‘Let go of me,’ she hissed at the bearded man, the supposed victor of her calamitous wedding contest.
‘It’s not safe,’ he cautioned.
Panchali continued to struggle. ‘Let go of me, or by Rudra you will not leave this place alive!’
Astonished, the man complied.
Panchali glared at him and his four accomplices, then ran forward to where Dhrstyadymn stood. ‘Father …’ she began, and then gave a sigh of relief.
Dhrupad stood by his throne, a little ashen but otherwise unharmed. His would-be assailants were on the ground a few feet away, one of them alive, but barely. Two more had been cleanly beheaded. Towering over them stood Shikandin. He held his bloodied sword casually, resting its tip on the ground, as he glared at the others who thronged in front of Dhrupad’s throne. ‘We can talk, or we can fight,’ he announced matter-of-factly. Panchali wanted to laugh with relief, but settled for squeezing Dhrstyadymn’s hand.
Meanwhile, two of the five scholars, such as they appeared, had come up behind the two siblings. The other three had used the moment of confusion to discreetly leave the arena.
‘Shikandin!’ one of the scholars softly exclaimed.
Panchali was filled with an inexplicable ire. ‘That’s Prince Shikandin to you!’ she snapped.
A loud chuckle punctuated the moment, followed by a familiar voice. ‘Ah, you have a tough task on your hands with this tempestuous young woman!’
Panchali turned to see Govinda standing right behind her. His eyes remained on her, as he softly said, ‘Take good care of her. She’s my life, my very soul.’
‘Your Highness, rest assured, I shall.’
Govinda laughed. ‘No, I’m no king or prince, for you to address me so. I’m just an ordinary man.’
The archer exchanged looks of surprise with his bearded companion, even as Dhrstyadymn studied them intently. With a polite nod, Govinda walked away.
Panchali now noticed that Balabadra and Yuyudhana were standing next to Shikandin, and the three men were trying to resolve matters. Syoddhan stood listening respectfully as Balabadra spoke to him at length, a familiar hand on the man’s shoulder. None could hear the words that passed between them, but Syoddhan first looked amazed, and then confused. Eventually he turned to the angry mob of noblemen and began to act as mediator.
Many of them, including Syoddhan’s brother Dussasan and Vasusena of Anga, were not persuaded. They clamoured around and began arguing loudly with Balabadra. It was all the man could do to keep Yuyudhana and Shikandin from striking again. Just as another skirmish seemed imminent, Govinda appeared in their midst. He patiently dealt with each enraged nobleman, meeting their anger with warmth, responding to their insults and their offensives with reason. Soon, the other nobles too were nodding in agreement. But the damage had been done, and little remained of the mood of jubilation expected on such an occasion.
The guests began to disperse, a few of them glaring at Panchali as they passed her. She met their gaze without flinching.
Finally, when the arena was near-empty, she turned to Dhrstyadymn with a determinedly bored expression. ‘What now?’
It was the archer–sage who answered, ‘Come with me.’
Seething with quiet, cold anger, Panchali silently complied.
To her surprise, the man first led her to one of the small ante-rooms nearby. ‘Here,’ he thrust a set of rough linen robes in her hand and looked at her haughtily, waiting for her protest. Without a word she began to remove the heavy jewellery she wore. The man went outside to wait while she changed.
A little while later Panchali stepped out of the room, looking surprisingly at ease in the rough attire. The red silk robes she had worn earlier were now neatly folded. Her ornaments – the necklace set with the largest and finest of gemstones, earrings, bangles, anklets and the heavy musical waist-girdle – were placed on the robes. She held out the bundle to the archer. Taking it from her, the archer walked over to where Dhrupad and his sons stood, watching anxiously. He held out the robes and the jewels to Dhrstyadymn, who stared at them, aghast. Reassured by Govinda’s firm nod, Shikandin stepped forward instead to take the bundle.
With a defiant nod at them all, the archer took Panchali’s hand in his and walked out of the arena. His companion followed them out.
15
PANCHALI’S ESCORTS LED HER QUICKLY AND DISCREETLY THROUGH the city’s less frequented alleyways to a small, unremarkable hutment at the edge of the city.
As they approached, a man emerged from inside, exclaiming joyfully, ‘Ah, there you are!’
