The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 (12 page)

‘A wise man, indeed!’

‘You might have heard of him. His name is Govinda Shauri.’

14

AS UTTARA HAD SUSPECTED, THE TASK SHE AND ABHIMANYU HAD
come to accomplish was not that easily done.

Hidimbya and the Rikshasas spared no effort in making her and Abhimanyu feel welcome and comfortable. The thatched hut they were given for their stay was unique, inasmuch as it was set on the branches of a tree. Considering the newness of the experience, the couple was placed in a dwelling close to the ground, but save this aspect there was little that distinguished one hut from another; not even the Chief’s. It was not that they always lived in such houses, Uttara was told – in other parts of the woods, their huts were built on land or sometimes set up against hillocks and stones, or within natural caves and hollows. But, Hidimbya confessed to her, he personally enjoyed about living in the tree canopy. ‘It feels like a green womb,’ he said.

Abhimanyu had said, ‘I have heard that description before.’

‘We have a fondness for naming things as we see them,’ Hidimbya said. He smiled to himself, ran a hand over his shining head and said, ‘For instance, here I am blessed with a perfectly good and respectable name like Purbaya, and do you know what everyone insists on calling me?’ He paused, looking from Abhimanyu’s curious face to Uttara’s, before saying, ‘Ghatothkach. They call me that because they say my head is shaped like a pot.’ He smiled at them with good-natured pride and his visitors burst out laughing. Uttara muttered the name under her breath a couple of times, enjoying the way the earthy word rolled off her tongue.

‘It’s not a bad name, you know,’ she said. ‘You could do worse. Imagine if you were called Abhimanyu! How difficult it would be to scold you…’

‘Well said, Mahamatra,’ Hidimbya joined in on the opportunity for some harmless amusement at Abhimanyu’s expense.

Despite the familiarity and banter they had developed with Hidimbya, politeness kept Abhimanyu and Uttara from pressing the Chief to discuss the reasons for their visit. But after two days of exploring forests in his company, as well as feasting and merrymaking with the tribe as a whole, the two began wondering when the opportunity might present itself.

It was, therefore, completely unintentional on Uttara’s part when she finally spoke of the imminent and that too in such a casual way. She said, as she swallowed the last drops of a rice and fruit gruel that formed part of their evening meal, ‘Oh Chief, this is excellent! I had thought no one could be a better cook than your father, but truly you excel him! One more week of eating this way, and neither I nor Abhimanyu shall fit into our respective armours, if it comes to war…’ She stopped short as she realized what she had inadvertently done and glanced up from her gruel-pot, first at Hidimbya and then at a stunned Abhimanyu.

After an awkward pause, Hidimbya said, ‘Eat. Gruel is always best had hot off the fire.’

Uttara gratefully turned her attention back to her food. The three of them finished eating in silence, save for the few words they exchanged with those attending to them as a matter of courtesy.

Once the meal was cleared away, Hidimbya returned to the topic of his own accord. ‘Well,’ the Chief began, ‘it would undoubtedly be pleasant to pretend that my culinary skills and our sylvan surroundings are what keep you here, but we all know that it is not so. You presented me with a proposal. It is time I gave you my answer.’

‘You have thought over it?’ Uttara asked, glad that her error had served a purpose after all.

‘Yes,’ Hidimbya replied, ‘and my concerns have increased, not lessened.’ Before Uttara could protest, he held up a restraining hand. ‘Please, allow me to explain: Cousin Abhimanyu here knows the story, though you may or may not. My mother, Pallavi, met and married Bhim Vikrodara of the Kurus when he was in rather dire circumstances. He and his brothers, and their mother too, were fleeing for their lives. They had just escaped an attempt at assassination by faking their own deaths in a fire at Varana, and were little more than hapless refugees when they entered this forest.’

‘If you think it was a marriage of convenience…’ Abhimanyu started.

Hidimbya shook his head. ‘No. I trust my mother’s heart as well as her head. She would not have married a man unless she loved him, nor would she have been fool enough to mistake any ulterior motive on his part for love. I have no doubt that my making was a sacred act of affection. But the story does not begin there, Cousin. Have you ever wondered why your uncles and grandmother came into our forest when they fled from Varana?’

‘Surely, proximity to Varana is the obvious explanation.’

