Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles)

by Krishna Udayasankar

  Not very far from where Panchali was making her way into the forest, Partha slowed his horse down to a trot and took in the pleasant coolness of the woods around him. He had continued from the trail directly into the forest, moving along a straight path until he reached the River Yamuna. He had then turned north. Fording the river at its shallows he continued northward, but started moving away ever so slightly from the water’s course. Soon the land to his left began sloping gently upwards in the form of a small, grassy hill with just a few trees in a clump at the top. Ahead of him, the river curved steeply around the hill and was lost from view. Partha made for the crest. It was an easy climb and he was soon at the top of the hillock. The lands that lay before him simply took his breath away.

  ‘By Yama’s black bull!’ he exclaimed. In contrast to the gentle slope that he had climbed, the other side of the hill fell away in a sheer, steep cliff. The small hill was the beginning of a series of crests and ridges, many of which were twice as high. Dark peaks jutted out above towering green-blue mountains, the dense forest that covered the slopes and ridges beginning at the lower foothills and rising almost two-thirds of the way to blend into a thick carpet of moss and creepers that grew in the many clefts and crevices. Only the peaks were bare, as though nature had intended them purposively ominous. The densely forested mountain range ran northward for many leagues, eventually blurring into the horizon.

  Partha swung off his horse, and focused his attention on the nearer stretch of undulating land. He saw the occasional flash of blue as the Yamuna meandered on along the edges of the forest, but for the most part it was an impenetrable canopy of green. Huge trees rose to towering heights, their leaves thick and dark, their wood hard as iron. Thick branches, each the girth of a well-built man, intertwined with an unnatural grace to seal darkness in and keep light out. An eerie stillness hovered over the place, no shrubs rustled or creepers moved; no birds perched atop the trees or hovered, chirping, around the branches. It almost made Partha believe the stories of the weird and terrible animals that roamed the deeper parts of this forest, where even the sun and wind could not enter. He was a brave man, but the heavy stillness of this place was enough to send a chill down the spines of stalwarts. This was Kandava, the dreaded realm of King Takshaka.

  Drawing himself out of his initial awe, Partha raised his eyes to consider the rest of the landscape. Further away, to the north, the river curved in to come closer to the forest. It then ran around it on two of its three sides, forming a border on the eastern and north-eastern flanks. The hill that he stood on was part of a range that similarly enclosed the woods on its southern and western flanks.

  Impregnable Kandava. Hah! Partha laughed out loud at the forest stretched out before him. From his elevation it almost felt like the expanse of green lay at his feet. Dharma had certainly outdone himself this time.

  When his brother had sent for him late the previous night, Partha had hardly expected it to be for this. It had been a day of unrestrained celebrations in Abhimanyu’s honour, but the celebrations and festivities were long over and even the palace guards had been slumped over in a drunken stupor.

  ‘Why the secrecy, Brother?’ Partha had asked.

  Dharma had looked grim, uncharacteristically determined. ‘Like it or not, Partha,’ he had said, ‘we are merely guests at Hastina. There are many here who would be happy to see us all dead and even the walls of the palace have ears … I could not take any chances. What I shall ask of you today, Brother, is to attempt the near-impossible. It’s not a task without danger. I would not assign it to the father of a newborn child without good cause. For years Kandava has been unconquered, defended by the skills of the Wrights. The time has come to take from Takshaka what is rightfully ours. This is our chance. Your chance. I’d wager anything on this. If anyone can do it, it’s you. Burn the forest down, Partha.’

  Partha had been shocked. But there was more to follow. ‘Don’t worry,’ Dharma had added, ‘you won’t be alone. You see, Govinda has a plan … But this is your duty to fulfil, Partha. In the name of all that is sacred, good and moral, burn down that pit of snakes.’

  That simple encouragement had been enough and he, Partha, son of Indra and heir to Pandu Kauravya, had only been happy to comply.

  Trembling with anticipation, he carefully undid the bundle that Dharma had given him. His mouth fell open. It was a bow unlike any he had ever seen before. The light, supple metal blazed in the sunlight as if it were molten fire. Not even the most burnished of mirrors showed such a keen reflection as the silver-white metal did. It was strong and light enough to lift up high, if required, and yet large and firm enough to prop up on the ground to avoid recoil. Partha ran his hand over the weapon, admiring its impeccable craft. His eyes then fell on the inscription. Partha read it out loud, his voice solemn with respect: ‘I am Gandiva, whose call fills terror in the hearts of enemies.’ With the softest of touches, as if caressing his lover, he plucked and then released the bowstring. It twanged a low, rich note, booming deep and long. Extremely flexible, it would let him vary the thrust and distance on his arrows without having to adjust its length every time.

  The clatter of hooves drew his attention. ‘What …?’ he whipped around in alarm.

  Panchali pulled on the reins to bring her horse came to a stop in front of Partha. She had hardly dismounted when he came forward to meet her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, angry at her sudden appearance.

  ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she retorted. ‘What in the name of the gods is going on? We shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘It’s destiny, Panchali. Kandava will be destroyed today.’

  ‘And you’re going to be the one to do it? You’re going to take on the Nagas all by yourself?’

  ‘It’s my duty, what my brother has commanded me to do, and I won’t fail. Indeed, today the world will wonder if the two ancient powers Nara and Narayana themselves have descended to earth in my form,’ Partha proudly declared.