She stared uncertainly at the dignified figure in front of her. He looked to be in his late thirties. His bearing was noble; he had a gentle voice and a countenance that could pass for pleasant. His dark hair fell straight to his shoulders and was slicked back in the style that was common among royalty.
‘Welcome, my dear,’ he greeted her warmly. Then he addressed the two men who had brought her there. ‘Go on, Brothers. I’m sure you’ll be glad to look normal again.’ The two disappeared into the hut.
So, Panchali noted, these were disguises after all. A sixth man came out of the hut to join the group. She considered his immaculately trimmed beard and his ochre robes sceptically.
‘No, that one’s genuine!’
Panchali felt her heart skip a beat. Pretending to be unaffected, she casually admonished, ‘Really, Govinda! You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me this way.’
The new voice brought her escorts running out from behind the hut. They too had finished shaving off their ascetics’ beards. The five stood side by side, warily looking Govinda up and down.
Moments later, more footsteps were heard, and Balabadra came striding through the undergrowth, looking back at something on the path behind him. He came to stand next to his brother and looked at the five with curiosity. ‘By Rudra, Govinda, you were right after all!’
Govinda stepped forward. Bowing low to the first of the men, he introduced himself formally. ‘Your Highness, I am Govinda Shauri, your kinsman by birth.’
‘What … how … How did you know?’
‘Ashes don’t hide fire, Cousin. I had no doubt that you are Dharma, son of King Pandu of the Kurus and my aunt, Queen Pritha. These, of course, are your renowned brothers, and the scholar–sage there is my old friend, Ayodha Dhaumya of Utkochaka.’
Dharma regarded Govinda and Balabadra uncertainly for a moment and then broke into a smile. He nodded to the others, and all four of his brothers stepped forward to greet Balabadra, their elder.
Panchali looked on in surprise as each of the brothers introduced themselves – Bhim, a tall, broad-built man with a round face. Partha, dark, with high, chiselled cheekbones, was the archer who had won her. Nakul and Sadev were twins, with handsome, friendly faces. And, of course, the man who had greeted her when she had arrived – Dharma, the eldest and once heir to the Kuru throne.
With a mix of irritation and astonishment she realized that this was probably another part of Govinda’s grand scheme. Syoddhan had been nothing more than a means to distract other potential suitors. Partha had been meant to win all along. She didn’t bother with anger, and stood there, benumbed, as around her excited greetings were exchanged.
Govinda and the archer were face to face for the second time that day.
‘So we meet again, Cousin …’ Partha exclaimed, pulling Govinda into a friendly embrace. If Govinda was bothered by the exuberant display, he hid it well.
With the introductions done, Balabadra declared that it was time for them to leave. ‘We don’t want to draw undue attention to you …’ he noted. ‘But from the look of things I’d say you were preparing to reveal yourselves. About time too.’
‘So I’ll see you both at the wedding?’ Partha asked.
Panchali noticed that Govinda paused for just a moment, searching out Dharma’s reaction. He replied, slowly, ‘Probably not. I have some matters to attend to … at Hastina …’
This time, Dharma’s reac
tion was palpable. ‘Thank you, Govinda,’ he said softly and sincerely.
‘It’s my duty, Cousin. The princess here is very special to me. It’s the least I can do for her.’
With that, they left. Dhaumya accompanied them, promising to meet with Dharma later.
Govinda nodded at Panchali as he walked past her. It took every bit of self-restraint she had to not scream at him right there. Then he was gone, and Panchali felt inexplicably alone.
‘Well …’ Partha looked enquiringly at his eldest brother.
Dharma was lost in thought, a look of consternation on his face. Govinda’s declaration that he was headed for Hastina had suddenly opened a whole new world of possibilities. It made Dharma remember something that Dwaipayana and his mother had once told him. Strange, that he should recall such a thing at a moment such as this. But then, he observed, such were the intricacies of destiny, the workings of fate. The opportunity and the justification both lay before him. It was his sacred duty to act.
As a tense silence descended over them all, Bhim gently prompted him, ‘Agraja?’
