Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (16 page)

WHAT HAVE I DONE? WHAT HAVE I DONE
!

Partha walked blindly around the open palace grounds in the rain. He did not understand why Panchali tempted him beyond reason,
why her mere presence drove him insane. Her unassailable composure got under his skin, fascinated him and disturbed him no
end.

Just like Govinda
, he thought.

He wondered how, for all that he had seen in the world, he could be so short-sighted.
Not everyone is an impassioned, irrational Kuru
.

But was it just that? Was there not something much more primal, more irresistible?

He thought of the sairandharis who shared his bed, of their hushed confessions of how even they could not stop themselves
from staring at Panchali, at her perfect form as she bathed, as she dressed, as she slept – all of it, they insisted, in innocent
ignorance of her own beauty. Partha listened to their stories and then pleasured them with fury as his mind rested on Panchali
alone.

How dare you! She’s your brother’s wife
, his conscience reminded
him. But even as he remonstrated himself, his anger at her, at his brothers, raised its head.
I am not the only one who wants her
.

Dharma’s eagerness had been all but transparent that day in Kampilya. Partha briefly wondered if this were some ploy or trick
to drive a wedge between the five brothers. After all, greater men had made fools of themselves over a woman. Striding even
faster through the rain, he dismissed the idea. No matter what, the five of them would remain undivided. But what about Panchali?

She’s mine
, his mind argued.
I won her with my skill and valour
.

Do you love her? A voice inside his head asked, tentative at first though it grew stronger:
Or do you just resent the fact that your righteous elder brother enjoys the fruits of your toil?

No! I won’t think that way. My duty is to my elder and I will die for him if need be
.

Indeed, you will
, the voice seemed to say, before disappearing.
But don’t forget that you wanted her as your own
.

Partha found himself running to Dharma’s room. He burst in without knocking, surprising his elder brother, who benignly sat
at his desk, reading.

‘What happened?’ Dharma asked, rising quickly to throw a warm blanket over the shivering Partha. ‘Are you all right, Partha?’

‘Panchali …’ Partha gasped.

Dharma started making for the door, when Partha caught him by the arm and stopped him.

‘She’s all right,’ Partha said. ‘She’s all right, Agraja, but I … I … I couldn’t stop myself. Please – please forgive me, I’m so terribly sorry.’ Partha fell to his knees as Dharma
stepped back, shocked.

‘Is she … did you … did you force yourself on her Partha?’

‘No,’ Partha replied. ‘I came to my senses before that.’

A moment of silence, and then Dharma sighed in relief. ‘Go, get some sleep. We’ll talk about this tomorrow in the sane light
of day. Come on, stand up.’ He raised Partha off his knees.

‘I’ve failed you, Agraja. I’ve failed us all,’ Partha said.

‘Vathu! That’s enough, Partha! I understand you’re upset, but we
will
get beyond this misunderstanding. Things will be all right.’

‘No, Agraja,’ Partha argued, ‘don’t you see … how can she feel safe again under our roof after what I’ve done?’ He coldly
regarded his brother, stating the truth that he knew Dharma would not accept. ‘Each one of us wants her. How can she trust
us?’

Dharma did not respond.

Partha continued, ‘There’s only one way to make up for this. You must punish me for wanting her. Panchali must realize that
you
, as her husband, will protect her. That you won’t permit such behaviour.’

‘Come now,’ Dharma said. ‘This talk of punishment is silly. She may be married to me, but you do know that anything that’s
mine is equally yours. Am I supposed to punish you for being my brother? What would you have me do? Imprison you? Order you
whipped? Really, Partha!’

‘I shall go away as an exile,’ Partha stated, unconvinced by Dharma’s arguments. ‘I’ll go away from Hastina and journey to
hermitages and holy sanctuaries. There, I’ll pray for forgiveness and guidance.’

Dharma had the feeling that this was not about penitence alone. His gaze was firm, though his voice misleadingly soft. ‘Partha,
it’s for you to realize and answer for yourself whether or not you truly seek forgiveness. Personally, I believe that you
want to leave because you don’t trust yourself to be around her.’

Partha began to protest, but Dharma pre-empted him, ‘There is no need for you to convince me or explain to me, Brother. But
I don’t want you deluding yourself that you are paying for your mistake, when the truth is that you are as much a victim of
your desires now as you were earlier this evening. I hope that through your prayers you find the courage to be honest with
yourself.’

