The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 (26 page)

And yet
, his inner voice taunted him,
it is on Govinda that you now depend. Both you and he made use of the feint of war, but when the dice were cast your gamble was lost. Now it stands to Govinda to prevent war, in the brief time that remains
.

Suka dismissed the thought, invoking reason to focus on what came next.

Once Syoddhan won the not-quite-war, as he would, Suka would ensure that he and his brothers would be the chosen ones, the symbols of all that was right and good. It would be a simple matter to forsake Dharma and his kin; the five ambitious brothers led astray by a vengeful princess born of fire and sorcery. After all, to chronicle reality in the most appropriate form was a talent Suka had acquired from his father. If only his father had learned, as he had, that when the opponent always has a plan one needs to have two.
Oh well…

Suka smiled, thinking for a while of the story that these events would make. All else would pale in comparison to that tale of lust and treachery…and death…that would eventually be told. Indulging himself in a loud yawn, he moved away from the window to lie down on his mat for what little was left of the night. He was asleep within moments.

34

GOVINDA DID NOT KNOW WHEN HIS RESTLESSNESS HAD GIVEN
way to sleep, or whether he was, in fact, still awake and trapped in memory, but his body felt light and heavy at once, as though he was free of himself but imprisoned elsewhere. He was all of nine or ten, back in the vraja of his childhood. The day was hot and he had spent the morning entertaining himself by scrambling up and down rocky hillocks, having left the cows and bulls in his care to their own devices. Pleasantly tired and sun-weary, he stretched himself out in the shade of a tree, one arm under his head for a pillow, the other instinctively swatting at the determined fly that landed now and then on the dried mud on his feet and ankles. Govinda waited, then and now, for habitual stupor to take him, spill over into the present and make the images in his mind fade away into the dark nothingness of true sleep.

A shrill scream rent the air of the past. The young dream-Govinda was immediately on his feet and running in the direction of the sound. He found the children of the vraja clustered on the verdant banks of the river Yamuna and saw the other figures in the distance running towards them.

‘What happened?’ he asked, coming up on the terrified group.

‘A calf…a calf fell into the river. He was carried downstream by its force.’

‘What!’ a voice Govinda recognized as Balabadra’s came from behind them. ‘What are you children doing here? You know the river is in spate, you were told to stay away from it. Now we’ve lost a calf for nothing…’

Govinda did not stop to hear another word. He ran as fast as he could along the river’s edge, following its flow.

He found the calf beyond a bend in the river. The poor animal was caught in the swirls of an eddy, his eyes wide and nostrils flared with fear, his whining scream-like bleat of terror filling the air. At any moment the water would pull the helpless beast below the surface or, worse, dash him against the sharp rocks that lined the river.

‘Govinda, no! Don’t be silly!’ he heard a shout in the distance. And then he jumped. The last thing he saw before being pulled into the river’s depths was the calf’s large, mournful eyes.

It had been decades, and Govinda still lacked the words to describe what he had seen in those brown orbs, the emotion he could have sworn was there, as though the animal were capable of a human tongue. Wonder, amazement, hope, despair, caution, joy, terror…all of these, and yet none. It was his own reflection he had seen, but it had not been a true image – for the boy mirrored in the calf’s eyes had been smiling, not floundering in the white waters of the river; he had been dancing, not drowning.

Govinda sat up with a gasp, unsure of what it was that had instinctively woken him up. He closed his eyes again and tried hard to remember what had happened next, all those years ago, but the dream did not return, nor did memory. The image of the calf continued to nag at him, as though he had forgotten something he knew to be important.

Drawing in a calming breath, Govinda opened his eyes. Darkness, he saw through the partly-open tent flap, had begun to give way to the red skies that preceded dawn. Having lain awake for most of the night after Uluka’s departure, he had, Govinda realized, overslept while the rest of the camp readied to march out. Nevertheless, the sense of urgency, the sporadic bustle of movement around him hinted at something more. He knew what was going on even as he swung out of his bed and let his feet touch the ground. The subtle tremble of the earth, the steady, almost-soundless tremors could mean just one thing. Cursing himself, his turbulent dreams, and everyone and everything else for his not having woken sooner, Govinda slid his feet into his sandals and walked out of the tent, his sword-belt in hand.

The first glimmer of day streaked the horizon. The Command Tent was silhouetted against sun-bruised skies and, in front of it, the royal banners of Emperor Dharma Yudhisthir and his brothers rippled in the breeze: Dharma’s bore the sign of a golden moon surrounded by planets, Bhim’s a silver lion with eyes of blazing lapis lazuli. Partha’s flag had the insignia of an ape, Nakul’s was the part lion-part bird Sarabha, and Sadev’s banner was emblazoned with a silver swan.

