of the Mahabharata, which
remains the dominant source for most retellings and reinterpretations today, is estimated to have been prevalent around the
fifth century ad, that is, the Gupta Age. That leaves a fair 3,000 odd years or so during which the story was told over and
over, endlessly, forming a final ‘layered’ narrative filled with explanations and interpolations. The bard–narrator of the
mainstream edition, Ugrashravas Sauti, states that he recites what he heard from the scholar Vaishampayana, who in turn is
one of the five students who learns the epic from its original author, the Vyasa. Add to this the fact that the epic itself
recorded its growth from 8,800 verses composed by Dwaipayana Vyasa to 24,000 verses, and then to the 100,000-verse version
we have today. Somewhere along the line, the Harivamsa is added on, as an appendix. And there begins a journey – for history
is not stagnant, nor is its narration.

UNRAVELLING THE EPIC

Bibliographically speaking, my study began with C. Rajagopalachari’s
Mahabharata
(Mumbai: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 2005). My main source, which forms the broad canvas of ‘canon’ Mahabharata, is the translated
version by K.M. Ganguli (
The Mahabharata of Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa, Volumes 1–12
, Calcutta: P.C. Roy/Oriental Publishing Co., 1884–96; Republished, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1970) available online through
www.sacred-texts.com
. I read this in conjunction with J.A.B. Van Buiten’s three-volume translation which goes up to the Udyoga
Parvan (
Mahabharata, Volumes 1 to 3
, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975–78); P. Lal’s lyrical transcreation of the epic (
Mahabharata of Vyasa
, New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House, 1986); and Ramesh Menon’s more contemporary retelling (
The Mahabharata: A Modern Rendering, Volumes 1 and 2
, Lincoln: iUniverse, 2006).

I have relied also on Pandit Ramachandrashastri Kinjawadekar’s version of the
Harivamsa
(Poona: Chitrashala Press, 1936), as translated by Desiraju Hanumanta Rao, A. Purushothaman and A. Harindranath (
http://mahabharata-resources.org/harivamsa
),
and on M.N. Dutt’s version of the text (
The Harivamsa
, Calcutta: Elysium Press, 1897). H.H. Wilson’s
Vishnu Purana
(Calcutta: Punthi Pustak, 1961; original copyright 1840) was invaluable especially when it came to cross-checking genealogies
and timelines, as was the Bhaktivedanta Book Trust International’s version of the Srimad Bhagavatam, available through the
Bhaktivedanta Vedabase Network website (
www.vedabase.net
).

The subsequent analysis, such as it is, was not without method. D.D. Kosambi notes: ‘Against the hypothesis of “pure invention”,
one must ask why the invention took these particular forms …’
(‘The Autochthonous Element in the Mahabharata’, 1964,
Journal of the American Oriental Society
, 84–1,
pp. 31
–
44
). This has been the dominant principle I have chosen to hold on to, focussing on the
why
.

Two stalwarts have influenced my approach to this issue. First, I have borrowed liberally from Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay’s
deductive principles in his
Krishnacharitra
(trans. Alo Shome, New Delhi: Hindology Books, 2008). Chattopadhyay’s analysis is based on a categorical rejection of supernatural
events, interpolations and ‘events that can be proved to be untrue in any other way’ (
p. 27
). A similar perspective is evident
in K.M. Munshi’s series
Krishnavatara
(Volumes 1–7, Mumbai: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 1990). While Munshi admits to using his creativity freely in filling what may
be gaps in the facts, he remains true to the notion that Krishna-Govinda was a man who eventually became a legend. In his
view Govinda was not god, but a (near-perfect) man. I have gratefully followed his lead in beginning with the premise that
this is the story of human beings, exemplary ones who are well-deserving of their consequent elevation to divine status. But
it is not a story of gods.

