The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (29 page)

‘Fruit?’ Nakul asked. He tossed a red-orange mango to each of them before biting with relish into the juicy pulp of a third.

‘I thought you were supposed to be shooting down jungle fowl,’ Partha said, frowning at the twins with all the authority of an elder brother.

‘Nah!’ Nakul said. ‘We found this particularly inviting mango tree. And we had to pick the herbs Bhim wanted to flavour the meat with. Don’t worry…I’m sure Panchali will shoot down enough fowl for you.’

Bhim laughed. ‘You make me feel like we haven’t aged a day, Nakul. You still act like a teenager.’

‘I didn’t know there was a particularly grown-up way of eating fruit, brother.’

‘There he goes again with that sharp tongue of his. I tell you, some things never change.’

‘It’s in our blood. Grand-uncle Bhisma has looked exactly the same for the last forty-odd years that I’ve seen him. Unless he’s changed in these past eleven…no, twelve, is it not…years?’

‘I doubt it!’ Partha said, a dash of acrimony creeping into his voice. He found it impossible to think of Bhisma without thinking of the dice game and all that had been said and done.

‘Twelve years… We say that like it’s nothing.’

‘It was nothing when we built the empire. That took us nearly twelve years too, if you remember. Days, months and years, moving forward, fighting, negotiating, planning and executing. Yet we didn’t begrudge a single day or a single muhurtta of that time. I did not see my son for those years, nor did most of you see your children. It didn’t hurt then, but it does now. I wonder why.’

‘Fighting and conquest are easier,’ Sadev said, speaking for the first time. ‘What we are doing now, this is the difficult part.’

‘Why do you say that, Sadev?’

‘Because we don’t know what it is we are really doing, brothers. Or do you? Tell me, is this waiting? If so, whom are we waiting for? Is this hiding? Who are we hiding from? Or is this is our way of living, and I certainly hope it isn’t because I’m beginning to think death is better than this meaningless existence. Ten years? Twelve? At times, it feels like just ten days have passed, I find myself inexplicably happy, and a part of me wishes against all reason that life could be this way forever. But there are other times when the pain and rage make me want to… Never mind!’ He passed the back of his hand over his eyes, wiping the dark thought away. ‘We want a meaning to it, Partha. If you’d died during the campaign, would you have regretted it?’

Partha shook his head, resolute. ‘Never! I’d have been proud to die in a greater cause.’

‘And what cause was that?’

‘Why, the empire. Our brother’s empire.’ No sooner had the words left his mouth than he came to terms with what he had known all along. Partha sighed and let his head fall back to rest against the rough bark of the tree behind him. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, but found it difficult to do so. Things had changed, and he hated that they had changed.

Bhim said, ‘Maybe it’s not just an empire or a kingdom, or even our honour we’ve lost. We’ve lost faith; we’ve lost our belief in the one thing that made us who we were. We’ve lost faith in Dharma Yudhisthir. Now it seems there’s nothing left to fight for.’

‘It wasn’t just Dharma we fought for then,’ Partha argued. ‘We fought because we believed in the dream of a united empire, and that dream was not Dharma’s. It was Govinda’s.’

Nakul countered, ‘And where is he now? At the end of it all it turns out that he was the least powerful and the least principled. Where has he gone? If he believed in that dream so much, why didn’t he stand up to Dharma and say, “Well you good-for-nothing Emperor, you’ve pretty much thrown away everything I gave you so why don’t you just sit in this hermitage and play with your silly notions of morality while I go ahead and be the man you should have been…” I’m sorry…’ he added, noticing his brothers’ stunned expressions. ‘I’m sorry. But really, I wish someone had said that to Dharma. I wish I had said it… It’s taken me so long to even put it into words.’ Throwing the pip he held in his hand into the lake with as much vehemence as he could muster, Nakul began striding around the clearing, trying to work off his ire. His brothers watched, pensive.

It was Sadev who said, ‘Did you ever wonder what
she
fought for…and fights for still?’ He had no need to use her name. They all knew whom he spoke of.

‘Every single day,’ Bhim replied even as Partha nodded.

‘Perhaps it’s time we fought for the same reason, brothers. Perhaps it’s time we fought for ourselves, for what we know to be right.’