‘Yes, but there is another reason, and it is equally obvious once you come to know of it. Our people, our lands… We were conquered by Prince Pandu of the Kurus. He was not known for his military achievements as such, but this much is fact: He was our overlord. Who would you go to in times of trouble, Abhimanyu? The vassal who is sworn to your fickle enemy? Or one who was sworn to your father, conquered by him in person?’

‘I still don’t understand…’

‘My father and mother… Their story is an aberration, one that has, till now, remained untold and unknown. It is only out of great need that Dharma Yudhisthir allows it to be revealed – not very different from what his father did, or what
he
did, all those years ago. Where was Dharma Yudhisthir through all the years when he ruled as Emperor? What did he do for us? I hold no ill-will towards my father, nor towards you as a brother, but I’d be a fool of a chief if I didn’t look out for my people. You ask us to come to war? You ask us to come to die for you? What have we ever got from the Emperor to owe him our allegiance? What have I ever got from my own family? How do I trust that if Dharma Yudhisthir is restored to power, he won’t just discard us, as his kind always have?’

Uttara said, ‘But it is not Dharma Yudhisthir you fight for. We of Matsya stand by this cause for a greater reason.’

‘Mahamatra, I make no judgement on your people’s decision to side with Dharma Yudhisthir or his cause. I can only say that I have consulted with mine, and we find the risk too great.’

‘The risk of death?’ Abhimanyu was terse.

‘The risk of dying in vain. Forgive me, cousin, but though I like you, I cannot trust you. You are, after all, heir to Dharma Yudhisthir’s throne.’

‘And you, Chief? Would you trust yourself? Would your people risk trusting you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, Chief, that it is not I who am the true heir to Dharma Yudhisthir’s throne. It is you. So the real question here is: Can you trust yourself? Can your people trust that you will fight this war, not to make Dharma emperor but to prove that he could not have lost his empire in the first place? This is a revolution, Chief, it is a way of telling every living person in Aryavarta that no one, not even its Emperor, can treat its people with impunity. Aryavarta belongs, has always belonged, to its people. It was never any emperor’s to lose.’

15

UTTARA AND ABHIMANYU LEFT AT DAWN THE NEXT DAY, CARRYING
both pleasant memories of their stay and a solemn promise from the Rikshasas that they would side with Dharma Yudhisthir. Afternoon found the couple taking a short break on their journey to Kamyaka, and from there, home to Upaplavya.

They were still in well-forested regions, each glade as scenic and verdant as the next, but Abhimanyu chose their resting place considering the abundance of fruits and berries around them. They were not as yet hungry enough to need to hunt, nor was he inclined to do so for sport and so, tethering both their horses to a tree with thick tufts of grass amongst its roots, he set about bringing fruits down by the simple but expedient method of throwing stones at them. Through it all, Uttara stood silent and stunned as she had been since the previous evening.

Abhimanyu tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her out of her daze. ‘Are you all right,’ he asked as he handed her some fruit. He found himself an overturned tree trunk nearby to sit on, and bit into his own fruit with relish. ‘Eat!’ he commanded, when he saw Uttara rooted to her spot.

Uttara suddenly came to life and turned to face him. He stopped mid-bite as his eyes caught the flash in hers. ‘What you told Hidimbya…’

‘It’s true. Dharma Yudhisthir and Panchali resolved not to have children so that there would be no conflict over which of the brothers’ children inherited the throne. They decided that the eldest of all the brothers’ children would be deemed their heir, though at that point it was not the Imperial throne they spoke of. In any case, now you see why our little trip was such a secret.’

Uttara said, ‘It isn’t a secret we need to keep from Syoddhan alone… But how will we get Emperor Dharma to agree?’

‘Father…that is, Uncle Govinda, will see to that. He would never speak anything but the truth, but he has no qualms being parsimonious with it. As far as I understand, the Emperor believes we intend to rely on filial affections and not political assurances. But it is a conclusion he has reached on his own, and Father simply does not inform him to the contrary.’

‘Why do you call him “Father”?’ Uttara asked, giving voice to the question she had nursed for a long time.

‘Because Govinda Shauri is the first – and only – father I’ve truly known. Partha Savyasachin wasn’t around often, when I was a child, and I grew up mostly at Dwaraka. Pradymna, obviously, called Govinda ‘father’ and I just followed him. It’s like when my other cousins – Uncle Bhim and Uncle Nakul’s sons, for example – call Emperor Dharma “Agraja” because that is how they’ve always heard their parents refer to him.’

