Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (22 page)

BRAZIERS FLICKERED, ALIVE IN A SLOW, REASSURING PATTERN OF
menial efficiency, as dusk fell over Hastina’s palace. Partha cast a blurred shadow on the well-polished floor as he paced
up and down. Dharma looked up at his brother, as the man fitfully strode around the room, sometimes eager, sometimes with
a frown.

‘He’ll be here soon, you know,’ Dharma said, laughing softly. ‘And it’s not as if he’s bringing you his sister, you already
have her here …’

The younger man stopped, and threw himself into a chair at his brother’s desk. Dharma instinctively reached out to steady
a container of ink as Partha knocked against the table with some force.

‘You’ve got to see it, Agraja,’ Partha said. ‘You must see it to believe it – Dwaraka … It’s nothing short of magical. I can’t
imagine us building something even close to it here in central Aryavarta. And the fort, the armies, the Narayaniyas. What
commitment, what discipline! The wealth, the opulence, the very air seems to be full of joy and laughter, like Indra’s heaven
on earth.’

‘He really has impressed you, hasn’t he?’ Dharma laughed.

‘He didn’t have to try,’ Partha pointed out. ‘You know I’ve always had some respect for the Yadu lot … I knew Yuyudhana and
Kritavarman from before. Imagine, armies upon armies, the ranks teeming with soldiers of that calibre …’

‘It may be as you say. But then, why did Govinda run from Jarasandha? Why surrender Mathura? You do realize he’s no longer
ruler of anything … he ceded his own kingdom.’

Partha emphatically stated, ‘He gave up a crumbling, good-for-nothing nation and, instead, built this mighty power called
Dwaraka. You may think he’s lost his crown, but you have no idea what he’s
gained. You should see the way he’s treated in Dwaraka. He’s no king; he’s a god to his people.‘

Dharma shrugged. ‘Well, I won’t get into this argument with you, Partha, but I do realize this much – Govinda Shauri is a
useful ally to have, and not just you, but Shikandin and Dhrstyadymn both insist as much. At the very least Govinda is popular
with the Panchalas. And his personal forces, as well as the armies of Dwaraka, are indeed a fair strength. It serves no purpose
to offend him, I think, and it wouldn’t hurt to please him. In any case,’ he concluded, ‘he is our cousin and he’s now maternal
uncle to the legal heir … so there is some natural affinity, I hope.’

Partha now broached the issue on his mind. ‘Dharma, I’m sorry … I know you plan to take another wife, maybe I should’ve waited
…’

Dharma understood, and reassured his brother. ‘It’s all right, Partha. All our children, all children of us five brothers,
are legally the children of Dharma and Panchali. Your child is the eldest of the next generation. He will be the heir to our
kingdom, if Kandava is ever reclaimed …’

Partha tried to protest, but Dharma would have none of it.

‘This is how it must be,’ he said, with an air of finality. ‘This is justice. But don’t move your pieces before the dice stop
rolling, Partha. Kandava is known as a pit of snakes for good reason. Few places in Aryavarta have such a dark reputation.
Unless Govinda …’

‘Hmm?’ Partha eagerly prompted.

‘Never mind. Let him get here first. Let’s see what he has to say.’ Despite his dismissal, Dharma smiled. For all his efforts
to remain unaffected, he found Partha’s optimism contagious after all.

By midnight, Hastina settled into a restless repose, as if eagerly awaiting morning. Unable to sleep, Syoddhan prowled the
corridors of the palace, looking out at the moonlit lawns. He stopped as he heard footsteps. The stride was purposeful and
not the uneven ambling of the sleepless. To his surprise, it was his cousin Dharma. Syoddhan wondered what the man was up
to, but only for a
moment. It did not take much effort to realize that Dharma had, in all probability, been to see Panchali.

The very name flashed images across Syoddhan’s mind. The mysterious woman, who, his spies reported, was no less brave than
any man and was certainly more than she appeared to be at first glance. She seemed to have a better head for politics and
the affairs of state than most princes and counsellors, and though she lacked nothing in feminine grace her devotion to forthrightness
was notorious. What bothered him was that he did not know in whose interests she acted, for Dharma seemed clueless about her.
And, of course, the question remained why Dwaipayana let her be. The Elder’s spies, Syoddhan knew, were as good as his own.
Perhaps
, he wondered,
Dwaipayana uses her as bait, to tempt bigger game. Firewright game
.

Syoddhan chuckled in the dark, and tried to check his vivid imagination.
Think of something else, not these sordid conspiracies
.

