Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (12 page)

UNLIKE MOST OF HIS PEERS, SYODDHAN OF THE KURUS WAS AN
outspoken man. Outspoken, but not hasty. The first quality stemmed from his natural inclination towards honesty rather than
the moral injunction against untruth most Aryas followed. Ironically, this was why they spoke carefully or not at all. Silence
was, for the most part, the accepted corollary to that essential art of the ruling elite: manipulation. In this, too, Syoddhan
was rare, if not unique. His diplomacy, as well as his remarkable patience, came from a carefully cultivated apolitical temperament.

Growing up as the eldest among so many, Syoddhan had always been aware of the strong undercurrents, of tempers and politics,
in the brothers’ personal lives, especially since the time when Queen Pritha had returned to Hastina with his cousins, his
uncle Pandu’s five sons. Dharma, the eldest of the five, had been seventeen then, and Syoddhan a few months younger. Despite
the competitive, even hostile atmosphere around them, Syoddhan and Dharma had become friends, drawn to each other by their
need to stay aloof from the complex threads that connected their lives. They had never made an overt show of their friendship,
as if both of them had known their brothers would never approve of it. As they grew older they turned into completely dissimilar
people, but still remained friends. While
Dharma continued to wear the cloak of high nobility and eschewed all conflict, Syoddhan had changed. He had little choice
but to change and become the man he now was – a man who kept honour within and valour without, at the cost of gaining a reputation
for neither. It was, he reassured himself, well worth it. The last thing he wanted was to grow bitter, like Dharma.

As a young prince, Dharma had pined for a reputation of valour on par with his brothers and cousins, but refused to seek it.
He enjoyed the rush of adrenaline and longed for the thrill of conflict as much as the next prince, but, Syoddhan came to
realize, was always hemmed in by his so-called nobility, his loftier notions that left him talking of peace and piety. After
a few difficult, even embarrassing incidents in their youth, Dharma crafted an unusual model of compromise that indulged his
competitive spirit without compromising on his piety. He would send his brothers into absurdly dangerous situations, taking
upon himself the moral burden of having made the difficult decision to do so. Theirs was the claim to courage, while his was
the claim to leadership.

Dharma also had a strange way of flaunting his bravery, such as it was. He laid a wager on just about everything. What may
have begun as a simple distraction soon took on ridiculous, even perilous proportions. He would bet on the weather, on the
outcome of the training jousts between the cousins, on the speed of horses and the memory of men. He would dare his brothers,
mostly the indefatigable Bhim, and his cousins to perform near-impossible feats, and then lay a wager on the outcome. It became
a habit with him – to wager, and watch.

Not all his bets came off well, and then it was to Syoddhan that Dharma would turn for help. On those occasions, he had an
exceptionally persuasive argument. Syoddhan’s father was king and, sooner or later, the kingdom would be his, but all Dharma
could aspire to was an unblemished reputation. Surely, he would point out, Syoddhan would not deprive him of that? Spurred
on by a youthful mixture of guilt and pity, Syoddhan always obliged, sometimes even by assuming the blame for things that
had gone wrong – especially
in front of Dharma’s brothers. And so it was that Dharma’s four brothers grew to hate him with a vengeance, while Dharma was
looked upon as the epitome of righteous behaviour and nobility.

He had made a mistake, Syoddhan now realized, in more ways than one. His own brothers had not understood what he did or why.
They simply thought of him as weak and made up for what they perceived to be his meekness with increased hostility of their
own. The blame for that, too, had fallen on him.

Syoddhan gritted his teeth. He knew no one had believed him when he said that he did not want the crown; at least, not enough
to fight his own cousins over it. Even Bhisma, the only man to occasionally take his side, had deemed him a trouble-maker
and declared him unfit to rule. At that point, Syoddhan had honestly expected Dharma to step forward and exonerate him of
the weightier accusations. But Dharma had said nothing, merely taking on the mantle of Crown Prince with humility and grace.
For the first time, that day, Syoddhan had lived up to his undeserved reputation, letting his anger get the better of him.
He had declared his allegiance to the Crown Prince, but then stormed out of the investiture ceremony before it was over. After
that, there was no turning back, no hope of ever convincing anyone that it was not about the crown. Nor was there any hope
of keeping his brothers on amicable terms with Dharma’s.

