Govinda paused. This was not something he wasn’t ready to discuss with Partha. Not yet. He said, ‘If you can’t take responsibility for yourself, Partha, then there’s no question of being responsible for more.’
They talked long into the night, but did not refer to Panchali again. Eventually, Partha bid his host goodnight and left. He retired to his room and lay on the bed in a daze. The sound of anklets sang softly on the wind. Partha quickly went to the window overlooking the courtyard. He remained standing at the window long after the pleasant tinkle had faded away.
Govinda sat on the cold stone floor of the terrace adjoining his room, leaning against the wall. Sleep eluded him. It was a few hours before dawn when, woken up and summoned by a pensive Govinda, Balabadra came to join him. To Govinda’s surprise, so did Subadra. She sat next to him, her head on his shoulder, while Balabadra stood leaning against the low crystal railings that bound the terrace, looking at them both. Bit by bit, Govinda shared with his siblings what he had learnt from Partha that evening.
Subadra shivered, though it was not cold. ‘What he tried to do … to Panchali …’ she began, and then, with a meaningful glance at Balabadra, continued, ‘I suppose this makes your case for my marriage to Syoddhan even stronger, doesn’t it?’
‘How did you know …?’ Balabadra growled.
‘I listen at doors,’ she said snidely. The two brothers looked at her, astounded. She continued, calm, ‘I’m not being vengeful, nor am I joking. I’m nearly nineteen, by Rudra! You should realize that I’m no longer a four-year-old with a runny nose, who tends to get lost in the woods if she lets go of your hand.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Govinda admitted.
Balabadra continued, speaking for them both, ‘You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman, whom we both dearly love …’
‘You failed to mention my excellent sense of humour and my immaculate grace,’ Subadra responded in jest. She then fixed her brother with a cool gaze. ‘There’s no need to pretend you haven’t considered this. Haven’t you been planning it for a while now? Did you expect that I’d wait for you both to use me as a silent political pawn? I agree with you and so I act in consort with you.’
‘And if you hadn’t agreed with our objectives?’ Balabadra asked.
Subadra laughed and ran her fingers through her soft, wavy hair. She did not answer his question directly, saying instead, ‘I once thought of eloping, you know.’
‘Who with?’ Balabadra demanded.
She grinned mischievously, revealing a stark resemblance to Govinda, and said, ‘It makes no difference, not anymore. If you want me to marry Partha or any of the other Kurus, I shall. Except for Dharma. I won’t marry Dharma.’
Govinda laughed softly, but was interrupted.
‘Govinda,’ Subadra cajoled, ‘why won’t you let me have my share in your duty, my share of the honour? Do you believe that I lack courage? If you truly considered me your sister, and not the child of your father’s other wife …’
‘Subadra, please.’
She fell silent in response to the admonition.
At length, Govinda prompted, ‘How did you learn to twist emotions with words so skilfully?’
Subadra gleefully replied, ‘I’m sister to the best, to the master of puppets.’
‘No one’s a pawn. No one’s a puppet. And I’m no puppeteer,’ Govinda stated flatly.
Before Subadra could respond, Balabadra intervened to prevent what he knew would become a habitual sibling squabble rather than an argument on merits. He placed his hand on Subadra’s head in a loving, paternal gesture. ‘All right. We’ll talk more about this. Seriously, we shall,’ he assured her. ‘Now go,’ he said, sending her on her way.
Balabadra and Govinda stretched themselves out under the open sky, as they often used to when they were children, and gazed silently at the lightening expanse above. Gradually, lulled by the waves lapping against the city’s walls, the two men drifted off to sleep.
Govinda dreamt of a sunny village by a river. A tree, its emerald-green leaves flecked with gold from the sun, caressed the crystal blue waters as they gurgled by. Hanging from the hard bough, now arcing over the water, and now over the land, was a swing, a simple plank of wood held up by ropes of hemp. Her long, black hair streamed out behind her, painting a dark blur. Asleep under the mild winter sky, Govinda smiled.
The next morning, during the mountain festival of the Yadus, Partha thundered through the merry crowd on a chariot, two of Govinda’s white stallions yoked to it. Pulling Subadra on to the vehicle, he sped away before anyone could react.
