The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 (32 page)

Syoddhan sensed the moment’s warmth and seized upon it. ‘Would you consider…’ he began.

Vasusena quashed the proposition before it was put to him. ‘No.’

He added, smiling at Syoddhan’s crestfallen expression, ‘But you don’t need me at all, my friend. I’d say you nearly have your victory. It is just a matter of a day or two.’

The assessment cheered Syoddhan a little, enough for him to let Vasusena continue to have his way for the time being. ‘I’ll see you later, then,’ he casually said before riding out to join the battle.

As the day progressed, Syoddhan was once again inclined to agree with Vasusena: It did seem victory was well within their grasp. Bhisma continued to wreak havoc with his spectacular missiles: arrows with hollow spheres that contained flammable wax, spears tipped with poisons that burned away skin and flesh to leave behind barren bone, and flaming brands that set the air alight. Wherever Bhisma’s banner of a palmyra with five stars streamed in the wind, there the screams rang loudest.

Govinda and Partha tried incessantly to get close to the Grandsire, but Syoddhan kept them constantly under attack from his best warriors – Dussasan, Kritavarman, Dron and Kripa ringed them at all times, waiting for an opportunity to strike. It was late in the afternoon by the time the two had their chance. When Bhisma and Shalya headed for the western flank, where Syoddhan’s armies were thinly spread, Partha, Shikandin and Abhimanyu moved quickly, converging on Bhisma.

Realizing that the Grandsire was in danger, Syoddhan immediately followed, shouting out to Asvattama and Dussasan to join him. By the time they had caught up with the enemy, Abhimanyu already had Shalya retreating under the onslaught of his arrows, creating the perfect opening for Shikandin to push through and engage with the Grandsire. Snarling, Syoddhan raised his bow, intending to block Shikandin’s expected advance with a shower of arrows. But before he could begin, Partha acted. ‘Stand back,’ he cried out, raising his bow. ‘Stand back, Shikandin. You too, Abhimanyu. I’ve got this.’

A reluctant Shikandin slowed down and fell back, allowing Govinda to speed through the opening Abhimanyu had created in the enemy ranks. Syoddhan was filled with renewed alarm. Govinda was by far the most able horseman on the field and, despite all opposition, was rapidly closing the gap between Partha’s rig and Bhisma.

‘No!’ Syoddhan cried out even as Govinda shouted, loud enough to be heard across the distance, ‘Now, Partha! Now!’

Partha’s response was just a whisper, but Syoddhan did not have to hear it. He saw his cousin’s lips move, read the look in his eyes, and knew exactly what it was. ‘Forgive me, Govinda,’ Partha was saying. ‘Forgive me. Anyone but the Grandsire. Please…’

Syoddhan was filled with a mixture of relief and disbelief, and laughter burbled in his stomach as Govinda brought the rig to a stop. But the first of the two sentiments was short-lived as, without a moment’s hesitation, Govinda jumped off the rig and reached into the depths of the carriage, prompting a warning shout from Shakuni and Dussasan, who had come up alongside Syoddhan. The caution was unnecessary, for all Govinda reached for was one of Partha’s spare swords. Strapping it around his waist, he strode across the field, uncaring of the chaos around him. In a voice that rang across the battlegrounds, he shouted out, ‘Bhisma! Bhisma Devavrata! Come here and face me, if you dare!’

Syoddhan heard the Grandsire’s leonine voice: ‘Govinda! I’m here! Come, let’s make this a battle legends are made of!’

Next to him, Dussasan laughed. ‘That gwala is asking for it,’ he said, raising his bow.

‘No!’ Syoddhan raised a hand in restraint. A disappointed Dussasan looked from his brother to Shakuni, hoping their uncle would convince Syoddhan otherwise.

Shakuni shook his head. ‘Wait,’ he said, and then added, ‘Look.’

The three men turned their attention back to Partha’s rig in time to see Shikandin and Yuyudhana drawing up next to it. After a brief but obviously heated exchange, the three men got down from their vehicles and followed Govinda.

‘They’re mad! They’re all mad!’ Dussasan said, watching as they caught up with Govinda and evidently tried to convince him of the ridiculousness of the attempt, their gestures referring to the undeniable danger to him should he leave the safety of their current position behind a defensive line of their soldiers. Their arguments ostensibly lacked result, for Shikandin caught Govinda’s arms in a deadlock behind his back, bringing him forcibly to a stop.

It took Syoddhan a while to realize that he, too, was laughing at the scene unfolding before them. It prompted the others of his side to join in, and their ringing guffaws appeared to bring Govinda back to his senses. He stopped resisting Shikandin and loudly said, looking in Syoddhan’s direction, ‘Move out! This is a battlefield, remember!’