When the fire broke out at the palace at Varana, people instantly assumed that Syoddhan had tried to assassinate his cousins.
His own brothers did not know that he had actually saved their lives by making sure Vidur found out about the planned attempt.
Vidur and, through him, the Vyasa. The thought gave Syoddhan some satisfaction. At least, those who really counted knew the
truth. Dwaipayana Vyasa, the eventual decision-maker on the Kuru kingdom’s fate had always known what was what.

The role of the Firstborn in general, and the Vyasa, in particular, was something Syoddhan had learnt to accept a long time
ago. It had not been a difficult lesson, for he truly believed that the Firstborn acted in Aryavarta’s best interests. Dwaipayana,
especially, made no
secret of his kinship, his bond as grandfather to the Kuru princes, and showed them as much favour and affection as he could
within the bounds of his role. For his part, Syoddhan had willingly lent himself to whatever it was that the Vyasa would have
him do – including, giving support to his admittedly ageing father’s long rule. This once, though, he felt the slightest bit
of disappointment with the Vyasa. All Dwaipayana, or for that matter even Grandsire Bhisma, need have done was to command
him not to vie for Panchali’s hand. Not only would he have stayed away from Kampilya, he would have kept his brothers and
friends away as well. The farce that had just played out, the humiliation and disappointment, all of it had been unnecessary.

It still doesn’t justify your rage
, Syoddhan told himself.
At least, not the anger you feel against Panchali
. He tried to put all thought of her out of his mind, and turned around as he heard someone at the door.

Vasusena walked into the room in a slow daze, his face missing its characteristic scowl. Ever since they had returned from
Kampilya to Hastina, the man had remained oblivious to everything but his failure.

Syoddhan placed a hand on Vasusena’s shoulder and shook him gently.

The burly king of Anga looked up, appearing incongruously like a disappointed child. ‘Did you hear?’ he blurted. ‘Govinda
Shauri of Dwaraka is coming here.’

‘Yes, I did, Vasusena. I’m not surprised. You know the Emperor has his sights set on Dwaraka. The Yadus need every friend
and ally they can get, especially us. We are, after all, in a position to intercede on their behalf.’

Vasusena did not seem convinced. ‘I don’t like the man. He’s too much of a smooth-talker. I don’t like the way he just shoved
himself into the middle of things at Kampilya. But, then, I don’t like anything that happened at Kampilya …’

Syoddhan cleared his throat. He knew, sooner or later, he would have to ask Vasusena the question. Now was as good a time
as any. ‘Tell me, what exactly happened back there?’

Vasusena went pale, an unusual reaction indeed for the hardy man.
Lips trembling, he confessed, ‘I’m so sorry, Syoddhan. I managed to string the bow, fit the arrow. Then … then …’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know. I’d prepared myself so well, there was so much riding on this tournament … I still can’t understand how …’
Vasusena said, breathing heavily from the sheer effort of recollection. ‘It was like, Panchali … she was there, in front of
me … The way she looked at me, that haughty, scornful look she gave me, as if I was dirt. Her eyes seemed to say that she’d
die before she married me, they taunted me to defy her. I thought everyone could hear her speaking, but by the time I realized
no one else could …’

‘What did she say?’

‘She said she was an Arya woman … she would rather die than marry a Suta … After that my aim … Yabha! I couldn’t even see
the target anymore.’

Syoddhan felt a pang of regret on his friend’s behalf. Vasusena, he knew, had no idea of his lineage or parentage. Abandoned
as a child, he had been found and raised by a charioteer, a Suta. If Syoddhan had not given him the vassal lands of Anga to
rule, Vasusena would have remained a servant and never become a king. The contest at Kampilya had been his chance to prove
that he was no less than those of noble blood, a chance he had now lost.

Vasusena looked at Syoddhan expectantly, his bloodshot eyes begging for reprieve. ‘Did you hear her, Syoddhan? Did you hear
her say this to me?’

Syoddhan regarded Vasusena with sympathy, not for what the man had endured but because a good man had been reduced to seeking
false assurances, needing illusions and excuses behind which to hide.

‘I heard her,’ he confessed, ‘but not what she said to you, only what she said to me …’

‘You mean …?’ Vasusena looked at him, wide-eyed.