Alf Hiltebeitel, a leading Mahabharata scholar, is one of those who speaks of a symbolism-rich Mahabharata; that is, the idea
that many expressions in the Mahabharata cannot be literally interpreted (‘The Mahabharata and Hindu Eschatology’, 1972,
History of Religions
, 12–2,
pp. 95
–
135
). Hiltebeitel’s
Rethinking the Mahabharata: A Reader’s Guide to the Education of the Dharma Kings
(Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2001) also deserves mention for fuelling many ideas; as does James L. Fitzgerald’s broad
piece covering many topics on the Mahabharata, including the historical evolution of the text itself (‘The Great Epic of India
as Religious Rhetoric: A Fresh Look at the Mahabharata’, 1983,
Journal of the American Academy of Religion
, 51–4, pp. 611–630). Mary Carroll Smith’s analysis of the variation in meter, narrative structure, and the subtle moves from
Vedic to Classical Sanskrit in the text as we have it today, to identify possible additions and interpolations
(‘The Mahabharata’s Core’, 1975,
Journal of the American Oriental Society
, 95–3, pp. 479–482) was central to my reconstruction of the story.

Such a reconstruction also requires political, social and even psychological explanations. For this, I have drawn on ideas
from many analytical and creative works, first among them being Irawati Karve’s
Yuganta: End of an Epoch
(Hyderabad: Disha Books/Orient Longman, 1991). Karwe is particularly notable for her critical approach to the question of
Dharma Yudhisthir’s father. Buddhadeva Bose in his
Mahabharater Katha/The Book of Yudhisthir
(trans. Sujit Mukherjee, London: Sangam Books/Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 1986) attributes to Dharma Yudhisthir’s character
the many frustrations and exasperations that I find likely, and though I am less inclined to glorify Dharma as the protagonist
of the epic I cannot deny that I benefitted from reading Bose’s book.

Alf Hiltebeitel’s work on Panchali (
The Cult of Draupadi: Volumes 1 and 2
, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1988, 1991) and Pradip Bhattacharya’s essay on the
Panchkanyas
of lore (‘She Who Must Be Obeyed – Draupadi: The Ill-Fated One’, 2004,
Manushi
, 144–Sep/Oct,
pp. 19
–
30
) provides deeper insights into her compelling character and even the intricacies of her relationships.
Panchali is symbolically and overtly equated to Sri – the consort of Vishnu in terms of the pantheon and the symbol of nature
at a deeper level. This clearly places her as the heroine of a story which has Govinda for its hero; an idealized symmetry
that is alluded to in Prathibha Ray’s
Yajnaseni
(trans. Pradip Bhattacharya, New Delhi: Rupa, 1995.)

The tale, however, unfolds in a different way. The consequent asymmetry, anomaly even, is explained away in canon Mahabharata
and its derivative tales (many of which speak of Panchali’s preference for Partha) using the concepts of rebirth and divine
manifestation. But, if we do away with such interpolated justifications, what might it mean?

I do not have the answer to this riddle, but only a question. Behind
the implied and admitted romances, is there a story of affection so obvious that it is easily overlooked? Is it a kind of
Freudian transference, whether in the original itself, or perhaps created post-hoc in the interests of sanitizing and legitimizing
the epic but nevertheless hinted at by the triangle of three dark-skinned Krishnas – Panchali, Partha and Govinda? Or is the
asymmetry itself the story – the tale of a world where many such things are not right? To borrow Govinda Shauri’s words: ‘The
world as we know it would not make sense unless Ahalya were turned to stone.’

ALTERNATE MAHABHARATAS

At this point, I shall admit that I was occasionally surprised, perhaps even shocked, at the alternate theories that seemed
to suggest themselves, particularly since I had been brought up on strong doses of canon Mahabharata. The ideas, however,
were not as ‘alternative’ as I had first thought – I discovered the existence of alternate versions of the Mahabharata, many
of which were equally canonical in their own right. These included the Bhil Mahabharata and the Indonesian Kakawain versions,
both of which I highlight for a reason – The Bhil Mahabharata was (in my view) the nearest I could get to a subaltern version
of the epic, and took a very different view of the socio-political status quo (for variations and tales from the Bhil Mahabharata
see Satya Chaitanya’s blog, based on his research of this folklore:
http://innertraditions.blogspot.com
).

