The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 (6 page)

Syoddhan briefly stared at Govinda before breaking into a harsh, mirthless laugh. ‘Ah, Govinda. For a while I really thought you cared. Peace means nothing to you, neither do loyalty and friendship. All you want is to get back the power that was yours.’

‘Not true.’

‘Is that so? Tell me, what would become of Matsya under the terms
you
propose?’

‘They would pledge allegiance to you. They would, after all, be part of your empire.’

‘How easily you throw them away, now that they are not needed.’

Govinda shrugged. ‘It is the law.’

‘I see,’ Syoddhan said. ‘By the same token, you too would pledge allegiance to me? As a representative of the Yadu nation?’ Syoddhan asked.

Govinda said, wary, ‘It is my understanding that the Yadu nation has already pledged its allegiance to you.’

Syoddhan nodded. ‘Yes, and so they send their armies to support me, if there should be war. But the question is why are you not with them?’

‘Because I act in revolt against the very system that forces Dwaraka to align with you.’

‘Then you admit it? You admit that Dwaraka is duty-bound to fight on my behalf? Including the men under your command, and Yuyudhana’s, too.’

Govinda said, expressionless. ‘Yes. The armies are bound to fight for you if the leaders so decide. But it does not bind me as an individual, though I may be called to answer under Dwaraka’s laws for my rebellion. Unless, Syoddhan, you’d rather have me on your side than have my armies?’

‘No, Govinda. I place no value on a man who is deluded. Do you even know what you fight for; what you truly want?

Govinda said, ‘I would explain what it is I want, Syoddhan, but I doubt you would understand. Such gwala-talk is hardly worthy of your attention, so I shall put it this way: Since you have refused to admit that the wager was made in excess of Dharma’s authority and hold it as grounds to deny him his Empire, we must categorically declare that the dice game was an act of deceit. You have wrongfully deprived Emperor Dharma Yudhisthir of his realm by deceiving him into acting in excess of his authority. The empire was his, but the gamble was not. And, by Rudra, we shall now win his empire back.’

In response, Syoddhan rose to his feet, the entire assembly following his action, save Dhritarasthra and some of the elders. Govinda too remained sitting. Syoddhan read it as the last show of defiance by a cornered man. He said, ‘You only make my decisions easier, for I see now that I must destroy you before you destroy all of Aryavarta and our way of life. On your head be it, Govinda. War. And I doubt future generations will applaud you for bringing it to us.’

When Govinda spoke his voice seemed to ring through the hall. ‘Do you know why they call the single dot, the losing throw at dice, “kali”? Because the greatest force in the universe is Time. It’s greater than every probability, every wager, beyond the comprehension of skill. It’s inevitable, because it’s inexorable. It is time, Syoddhan, time for change.’ Grunting in an overt show of inconvenience, Govinda finally rose to his feet. He took his time to settle his robes into place, forcing the assembly to wait for his words. ‘As for our progeny cursing us for ushering in war,’ he said, ‘we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? Meanwhile, in the present, I do hope my friend down in your dungeons will be given the decent funeral she deserves. She was, after all, one of us.’

Govinda walked out of the assembly, flanked by Yuyudhana and Kritavarman, Vidur following close behind. He had no doubt that the man for whom he had meant his last words had indeed heard them.

The Secret Keeper watched the blazing pyre with regret and anger, though the second of the sentiments was not directed towards the deceased woman. She had, in his eyes, done nothing regrettable but show devotion and loyalty to the wrong man. The same man who had asked that she be given a proper funeral, as she deserved. It was, the Secret Keeper noted, a mistake on Govinda’s part. Even the lowliest prison menial who would not have thought twice about throwing Philista’s body on a pile of wood and setting it alight for no reason other than disposal and hygiene had since hesitated to remove her cadaver from the stinking dungeon in which she had been killed. When the matter had been raised to the overseer of the section, and then to the commandant of the dungeons, and from him to the palace guard, each one had refused to comply for fear that he would be seen as faithful to Govinda and thus, to the enemy.

Finally, the Secret Keeper himself had come forward, that too in Syoddhan’s presence. After all, was it not Ghora Angirasa who had once said that the best place to hide a secret was in plain sight? As expected, the offer had been considered as motivated by compassion, not collusion, and no one had since batted an eyelid at the Secret Keeper’s actions.