‘She called me the blind son of a blind king …’

‘Oh Varuna! What sorcery is this?’

‘This was no sorcery, Vasusena. It seems you and I were drugged. And, for whatever reason, our deepest fears of rejection
and loss were brought forth in our minds. The few men who might actually have fought off the effects of whatever the hallucinogen
was – Asvattama, for instance – either didn’t compete, or …’

‘Or?’

‘Or … won. Partha, certainly, was meant to. The question remains, who meant for it to be so? Sorcery, as you call it, was
once aptly the vocation of sorcerers … But that’s being silly! Such men don’t exist anymore. This was probably the Vyasa’s
doing. After all …’ Syoddhan dismissed the chain of thought with a soft laugh.

‘How can you be so casual about what happened?’ Vasusena protested. ‘Both of us will be the laughing stock of Kampilya, if
not all of Aryavarta!’

‘Laughing stock. Hah!’ Syoddhan exclaimed, his contempt apparent. ‘If a man’s honour is made or broken by this one thing alone
then his is a questionable honour indeed!’

‘Maraka!
She
must have known! She must have known, and she watched as we made fools of ourselves. A plague on her head! I can’t ever forgive
her for this,’ Vasusena spat out through clenched teeth.

Syoddhan still looked unconvinced. He was willing to concede that Vasusena deserved better than he had got, but to blame Panchali
for what had happened bordered on unfair. ‘Let it be, my friend,’ he urged kindly. ‘We have many feats of valour ahead for
you to prove yourself. For the moment, let’s turn our minds to the other skill all monarchs require – diplomacy.’

Vasusena sighed. ‘Diplomacy … Of course. So, what do you know about Govinda Shauri?’

‘Not as much as I should! His brother, Balabadra, was the one who taught both Bhim and I to wrestle when we were in the Kashi
kingdom. But he said little or nothing at all about Govinda. I know the two of them managed to unite the seven squabbling
clans of the Yadu dynasty and establish what they call a Confederation of Yadu
Nations at Dwaraka. Imagine, a country governed by a Council of Representatives rather than kings and their vassals! Ridiculous
and yet charming, I suppose.’

‘Even so, bear in mind that our friends, Shisupala of the Chedis and Rukmi of Vidharbha, aren’t part of the Confederation
…’ Vasusena pointed out.

‘And they’re openly faithful to Jarasandha … Like most of us. Which, as I said, is probably why Govinda is coming here – to
affirm friendship and kinship with those allied with the Emperor, and build a few diplomatic bridges …’

‘You really think so? You think that’s why he’s coming?’ Vasusena was unconvinced.

Syoddhan’s expression was neutral. ‘We’ll know for sure once he gets here. When did you say he arrives?’

‘The day after tomorrow.’

GOVINDA FOUND MOST THINGS ABOUT THE KURUS TO BE GARISH
and overdone, as though they clung to some archaic past and its glory. For one, their manner of speaking and forms of address,
which were rather formal, even during simple conversation. Then there was the way they dressed, the routines they followed
and ceremonies they observed on the slightest of occasions. Everything they did seemed to require great preparation and effort.
His sudden appearance at Hastina, ahead of his scheduled visit, Govinda knew, went against the established protocol required
for an audience with King Dhritarastra. The reaction to his arrival was exactly what he had intended and would suit his purposes
splendidly. Amused by the thought, he sat back and examined his surroundings.

The royal assembly hall of the Kuru kings was considered a marvel by many, but Govinda found the endless medley of marble
and gold far too contrived and artificial. Especially since just on the other side of these walls were the vast and spectacularly
verdant grounds of the
palace, the many famed lawns and gardens that seamlessly spread into thick, wild woods. The assembly, he sadly noted, did
not have even a window that looked on to the vast stretches of green outside. All ventilation was provided by well-designed
skylights that cleverly admitted sunlight and air, but not rain.

The assembly had obviously been built in times when the kings of Hastina had ruled many vassals, for it could seat an extraordinary
number of people. At the far end, on an ornate marble dais, was the great Elephant Throne, once the seat of King Hastin himself.
The wide throne was meant for both the king and the queen of the Kurus to occupy. On the same level as the Elephant Throne
but a little off to the side, was an equally grand seat meant for Bhisma Devavrata, the Regent–Grandsire of Hastina. Its mirror,
on the left, was meant for the Crown Prince. Below the dais were austere-looking, but comfortably velveteen seats for the
royal advisors and priests, the acharyas Kripa and Dron, and of course, when he visited, DwaipayanaVyasa himself.

