Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) (35 page)

AS PLANNED, GOVINDA AND BHIM MADE THEIR BASE AT MAGADHA
and set about the eastern leg of the imperial conquest. It took them half a year to move all their men eastwards to Magadha
and another few months to set up a full garrison there – particularly since Govinda
insisted on disbanding Jarasandha’s Imperial Army and re-mustering the soldiers to form new troops.

‘You should trust them,’ Bhim said, protesting against the disbanding. ‘They’re all good, honest men.’

‘Indeed, they’re good and honest,’ Govinda said, ‘and that’s why we cannot trust them. Not yet.’

Bhim remained unconvinced, but he soon forgot his concerns as the endless preparations were finally completed and the real
conquest began. He set out from Magadha, leading his new troops much further east, beyond Pragjya.

Govinda stayed back, his task now one of diplomacy, a role that was also mirrored at Indr-prastha by Dhaumya and Panchali.
It did not take long for Govinda to set in a place a treaty with the Kalinga’s King Srutayus – one that gave them all much
cause to celebrate since it proved to be a persuasive point during Sadev’s negotiations with the ruler of Andhraka in Dakshinavarta.
The possibility of access to trade with the peninsular regions of the south also paved the way for a subsequent treaty, a
year later, with the foreign Danava kings. The agreement ensured that the Danavas would not interfere in what the treaty diplomatically
deemed as the internal affairs of Aryavarta. In effect it meant that the Danavas would not interfere as Nakul forcibly reclaimed
the north-western lands from the Hunas and Pahlavas and brought them under the control of his uncle Shalya, the king of Madra.

Around the same time, it became clear to Govinda and Bhim why Srutayus had been so eager to accept Dharma’s overlordship.
It was the only way Srutayus could survive or even keep his own throne safe from his vassals, the coastal chiefs of Kalinga
as well as those of the neighbouring regions of Vanga. Though these coastal chiefs had accepted Srutayus’s rule in name, it
soon became apparent that they were little better than pirate lords. Their fortunes were made by capturing merchant ships
that were sailing close to the coastline and leading them into the thick forests, murky swamps and humid mangroves that covered
most of Vanga as well as the coastal stretch of Kalinga. Then the pirates would either sell off the stolen goods or
else demand huge ransoms for the release of the merchandise and crew. Imperial presence, the pirate chiefs knew, would bring
with it strict enforcement of law and little mercy for piracy. And so they did everything possible to disrupt Dharma’s campaign
in the region, often resorting to ambush and sabotage against Bhim’s soldiers.

Bhim tried his best, but neither he nor his men were adept at fighting in this sort of terrain. Srutayus and his forces too
were of no use, for the king and his nobles merely looked to their new overlord for protection, though not with much hope.
After all, they pointed out, even Jarasandha had found it easier to ignore the pirates than engage in battle in the dark,
murky swamplands of the region.

‘It’s hopeless, Govinda,’ Bhim despaired after he had personally led a futile expedition into a thick swamp not too far from
Kalinga’s capital, Rajapura. ‘Snakes, tigers, scorpions … and not to mention the pirate lords and their men, who are like
animals themselves. Only a creature of the wild can survive in there!’

At those words Govinda burst out laughing, wondering how he had overlooked the obvious. He then suggested they send for Shikandin
and Panchala’s Eastern Guard.

Dharma received Govinda’s small scroll bearing this suggestion within days, thanks to the messenger pigeons for which Panchali
had petitioned DwaipayanaVyasa at the very beginning of the imperial campaign. The Vyasa had graciously acquiesced and his
beloved messenger pigeons now seamlessly knit the web of information that held the campaign together while more permanent
methods of communication were put in place.

If Dharma found the slightest joy in the ease of correspondence, he did not show it, reluctant as he was to follow the advice
that this particular missive held. Over time he had come to notice both Govinda’s fondness for Shikandin as well as Dhrupad’s
dislike of him. Both factors made him reluctant to trust the man.

‘Perhaps you should lead the men there instead, Dhrystydymn,’ Dharma suggested to the younger Panchala prince.

Dhrystydymn said, ‘With all due respect, Dharma, do you have
any intentions of putting an end to the piracy, or do you just want to look like you’re trying to do something?’

‘Why, certainly I plan to end this horror. I want those pirates brought to justice!’ Dharma bristled.

‘In that case,’ Dhystydymn pointed out, ‘send Shikandin.’

Panchali too prevailed on Dharma in her own, subtle way, sympathizing with his need to make the difficult moral decision to
send his brother-in-law on such a hopeless mission. ‘One can’t even roll a pair of dice there to bet on his chances, I suppose,’
she jested. ‘I hear there’s hardly any land – it’s all one huge swamp.’