With a sigh, Dharma declared, ‘Forgive me, Partha. But as your elder, it is my duty to save us all from sin. You’re not conversant with the scriptures on this point, but it’s a terrible offence for the younger brother to marry before the older. And so, I must … I mean, I know it is unconventional that I marry the woman you’ve won as a prize, but for all our sakes this is how it must be.’
He paused, anticipating much discussion and debate. There was none.
Partha stared at him, eyes burning with fury. Bhim looked as though he wished to say something but could not. Nakul and Sadev spoke volumes with each other through glances they exchanged, but remained silent to the rest of the company.
‘As always, Agraja,’ Partha finally said, his voice strained, ‘we shall obey you. It shall be as you say. Panchali will be yours.’
Dharma spontaneously embraced him, relieved that it had been so easy, surprisingly easy, in fact.
Sadev frowned. He could not hide his concern. ‘Agraja …’ he hesitated, and at a nod from Bhim, continued, ‘the custom is that the bride marries the victor of the tournament and, in effect, that marriage has already been consecrated. Partha took Panchali’s hand in front of the entire gathering. He walked out with her, hand in hand. If she now marries you it makes her wife to the both of you. It would be deemed immoral by most. At the very least, it’s not right …’
Dharma responded, ‘Morality is subtle; even the gods can’t say for sure what is moral and just. I’ve earned by my word and deed the name that was given to me at birth. I am Dharma.’ His pride resplendent, he continued, ‘By my own life, I uphold that which is righteous and good. It’s impossible for me to think an unrighteous thought, or speak an untruth. That I have considered this idea and come to this conclusion implies that it must be righteous and true.’
‘But it’s not fair to Partha!’
Dharma clucked his tongue in mild remonstration. ‘My dear Sadev, whether it’s you, or Partha, or Nakul, or Bhim, nothing is more important to me than your happiness. Our ancestors had a practice, almost a law, I think, where every brother has a right over the wife of his elder. In any case, anything that’s mine is yours. If Panchali married two of us, or if she married all five of us … even that wouldn’t be against our customs. How, then, can this be improper?’
‘But King Dhrupad …?’
‘Dwaipayana Vyasa. He will convince Dhrupad to see that there is nothing inappropriate about this. In fact, it’s to his advantage to become father-in-law to the future ruler of the Kurus.’
Bhim intervened, ‘Are you saying that you plan to go back to Hastina? But our uncle, Dhritarastra …’
‘Bhim, think! How can our uncle deny us our birthright? Especially since we’re now bound by marriage to one of the most powerful kingdoms of Aryavarta. All the more reason for me to marry the girl, don’t you see? And then, there’s that man … Govinda …’
The name swept over them like a hopeful gust of wind. One by one, the brothers nodded their silent assent. ‘I’m sorry, Agraja,’ Sadev softly whispered. Dharma nodded graciously to indicate he had taken no offence.
With that, the brothers dispersed. Dharma walked away with his head held high, trying to remind himself that this was a burden of duty he bore for his brothers, perhaps even a burden of sin. Nevertheless, he felt jubilant with anticipation. The gorgeous Panchali would be his.
Panchali stood silent, as she had through the exchange between the brothers. The entire conversation had taken place in front of her. Yet, not once had one of the five men glanced at her, leave alone asked what her wishes or desires might be. She was furious; she felt a wrath so terrible that she feared it would burn her. Then, the cold light of reality, of helpless acceptance dawned on her.
My wishes were forsaken long before Partha won me. I was abandoned much before this. All that remains for me to do is to breathe in and out, for whatever time is mine.
Numbed, she stood where she was, till eventually Queen Pritha came bustling out of the hut to lead her inside.
The next day, a little after dawn, Dharma and his brothers were received with respect by Dhrupad and Gandavati at the palace gates. The five now looked the part of the fabled princes of Hastina. The gathered crowd greeted them with warm applause, of which a fair part was genuine, not pre-arranged by Dhrupad.
Panchali was led away to be dressed in ceremonial red silks and then taken back to the arena, where Ayodha Dhaumya, the scholar–priest she had met the previous day, sat in front of the sacred fire chanting the wedding mantras. Dharma stood dressed as the groom, radiant with happiness. At Dhaumya’s instructions the couple walked around the fire repeating the sacred vows of marriage. A proud Dhrupad occupied a place of honour, while Gandavati sat alongside a tearful Pritha. A confused-looking Dhrstyadymn and an impassive Shikandin stood to one side. Panchali did not look at them, nor did she search the room for anyone else. Govinda, she knew, would not be there.