The Council met right away, and the angry representatives proposed to chase Partha and give fight. Govinda and Balabadra looked uncertainly at each other, not sure whether Subadra had willingly eloped, even orchestrated the mock abduction, or, in fact, had been taken against her consent.
Keeping his jumbled thoughts to himself, Govinda addressed the gathered leaders. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best, my friends. An alliance with the Kurus is to our advantage, and in a way we might consider this an act of valour on Partha’s part, that he dares take our sister from our midst. Besides,’ he observed, ‘he’s yoked two of my four stallions to his chariot. Even if we give chase, we may not be able to stop him before he reaches his own kingdom. Imagine then, the disgrace to us all …’
His words effectively dampened the fiery spirits of the assembled warriors. After further debate it was agreed that a message would be sent to Hastina, informing the Kurus of Balabadra’s willingness to give Subadra in marriage to Partha. This done, the Council dispersed.
Govinda and Balabadra sat quiet and still in the empty Sudharma Hall, not sure whether to consider the turn of events as providential or unfortunate.
‘They took your horses,’ Balabadra pointed out. ‘It suggests that she was in on the plan,’ he surmised, hopeful.
Govinda sneered. ‘Do you dare ask her, Agraja? What if he’s taken her by force and we’ve let her down because we didn’t even try to help her? Even now, don’t we already know …? It’s just easier to pretend we don’t.’
‘We have no choice. Even if we are sure, we have no choice,’ Balabadra said. ‘Subadra knows that. She knows that a conflict between the Yadus and the Kurus could destroy us.’
Govinda nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Yes. Conflict would destroy us. An alliance on the other hand …’
The two brothers sighed, neither willing to admit that Partha’s visit could not have gone better.
28
IT WAS SAID, REVERENTIALLY, THOUGH NOT VERY OPENLY, THAT Dwaipayana knew what transpired in every nook of Aryavarta even before the gods watching over the land did. His hermitage was nestled in the distant Himalayan foothills, though for all practical purposes the little hamlet was the heart of the Empire. It was here that the Vyasa spent much of his time with his group of highly intelligent and dedicated disciples and the grey messenger pigeons he lovingly reared; here that he devoted himself to rearranging and dividing the scriptures, the treasure trove of Aryavarta’s knowledge; and here that all news of Aryavarta reached Dwaipayana’s ears. It was here, too, that Ghora Angirasa had died.
And, it was where one of Dwaipayana’s trusty messengers brought news of the events at Dwaraka, which had culminated in Partha and Subadra’s much-celebrated arrival at Hastina.
The Elder pronounced his blessings on the couple straight away, looking delighted at the turn of events. He said as much to Sanjaya, who sat sullen, without reply. Laughing, the scholar prompted, ‘You don’t agree with me, do you, Sanjaya?’
‘This jeopardizes all our plans, Acharya! It was difficult enough to press Dhrupad to marry the girl to Dharma despite his enmity with Dron and the Kurus. Just when it seemed all was in place and the time was right for us to make the next move, Govinda Shauri rears his head and becomes brother-in-law to the Kurus. I should have known, I should have foreseen it,’ Sanjaya ranted. ‘Govinda gave up far too easily on the girl.’
‘My son, you’re a g
ood statesman. But you still have a few things to learn before you become a great statesman.’
Sanjaya looked up eagerly. He knew better than to be disappointed when the Vyasa made such statements, for they were usually a prelude to the most valuable insights.
‘It’s like a game, of say … tiger and lambs,’ Dwaipayana continued. ‘A good statesman, someone like Bhisma, for example, will cleverly aim to move the pieces one at a time, always keeping in mind what his opponent’s response could be. Mind you, it is a difficult challenge and takes immaculate planning. But a truly great statesman is a philosopher of sorts. He recognizes that it is not just one move that matters; he sees the game in its entirety. Sometimes a single move changes your position from strength to weakness, or the other way around – not because the move itself is special but because of its effect on the other positions and on the game as a whole. The great statesman knows that the game can, and most probably will, be upset, and he accepts it. And he’ll be prepared.’
Sanjaya laughed softly. ‘So,’ he said, ‘it’s important to keep in mind what the pieces were meant to achieve, rather than the moves that were planned.’