And he did. Panchali, dark and beautiful, by his side, in his arms, his bed … With a sigh, he tried to shake these new images
out of his head. It was not at all difficult, since all he had to do was think of his wife, the mother of his infant son,
of her soft, loving touch. Syoddhan resolutely headed back to his own room, to the arms of the woman he loved beyond question.
As he lay in bed, savouring the simple but priceless joys that filled his life, he vaguely remembered that Govinda Shauri
would be arriving soon. That was one man he thought he might come to like, given a chance. But the fact still remained that
Syoddhan had never really understood him. He had no doubts that Govinda’s visit was not motivated by fraternal affection alone,
but also held another purpose. Govinda’s enmity with the Nagas, it was rumoured, went back many years to his brief reign as
the prince of Mathura. Syoddhan knew better than to trust every rumour that floated around the palace, but he also knew not
to dismiss outright even the most far-fetched allegations. It was, he thought, as the old saying went: Every rumour had a
root. Somehow he had the feeling that if anyone could win back Kandava it would be Govinda.

Syoddhan had no complaints there. The last thing he wanted was Dharma clamouring for
his
throne. As for Kandava, it did not matter. Hastina was the heart of the Kurus.

And it would be his. Some day.

With that, Syoddhan closed his eyes, welcoming the tranquil sleep that only the truly content are blessed with.

GOVINDA ARRIVED WITHOUT FANFARE. HIS ESCORT WAS SMALL
, but they bore numerous gifts. As always, he smiled congenially, made friends with everyone, was gentle in speech and never
showed any extreme of emotion. He radiated tranquillity, a sublime feeling of happiness without any flurry or excitement.
It was the kind of mirth that made one smile, but not laugh out loud.

The many cousins competed to spend time with him, show him favour and entertain him in special ways. They plied him with hunting
trips and minstrel shows, and arranged for the most attractive of courtesans to attend on him. Govinda disappointed no one,
playing both the decadent noble and the detached muse. He would drink with Partha and Bhim, play dice with Dharma, sit and
gaze at the night sky with Sadev. To everyone’s surprise, he even went hunting with Asvattama and Syoddhan.

Most of the time, though, he was content to be a spectator rather than a participant. He would sit back and watch things play
out. Shikandin was always at his side.

Panchali too was often to be found in Govinda’s company, though always with others around them, particularly Subadra. They
did not spend a moment alone together and, strangely enough, she felt grateful for that. She wondered what she would say to
him or do, realizing that perhaps there would be nothing to say at all. The thought frightened her more than anything else
she could have imagined between them.

A few days into Govinda’s visit, the friends came together for a special lunch – game from Dhritarastra’s private forests,
hunted personally by Nakul and Sadev and cooked to perfection by Bhim. The rather exotic meal was served informally in an
airy pavilion on the lush green lawns of Dharma’s palace. The company was unrestrained and merry, with even the usually subdued
Subadra joining in on the banter. After a while, the group was driven indoors by the late afternoon sun and, as one, they
ambled into the palace, enjoying the cool of the marble floor and walls.

It was meant to look impulsive, but Panchali could tell that Dharma had mentally rehearsed it many times. He casually paused
at the door to his study and invited her and Govinda to join him for a discussion, bidding the others goodbye. The two stepped
inside. Dharma then placed a filial arm around Partha’s shoulders and walked him into the room, as though it were normal that
he call in one brother and not the others.

Govinda did not miss the quick glance exchanged between the twins, the sudden narrowing of Partha’s eyes and the fiery confusion
in Bhim’s. Dharma’s behaviour seemed to have astonished them all, but none of them said a word. In that instant, the crux
of the tie between the brothers became apparent. Obedience. The five were but one creature, and Dharma served as its mind.
The others were its limbs, their strength at the direction and service of their elder brother. None would disobey the mind
and one limb would willingly hack off the other if the mind so ordered.

And Panchali is in the keeping of this creature
, Govinda noted, not without a dash of discomfort. On a sudden impulse, he gently ran a finger down her cheek, not caring
that Dharma and Partha stood watching them. Willing himself to tear his gaze away from her beaming face, he looked around
the room.

The space was immense and overlooked the gardens. The many doors that opened out on to the well-kept lawns were all thrown
open, letting light stream into the room. Colourful drapes complemented the tasteful furniture – a wide throne-like seat on
which Dharma and
Panchali sat side by side, and other smaller, matching chairs. Partha settled himself in one of these without a word. Govinda
waved off the offer of a chair and walked around instead, looking at the various curiosities that had been set as decorations.
That done, he gazed out of the window, taking in the lovely view of the gardens, as he half-listened to what Dharma was saying.

‘… Kandava?’

The word was enough to snap Govinda out of his reverie. He turned away from the scenery and concentrated entirely on Dharma,
as the latter explained the situation.

Govinda waited till Dharma had finished, and then said, ‘Believe it or not, Kandava was once a flourishing region. The forest
is actually a huge mountain tract that runs from north to south and connects through the Rohita and Madhu forests to the land
of the Nishadas. The hill range is rich in iron ore, perhaps other metals, too. For generations, the Nagas have been smiths,
mining and working iron. Mostly, they make weapons of black iron – a lot like the arrows and lances used by foot soldiers,
except lighter and better. As you can imagine, nations the world over are eager to acquire these, in hundreds of thousands.
Arrow-heads, particularly, are a speciality with Takshaka’s people.’

