The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 (38 page)

‘How?’ a stunned Uttamaujas asked. ‘The ropes!’ he concluded. ‘The ropes that fastened the turret to the elephant’s body! Bhim must have hung on to the ropes on Supratika’s underbelly, waiting for the right moment to strike his vitals through the softer skin!’

‘Your surmise is as good as mine,’ Govinda said, shrugging as though he were watching a moderately entertaining play. He remained as he had been all the while, having moved neither in fear nor in relief at all that had just happened.

Bhagadatta rallied the few men he had left to make a last stand. ‘Get him!’ Dharma commanded Partha. ‘I’m going to help Bhim. Uttamaujas, stay on your rig and keep a lookout.’ With that, he jumped off his rig. Partha followed.

‘Should we?’ Uttamaujas made to get off the rig despite Dharma’s instructions.

Govinda said, ‘Don’t bother, it’s done. Look…’

Partha had already felled Bhagadatta’s soldiers, and was now duelling with the Pragjya king. It may have been an injury the king had acquired from Supratika’s fall, or perhaps Partha had found fresh strength in knowing that Bhim was alive and well, but the battle did not last long. Before they knew it, they heard Partha crying out, triumphant, as he thrust an arrow into his opponent’s body using the shaft as he would a dagger. The arrowhead went right through Bhagadatta’s heart and the king fell forward, his lifeless arm coming to rest on Supratika’s trunk in a final gesture of affection.

Bending down, Partha hacked the fallen king’s head off his body and held it up high for all their men to see. Then, letting the severed head fall to the ground, he ran over to join Dharma and Bhim in a joyful reunion. Around them, the soldiers started cheering and laughing, those glad to be alive all the more delighted to have victory to show for it.

As the news of Bhagadatta’s death and Supratika’s fall spread over the battlefield, the rest of Dharma’s forces found the last surge of strength they needed to deal with the remaining elephants of Bhagadatta’s force. Some animals were killed, a few were rallied by their keepers to retreat to safety for future use, but most were diverted to the river’s side, where they had now begun to settle into gentle herds, their broken armour and drying bloodstains the only indicators that they had ever seen battle.

The flames of Supratika’s large pyre cast their warmth into the distance, and Govinda, Partha and Bhim could feel a mild heat on their cheeks; a sensation that would have been soothing but for its origin.

‘A fine beast and a fine man,’ Bhim said, staring into the glow. ‘It is fitting that they share their final journey on the same bier.’

‘I can’t believe what we have done,’ Partha added. ‘First the Grandsire, now Bhagadatta. He was not our kinsman, but he has been our friend. Without him we could not have built the Empire…and now he is dead, and you and I are the reason for his death. Just as we are the reason for so many other deaths – including those of our friends. Sthuna – I never realized how much that crippled forester meant to Shikandin or Uttamaujas…’

The pain of their loss flared as anger through Partha and he turned on Govinda, next to him, ‘How can you live with it, Govinda? How can you live with knowing that you are the cause of death and misery and bloodshed. How can you let this go on?’

Govinda did not react at once. He stared, expressionless, at the activities in the distance. At length, he said, his tone conversational, ‘Imagine that you have nine men struggling to lift a large rock. Strong as they are, they fail. Then you have someone like, say, Bhim here, who decides to give them a hand. And the rock moves. Would you say that Bhim is the reason it does?’

‘But of course! Without him, the nine men could not have lifted the rock.’

‘Without the nine men, without even one of those nine,
Bhim
could not have lifted the rock. Doesn’t that make each one of them as important as him?’

‘What do you mean, Govinda?’

‘No one person is the cause for or consequence of all that happens. I am just the tenth man, the threshold, the turn in the tide. I stand here on the shoulders of humanity, a mere instrument of Time.’

Bhim frowned, then nodded, as though he had understood a part of what Govinda had said. Partha looked thoughtful, too, but less confused. ‘Do you remember,’ he said, ‘long ago, in Dwaraka, I asked you what I was responsible for…’

‘And I told you that you were responsible only for yourself. Yes, I remember.’

‘Did you…did you think then that it would come to this?’

Govinda sighed and turned to the two men. ‘If I had, Partha, I’d have died a hundred times over than let it happen. But I made my choices then, and I make them now. I shall have to live with both.’

A short silence reigned as the three men meandered into their respective thoughts, and then Bhim said, ‘What now, Govinda? What happens tomorrow?’