Under the proud flags, the leaders of Dharma’s army stood as shadows. Govinda joined them, noting abstractedly that they were all dressed for battle, Panchali included. None, however, turned to acknowledge him, for all eyes, everywhere in the camp, lay on one sight alone.

Across the reddened field, streaming in through the entrance to Syoddhan’s camp was a company of marching men – no, this was more than a company, much more. An army. Lines of metal glimmered as they caught the rising sun. Govinda knew each flash was not one but at least a hundred men, each spark just a glimpse of a huge horde. It was now light enough for him to note the fair skin and leather uniforms that identified the men as mercenaries from far lands, but Govinda did not think to dwell on that. All he was aware of, all that filled his consciousness, was the sheer size of this new army. He could not tell how many deep the ranks were, but he knew it would not matter. Even the thinnest of marching formations meant that he stared at an advance force of over two akshauhini divisions of soldiers, with more to follow.

Govinda wondered how it was that Syoddhan had been able to amass extra divisions at this last moment, but then as his eyes fell on Panchali he understood. This had obviously been a part of Syoddhan’s plan, a fact that the Secret Keeper would have known. It was why, Govinda concluded, the Firewright leader had easily given in to Panchali’s intervention and thus led Syoddhan to reject his offer to surrender himself, in exchange for peace.
She expected something, if not this. That was why she insisted I find my answers before dawn
.

Panchali gave Govinda a pointed look as if to confirm the unstated premise in his mind, but he had no response. Next to him, Partha gasped at the results of his own, silent calculations of the enemy’s strength and staggered back as though bodily struck. Govinda caught the warrior by his elbow and pulled him along as he headed into the Command Tent. Partha did not protest, but followed with limp acquiescence. One by one, the others made their way inside.

‘Now what?’ Bhim said, sullen. ‘That must have been more than three divisions of men!’

‘Much more,’ Govinda said. ‘I’d say three and a half, maybe four. That brings Syoddhan’s army to a total of eleven divisions.’

‘Eleven!’ Partha cried out. ‘But…we counted on seven, at the most eight. Eleven akshauhini against our seven? How did this happen? Shalya…Shalya reported troop movements of only half a division from the west and the frontier. He wouldn’t lie! Or would he…?’ He turned to Nakul and Sadev, angry.

‘He didn’t,’ Shikandin said. ‘He was misled, just as we were. My guess is that the half division from the west was just a distraction. We were meant to think these were all the men Jayadrath would spare, when in truth he has brought his entire army as well as the Qamboja forces – nearly two division strong – to fight for Syoddhan. Not to mention that he has had no qualms recruiting mercenaries to supplement his numbers.’

‘How did he get them here without us knowing? Your men were acting as scouts…’ Partha turned on Shikandin.

‘Asvattama must have sought help from the Nagas to bring the men through the forests without our knowledge. Brihadbala, Takshaka’s son, fights for Syoddhan, and his foresters could move a mountain through their woods without stirring a leaf – such is their skill, their oneness with these lands.’

‘It’s a bad decision,’ Dhrstyadymn pointed out. ‘Jayadrath leaves none to defend the north-western frontiers of Aryavarta, which was the pretext he put forth…’

Nakul snapped, ‘Are you mad? Nagas or not, Syoddhan’s army is now one and a half times the size of ours! And you’re worried about the frontier?’

Panchali began to say something but was cut short by Partha as he, Nakul, Dhrstyadymn and Yuyudhana began to argue among themselves.

In all that tumult, Dharma alone remained calm, as though he were reconciled to the situation at hand. ‘Swasti!’ he commanded, bringing silence to the proceedings. When he spoke his voice was without the least trace of doubt: ‘It all makes sense… Why would Syoddhan agree to peace on our terms, no matter how conciliatory those conditions were, when he could have war and victory on his terms? He must have known… They all must have known. It is the obvious answer.’

‘But…’ Partha protested. His voice was heavy with disappointment and he radiated a sense of doom. ‘How could the Grandsire allow this? And Acharya Dron…?’

‘Don’t you understand, Partha,’ Dharma’s tone was kind. ‘They are duty-bound to stand by Syoddhan, just as I am to stand against him. This is not the time for doubt or denial. Destiny has brought us this far. Destiny will see us to the end.’

‘But, Agraja… Fight Dron? He is our teacher!’