As the four men regrouped their forces, Dussasan said, eager, ‘If we attack now…’

‘Let them go,’ Syoddhan declared. He had stopped laughing but a smile still played on his lips. ‘This is victory enough for today and…’ his voice trailed off at the thought of what he had been about to say – that he wanted to sit with Vasusena and relive the joy of the day’s triumph. Then his smile faded.

7

‘
CHARMING
,’
GOVINDA BEGAN, OOZING SARCASM AND CONTEMPT
as he walked into the Command Tent for the evening’s council of war. ‘Tell you what – why don’t we all just troop over to Bhisma’s tent right now and throw ourselves at his mercy.’

‘I don’t like your tone, Govinda.’ Dharma was bitter and sore from his tally of the day’s losses. ‘Nor did I like your theatrics today.’

‘And I don’t like your attitude or that of your brothers! The old man toys with us, playing us for fools, but you simply refuse to listen. What was I supposed to do? Watch and wait my turn to die, when you and Bhisma are done with pretending to fight each other while the rest of Aryavarta burns for you stubborn Kurus? You can call this
your
war all you like, but remember those who wage it for you. Without them, your crown and your claim is as good as lost.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He means,’ Virat intervened, ‘Bhisma must die. We’ve waited long enough for you and your brothers to do the task. We need to see now that you are fighting this war, not merely playing with our lives. You are our Emperor. Don’t let us die in vain.’

The silence that followed was clearly strained. Eventually, Dharma stirred. ‘Partha…’ he began tentatively.

Partha, however, looked to Govinda. As always, something in his friend’s dark eyes reassured him and made him feel at peace. He turned back to Dharma. ‘I agree that Bhisma must be stopped. But I can’t bring myself to attack him. I simply can’t.’ He felt relieved as Govinda nodded, accepting.

Dharma was less benevolent. ‘Partha, you’re a coward. I am ashamed of you.’

‘Agraja, please…’

‘Vathu! Shut up! You and Govinda here will be our undoing! I thought I told you, Govinda. I thought I told you to speak to him, to keep telling him what he needs to hear – yet look at him. He was a shameful sight out there today, hiding from an old dotard!’

‘It is patricide, and…’ Partha began to protest.

‘Enough of that,’ Yuyudhana suddenly interrupted. ‘We’ve been through this before. It’s equally patricide for all of us, just as it is abhorrent that he stands against you, his grandchildren. This is war. Those we fight are our enemy. All that matters now is which one of us can face Bhisma.’

‘Why don’t you face him then?’ Nakul burst out.

‘I’m ready to. But I can tell you that I’d be throwing my life away in vain unless we counter the Grandsire’s astra weapons with our own. I’m not afraid to die, Nakul, but I don’t see the point of being a fool…’

‘There is no folly in righteousness,’ Dharma cut in. ‘We will not use astra weapons. That is final. Now get back to the matter at hand.’

‘Can’t we combine forces against Bhisma?’ Bhim suggested, more to turn the talk away from the topic of astra-weapons.

‘It’s against the rules of engagement we agreed upon,’ Dhrstyadymn spoke up. ‘We can attack in quick succession and try to tire him out, but only one man may engage another at any point.’

‘That won’t work. Dron and Asvattama have been given the sole responsibility of protecting Bhisma. There’s another problem there and we all know it; but let’s solve this one first. It’ll have to be you, Dhrstyadymn.’

‘I…we… My father owes his throne to Bhisma and so do I. I’m bound by gratitude. I can’t…’

With a dejected groan, Dharma sunk his head into his hands. ‘Is there no one?’ he asked. ‘Does no one dare face Bhisma without fearing for his life or his moral conscience? You have more than a fair chance, Dhrstyadymn. Why, you’re the best of the Panchalas…’

‘And Bhisma has the power of the Wrights at his disposal. Yuyudhana is right. No man can counter that, and anyone who tries faces not just death but also defeat and dishonour. But then what does that matter to you? All you care about is your precious reputation for morality, just as your brother cares for his reputation of victory. And, yet, if I speak of old loyalties it bothers you?’

‘Oh stop it, all of you!’ Bhim snapped. ‘Firewrights, indeed! Shikandin nearly had the Grandsire, today. If Partha had not told him to fall back, he would have…’

‘Don’t be silly, Bhim,’ Dharma said. ‘Bhisma Devavrata is no ordinary warrior. Even the best of the best…’

‘Save your superlatives for your sycophants, Dharma. This war would have ended days ago without Shikandin and it would not have ended in our favour. Would it kill you to admit that he’s more than a match for anyone, leave alone Bhisma?’