‘The drama is all very fine, Sadev,’ Nakul interjected. ‘But what can we do? And how does one decide what is right?’

Sadev did not reply, but held up a cautionary hand, squinting his eyes at the thicket behind him. ‘Someone’s coming.’

The four brothers ceased conversation at once and listened. The sound came again, unmistakeable – the irreverent rustle of leaves that suggested that not only was someone approaching fast, but also that he or she did not care to hide it. Sadev’s hand moved towards his sword, as did Nakul’s. Partha and Bhim continued to remain seated, but their stance grew more alert as the rustling drew nearer. When their would-be aggressor burst through the foliage, it was difficult for all four of them not to break into laughter.

A small boy, hardly six years of age, his ochre robes and shaved head still bearing the sheen of newness, charged into the clearing at a run. The four brothers recognized him as the youngest and most recent induction into the group of acolytes at Vyasa Markand’s hermitage.

The boy came to a stop, and doubled over, gasping, ‘Horses… men…forest…’ Then he ran off even faster than he had come, partly because he was too overawed to stay in the presence of the four warriors, but mostly because he wanted to boast to his fellow students about being just feet away from their distinguished neighbours and, yes, they were every bit as imposing as they had appeared from a distance. His excitement lightened the air for a short while and Bhim chuckled out loud while his brothers smiled. But the moment passed.

‘The Vyasa’s guests? Or have they come to see us?’ Sadev said.

Partha stood and reached down to give Bhim a hand. ‘Only one way to find out. Let’s head to the hermitage. The last I saw, Dharma was there, deep in discussion with the Vyasa.’

It was Nakul who said, innocuously enough, ‘Where’s Panchali?’

7

PANCHALI FROZE AS SHE WAS – ON TIPTOE, FINGERS STILL RESTING
gently on the fruit that hung from a branch overhead. She had been about to pluck it when the sensation hit her; the feeling that her skin was crawling, but on the inside, as though her flesh had come to life and sought to break free of her body, which was strangling it from within. Only once before had she felt this way, the discomfort acutely different from the cold instinct of being watched or hunted that her brothers had taught her to recognize and trust. This was disgust, the sense of being made of all that was repulsive and unclean. This was how she had felt at Hastina, on the day of the dice game.

Letting go of the fruit, Panchali dropped to her haunches, the need to conceal herself taking over completely. She forced herself to breathe, inhaling deeply to calm herself, to find the part of her that had been taught to remain unafraid and strong, even in the face of death. But she could not. For it was not death that she feared. From the day she and the five brothers had been on what Dharma proudly referred to as their exile, she had been unable to sleep without nightmares, terrifying visions that ended in her waking up screaming. She never remembered them and could not understand why they continued, even though she was safe. Dharma’s brothers had taken to staying awake by turns at night, outside the hut she and the former emperor shared. Dharma himself had nothing for her but blame. All that had happened was her fault. She had refused to heed his advice. She had refused to beg for mercy. She should have, Dharma insisted, known better.

Finally, lonely, weary and at her wits’ end, Panchali had confessed her feelings to Shikandin. ‘I am not a child, and I do not remember what I believed when I was one. But there are times when I feel like… like the darkness of the earth and of Patala – the underworld – have become one, and there are demons crawling out of that forsaken pit. They are coming for me, Shikandin. Those demons are hunting me down.’

Her brother had understood only too well. ‘It’s not just because of what happened, Panchali. It’s because of what has changed.’

‘What has changed?’

‘Your world. Your view of it. Your belief in it. The things you had to endure – you knew them as things that happened to other people, things that you heard of, felt horrified about and moved on from. The fact that it
could not
happen to
you
was the only thing that justified life as you knew it; justified the way the world was. But not anymore, Panchali. Not anymore. Nothing about this world feels right anymore and that, my dearest, is the most frightening thought of all.’

Despite her own terrified realizations, she had said, ‘Have you ever known such fear, Shikandin?’