‘Precisely! Balabadra had planned to marry Subadra to Syoddhan. An alliance was inevitable. I didn’t expect Partha to go to Dwaraka, but when he did I didn’t try to stop him. My anticipation was that Partha, being the womanizer that he is, would certainly court Subadra. Don’t you see how this works to our benefit? We’ve used Govinda Shauri before … Perhaps it is his destiny and ours that he serves us again.’
‘Dharma can use Govinda’s help to establish his own realm …’
‘Yes. What’s important is that Dharma sees the opportunity that lies before him. We need to bring it to his attention, Sanjaya. Plant the idea in his head that he can rule Western Kuru. Get him to send for Govinda.’
‘Who, of course, will come running to Hastina.’
With a laugh, Dwaipayana asked, ‘Really, the curiosity is killing! Why does Govinda Shauri bother you so much, my son?’
Sanjaya did not deny the allegation. He squared his shoulders, glad that he did not have to politely conceal his contempt for the man. ‘His ideas are ungodly, and worse still they are contagious. If they should spread … or endure … they can cause more damage than the man himself could in his lifetime. It would be easy for us to discredit Govinda and get rid of him. In any case, he has no legitimacy as a ruler and little earned as honour. He is, after all, the coward who ran from Jarasandha’s armies.’
Dwaipayana replied, ‘He has proven himself, on many occasions, to be a formidable warrior. How do you explain that?’
‘Even demons and devils may be formidable. That does not make them different from what they are,’ Sanjaya pointed out. ‘What bothers me is that we give Govinda too much power, assuming that what he does is to our benefit. When we’re done with him, when we’re finished, how do we push this animal back into its cage?’
The Elder nodded his agreement. ‘This is what I like about you, Sanjaya. You see things that even I don’t. “Far-sighted” should be your title! Indeed, it isn’t just I who think so, but Suka said something similar about you the other day …’
Sanjaya inclined his head, gracefully accepting the compliment. However, he was not done. ‘Acharya, it’s never too early to lay the foundations of doubt in people’s minds, a tiny suspicion that we can later use to control Govinda. As you’ve often said, a beautiful woman can be a dangerous weapon … There could always be rumour of … improprieties. Govinda clearly holds some affection for the girl, innocent or otherwise …’
‘On the contrary. I want you to avoid any such rumours, whether baseless or not, at all costs,’ Dwaipayana instructed. ‘It would spoil our plans completely.’
Sanjaya was not convinced. ‘If you say so, Acharya,’ he grudgingly admitted. ‘But coming back to the original point, I’m afraid Dharma is still unprepared to claim a realm for his own, with or without Govinda Shauri. Kandava is a very dangerous place indeed.’
‘Which is why, Sanjaya, your king and his son, Dhritarastra and Syoddhan, didn’t hesitate for a moment to cede Western Kuru to Dharma. Besides, when have my son and grandson ever refused me anything? The idea of giving Dharma a kingdom of his own should please the Grandsire Bhisma, too. As for Kandava, there’s nothing to be afraid of. The blessings of Indra himself shall be on Dharma. Go and tell my grandson to do his duty and rightfully claim his own.’
Sanjaya hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was the best time to share his true suspicions about Govinda with the Vyasa. He immediately thought better of it. Bidding his farewell, he left the hermitage, riding straight for Hastina.
As soon as he arrived, Sanjaya quickly washed up and changed his clothes, doing away with all evidence of his recent travel and the urgency with which he had returned. Then, picking up one of many minor administrative scrolls he had kept by just for such an occasion, he called on Dharma. As was common between men of learning, the two spent a long time in pleasant conversation on many topics. Only when the palace guard changed for the night, did the two become aware of the late hour. Sanjaya immediately took his leave, remembering at the last moment to deliver the scroll that had brought him there in the first place.
Alone, Dharma cast a quick glance at the parchment and threw it aside, wondering distractedly why Sanjaya had considered the meaningless document so important. Brushing the question away, he sat down and turned his attention to the niggling idea that had arisen quite suddenly at the back of his mind. He lay wide-eyed and sleepless through the remaining hours of the night.