Her persuasion, coupled with the news of more casualties, finally led Dharma to agree. And so it was that four years and a
month to the day since the first of the troops had left Indr-prastha, as Nakul marched to war to reclaim the frontier lands,
Shikandin and fifty of his men from Panchala’s Eastern Guard arrived at Magadha to begin their own smaller, but equally dangerous,
war with the pirate chiefs of the east.

Shikandin and his soldiers were no strangers to ambushes and waylays or to jungle warfare. For generations the Eastern Forests
of Panchala had been the veritable border between central Aryavarta and the lands beyond. The men of the Eastern Guard had
been trained to defend their homeland against every kind of enemy. What made these soldiers unique, though, was that the Eastern
Forests were dangerous in themselves, serving as home to many wild beasts as well as deadly forest tribes who chose to live
in seclusion and fought hard to protect it.

Bhim expressed his relief at the arrival of the hardy fighters, but it was not without some concern.

‘Just the fifty of you? You won’t last two weeks in that place!’

‘Your Highness, Shikandin alone could last years in there and wreak havoc while he’s at it. Fifty of us is more than enough,’
said Devajit, a tall, lanky man with a sharp, patrician nose. He was Shikandin’s half-brother by a palace concubine, and proud
of it. His easy familiarity with Shikandin, however, came not from this
relationship but from hard-earned rank. Devajit was a captain of the Panchala Eastern Guard and a fellow fighter.

True to Devajit’s words, though their numbers were small, Shikandin and his men moved about like ghosts, avoiding every trap
the enemy had laid and setting up many of their own. For two years they disappeared, seemingly without a trace. The forest
dwellers spoke of them only as a nameless force, a dreaded creature of the woods, who appeared out of nowhere and was gone
before it could be seen. As for the pirate chiefs, they finally met their match in these men. Shikandin’s tactics were unlike
any they had encountered so far. In addition to the usual stake-lined pits and hidden creeper nets, Shikandin and Devajit
devised an underwater trap – a simple rope loop, which they set into the shallow bed of the swamp. When one of the pirates
stepped into the loop, it sprung a reed lever, which immediately pulled the rope tight around the man’s leg and dragged him
into the water. It was tough work laying the long ropes in the sticky clay bed of the canals that made up the swamplands,
but once the traps were set they were difficult for any quarry to spot and once caught they were impossible to escape from.
The legend began to take root that the forests themselves had come alive to destroy evil.

Shikandin was only too happy to give up due recognition and encourage such tales, something Bhim did not quite comprehend.
‘A man can give up anything but this,’ he argued with Govinda. ‘Valour and honour are the only thing that truly defines us.
How can Shikandin not care for these things?’

Govinda smiled affectionately at the thought of his friend. ‘Shikandin,’ he said, ‘believes that valour lies in getting things
done. He knows that these legends will last and serve to keep new pirates from coming up long after he has left the place.
If he takes credit the piracy will start again the moment he leaves.’

‘By that logic,’ Bhim pointed out, ‘even empires should fall once the men who built them are gone.’

‘Indeed they will,’ Govinda said. ‘Unless you make legends of them too.’

Bhim’s reservations were soon assuaged as news began to come in that the pirate lords who were still alive were surrendering,
one by one, to the kings of Kalinga or Vanga, asking for mercy and reprieve. As the Kalinga coast regained its ancient reputation
for safety, trade boomed and the region began to prosper. In the end, a newer, stronger treaty was set in place with the grateful
King Srutayus and work began on extending the Great Road from Magadha to the key ports of Kalinga.

At this time Panchali proposed mirroring the new eastern stretch of the Great Road in the west. Linking Dwaraka to the Great
Road, she observed, would connect it over land to Kalinga, resulting in a much shorter journey than sailing around the southern
peninsula of Dakshinavarta. The proposed highway served to seal Sadev’s negotiations with the powerful kings of Kishkinda
and Pandya, as well as their allies. Soon after, work began on the web of roads that would connect the two great ports of
the east and west, and link the northern mountain pass to the peninsular plains. Aryavarta was becoming one glorious empire.
Dharma’s empire.

WITH MATTERS SETTLING SOMEWHAT IN THE EAST, GOVINDA SPOKE
to Bhim of returning to Dharma’s side at Indr-prastha. But news reached them at Magadha that Partha had run into trouble
on his northern mission. For the past six years, the northern conquests had gone better than planned and Partha had been able
to raise a vast fortune through tributes from the newly acquired vassals there. The many victories had, however, cost him
dearly in terms of his armies. More than two-thirds of his forces had been lost and what remained of it was simply not enough
to defend the fortunes he had raised on their journey back through hostile territory.