Dharma pointed out, ‘Iron is the least dangerous of Kandava’s terrible treasures. The truth is, their craft is something they
learnt from the Firewrights, along with many other terrible things. The trees that grow there, the many poisonous creepers
and shrubs in its dark recesses, their sap and juices are the ingredients of the feared toxins that the Firewrights used as
weapons. To just walk through the forest can be death! This is why even the largest of armies has failed to capture Kandava
till date. It’s impregnable. To add to it, the Nagas are hardy and exceptionally skilled at forest warfare, demonically so.
Indeed, humans can’t defend Kandava the way Takshaka and his people have. If old legends are to be believed, the grace of
Indra himself is with them,’ he concluded.

Govinda’s voice was tinged with sarcasm as he said. ‘Yes, and demons that the Nagas are, the nations of Aryavarta – that is,
those
who worship Indra and Varuna – are forbidden from any dealings with them, including trade. The Nagas have managed to survive
by trading with Danavas and other foreigners, smuggling weapons across the western desert and out through Salwa. But, by law,
smuggled goods can be rightfully confiscated by the ruler of the realm – in this case, the King of Salwa. He then sells the
confiscated goods off to the Danavas, and also to other kingdoms in Aryavarta, at ridiculous prices …’

‘What!’ Partha exclaimed. ‘But Salwa is faithful to the Emperor and to Magadha. How could Jarasandha allow such trade?’

‘Where do you think Jarasandha gets the money to maintain his massive armies? My dear fellow, the reason why the Emperor has
hunted down Firewrights with a vengeance has more to do with economics and less to do with any supposed loyalty to the Firstborn,
or his metaphorical responsibility to Divine order on this earth. Truth be told, the Emperor was not the only one. Many kingdoms
have considered political and economic expediency in taking a stand for or against the Firewrights – our own nations included.
But that’s neither here nor there. Kandava, though not an easy target, is also not such a big mystery as you might think.’

Dharma looked at him. ‘Govinda, please understand … There’s no one I trust more than you. My mother is your father’s sister.
She was born a Shauri, though later adopted as a daughter by the King Kuntibhoja. We are cousins by birth, brothers-in-law
by marriage, and I hope we can also be friends. I’m willing to follow your lead in this matter. But I’ll also confess that
I have little hope it will come to anything beyond this conversation. I can’t allow you to wage a bloody battle at a cost
of many lives on our side. Even if I were to do so, I too doubt that Takshaka can be defeated. Perhaps it’s best to let this
matter go, and if that is your advice, I’ll heed it without question.’

Govinda clucked his tongue softly. ‘I wouldn’t give up the idea so easily if I were you, Cousin. Let me sleep on it.’

In the early hours of the next morning, the eight-month-pregnant Subadra went prematurely into labour.

Panchali burst into Subadra’s room moments after the attendant woke her up with the news.

‘Where’s Partha?’ she asked the nurse, who shook her head to say she did not know and then discreetly nodded towards Subadra.

Panchali understood. Partha was with some courtesan or the other, and could not be found or disturbed.

Subadra did not seem to care in the least as she writhed silently in an agony that she refused to share. Panchali could do
little but hold her hand and whisper comforting words.

‘What happened?’ she tearfully asked the midwife.

The other woman’s expression held much dread as she said, ‘This isn’t natural, Mahamatra. It’s far too sudden … I can only
guess that some herb or potion was used to …’

The door flew open.

‘Rudra be praised!’ Panchali gratefully whispered as Govinda strode in.

He went straight to Subadra. He spoke a few soft words of comfort and love to his sister and then, placing his hand on her
stomach, said a quick prayer. Tired, but finally unafraid, she managed a wan smile. Just as her contractions began again,
Dhaumya arrived and tersely signalled for them to leave, even as he began barking instructions to the midwife to mix some
potion.

Govinda came to Panchali and gave her a quick, grateful, hug. ‘She’ll be all right,’ he said, and led her out of the room.

‘But …’

Govinda firmly guided her out and did not let her speak till the door was shut behind them. ‘The midwife told me …’ she began.

‘I know,’ Govinda was grim. ‘I realized the moment I heard. I’ve been such a fool!’ He seemed to be speaking to himself rather
than to her. ‘I just didn’t think he’d stoop so low as to do something like this.’

‘Who?’ Panchali queried anxiously, but Govinda did not reply.

‘Go back to sleep,’ he carelessly dismissed her after a while.

Before Panchali could react, he walked over to a corner of the room, and stood looking out the small window, into the darkness
outside. Slowly, quietly, she sat herself down on a small cushioned bench just outside the door to the inner chambers. She
did not take her eyes off Govinda for even a moment.

With the first rays of the sun, Subadra’s son was born. She insisted that her brother be the first to hold the boy. Govinda
willingly complied, cradling the infant in his arms with unexpected tenderness, his eyes showing a curious mix of sadness
and need. Subadra laughed at his display and said, ‘Go on. Tell us what you’ve decided to name him.’

Govinda’s voice was uncharacteristically hoarse with emotion as he announced, ‘Abhimanyu.’