The Indonesian Kakawain version (
http://www.joglosemar.co.id/bharatayuda.html
) was equally exciting, since it was possibly
shipped out of Aryavarta and to Indonesian islands in a form that was closer to the ‘core’ or original Mahabharata – that
is, an epic with fewer interpolations. A list of resources and essays on the Mahabharata variations across Bengali, Bhil,
Oriya, Tamil, Malayalam and Rajasthani cultures (to name a few) is available at A. Harindranath’s stunning website: (
http://mahabharata-resources.org
).
Essays on the Oriya
Sarala Mahabharata
are available on B.N. Patnaik’s site:
http://saralamahabharat.blogspot.com
.

BUILDING THE WORLD OF THE EPIC

W.G. Archer (
The Loves of Krishna in Indian Painting and Poetry
, New York: MacMillan, 1957) points to the small but immeasurably important link in the Upanishads that has opened the door
to a larger story-world that revolves around the group of scholar–sages known as the Angirasas. With that in mind, the Vedic–Upanishad
symbolism in the epic pointed out by Alf Hiltebeitel (‘The Two K
as on One Chariot: Upanisadic Imagery and Epic Mythology’, 1984,
History of Religions
, 24–1,
pp. 1
–
26
) begins to make sense. Many reinterpretations and interpolations fall into place and can be logically identified,
keeping in mind the basic symbolic themes, as well as the body of philosophical knowledge that the epic seeks to encompass.
Most importantly, the Mahabharata starts becoming a story of technological evolution and the associated social change.

I turned to the broader Vedic and Upanisadic literature in an attempt to decipher what the astra-incantations might have meant
in a secular and scientific sense, and to understand the technology that hid behind metaphors. For this, I have relied strongly
on Karen Thomson and Jonathan Slocum’s work on ancient Sanskrit, available from the Linguistics Research Centre at the University
of Texas at Austin; particularly their translations of Barend A. van Nooten and Gary B. Holland’s version of the Rig Veda
(
Rig Veda: A Metrically Restored Text
, Boston: Harvard University Press, 1994). Also deserving reference are Subhash C. Kak’s ‘Science in Ancient India’ (In
Ananya: A Portrait of India
, S.R. Sridhar and N.K. Mattoo (eds.), 1997, AIA: New York,
pp. 399
–
420
); Aurobindo’s
The Secret of the Veda
(Pondicherry: Sri Aurobindo Ashram, 1993) and Shatavadhani R. Ganesh’s audio commentary on the PurushaSuktam and the NarayanaSuktam
(K.V. Raman,
Vedic Chanting
, Bangalore: Sagar Music, 1999.)

The Vedic texts have also been of relevance to understanding the socio-political-economic context of the epic itself. For
example, M.B. Emeneau and B.A. van Nooten approach the notions of
Niyoga
and polyandry in the Mahabharata from the broader Vedic context
(‘The Young Wife and Her Husband’s Brother: Rgveda 10.40.2 and 10.85.44.’, 1991,
Journal of the American Oriental Society
, 111–3, pp. 481–494). Also deserving mention here is Janet Chawla’s feminist reading of the Rig Veda (‘Mythic Origins of
Menstrual Taboo in Rig Veda’, 1994,
Economic and Political Weekly
, 29–43, pp. 2817–2827).

LIFE AND WAR IN EPIC TIMES

In terms of setting the descriptive stage for the story, my first stop was Romila Thapar’s
The Penguin History of Early India: From the Origins to 1300 AD
(New Delhi: Penguin Books/Allen Lane, 2002). City descriptions are based mainly on details in the epic narrative, but I also
referred to marine archaeologist S.R. Rao’s
The Lost City of Dvaraka
(Goa: National Institute of Oceanography, 1999); David Frawley’s
Gods, Sages and Kings: Vedic Secrets of Ancient Civilization
(Salt Lake City: Passage Press/Morson Publishing, 1991) and A.S. Gaur, Sundaresh and SilaTripati’s ‘An Ancient Harbour at
Dwarka: Study Based on the Recent Underwater Explorations’ (2004,
Current Science
, 86–9, pp. 1256–60) for ideas on the layout of Dwaraka city, particularly its fortifications and defences. Gaur, Sundaresh
and Tripati’s ‘Evidence for Indo–Roman trade from Bet Dwarka Waters, West Coast of India’ (2005,
International Journal of Nautical Archaeology
, 35,
pp. 117
–
127
) inspired the notion of Dwaraka as a maritime power.