The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 (11 page)

Shikandin shook his head. ‘In that case, they need not come. Enough, Sthuna. No more fighting for this leader or that, for this king or that. Tell them to come only if they wish to fight for themselves. Be very clear about that!’

‘Really, Shikandin, do you think they understand the difference? Do you think
she
understands?’ Sthuna gestured, not unkindly, to the handmaiden. ‘She follows you because she was told to. Words like “Divine Order” have very a simple meaning for her. Obey or die! All she knows is that she was born to serve, to serve and yield, and to defy that destiny is forbidden. It is all that each one of us knows! We don’t have your Arya notions of honour and self-worth – not because we lack those qualities but simply because we are denied that grace. How then do you expect me to explain to the men that they must fight for themselves; for a sense of right and freedom that I do not know how to explain?’

‘The honour you speak of, Sthuna, is nothing more than a fetter; another way of saying “obey or die”. By that honour, I’d have spent my life hunting down the people of the Eastern Forests –
my
people – not helping to hide and save them from my father’s men. True honour is not something that is given to us; it exists within us. Tell the men to trust in themselves.’

Sthuna persisted, ‘Our men fight for you, because you call them. It is you they trust. Stone and Tree save me,
you
might as well be our Emperor.’

‘Uncle…’ Uttamaujas placed a hand on Sthuna’s shoulder, calming him down as a matter of habit. A strained quiet fell on the glade, marred only by Kshatradharman’s restless shuffling as he watched the adults, uncomfortable.

It was the handmaiden who spoke. ‘I followed him because he promised me freedom and safety. Because he told me that I had a choice other than to submit to whatever I was commanded to do. It is true, it took me a while to understand what that meant – when my Queen first told me to go with him I just thought it was…for his pleasure…a pleasure that I was duty-bound to provide. But I was wrong,’ she said, not daring to look at Shikandin. ‘It is true, I don’t fully understand what my forest-brother here is talking about,’ she said, smiling at Sthuna, ‘and I don’t know if that is the difference he speaks of. But this is why I followed Sh…Shikandin. Not because I had to, but because I chose to.’

Shikandin laid a hand on the girl’s head. ‘You’re a brave one, you know that?’ he said. He turned to Sthuna. ‘Give our people the choice. The decision is theirs. If they agree, lead them to Matsya. But first I need you to take this young lady home.’

Uttamaujas said, ‘I can take her home. I’ll find my way to Matsya on my own after that. Uncle Sthuna need not bother.’

The offer was innocent enough, but neither Shikandin nor Sthuna missed the eagerness in the younger man’s voice. The handmaiden too noticed, for she protested, though quite ineffectually.

‘No, Uttamaujas,’ Shikandin finally said. ‘I need you to come with me. You must meet the others; you must train. There is a lot for you to do at Matsya.’

‘Oh…’ Uttamaujas did not dissent, but was visibly crestfallen.

‘Right, we better get moving,’ Sthuna said. He added, sullen, ‘I will meet you at Matsya, Shikandin, but I make no promises of the numbers I will bring with me. Too much hope would not be wise. I will do as you ask, but…’ he shook his head and then would say no more.

‘Thank you,’ the handmaiden said, turning to Shikandin. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am. If you are in these parts again, please do come by my village.’ She trailed off as she realized how commonplace and hackneyed that sounded, but could not resist turning to Uttamaujas and adding, ‘You too. I…that is, we…my family would be happy to see you.’

A flustered Uttamaujas simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and Sthuna and his new ward set off on their way.

‘Right. Our turn,’ Shikandin said. ‘We need to buy horses for you two and then head…Uttamaujas, are you listening to me?’

‘Oh! Yes, Father,’ said the young man, though he clearly was not. He absently continued, ‘I suppose it would be nice to visit her village someday…’

Shikandin smiled and slapped his son on the back. He did not dwell too long on the thought that neither he nor Uttamaujas might return to these lands or see the people who lived there again.

13

THERE WAS A QUALITY TO THE JUNGLE, ABHIMANYU OBSERVED
, that made his company more bearable to Uttara.