‘It takes more than skill to face the Grandsire, Bhim. It takes great courage. Shikandin may be skilled but…’

Slowly, Partha became aware of exactly what his brother was saying. He found his eyes drawn to Shikandin, who stood next to Panchali, visibly amused. He did not quite know what happened to him after that, but the words left his mouth of their own accord, forceful and defiant. ‘You cannot question this man’s courage, Dharma. I have seen him fight, not just these past days, but many times before. I have lost count of the many times he has saved my life. I respect you, Agraja, but please don’t put me in a difficult position: To question Shikandin’s courage is to question my own.’

Dharma cleared his throat. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘That is good to know. But the question remains whether Shikandin agrees with you.’

Partha asked Shikandin, matter-of-fact, ‘Can you…? I mean… can you, especially without astra-weapons?’

The reply was a nod. King Dhrupad swore under his breath, spat on the ground in contempt and walked out of the Command Tent.

As an afterthought, Partha softly added, ‘Will you?’

Shikandin smiled. ‘Yes, I will, and don’t worry – I will kill him.’

Dharma was astounded. He looked, enquiring, at the astonished Dhrstyadymn and then at Shikandin. ‘How? I mean…why?’

Shikandin said, ‘You mean, how am I not bound by gratitude, as my brother is? You see, Dharma, the sins of the father shall always lie heavy on the son. In this instance, that burden is mine to bear…’

8

THE HARSH CLANGING OF SWORDS CUT THE CRISP DAWN AIR OF THE
morning. Shikandin stood watching the two combatants as they duelled. Neither man wore armour nor had any weapon but his sword. It made Shikandin smile, though without mirth. This, he expected, was what the honourable war would eventually come down to. Those who claimed to be the greatest of warriors – the graceful archers who prided themselves in never setting foot on the bloody muck of the battlefield – soon, they would all learn to fight like common soldiers. There would be no escape from sweat or blood.

Shikandin drew in a deep breath, and the faint smell of jasmine wafted toward him amid his gory thoughts. He did not have to look to know who was approaching. He also knew that Subadra was there for the same reason that he was. ‘You must be really proud of him,’ he began, gesturing towards the duelling Abhimanyu.

‘Not really,’ she confessed. ‘He’s getting properly beaten right now! I’m rather proud of his opponent though…’

Pleased as he was at the compliment, Shikandin did not reply. He turned his attention back to Yudhamanyu and Abhimanyu as the two young men continued their practice.
There’s nothing like war to bring fathers and sons closer
, he mused.
Shared dreams, shared fears, and the need to make sense of the madness
.

The previous night, after the council had dispersed, Yudhamanyu and Abhimanyu had approached Shikandin. To his astonishment, they had asked to serve as his rearguard when he went into battle against Bhisma. Shikandin had assented on the condition that the two youths would follow his orders without question. Yudhamanyu had not only agreed but had also stopped on his way out to exchange words that were to the point but far from unpleasant with Uttamaujas.

Subadra’s voice intruded on Shikandin’s thoughts. ‘Yesterday… you didn’t explain why. Is it too early to ask?’

Shikandin knew well what she meant. ‘It’s a long story,’ he began. ‘You know that Bhisma once brought three princesses of Kashi to marry his step-brother, Vichitravirya?’

‘Yes. And the eldest of the three refused, didn’t she? I’m not sure what it was all about, but I’ve heard she asked the Grandsire to marry her and he refused because of his vow of celibacy. It is said she challenged him to a duel…’

‘It’s a little more complicated than that. You see, Kashi was a kingdom of Firewrights, Amba amongst them. It was why Bhisma wanted her brought to Hastina, as a sign of conquest, and it was also why he refused to duel her. But, as it was, the Grandsire claimed he would not fight a woman, that it was dishonourable to do so. In a last effort to find someone who would dare fight Bhisma on her behalf, Amba came to Kampilya. Panchala, as you might have heard, had once been a land of Wrights and some of our kings themselves were known to belong to the Order… Anyway, that was all very long ago, and our kings, my father included, had earnestly taken part in the Great Scourge. Nevertheless, Amba charged King Dhrupad to keep the old promise that we would always protect and defend Wrights. Of course, my father refused. He claimed that the promise did not bind us anymore, not since he owed his crown to Bhisma Devavrata and the Firstborn. That’s another story, by the way, of how Bhisma ousted the last Firewright ruler of Panchala and placed my family on the throne instead… But I’ll save that for another day.