The nuptial chamber was splendidly decorated with lamps and flowers. A knock, and then Dharma entered, shutting the door firmly behind him. Panchali rose from her seat and greeted him with the proper degree of hesitation and shyness that was expected of her. She smiled uncertainly as he studied her, a peculiar expression on his face. He slowly walked to stand in front of her, staring, almost breathlessly.
Panchali was no ignorant child, but she had expected a few moments of polite conversation, some small talk. Instead, without a word, Dharma reached out for her upper robe. Suddenly, he checked himself, like he were about to do something despicable. It was then that Panchali understood the emotions that he was struggling with. He was caught between his desire for her, and his hope for a life of near-renunciation, a life devoted to moral pursuits and not material pleasures. She felt disgusted, nauseated at the thought of her own unclean, irresistible, sinful self, which could lead a guileless man astray. To Dharma, she was a symbol of sin, of all that he longed to be free of.
Including politics.
With grim resignation, Dharma silently led her to the bed and they consummated their marriage in a rough, ritualistic way. The two of them did not speak a word after, or through the rest of the night.
The next morning, Panchali rose with the dawn and quietly left the chamber. A solemn calm surrounded Kampilya. The tired revellers of the city were yet to awaken. Thankful for the illusion of privacy, she rushed to the bathing chamber adjoining her own room. But no matter how long she washed herself or wept, every time Panchali remembered the expression on Dharma’s face as he had reached out to touch her, she felt sullied all over again.
Dharma did not seek her out that night. Panchali speculated that it would be a while before the pressure to produce an heir overtook his self-imposed asceticism. She was glad. Her room, her bed and her sleep were still her own. Or so she could pretend.
In the early hours of the following morning, she woke abruptly, struggling yet again with the
instinctive guilt, the sense of filth and shame that she had felt every moment she had been in Dharma’s embrace two nights ago. For a moment, she had the strange feeling that she was looking at two shadows of herself, each caught in the throes of a different point of view. Each had to overcome, to destroy, the other shadow-self in order to survive. She watched as both forms struggled ineffectively, each doomed by its incomplete, hollow nature. Eventually, she gave up and fell back into a medley of dreams in which she laughed and ran through cool, fragrant forests, splashed her feet in the clear water of gurgling streams, danced to the soft rhythm of raindrops as they caressed her skin and hair, and played as a child by a river that flowed through a happy, serene village she had never seen before. She slept without a care, dreaming that she was in the strong arms of a faceless, formless man whom she had always known.
16
UNLIKE MOST OF HIS PEERS, SYODDHAN OF THE KURUS WAS AN outspoken man. Outspoken, but not hasty. The first quality stemmed from his natural inclination towards honesty rather than the moral injunction against untruth most Aryas followed. Ironically, this was why they spoke carefully or not at all. Silence was, for the most part, the accepted corollary to that essential art of the ruling elite: manipulation. In this, too, Syoddhan was rare, if not unique. His diplomacy, as well as his remarkable patience, came from a carefully cultivated apolitical temperament.
Growing up as the eldest among so many, Syoddhan had always been aware of the strong undercurrents, of tempers and politics, in the brothers’ personal lives, especially since the time when Queen Pritha had returned to Hastina with his cousins, his uncle Pandu’s five sons. Dharma, the eldest of the five, had been seventeen then, and Syoddhan a few months younger. Despite the competitive, even hostile atmosphere around them, Syoddhan and Dharma had become friends, drawn to each other by their need to stay aloof from the complex threads that connected their lives. They had never made an overt show of their friendship, as if both of them had known their brothers would never approve of it. As they grew older they turned into completely dissimilar people, but still remained friends. While Dharma continued to wear the cloak of high nobility and eschewed all conflict, Syoddhan had changed. He had little choice but to change and become the man he now was – a man who kept honour within and valour without, at the cost of gaining a reputation for neither. It was, he reassured himself, well worth it. The last thing he wanted was to grow bitter, like Dharma.
Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) Page 12