Govinda left right away with more than half of Bhim’s troops, as well as food and other supplies, to help Partha. He followed
in reverse the same path Partha was to have taken on his return, trekking through
Deva-prastha, a gorge in the White Mountains that connected the northern-most hill ranges of the Kashi–Kosala kingdom – the
largest and most loyal vassal of Magadha – with the mountain kingdoms of Nepa and Cinna. That particular year though, there
were an exceptional number of landslides in the region; enough, in fact, to suggest that nature was not the only malevolent
force at work.

It was, therefore, with grim relief that Partha welcomed the weary Govinda and his bedraggled soldiers. He threw his arms
around the other man, letting go quickly as Govinda winced, ostensibly from the pain from some injury. ‘What happened?’ he
asked, more as a matter of course than of conversation.

‘Landslide,’ Govinda replied. ‘Or rather, I should say, landslides. At least six of them.’

Partha’s eyes widened as the hidden implications of such events came to mind. In a hushed voice, he asked, ‘How many men have
you lost?’

‘More than half,’ Govinda replied. ‘We saved most of the food and other supplies though. Hopefully, it should be enough for
us all to get back.’

‘It will take us at least three months to reach the borders of Kosala …’ Partha pointed out.

Govinda shook his head. ‘It will take us much longer. The trail through Deva-prastha is blocked. We’ll have to find another
way home.’

‘Blocked? By Hara! But … how …?’

‘Like I said, landslides.’

Partha’s joy at seeing Govinda again all but disappeared. ‘If we can’t go back through Deva-prastha …’

‘We’ll have to go further east, find another pass. And the faster we move, the better. Winter is almost upon us. Many of these
mountain paths will become inaccessible and I want to be out of the highlands before that. It’s not going to be easy, Partha,
and there’s no point pretending that our position is anything but precarious. But if we get out of the higher regions before
winter sets in …’ Govinda shrugged lightly and left it at that.

Partha nodded. He had faced extremes of weather since he
had left Indr-prastha on his journey of conquest, to the point that he had almost forgotten the familiar, native climate of
Kuru. In the first couple of years, the trek northwards from Bhogavati had been, in retrospect, comfortable enough. For the
most part he only remembered the cold, and that too with some astonishment that there could be so many different degrees of
chilly weather. There were the more subtle but deadly dangers of the icy winter along the Great Mountains and the misery of
freezing winds that ripped all life from barren mountainscapes during the so-called summer months. The pleasantly warm sunlight
had initially promised some reprieve from the wind, but Partha had soon learned that the thin air of the high altitudes turned
the sun into a silent killer.

By his third summer in the mountains, Partha no longer noticed the irony of sweating under thick furs while a cold wind blew
all around them. By the fourth winter – his sixth in total since he had left Indr-prastha – he had learned the most important
lesson of them all. Men died in the ruthless winters of the White Mountains. The barren lands claimed their due victims every
season, no matter what one did to try and stay alive. After all this while it had become a simple calculation for Partha,
one that now told him that Govinda was right. They could not afford one more winter in these lands. None of them would survive.

His eyes dark, Partha asked. ‘What power can do this, Govinda? What power could cause entire mountains to move, the earth
to shake and explode this way? What demonic force conspires against us so?’

Govinda said nothing, though the nagging guilt that he should have killed Devala Asita even before the imperial campaign had
begun tugged at him. But if he had, he would not have known how to explain it to Panchali. It would not do, Govinda reminded
himself, for reasons of political expediency and personal preference both to have her hate him any sooner than she had to.
But someday, he would have much to say to her, and no doubt, she likewise. His last thought as he fell asleep, lying with
his back to Balahak’s warm body, his second and third ribs bandaged tight by Partha’s medic, was that he had not seen her
in years.

‘Your Highness?’

Govinda woke at the touch on his shoulder. He sat up, pushing aside the thick blanket that covered him, and wriggled his toes
to restore the flow of blood to his feet. In these parts, anyone who wanted to keep their feet attached to their legs knew
better than to sleep without the fur-lined boots that every soldier wore. He thought fondly, as he had every morning for the
past some weeks, of a hot bath and the feel of crisp cotton robes, but settled instead for drinking in the white, pristine
beauty around him.

On all sides, as far as the eye could see, ran tall mountains, most of them covered in snow. Their camp was located in the
Highland Core, the sprawling plains between the different ranges of the White Mountains, an immeasurably vast tract of land
that knew no comparison with any other place he had seen in all his travels. Its starkness and its sheer size were humbling,
yet its silent expanse was comforting in its own way. Govinda breathed in deep of the thin air, enjoying the solitude that
these harsh lands held in their keeping. His eyes then came to rest on a ridge of peaks that lay to the east. These, he knew,
were the mountains they would have to cross to emerge from the flatlands on to the path that would lead them home.

‘Your Highness?’ The same soldier who had woken him up held out a bowl of boiling hot water for him to wash his face.