Uttara laughed. She then added, ‘And so, you have one more cousin now. One you should call “agraja”.’

‘Yes. By Rudra, I can’t imagine how Hidimbya must have felt when he saw us standing there. Frankly, I’d expected fighting. So had Fa… Uncle Govinda.’

‘Understandable. They do have fair cause to hold a grudge against the Kurus.’

‘That, and then some. Imagine, we’ve let Hidimbya and his mother wallow in their solitude and anger, depriving them of the rights that we as Arya claim to uphold. How useful for us that Rikshasas are not Arya, and so Hidimbya is not of noble blood. To tell you the truth, the Rikshasas’ land was held by my ancestors as being of more use than the people who lived on it.’

‘And now that they are more useful than their land, we come to barter with them,’ Uttara finished, bitterness straining her voice.

Abhimanyu shook his head. ‘What’s worse is that we expect their allegiance despite all that we have done, because Divine Order decrees it thus. Now do you see, Uttara? Now do you see the question I grapple with day and night? How does one change what one is already a part of? I have heard stories of how Uncle Govinda and Uncle Balabadra united the various feudal lords among the Yadus to build a land where the people were supreme. Dwaraka. But did that happen because Govinda was crown prince of Surasena, the nation of the Yadus? If a mere gwala had tried to challenge the centuries-old practice of succession and create a Janapada – a nation run by its people – would that have worked?’

‘It works in Matsya. Our Chief is elected by the people, and my title of princess is just a term of respect. It also works here, for the Rikshasas. Both nations choose their leaders.’

‘And both nations have suffered for their so-called heresy; their defiance of the Divine Order. I don’t understand,’ Abhimanyu shook his head in resignation. ‘Even the Yavanas have found merit in the idea that the people must be their own sovereign, but we, those of the land where the notion was born, continue to cling to our old ways of hierarchy and fealty. What monster am I heir to, Uttara? If we win this war, then what?’

Uttara considered him with genuine interest. ‘Is this purely guilt, Abhimanyu, or…?’

‘Guilt is of no use. I want answers. And I ask you in all sincerity to help me understand. You are right, Matsya is not a kingdom, though you may well be called a princess. Can Aryavarta too aspire to such change? Will we ever be an empire, where the people are their own sovereign?’

‘Maybe it is not only for Syoddhan’s benefit that Govinda calls for a muster. There are others who must see, who must understand. They must see the power, the presence of the people of Aryavarta – the commoners, as they are called by those who rule them so that they can be conveniently ignored. The muster is not meant to put Dharma back in power by a show of might, but to change the meaning of power itself.’

‘So… If Syoddhan submits…’

‘It vitiates the wager of the Empire. But what is more important is the reason why the wager is vitiated, for it questions the fundamental premise of a system of feudal subservience. Where we go from there remains to be seen.’

‘Where we go from there is clear, Uttara,’ Abhimanyu declared, a newfound resolution in his eyes. ‘I promised Ghatothkach… that is…Chief Hidimbya, that no matter what we call our leaders – emperors, chiefs, kings – they will be chosen by the people. That promise I will keep, with my life or my death. Besides,’ he added, allowing himself a smile, ‘just imagine looking down from the turrets of Indr-prastha at thousands and thousands of Rikshasas and Nagas, not to mention Kashi’s foresters and farmers, Yadu gwalas and Kalinga’s fishermen, if Uncle Shikandin can work his charm. Oh, and forgive me, your fellow Matsyans too! It will be an army mightier than any we have ever seen. Neither Uncle Syoddhan nor Uncle Dharma can defy that.’

Abhimanyu’s eyes gleamed as he gazed into the distance, as though he were soaring over mighty mountains and vast seas. He said, ‘A new age dawns, Uttara. The Wheel of Time has turned. Not too long from now – hopefully in our lifetime – Aryavarta will be a janapada, a realm ruled by its people, the largest such in the world!’ He slowly drew back to reality and turned to his wife. ‘I wish I could say that would be my gift to you, Uttara. But this gift is not mine to give. It has always belonged to the people. In fact, I will need your help to understand, to see how this must be done. Will you help me?’

In response, Uttara held out her hand. ‘It is a long journey back home, Prince Abhimanyu. Which is just as well, for we have much to talk about.’