Govinda was bitter. ‘Battle. More battle happens. What else could?’

16

‘
HOW
?
I STILL DON
’
T UNDERSTAND HOW
,’
JAYADRATH SAID. HE
and the other leaders of Syoddhan’s army were once again gathered around the empty silver-white throne, poring over parchments on which Dron had drawn out the formations planned for the next day.

‘Ask the proud teacher,’ Vasusena said. ‘Dhrstyadymn is, after all, his pupil.’

Dron shook his head. ‘My pupil he may be, but I’d be remiss to dismiss his talent. That man has battle strategy in his blood. It is as if he was brought up for one reason and one reason alone: to fight. Indeed, I wish he had been my son…’

Vasusena glanced at Asvattama before he could stop himself. Asvattama appeared unconcerned, as though his father had said nothing of consequence. Dron went on, uncaring of his son’s presence, ‘In the morning, the half-circle against my crane formation…simple and brilliant. And the way Dhrstyadymn held the formation in place while he faced me, one on one… I have no words for that. And then, when I thought he had excelled himself, he realigned his troops into a modified crane formation to counter my sakata-vehicle formation. That young man is a military genius!’

Jayadrath said, ‘If we are done praising the enemy, can we get on with discussing tomorrow’s strategy?’

‘It’s late,’ Dussasan said, yawning. ‘We should sleep.’

‘Sleep?’ Syoddhan snapped. ‘How can you sleep? How can any one of us sleep? Isn’t that right, Acharya? Or is your conscience at ease, despite having failed to achieve what you said you would, and losing our greatest strength to show for it? What happened to all your talk of new weapons?’

Dron drew himself up to his full height and faced Syoddhan. ‘Weapons cannot be forged to meet your whims, Syoddhan. We did what we could, and we shall do more. As for my assurance of bringing you a captive, I do not deny that I have failed. But don’t you dare doubt me. Need I remind you that this day has been better, by far, than the last ten? Despite Bhagadatta’s fall, we have effectively reduced the enemy by half, in a single day. Consider where they stand now compared to when this war started. Might I also add that any victory of note, any battle that has been won since this war began, has been through my efforts and those of Acharya Kripa and Asvattama, and not through the efforts of
your
precious kinsmen or friends.’

‘I…’

Jayadrath intervened, ‘We apologize, Acharya. And Syoddhan, this is no time to let anger get the better of us. We must stand united. Consider this: We have the larger army – we began with eleven akshauhini to Dharma’s seven, and the bulk of our forces are largely intact save for Bhagadatta’s elephants. Dharma’s forces, on the other hand, are heavily depleted. We outnumber him four to one.’

‘Depleted? I have lost nearly thirty of my brothers, most of them today, at the hands of Bhim. The man who can conquer elephants, they are calling him, and singing his praises. Who sings for my brothers, who sings of their bravery? Depleted, you say? How many brothers has Dharma Yudhisthir lost?’

‘And that is precisely the point. Dharma and his brothers, their kinsmen and friends, all trust each other. We, on the other hand… Well, look at us. Look at you this very moment.’

Vasusena added, ‘Jayadrath is right, Syoddhan. We must trust each other and work together if we are to win. It doesn’t matter what our personal feelings and animosities may be. We must remember we are all in this together, for what we believe. We are in it for you.’

Syoddhan nodded. He turned to Dron. ‘My apologies, Acharya.’

Dron accepted the apology with grace, and let the matter go. ‘Shall we run over the plan one last time, then?’ he said, adding, ‘I must admit, I am tired…’ He proceeded to quickly review the salient details with practised efficiency, making sure that each unit commander knew what was expected of him.

Hardly any of the warriors present could hide their awe. Even the rough Dussasan was moved to respect. ‘Is this possible, Acharya?’ he asked Dron. ‘Truly, this formation is…it is spectacular, beyond anything I’ve ever seen or heard of…’

The compliment pleased Dron. ‘My ancestors were not mere metal-smiths and peddlers of potions, Dussasan. They were great thinkers and strategists. This formation is the pinnacle of their martial science. Dharma won’t know what hit him. At best, we will capture one of their key warriors alive.’

‘At worst?’

‘At worst, we will leave the warrior dead. But there is no escaping this formation. Not unless…’

Jayadrath said, ‘Govinda Shauri will be nowhere near it. Susarman will take care of that. Kritavarman, too. Kritavarman, particularly, leads a battalion of Govinda’s own men; a cult of warriors all sworn to fight as one till death.’