The array of glittering seats, however, did little to overshadow the one hundred jewel-encrusted thrones meant for the one
hundred sons of Dhritarastra. These were laid out in elevated rows along the length of the hall, on either side of the king’s
throne. Behind the princes’ places were more seats meant for vassals and other dignitaries. At the lower end of the hall,
right opposite the Elephant Throne, were a few well-placed seats meant for the king’s honoured guests. Govinda had been led
to the centremost of these seats when he had entered the hall. He noted with an inward smile that even though the rest of
the hall was now full – nearly brimming over, in fact – the places next to him remained empty.

Overhead, the vaulted ceiling rose, dome-like. The fine, pale marble had been carefully chosen to reflect light that came
in from small windows set at the base of the dome, and could vary in colour from a fiery dawn-orange to clear, still blue
on a bright day. Set into the ceiling were immaculate carvings of gods, celestials and men, in various poses of approval and
benediction. Even the residents of Indra’s heaven, it was said, gazed down upon the great kings of Kuru.

Govinda was mulling over that particular distinction afforded to his hosts when Syoddhan entered. The smile the host afforded
his guest was polite, but hardly effusive. It was, after all, less than a fortnight since they had met at Kampilya. Vasusena
strode in close behind, positively spewing fire. Govinda simply returned the man’s grimace with a gaze that held mild curiosity,
as though Vasusena were an entertaining but assuredly tame pet.

Syoddhan caught the exchange of glances between the two and stifled a chuckle. Govinda’s behaviour, though infuriating, betrayed
a light-hearted self-awareness. It was impossible to not admire the man’s calm confidence.

A trill from the heralds cut in and, immediately, everyone in the assembly stood up. King Dhritarastra entered, his hand resting
on his half-brother Vidur’s shoulder in a gesture that was now second nature. Blind at birth, Dhritarastra had spent most
of his life being led by Vidur. When he had married, his wife, the sighted Queen Gandhari had chosen to bind her eyes and
share in Dhritarastra’s blindness. She walked in slowly, her hand on Dhritarastra’s elbow. Vidur saw the king and queen to
the throne and took his customary place behind them. In discreet tones, he would relay all that transpired in the assembly
exactly as it occurred, without bias. Only when asked would the minister proffer his opinions. Of course, it was well-known
that he was often, if not always, asked and his advice unfailingly followed.

Govinda bowed to the king and queen, to the key elders, and finally to the gathering at large. He smiled with genuine warmth
at Vidur, who returned the gesture with an affectionate nod. The assembly was then formally commenced and an elaborate message
of welcome was read out by the crier. Much as Govinda would have liked to get on with his business here, it was not the formal
order of things. He sat back, thanked the attendant who served him honeyed liquor, and prepared to be entertained.

The court minstrels stepped forward and began by invoking the blessings of the ancestors of the Kurus and narrating their
tales of valour. Then, strumming their instruments, they broke into a
compelling performance – a song naming each and every one of Dhritarastra’s one hundred sons and his daughter.

Govinda inwardly smirked at the performance. Dhritarastra, it seemed, found his virility some compensation for his blindness,
and took every opportunity to flaunt the sheer number of his progeny.

At last, the entertainers retired and a herald stepped forward to announce the guest in sonorous tones. ‘Govinda Shauri Varshneya
Yadau. Govinda, son of Shura, of the Vrishni clan of Yadus.’

Suppressing the desire to chuckle, Govinda stood up. Adopting the formal tones expected of him in the assembly, he said, ‘My
king, I come as your friend and kinsman. As I am nephew to your brother Pandu, thus also do I share with you the very same
bond. I pray you, welcome me into your home as your son. Queen, my respected aunt Gandhari, grant me your blessings as you
would to your own child.’

Barring Vasusena and a few other disgruntled vassals, the entire gathering was impressed. Govinda had a way with words that
made even the formal, overbearing speech of the royal assembly sound
sincere and passionate. Syoddhan found himself smiling openly, and Bhisma and Dron exchanged appreciative glances. In a rare
show of approval, Dhritarastra gestured to Vidur, and with his help began descending from the dais. Govinda rushed forward
to support the blind monarch.