Govinda took it with a smile, and said, ‘Henceforth, my friend, there are two things that I need you to never forget. The
first is, wake me up before we break camp and not after.’ He gestured to where most of the men stood, ready and mustered to
march on. Even Balahak had been saddled, presumably by Partha.

‘Understood, Your Highness. And the second thing?’ the soldier asked, eager and obedient.

Govinda stared at him for a moment, taking in his youth, his unlined face. The man, more a boy, was hardly more than eighteen
or twenty, he supposed. Brushing aside the host of thoughts that rushed at him, Govinda reached out to pat him on the back.
‘The other is: Never call me Highness. My name is Govinda Shauri.’

Whether it resulted from the news of that friendly encounter, or the much more important arrival of food and reinforcements,
Partha’s men appeared to regain hope and energy. To his delight, they set out at a good pace. The entire company marched on
foot, the thin air making it inadvisable to ride their horses unless they had to. What made the journey most frustrating was
that while their destination lay clearly visible on the horizon, at the end of a day’s march the mountains would seem no nearer
than they had the previous day.

It took them nearly eight weeks to reach the foothills that marked the end of the Highland Core. Only then did the towering
height of the cliffs truly strike them. The peaks that had looked ordinary from a distance now looked as though they pierced
the sky. The weather, too, was daunting. Though winter had yet to grip the region, it had grown much colder and icy winds
blew relentlessly. Partha, however, decided to continue onwards, citing the importance of getting across the mountains before
the snow piled too deep. The crossing itself was a much slower affair. Most of their supplies and their many treasures were
already loaded on to the yaks, animals native to the terrain that Partha had procured early on in his travels through the
region. In some places, however, it became necessary to physically coerce the animals, especially the horses, to move. Govinda
would grit his teeth whenever the men whipped one of the animals, but he also knew better than to intervene. Terrain such
as this made for terrible tempers, and the threat of dissension and infighting was real.

By the time they reached the small settlement at the foothills of the mountains on the other side, they had lost a good fifty
men and as many animals. In a clear sign of how nerve-wracking the journey had been, no one suggested stopping in order to
make a pyre to burn their dead. Come the spring thaw, Govinda grimly noted, the wild creatures of these lands were in for
a feast.

He did not, however, let the thought affect his appetite as he and Partha dined at the stone-cut house that belonged to the
chieftain of the settlement. The two of them made good on the mead-like drink served to them, but refused to strain the resources
of the chiefdom further, despite the chief’s eagerness to display his allegiance to the
Emperor-to-be. After arranging to buy what could be spared of the settlement’s winter supplies of oil, the two men returned
to camp to discuss their next move.

‘Due east,’ Partha began as he stepped into the man-high tent he shared with Govinda. His voice was sombre. ‘Four, no, nearly
five years now in these accursed lands and I can tell you this much: There isn’t anything left here that can defeat us now
that we are out of the Core. We keep going east, the settlements get larger, and we can even reach areas that resemble civilization
in about three months.’

‘Or,’ Govinda said, huffing slightly as he took advantage of the mead-fuelled warmth in his body to quickly change his anatariya,
‘we could go south till we hit the gorge through which the Lauhitya river runs.’ He wrinkled his nose at the dirt-stained
garment, wondering whether he ought to indulge himself by throwing it in the fire outside, or put it away in case he needed
it again.

Partha stared at him, disbelieving. ‘You’re mad,’ he snapped. ‘How in Varuna’s name can we descend into the gorge? Don’t forget
that its upper reaches are almost as high as we now are, Govinda. We’d be dead within moments of even trying to climb down
that sheer cliff! And what about the animals?‘

‘There’s a pass, or so I’ve heard.’

‘You’ve heard?’

‘I’ve heard traders from Cinna speak of it. It’s not frequently used and it’s supposed to be quite narrow, but it’s there.
In fact,’ Govinda chuckled, ‘there are stories in Cinna that many decades ago Firewrights fled Aryavarta by that route …’

‘Stories! Hah! It will be the middle of winter by the time we reach the Lauhitya. Even if this path of yours really exists,
we’d never make it down with all the frost and snow.’

‘Winter is already on us,’ Govinda softly pointed out. ‘The next three months are the difference between life and death, Partha.
Between your brother ruling an empire and his failure to acquire one. And death is near certain if we insist on staying in
these lands. If we head south, we will reach the gorge in less than two weeks, but if we go east …’

‘Mih!’ Partha swore, bristling visibly. ‘First you say let’s go east, and now when I say the same thing you say let’s go south!
Must you always object to everything? You’re not the only warrior in these parts!’

Govinda’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not retort. Nor did he object when, the next morning, Partha ordered the soldiers
to break camp and begin marching east.