For the past ten days, the two of them had trekked through the woods on foot, leaving their accompanying attendants and guards at the hermitage near Kamyaka, where, ostensibly, the couple was offering prayers for a long and happy married life under the guidance of Acharya Dhaumya. In truth, the two had used the cover of the forests to journey eastward, through Surasena, right to the enemy’s stronghold.

Crossing the border into Western Kuru and then journeying southeast to Varana forest, near Hastina, had been the most dangerous part. It had taken up a fair part of their time, for it had been imperative they avoid being seen by anyone, especially the enemy soldiers who patrolled the forests in these troubled times. Strangely, this part of their journey had been far more pleasant than the first, and Uttara and Abhimanyu had actually had a few short conversations that could, without stretching one’s imagination, be considered friendly.

Abhimanyu, for his part, nurtured a small corner of romance in his heart, and so wished that this journey would not soon come to an end. His initial flirtations with Uttara, when he had first met her, had been a matter of habit as much as attraction, but over the past months he had come to like being around her in a companionable way as well as in a sensuous one. She fascinated him, she tempted him, she riled and delighted him. More than anything, she commanded his respect. Uttara was bold and forthright without making a show of it – the sign of a woman who took her equality as a right and not a privilege. In fact, one of the things that had initially irked her the most about him was his overt assertion of the principle.

‘If a woman is truly your equal, prince,’ she had said, ‘then there is no need to talk about it. The more you spout these declarations and postulates, the more you reveal the truth of the matter – that in your world, women are not equal to men, and so rhetoric to the contrary is required.’

It had also astonished Abhimanyu to find that Uttara preferred his mother Subadra’s company more than she did Panchali’s. He had thought that Panchali and Uttara had more in common, given their outspoken nature and their battle-training, but Uttara seemed more comfortable with the demure and feminine Subadra. When Abhimanyu had questioned Uttara about this, he had been rewarded, not with a rant but with an equally critical explanation: ‘Subadra made a choice. A free choice to be as she wishes, as aligns with her nature. Panchali – don’t get me wrong, she is an admirable woman – but I suspect in her youth a lot of her behaviour and mannerisms came from the need to show herself as a man’s equal.’ Uttara had laughed at herself and admitted, ‘See how difficult it is to talk of such things in a language, a way of thinking, that defines how we are. I, who hold to such views, must talk of Subadra as feminine and Panchali as masculine, to distinguish their behaviours. How can we change a system when we remain inside it?’

The question had been rhetorical, but had spun another one in Abhimanyu’s mind, and yet another after that, till he was left with the ultimate doubt of them all: How could Govinda, how could anyone, change a system that they were already a part of, and yet remain within its bounds?

Lost in thought, Abhimanyu did not notice the man hidden in the thicket or the arrow that left his bow. He reacted with the instinct of training to the twang of the bowstring, but it was already too late to counter the shaft that came at him. Before he could do anything further, a strong body hurtled towards him, pushing him into cover in a rough but effective way.

‘The arrow would have hurt less,’ he grumbled. Uttara did not bother to retort; she was already back on her feet, bow drawn, arrow notched, ready to engage with the man who had shot at them. But she did not. Guessing the reason for her inaction, Abhimanyu stood up, his bare hands held up in a sign of submission. ‘We come in peace!’ he called out. Uttara stayed as she was, waiting for a response from their attacker. They remained that way for a few tense moments, Abhimanyu not daring to move, not even to wipe the sweat that ran off his forehead and into his eyes. At last, a voice from behind the trees called out a command to lower all weapons and move into plain sight.

Over twenty Rikshasas – forest-dwellers – mostly men but a few women also among them, came out from the cover of the jungle, their bows down but with arrows still set to the string. The sight was an impressive one, all the more so for the horned headgear that each soldier wore. Dark streaks of some oily substance, applied in a pattern that the couple could not readily identify, covered the warriors’ faces and arms. Bright jungle fowl feathers and simple wooden beads made for jewellery as well as decorations for their slim wooden bows. But it was the man who now joined the forest warriors who completely took their breath away.

He was tall by any reckoning and appeared more gigantic for the way he emerged through the morning mist. Slender but well-built and broad, the man moved with the lithe grace of a jungle creature, his dark, shining skin rippling with the strength of his muscles. Of his face there was little to see but white teeth that shone through a wide grin and his head, round and smooth as an overturned pot.