The younger man nodded. He stared out of the window for a while, and then, with a final look at his brother, left.

Dharma did not hear him ride away, but he knew where Partha would head, sooner or later. He would go looking for the same
answers that Dharma wanted. Perhaps he would solve the puzzle that perplexed them both. What sort of a man could flippantly
throw away a wonderful prize like Panchali? What sort of a man, really, was Govinda Shauri?

THE RAIN HAD STOPPED BY THE TIME PANCHALI REACHED THE
stables in the late hours of the night. The lone stableman was asleep and she did not bother to wake him; instead, she saddled
her horse on her own and headed out to be in the open for a while. Heading southward, she exited from the palace grounds directly
onto the open fields, avoiding a journey through the sprawling city. The river ran alongside on her left, its clear waters
reflecting the stars above in its dark blue depths.

Panchali rode along the bank at a brisk pace, enjoying the cold wind in her face. She had been riding for a while when she
noticed the sky lighten ever so little as dawn drew nearer. Soon enough, the cacophony of birds filled the air with energy
and a bend in the river ahead shimmered to life. Here, the waters curved away to run eastwards, forming in effect the border
between Northern and Southern Panchala. She slowed down, taking in the scenery. She had not realized Panchala’s border lay
so close to Hastina, or perhaps she had ridden too fast, she thought.

A pang of homesickness washed over her, more because she so missed her brothers’ company. Not that Dharma and his brothers
had not gone out of their way to make her feel at home in Hastina, but it was not the same. She felt that she moved from one
mildly entertaining situation to another, but no meaningful thread connected the activities that made up her day. And now
Partha had done what he had done.

This isn’t me. This isn’t my life
, Panchali told herself.
It doesn’t matter what led to this state of things. I must choose whether I shall be passive or act to change what I can.
The responsibility is mine
.

Feeling light at the realization, she drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the crisp morning air. It was now light
enough to make out the rolling hills in the west, which gave way to the luxuriant green plains that stretched till the eastern
horizon. Copses of trees and patches of tilled land occasionally dotted the landscape. Everything around her was alive and
brimming with energy. The feeling
was contagious, and despite all that had happened Panchali found herself smiling.

The shrill cry of a hawk rose to a magnificent crescendo. Panchali looked up to see the majestic bird swoop down and rise
again as it hunted. She stared with admiration at the way the bird glided, turning effortlessly with a light sweep of its
wings, its every move precise and graceful. The bird dived again and, this time, kept diving. It was going for a kill, a lone
grey-white pigeon. Panchali turned in her saddle, eagerly tracking the chase between hunter and prey. The hawk was now nearly
on the pigeon, which fluttered its feeble wings in a desperate attempt to escape. Talons outstretched, the seasoned hunter
waited for the right moment. Suddenly, the twang of a bowstring rent the air. A speeding arrow gleamed as a metal barrier
between hawk and pigeon. The hawk wheeled away, confused – perhaps even frightened – by the pigeon’s unnatural protector.

Panchali whipped around to see the archer, a tall figure on a horse, on the opposite banks of the river. The archer had another
arrow ready and was following the retreating hawk. Determined, she pulled her wood-and-metal rider’s bow from her horse’s
side, where she usually kept it strapped. Fitting an arrow from the quiver on her saddlebag, she waited, the string drawn
back. Whoever the man was, he had to be one of the most flawless bowmen Panchali had ever seen. The angle of his arms, the
delicate way he gripped the arrow and his patience as he followed the target, waiting for the perfect opportunity – almost
a hawk himself, she noted.

The moment she heard the second twang from his bow, she released her arrow. The archer turned, surprised by the sound, and
realizing what she had done looked up at the bird. Just before his arrow hit its target, it was deflected by Panchali’s shaft.
The hawk gave a long, shrill cry that could have been a call of thanks or of amusement and then soared high, well out of arrows’
range.

Satisfied, Panchali readied to face her chance adversary. She smiled tentatively, hoping that the dim light was enough to
convey the apologetic look on her face. Meanwhile, the archer had urged his horse forward, right into the river. She recognized
him the moment
his horse clambered up the slightly sloping riverbank, though he was missing the jewel he wore on his forehead instead of
a crown whenever he was present in Dhritarastra’s court. As he drew closer she noted that he appeared more amazed to see her
than she him.