Dhritarastra grasped the young man by his arms, and said, ‘Welcome, my son. You are always welcome here, as kinsman and …
Why, you were once our neighbour too!’

The assembled audience laughed softly at the remark. He continued, ‘I’m an old man, so forgive me if I should lovingly chide
you for not remembering your uncle Dhritarastra all these years. But then, you are young and wilful, as well you should be.
I’m only too glad that you’ve chosen to renew old bonds. Crown or not, you are Arya, and our kinsman.’

Govinda inclined his head in graceful admission. He did not miss the barbs behind Dhritarastra’s words, the subtle reference
to the surrender of Mathura, Govinda’s ancestral kingdom, which had shared a border and part of the woodlands known as Madhu
with Kuru. He also did not miss the clear insinuation that the bonds of old no longer existed. Indeed, Dhritarastra had not
shirked from hinting at the reason. By law and custom, Govinda was little better than a foot-soldier. To forfeit a crown,
to surrender and become ruler of nothing – men like Dhritarastra would find it unthinkable. Govinda, however, did not take
the slightest offence. In fact, he enjoyed the verbal sparring, admitting the monarch’s talent with a deferential smile. In
any case, he knew, his next little joust would take them by surprise.

‘Uncle, I ask that you allow me to present you with a small token of my affections,’ he said, in the standard prelude to the
inevitable routine of gifting treasures to the host.

‘Thank you, my son.’

Govinda nodded to a waiting attendant, and then personally guided Dhritarastra back up the stairs to his throne. Positioning
himself a few steps below, he watched impassively while attendants brought in some trays and uncovered them to reveal heaps
of gold and silver coins as well as precious gemstones and finely crafted
jewellery. Vidur softly described the contents of each tray to the royal couple, even as the many noblemen present whispered
among themselves.

It was a sizeable fortune, no doubt, but hardly remarkable. The value aside, none of the gifts were novel, nor did they inspire
interest. The coffers of Hastina were full, not just with wealth but with many curiosities from foreign lands, truly astonishing
items. Most monarchs saw the ritual exchange of gifts as an opportunity to peacefully assert their power and supremacy. While
sheer wealth never failed to impress, it was often the souvenirs of their travels and conquests that were eagerly awaited
by one and all. Never-before-seen creatures, sometimes captured alive, unthinkable gadgets and devices, and of course new
weaponry – all these showed the extent of the monarch’s influence, his pioneering vision and valour. Govinda’s gifts were
decidedly commonplace.

With just the slightest tinge of derision, Dhritarastra thanked him, ‘These are more than merited on this occasion, Govinda.
Your affection for us has caused you to be too generous.’

‘But of course not, Uncle! Your son Dharma has brought home the first of your daughters-in-law – the princess of Panchala,
no less. In fact, I’d hoped to find them here and give them their gifts in person. As it happens, I left Panchala many days
ago to meet with my clansmen and conduct these trinkets here …’

Syoddhan was forced to admit that Govinda had played the move admirably. For the past two weeks his father had been ignoring
the inevitable tides of change, the fact that the sons of Pandu were alive and well. Now, thanks to Govinda, they would be
forced to invite Dharma home along with his brothers and his new bride. Once that happened, the issue of succession to the
Kuru throne would arise yet again. Even if Dharma’s position as Crown Prince was not in doubt, Dhritarastra would be pressed
by Dharma’s father-in-law, King Dhrupad, and
his
allies to step down and let the next generation come into its own.

Dhritarastra realized as much, for his face contorted into a grimace of disgust, which he tried, at once, to hide. ‘Ah, yes,’
he began, in a
dismissive way. ‘Dharma and my daughter-in-law. For the lack of an auspicious day to welcome them I’m yet to send them an
escort, as is customary when we Kurus bring our brides home. I’m sure that the moment a suitable alignment of the stars is
found for such travel, the royal escort shall conduct them here with all speed.’ His malice unspent, he turned on Govinda.
‘I shall ensure that your gifts to the bride and groom aren’t missed in the multitude of treasures that await them here. Rest
assured that I will personally point out how generous you have been.’