‘I am clear on what I must do, Partha. What you wish to do is your choice,’ Dharma declared. He turned to Govinda. ‘Do
you
still think this is a cause worth fighting for, Govinda?’

‘I thought it a cause worth dying for, Your Highness.’

‘Be that as it may, I stand by my word. You shall not bear arms. Not if my cause must be your cause.’

‘Very well.’

‘Dharma…’ Panchali stepped forward. In response, Dharma held up a hand. She looked from him to Govinda and then to him again. At length, she undid the baldric that held her sword and let it fall to the ground, at Dharma’s feet. She left without saying another word, her eyes filled with tears.

Dharma waited till she had gone. ‘It is settled,’ he said. ‘Give the orders, Commander Dhrstyadymn. Assemble our men in a final muster. May Rudra protect us.’

‘Rudra protect us,’ the others echoed the prayer. Partha alone remained silent.

35

SYODDHAN FOUND THE WEIGHT OF HIS WROUGHT ARMOUR
pleasantly heavy, for it reminded him of his strength and his ability to bear the weight, not only of the metal but also of the war for which it was worn. His imposing figure inspired respect from the oldest and most accomplished warriors in his army, including his granduncle, Bhisma. As for the others, his own brothers included, they watched, open-mouthed with awe as he directed his rig up and down their lines in inspection, his mere presence serving to affirm among those gathered on his behalf at Kuru’s Fields that they fought for the right side, the right cause and, above all, the right man.

Syoddhan himself remained oblivious to the adulation he stirred, his entire attention on the army before him. Each of the huge divisions was arranged either into functional units of chariots, cavalry, infantry and elephant cavalry, or into smaller tactical units. A full tactical unit comprised one chariot, one elephant, five horses and a contingent of foot-soldiers, all of whom would move together as one cohesive group. It was not uncommon for the division commanders and lieutenants to keep their immediate guard in such tactical formations while the rest of the army fought as functional units. That way, the best warriors could do the most damage. Yet, all those preparations, these subtle elements of warfare paled against the sheer size of the force that stood amassed.

Eleven akshauhini divisions
, Syoddhan noted with pride. Not even the famed emperors Hastin or Kuru had been able to draw so many men to their side. Indeed, he felt, a moral battle had already been won. The identity of the true ruler of Aryavarta had been established after all. All that remained now was victory. He smiled as he neared the head of the army formation, where the leaders were clustered together in meeting. Bhisma, Dron, Vasusena, Asvattama – they were all here, on his side. Whatever distrust or doubt Syoddhan may have nursed before, he let go of now. All he felt was the warmth, the commitment and conviction that throbbed as an irrepressible energy through the entire army.

Banners fluttered in the breeze, trumpets trilled, men and animals alike shone in their armour – cast iron and leather worked with gold insignia for the rulers, silver devices showing rank and allegiance for the captains and lieutenants, and copper markings for common soldiers. Horses, too, wore mail, commensurate with the station of the warriors who rode them. Elephants, valuable as they were, were fitted with the best of mail – panels of armour that covered their torso and throat while allowing them to move freely. The tips of their trunks were unprotected, but a number of the animals had knives or dagger-like devices attached to the ends of their tusks. The lead bulls also wore head plates of gold and metal-sewn caparisons of the most luxuriant silk. The finery, however, would not compromise the safety of the valued animals. Both Bhagadatta, who had brought with him the largest division of elephants, and Syoddhan had made sure of that.

The breathtaking ranks of pachyderms were matched only by the sight of Syoddhan’s key commanders themselves, and not just for the sheer prowess and nobility they exuded – for never since the Great Scourge had such a collection of Wright-metal been seen in all Aryavarta. Bhisma, Dron, Kripa and Asvattama stood resplendent in fiery white – from the metal tips of their covered sandals to the crown-like helmet that Bhisma wore. Their weapons gleamed in colours to rival nature – every shade in the spectrum reflected without flaw by their burnished surfaces. Here and there was a flash of gold in a tasteful artistic touch to a quiver-rim or a sword hilt, and occasionally of copper used in the same way. Any edge that could maim, kill, cut or strike was, however, made of Wright-metal. The other commanders too did not lag behind – where their armour was sometimes a mix of iron and Wright-metal, most carried at least some arms that were remnants of the massive hoard that had been acquired rather than destroyed during the Great Scourge. These weapons were, at the command of the Firstborn, to have been kept safe by the noble rulers who now displayed them. And now, with the blessings of the very same Firstborn, these same weapons would keep safe and protect their noble way of life.