‘Mahamatra,’ he said, nodding politely.

‘Your Highness,’ she returned the greeting.

The man chuckled. ‘That has to be the first time any of Dhrupad’s kin have called me that,’ he said.

Panchali was unfazed. ‘Rightly or wrongly, it is your title, Your Highness,’ she said. ‘What you’ve won is yours to keep …
till I win it back, that is.’

The man laughed uproariously, looking different when he did. His otherwise icy demeanour, his haughty manner, momentarily
disappeared.

Settling down to a smile, he told her, ‘In that case, let’s keep it simple. Why don’t you just call me Asvattama?’

Panchali considered him for a while and then said, ‘I’m sorry about the hawk … It’s just that he was such a magnificent creature,
I couldn’t stop myself. In any case, I was just lucky …’

‘Yes,’ Asvattama admitted, ‘he was a beautiful creature. I wouldn’t have shot at him if he’d taken another go at the pigeon.
I suppose it was his immediate retreat that disappointed me. Perhaps it’s just as well that you stopped me from killing him
– I might’ve regretted that a little later.’

Panchali had no response to that. In an unspoken consensus both of them urged their horses forward and began making their
way north, towards Hastina.

The sun soon cleared the horizon, filling the vastness around them with light. On either side of the river, the plains came
to life with farmers, herdsmen and their animals, and an assorted bustle of various activities. Panchali could now see all
that she had missed during her ride earlier, and was amazed at the verdant surrounds and the rhythm of human activity.

A small, sturdy bridge appeared ahead. Two liveried guards
stood on two sides, one dressed in the colours of Kuru and the other representing Northern Panchala. Their function, however,
was purely ceremonial, for Panchali had seen the common folk openly ford the river where it ran shallow.

‘Have you ever been in Northern Panchala?’ Asvattama suddenly asked.

Panchali shook her head to say she had not.

‘Would you like to ride on the other side of the river?’

She paused for a moment, wondering what her brothers would have to say about it, but politeness got the better of her. ‘Yes,
please,’ she replied.

Asvattama turned and led the way across the bridge, the soldiers on both sides snapping to attention and saluting him. Once
they were in Northern Panchala, he guided Panchali a little further inland to a narrow but well-paved road that ran alongside
the river.

‘We can’t ride too close to the river on this side, because of the canals,’ Asvattama said by way of explanation. ‘Northern
Panchala is much drier than Kuru or Southern Panchala. The soil here is sandy – it can’t hold water. Those canals alongside
the river,’ he pointed, ‘run inland for a fair distance. Of course, these fields right here get about as much rain as Kuru
does, but once you head further east the winds from the mountains deflect the rain southwards. Without these canals …’

‘Impressive,’ Panchali conceded. She did not know whether Asvattama was intentionally showing off or not, but that did not
change what she saw before her.

To her surprise, he took no credit. He said, ‘It’s not new, and certainly not of my doing or design. Of course, I’ll admit
that keeping them in good shape takes some administrative effort, but that’s about it.’

His casual tone made Panchali voice the question that had long perplexed her. ‘Forgive me for asking, but when you fought
my father, when you attacked us, why did your father take Northern Panchala for his bounty? You won the war, defeated my father,
so why not take the southern part with its verdant fields and the capital, Kampilya?’

Asvattama seemed surprised by her query. ‘There was no question of choosing,’ he stated. ‘We fought for Northern Panchala.’
He paused for a few moments, watching a perplexed frown gather on Panchali’s forehead, and then gently asked, ‘How much do
you know of what happened before … before you came to Kampilya? How much do you know of our battle with your father?’

‘I know the version that’s told in Kampilya. But I also know that it isn’t the complete story …’ Panchali confessed.

Asvattama said nothing. The two rode ahead in silence until he said, ‘Are you hungry? It must be a while since you ate anything.’

Without waiting for her to answer, he turned his horse abruptly towards a small stone garrison, comprising a building and
a stable, all of it surrounded by a high wall. ‘Come,’ he added, as an afterthought.

Confused but tremendously curious, Panchali followed.