The next evening, when Dharma joined Panchali for a walk on the pristine lawns, as was their routine, he told her about Sanjaya’s visit and the chain of thought that it had set off in his head.
Panchali cursed silently, as she puzzled over what it could all mean. She felt a chill run through her, though she was fairly snug and warm in a woollen tunic and the matching shawl of thick yarn that she had worn over her usual antariya. Some years ago, she had borrowed one of Shikandin’s woollen tunics and found it to be most comfortable. Laughing at the sight of her in his oversized garment, her brother had immediately sent riders to Gandhara, where the women wore such clothing through their harsh winters. The feminine woollen tunics of that region had become Panchali’s winter staple ever since. The rich, brocade-embellished garment she now wore was, however, a gift from Queen Gandhari. When she had heard of Panchali’s fondness for clothing from her homeland, Gandhari had arranged for her best seamstresses to create a tasteful wardrobe of matching tunics and shawls for her. The queen had commented on the occasion that Hastina, after all, was both colder and windier than Kampilya. Panchali had not missed the innuendo in her words.
‘What do you think, Panchali?’ Dharma intruded on her reverie.
Panchali dithered a moment, but not for reasons of discretion. Unlike the palace, with its many hidden corridors and keyholes, the garden afforded a rare privacy. This once, however, she was unsure of what to say. ‘I’m honoured that you ask me, Dharma,’ she eventually said, ‘but shouldn’t you consult with your mother and brothers?’
‘I’d be most grateful for your opinion,’ he told her.
‘We don’t have a choice, do we?’ Panchali ventured, a little hesitantly. ‘The only alternative is to let things remain as they are …’
‘True,’ Dharma agreed. ‘But are we, in fact, better off as dependants? I assure you, it is not possible to win Kandava from Takshaka in battle. It may well be a way to see us to our deaths. I don’t fear conflict, Panchali, but I do fear dishonour. This wouldn’t be an even fight by any token. But, as you said, do we have a choice? We’ve been here, at Hastina, for two years, come the next rains.’
‘And you believe that Govinda can find a way to conquer Kandava?’
‘Perhaps,’ Dharma began, ‘there are such things as destiny and coincidence, as Dwaipayana often tells me. Govinda Shauri is my maternal uncle’s son, but that relationship has been long ne
glected. Now he is kinsman anew and, so, my ally. I hear he’s dealt with the Nagas before. Perhaps it’s a good time to invite him to Hastina.’
Panchali laughed softly. In a wistful tone she said, ‘Brahman, the eternal universe, knows no coincidences. What we humans call coincidence is just our failure to see deeper meaning and purpose.’
‘Panchali, your words are worth their weight in gold.’
‘These aren’t my words, Dharma. Call it coincidence, but it was Govinda Shauri who once said this to me.’
The two walked in companionable silence till they reached Panchali’s rooms.
‘There is one more thing …’ Dharma slowly began, sitting down on a couch. ‘I shall take courage from what you said a while ago and share something that’s been on my mind for some time. I’m sure you know that Subadra is with child …’
Panchali nodded. She brought him a glass of wine and sat down beside him as he continued, ‘I am of the opinion that her child, as the eldest of the next generation, ought to be heir to whatever domain we rule …’
‘Dharma, that’s wonderful,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s … I mean … I’m at a loss for words!’
‘Thank you, my dear. But there’s something more I need from you, if this is to be done.’
‘Of course!’
Dharma reached out to take Panchali’s hand in his. ‘Legally, you and I will be the parents of all children born to us five brothers. I want them all to be brought up as one and never know any differences among them. You’ve seen how our cousins and we have been torn apart by such issues. I don’t want that to happen to the next generation, at all costs, and so …’
‘Hmm?’ she gently encouraged.
‘We’ll have no children of our own, Panchali. That way, there will be no difference, no basis on which the heir’s title can be contested.’
Panchali repressed the surge of anger that she felt, forcing herself to look at the outcome rather than consider Dharma’s true intentions. Despite his claims that his idea was rooted in a sense of fairness and in the interests of peace, she knew what his real motivation was. He needed Govinda on his side if Kandava was ever to be reclaimed, and this was to be Govinda’s inducement, his bait: The thought of his line, his blood, on the throne of the Kurus in generations to come.
Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) Page 21