He didn’t reply immediately, but played with the blade of grass in his hand. After a while he said, ‘Once you’ve seen the darkness inside human beings, once you’ve seen what we…those around us, those we may have known for years, become capable of in a moment of bleakness, it is impossible not to be afraid. It’s not just women who are hurt that way. Worse things have happened in Panchala’s dungeons than blinding or starvation.’ After a brief pause, he had added, ‘I once knew a woman who used similar words as you, Panchali. She too spoke of demons from Patala, who crawl out of their pit when darkness falls. She said what frightened her the most was not that the creatures would feed on her flesh, but that they would ravage her soul, mark her and scar her forever because to do so was to shame and scar all those who loved her, and so constantly remind them who was more powerful.’

‘Who was she?’

To that question, Shikandin had not replied. And he had not come to see her ever since. Rumours of his death came in from Kampilya, as did one last message from Dhrstyadymn, who apologized for not being with her in her need. And then she had been left alone, in this world that was no longer her own, to fear a fate worse than death.

Panchali focused her thoughts on her brothers, on their smiling faces, and tried to will courage back into her body. Slowly, she reached for the sword she wore on her back only to realize she was trembling so badly that she could not draw the weapon. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and she was crying, whimpering like a child, for the only emotion that now stayed was the one she had learnt over these past years: Shame. Shame that she was a woman, a weak and frail object that needed protecting and so served as a man’s weakness, a thing, an object – a plaything in fact.
She should have known better.

‘Tsk, tsk….’ A man stepped out from behind the trees, followed by another and then many more.

Panchali did not dare look up or meet their gaze. She flinched when the man bent down and cupped her face in his fingers but was far too terrified to scream.

‘A beautiful woman like you should never have to cry this way, Panchali. You should never have to suffer like this. You deserve to lie naked on the finest silk sheets and have fragrant oils rubbed into your lovely skin and be pleasured by the best of men. Instead, you live here, in the forests, with five… Well, I don’t suppose I can call them men now, can I?’

At that comment the entire group burst out laughing. Panchali wished only to curl herself up to mimic the safety of the womb, but the man would not let her. Instead, he forced his palm underneath her chin and lifted it upwards to get her to her feet. ‘Oh, I can imagine, Panchali, how
unsatisfied
you must be… But if you came with me, you’d be a queen in my bed… The great Jayadrath’s queen. And you would not need to settle for me alone, you know. My sons are young, strong men, and they’d be happy to give you more… after I’m done with you…every day. Isn’t that so boys?’

Something in his voice made Panchali look up for the first time. She saw that it was indeed Jayadrath, whom she recognized from his many visits to Hastina at the time she had lived there, as well as his sons, who were now grown men. At least two of them were still young enough to be her children, yet the look in their eyes was hardly filial. She saw the same look on the faces of the rest – sundry courtiers, guards and soldiers.

Demons. Shame.
Primal instinct coursed through Panchali. Before Jayadrath or any of the others could react, she stepped away with a jerk and set off at a run.

‘Get her!’ Jayadrath commanded, at which his soldiers went after her on foot. He and his sons remained as they were, laughing, exchanging lewd comments about how exciting it was to watch a woman run.

The words rang in Panchali’s ears as she raced through the undergrowth, trying to will her senses back into order to craft an escape route.
When the women ran. Demons from Patala.

Had she not known? Was this how it always was? During the imperial conquest, had Partha and Bhim laughed while their soldiers had ravaged women and brutalized men? Had Nakul and Sadev raped women old enough to be their mothers and young enough to be their daughters? And her brothers? And Govinda? If that was the reality of the world around them, then how had she not seen, not known all these years?

Images rushed through her head as her feet pounded on with increasing force. The days she had ridden through fields and forests, believing that men and women bowed their heads out of love and adoration for the princess of Panchala? Was that which she had taken for respect, merely fear; was it merely what was left when self-esteem was brutally removed?
Is that all we were as the rulers of this land?
Darkness pressed in from all sides, and the world shrank, shrivelled into nothingness even in the full light of day, because it knew it could no longer exist. Jayadrath’s soldiers closed in from behind.

A loud whinny and a crashing sound came through the undergrowth. Panchali slowed down, startled, and it was just as well. A war chariot drew up ahead, effectively cutting off her escape. She stumbled, and the soldiers were on her.