Perhaps Govinda had not made a mistake after all. He would have known that everyone would have refused to deal with Philista’s remains, leaving the Secret Keeper free to finally step in without raising suspicion. But why do so? Was it a sign that Govinda would not reveal his identity? Or did he mean to use the revelation later, as a final stroke that would turn the tide of events?

Govinda led them all to war, of that the Secret Keeper had no doubt. It was precisely why he had chosen to part ways with the man he had once considered his most trusted friend and ally. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could compromise the task that had been left to his care, the great burden that could determine the very future of Aryavarta. Not even Govinda Shauri.

6

‘
READY, DARUKA
?’
GOVINDA STEPPED INTO THE STONY CLEARING
where he had left Daruka, the carriage and the horses while he indulged himself in a swim in the cool, swirling waters of the Yamuna. It was these tempestuous waters that he had bathed and played in every day of his childhood as a village-dwelling cowherd, and to relive those moments after the morning’s events was a pleasant reprieve. ‘Daruka?’ Govinda called again, sleeking back his wet, grey-black hair. The horses were there, but were visibly restless and their nostrils were flared.

As suspicion of what might have occurred set in, he reached for his sword, only to stop short as a voice called out, ‘Don’t move! Or he dies.’

A mercenary emerged from the cover of tree trunks holding Daruka in front of him, a jagged blade pressed against the captain’s throat. More men leapt out, some advancing towards Govinda with ready weapons, others moving to grab the horses by their reins.

‘Your sword…’ the man with Daruka said.

Moving slowly, Govinda undid the sword-belt at his waist and threw it to the ground. ‘You’re a long way from home,’ he said, speaking in the tongue of the Yavanas.

‘We go where our trade takes us. And it seems we are needed everywhere.’

‘But of course.’

‘But of course! With men like you around, Govinda Shauri, we need not fear unemployment. Sooner or later, you make trouble for the wrong people, and they decide to put an end to you and your actions.’

‘All I can say is that I’m glad your employer hired you. I was getting tired of the Danava mercenary lot. They are so predictable and easily corrupted. You men, on the other hand, I have found to be more reliable. But, you see, that makes me all the more curious. I’ve never known a Yavana soldier for hire to bother with small talk and surrender. What is it you want from me?’

The mercenary tightened this grip on Daruka, and used his sword-hand to reach for his cowl and pull it down. A hideous scar ran across his face, traversing a misshapen nose and splitting both upper and lower lip into half. Part of the cowl still obscured the sides of his face, but Govinda knew the man would also be missing an ear. ‘I wanted,’ the assassin began, ‘you to know who I am… and what I…we…did. I wanted you to know how she screamed. Philista, your precious Philista. Oh, she fought like a wildcat. We had a man holding each of her legs, pulling her thighs apart. But by the time we were done with her she had fainted. We had to hurt her just to bring her back to her senses. I liked that, I liked that part a lot.’

Govinda eyes blazed, but he remained otherwise expressionless. ‘Is that all? Shall we get on with it then?’ he asked.

‘Oh, not so soon, Govinda. I thought it might be an interesting experiment to see whether you last longer than Philista. My brother there,’ he gestured to one of the other men, ‘has wagered that you would actually enjoy it, if you know what I mean.’ As one the mercenaries burst out laughing, Daruka’s eyes widened with horror and he tried to wriggle free. His captor pressed the knife deeper, cutting a little into the skin of the captain’s throat.

‘Let him go,’ Govinda said. ‘Let him and the horses go. I’m the one you want.’

The lead mercenary spat on the ground in contempt, and then gestured to the man he had earlier identified as his brother, who pulled out his own blade and advanced towards Shaibya, one of Govinda’s four white horses. The horse, sensing the danger he was in, moved back. Taking their cue from him, the other three stallions too, began to rear and snort.

‘Wait,’ the first mercenary called to them. ‘Your turn will come, my pretties. Your hides will fetch a good price in…’ He faltered as a loud, inhuman yell of rage filled the glade. The sheer hatred and violence in the voice had all the men, including Daruka, stunned.

Govinda struck.

He did not bother with his sword or any other weapon, throwing himself bodily at the man near Shaibya. The force brought the two men to the ground, but before the Yavana could rise, or his friends could come to his help, Govinda grabbed the man’s head with both hands and bashed it against the hard ground. The mercenary’s skull broke open, his brains spilling out in a bloody, putrid mess. Govinda did not flinch. He knew he only had moments before the mercenaries and their leader reacted, though he was certain that the latter would do nothing but wait, safely holding on to Daruka. It was the others who had to be dealt with.