‘I don’t want any mistakes, Jayadrath. If anyone knows anything about the formation I plan to use, then it is probably Govinda. Partha, who heard of it from me, may not have the same depth of understanding. But I fear Kritavarman won’t take Govinda to be a serious threat…’

‘He’ll take Partha seriously enough. I’ve told Kritavarman that Partha must be kept away from the centre of the battlefield at all costs. Naturally, Govinda will be with him. Susarman of Trigarta, too, is itching for a chance to redeem himself after the defeat he suffered in today’s battle. He’d die rather than let it happen again! With him standing in their way, that cowherd and his friend won’t be good for much tomorrow.’

‘Well done! You remember what I told you? Good! Now there’s just one last thing left…’ Dron glared at Asvattama, who met his father’s gaze but maintained his inscrutable expression.

Jayadrath stepped back, the act a sign to the others. Bidding Dron a good night, all the commanders left the tent one by one. Finally, father and son were alone.

‘Well,
Your Highness
,’ Dron began, scathing.

‘Father, please!’ Asvattama protested.

‘Father? Yes, I thought I was your father. I thought I was your teacher, too. But I’ve now realized that you think your allegiance lies elsewhere… What gratitude or loyalty can be greater than that of a student to his teacher and a son to this father, I wonder…’

‘Father, I beg you. Please…’

Dron placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, the gesture more intimidating than affectionate. ‘Are you really my son…
Little Rudra
? Then prove it. Prove it in tomorrow’s battle. With Govinda distracted, Shikandin will surely make a stand against us. Kill him! Kill them all! Prove your loyalty – as son and student – with the enemy’s blood.’

Fighting back every emotion, Asvattama willed composure onto his face. ‘Yes, Acharya.’

‘Good. Now, it will be your responsibility to get the troops into the formation tomorrow. Don’t forget, begin moving them into position only after you’ve confirmed that Govinda is too far away to interfere.’

‘Yes, Acharya.’

Dron neither acknowledged the assurance, nor did he wish his son for the night. He simply walked out of the tent without another word.

Asvattama sighed and threw himself into the wooden chair that was his customary seat during their meetings. For once, though, he let himself slump in its depths, one long leg tossed irreverently over the carved wooden armrest. He dismissed the attendant who came in to put out the lamps for the night and sat staring into the flames till dawn. Half his thoughts lay on the future, on the inevitable slaughter the day would bring. The other half rested, despite his efforts, on the past; on the fact that he had been nothing but a disappointment to his father all his life.

17

‘
WAKE UP, YOU LAZY MUHIRA! THE MUSTER SOUNDED OUT
A while ago, and…oh Rudra!’ Yudhamanyu walked into the tent but immediately backed out as Abhimanyu scrambled awake, drawing a shriek from the bundle of sheets next to him. Uttara’s sleepy face appeared from under the sheets, embarrassment dawning on her face as she realized that the entire camp was astir.

‘We’ve overslept!’ she whispered to a still-dishevelled Abhimanyu, who looked around him in a daze.

‘Err…may we come in?’ a politer voice asked.

‘Yes…No! Wait!’ Abhimanyu called out as Uttara got out of bed and quickly got dressed. ‘Yes, you might as well…’ he then said, clearly not too pleased at the prospect.

Pradymna walked into the tent, a beaming Yudhamanyu by his side.

‘You were right, it’s her,’ Yudhamanyu admitted. ‘Here.’ He held out a small purse, which Pradymna doubtfully weighed, then tucked away.

‘That’s done,’ he said. ‘Later, Mahamatra.’

‘Wait!’ Abhimanyu was incredulous. ‘What was that about?’

‘Oh, that was just a small wager on the identity of your secret companion these past some nights,’ Pradymna explained, ‘though I admit I had the advantage of prior knowledge. So,’ he turned to Yudhamanyu, a cheeky grin on his face, ‘what’s his excuse for being late for the meeting at the Command Tent today? A snapped bowstring?’

‘He’s going to need more than that. I don’t think the two of them are going anywhere for a while. How about a broken quiver, with arrows tragically scattered?’

‘Hmm, that could work. Unless, Abhimanyu, you’d rather we tell the Council that you have a bad stomach…you know, indisposed and all that…’

‘Please, Pradymna. An upset stomach sounds so unromantic.’