The man spoke, revealing himself as the command voice that had called off the imminent attack: ‘Strangers don’t come in peace to these lands, without reason. They are either desperate or ambitious, usually both, to risk encountering us Rikshasas. Do you know what they say about us, in the land of our neighbours, the Kurus?’

Abhimanyu said, ‘They call you demons and magicians. But I’ve hardly met a person I’ve liked whom the Kurus did not find some fault with… The people of Eastern Kuru, that is.’

‘Interesting choice of words. Who are you and what do you want?’

‘We are emissaries of Dharma Yudhisthir, Emperor of Aryavarta and King of Western Kuru. We have come to see your chief, Pallavi Hidimbi.’

The declaration had an effect, not just on the Rikshasa leader, but on all the assembled forest-dwellers. At length, the leader said, ‘You come many years too late. Pallavi Hidimbi is dead.’

‘I…oh…’ Abhimanyu faltered, unsure of what he ought to say next.

Uttara cut in, ‘Please… Our condolences to you for the loss of your Chief, though I realize it may be too late. The loss is also mine – I had heard a lot about her, her valour and wisdom, and had greatly desired to meet her.’

The words seemed to placate the gigantic man, or at least stir his curiosity. He said, ‘You say you are emissaries of Dharma Yudhisthir.’

‘We are,’ Uttara said. ‘We have come to seek an alliance with your people, to our mutual interest; indeed, in the interests of all Aryavarta. Who succeeds Chief Hidimbi?’

‘I do,’ the bald man replied. ‘I am her son, though I rule by the will of my people and not by virtue of descent.’

‘Chief,’ Abhimanyu stepped forward. ‘We have much to talk about, to discuss…’

The Chief held up a restraining hand. ‘Impressive. But not enough. You come bearing big promises and claim the backing of those who do not know who I am, or the simple fact of who leads us. You have come because you find us useful. As I said earlier, desperation and ambition are the only reason why your kind have set foot in these forests, including, I might add, your
Emperor
, Dharma Yudhisthir or
any
of his kin. Why then should we place any faith in you or what you say?’

Uttara said, ‘We could give you a number of reasons, Chief. We could say that your trust in us is well-placed because I am Princess Uttara of Matsya, the daughter of Chief Virat. Like you and your people, I know what it is like to be ostracized and shunned because we upset the precious hierarchy of those in power. Or we could say it is because my companion here is Abhimanyu Karshni of the Kurus, heir to Dharma Yudhisthir’s throne and a man who means for the future to be different.’

‘Indeed,’ Abhimanyu added, ‘because, Chief, both you and I know that the future must be different…Purbaya Hidimbya, son of Bhim Vikrodara and Chief Hidimbi of the Rikshasas.’

The statement was no revelation to the Chief’s people, but Uttara was taken aback. She swore under her breath, the action drawing smiles of amusement from those who heard her, and regarded Abhimanyu with new respect.

Abhimanyu continued, ‘But the point is, Cousin Hidimbya, that none of those reasons matter. For too long we have been slaves to these norms and hierarchies, these complex webs of politics and power that overshadow the very reason why civilization came into existence; for too long you and your people have paid the price. Firewright, Firstborn…Kuru, Arya…for too long their fights have been ours, though our fight has never been theirs. What difference has it made who leads us, because we have never led ourselves… I am not one of them, no matter my birth. I am one of you, one with everything, because my mind is capable of reason and my heart is capable of compassion. Will you not accept me? Will you not help me? Will you not hear me out?’

Hidimbya looked around at his people, taking silent counsel from them. Some had tears in their eyes; many smiled. Hidimbya was deep in thought, considering all that Abhimanyu had said. He then opened his arms in welcome. ‘Come, you both must be tired. You must rest and eat while you tell me more of what it is you need of me.’

‘You will help us?’ Uttara could not believe the task was so easily done.

‘But of course,’ Hidimbya said. He turned to Abhimanyu. ‘I shall help as far as I can. Your words hold truth, brother, and for that I will also accept the wisdom in them.’

Abhimanyu laughed, as an unnamed joy welled up in him. ‘The truth is mine, brother, for I stand by the words I have spoken. As for the wisdom in them… That, I cannot lay claim to. They were taught to me by another man, one who lives his very life by them.’