Govinda got to his feet, in the same move picking up the dead man’s shield and driving it right into a charging soldier’s face. Then, pulling the shield back, he threw it like a discus, beheading two men who rushed at him. A third man tried to circle around to attack him from the side, but ended up moving too close to Govinda’s horses. The steeds, already unsettled by the noise and the sense of being under attack, were pushed beyond control. Neighing and stamping, they crushed the soldier under their hooves, the man’s pitiful screams filling the glade. Two other soldiers were quick enough to move away from the rampaging horses. Govinda turned his attention to them, his blood-stained fist his only weapon. He smashed it into a mercenary’s face, feeling the man’s cheekbone shatter under the blow. Bringing his knee up, he connected with the doubled-over assailant’s ribcage, breaking through the bone to squelch his heart. The Yavana screamed; blood spurted from his mouth onto Govinda’s bare chest and soaked into his robes.

More mercenaries emerged from the cover of forest. Pausing to regain his breath, Govinda did a quick count of the men around him. Five. Six, he corrected himself, cursing aloud as a jagged blade tore through the muscles of his back and right shoulder. The dagger remained stuck there, depriving his attacker of a weapon, as Govinda turned, wrapped his elbow around the man’s neck and slammed him down to the ground, breaking his spine. The effort, however, caused the sharp blade to shift deep in Govinda’s flesh, and he cried out in pain and stumbled. Sensing an advantage, two of the remaining mercenaries launched themselves at him. One drove a sword hilt into Govinda’s stomach, and the other used a shield to strike a blow across his face.

Govinda managed to hit back, catching one of the men with a jaw-breaking punch, but the other moved out of his reach and struck him yet again with his shield.

‘Govinda!’ Daruka shouted out.

Despite throbbing pain and the spinning inside his head, Govinda wanted to smile at Daruka’s use of his name. The dull thought arose in his mind that if the captain were so moved during a fight as to show concern, the two of them must really be in trouble. He tried to steady himself, but his left eye had begun to swell up from the shield-blow. He would have faltered, but right then a mercenary tried to stab Balahak, only to graze the stallion’s flank instead. Balahak let out a high whinny as a red gash blossomed against his silver-white hide.

Anger renewed Govinda’s strength. His thoughts of Daruka left aside, Govinda lunged at his fallen sword, Nandaka. He grabbed it by the hilt, pulling it out of its scabbard as he launched himself in the air, slashing twice with the Wright-metal weapon as he came down. Twirling his wrist, Govinda caught the last but one mercenary in the abdomen. By the time Govinda’s feet had touched the ground, the glade was silent once again.

The scarred Yavana remained as he had been at the beginning of it all, just as Govinda had expected. Daruka was still in his grasp.

‘You always were a peculiar man, Govinda Shauri,’ the Yavana said. ‘People mean little to you, isn’t it? Even animals matter more to you than those who’ve been loyal to you. Or perhaps that is the point – the more the loyalty, the stronger your sense of ownership and the more the impunity with which you use men and women to your purposes and leave them to their fate when your task is done…’ He sighed and pushed Daruka away. The stunned captain stumbled but remained on his feet, standing between Govinda and the mercenary.

‘Your choice,’ the Yavana said. ‘You can kill your own man and make it quick for him. Or else, you can take the risk of fighting me. If you win, you save both your lives and if you lose…I can promise you his death will be a painful one. Sound familiar?’ he asked, as he saw recollection spark to life in Govinda’s eyes.

Govinda nodded. It was a conundrum, one that he had posed to Phyrro, a scholar from the city of Elis in the Yavanas’ homeland and his followers, including the mercenary before him. He had told them that reason dictated that one always choose the second option, not because it gave one a chance to save the other person, but because there would be a greater chance of saving oneself. He had explained, they had listened, and at the end of that meeting Phyrro and his fellow scholars had chosen to revive their relations with Aryavarta and the Firewrights, sharing the knowledge that the two similar groups had built over the years. It had, as many believed, changed the destinies of both nations, and not necessarily for the best. Clearly, the scarred mercenary anticipated Govinda to reaffirm his answer of old.