  ‘Surely,’ a deep, familiar voice drawled from behind Panchali, ‘to be one ancient power is achievement enough? To comprise both Nara and Narayana in one human form seems extravagant. I don’t suppose you’d care to spare me one of your two alter egos?’

  Govinda walked out from a small copse of trees, leading Balahak by the reins. He nodded casually at Panchali and told Partha, ‘I didn’t expect you here till much later, Partha. I was having a rather restful nap, an exceptionally fragrant nap, I must say, under that jasmine tree – the one with its flowers in full bloom. But now that I’m awake, we might as well get to work.’

  Partha slapped Govinda on the back, laughing. It was almost like being back at Dwaraka, he thought, those wonderful months of friendship, selfless and without expectations. A true friendship between equals. Momentarily he revelled in the notion.

  Panchali was unimpressed. She drew in a sharp breath and demanded, ‘Now? You mean you’re going to do this now? But … how?’

  As if in answer, Partha pulled an arrow out of the quiver on his back.

  Panchali noticed that these were not the usual arrows archers used – these were flint-tipped. The shaft of the arrow, too, was longer than usual, no doubt to give it greater thrust to reach its target. Her eyes narrowed as she realized that the metal itself looked different; it was a lot lighter and shinier than the dull iron that was mostly used.

  In growing alarm she cast her eyes upward at the sky. There was not a single cloud overhead and the sun shone down with unrelenting fury despite winter being hardly a month past. Even if the weather turned, it would take nothing less than a storm to extinguish a blazing forest.

  ‘By the gods, you are going to do this! You’re going to burn it down, you’re going to burn them all!’ she frantically said. ‘Partha … have pity, those are people in there, human beings … children even …’

  ‘How else can we fight this battle, Panchali? This isn’t just about reclaiming what is ours. There is a greater purpose here: to destroy
that which is evil. The forest is a labyrinth. Its complex, twisted paths are designed to drive any unfortunate wanderer insane. Neither sunlight nor moonlight can find their way in and deeper in the forest the trees grow close enough to form an impassable wall. Within that infernal darkness, the flowers and trees themselves bear poisons and hallucination-causing saps. Fire is the only answer.’

  He laughed coldly at Panchali’s furious stare, and added, ‘Ask Govinda here, if you don’t believe me, Panchali.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Govinda affirmed.

  ‘And so,’ Partha declared, ‘the demons of Kandava will burn in the very flames of the netherworld! This is war!’ Then, closing his eyes, he whispered a prayer as he thrust the tip of an arrow into the hard ground. The impact set the arrowhead alight. Panchali watched, at first with fascination and then with increasing horror, as the flame, an iridescent blue streak rather than the yellow-orange of a normal fire, burnt strong. Setting the flaming arrow to his bow, Partha drew back the string and let fly the shaft. The arrow took a long, looping path to disappear into the canopy of treetops. Many more arrows quickly followed, all landing to form a perfectly straight line from where the first shaft had pierced the canopy to where they now stood. Partha’s reputation as one of the best archers in all of Aryavarta was undoubtedly merited.

  As the three of them watched from the hilltop, the faint flash that had begun on the tree-canopy grew quickly into a steady blaze, the crackle and sizzle of burning wood and leaves gradually becoming louder. The arrows had done their work. Looking satisfied, Partha released the next line of arrows, building what soon would be an unstoppable forest fire.

  ‘No! Stop! Stop it right now!’ Panchali cried out. She looked around ineffectively for some way to deter the archer. Her panic seemed only to increase Partha’s amusement, and he responded by lifting Gandiva up high to release the shafts almost straight up. The arrows flew high and covered an even greater distance before sinking into the trees somewhere well past the middle of the forest.

  Panchali bit her lower lip in exasperation. Her anger against Partha, against Dharma and his ambitions, paled in comparison to what she felt when she turned to Govinda. The expression of calm on his face infuriated her. Spurred on by rage she ran to her horse and climbed on.

  ‘Panchali, no! Wait!’ Govinda shouted after her.

  She swung around to face him. ‘I won’t watch helplessly. There may still be time if only they’re warned!’ With that she urged her horse into a gallop down the hill.

  ‘Maraka! This woman …’ Govinda ran to Balahak, and set off behind her.

  Partha watched the two until they were out of his view and then turned back to the task at hand. This was his duty, Dharma had said so. Clearing his mind, he sent another blazing arrow into sky and watched it till it disappeared into the sea of green below.

  33

  ‘FASTER! FASTER!’ PANCHALI URGED HER HORSE ALONG THE riverbank. In blind fury she had desperately coaxed all the speed she could out of her steed to get here, but now she slowed down as she reached the fringes of the forest. She had hoped to find some guards or soldiers to whom she could convey the danger the Nagas were in, but not a single living creature, human or animal, stirred. Despite the fire-arrows there did not seem to be any movement or activity inside the forest. Instead, a dank smell reached out from its dark depths, as though warning her that it was death itself. She grimly realized it might already be too late for her to warn the Nagas. The thought was enough to spur her on, and with a whispered prayer she turned left, crashing through the leaves and undergrowth into the thick forest. She headed straight in until the edge of the woods was a tiny sliver of light behind her. And then that too was gone.

  Panchali slowed her horse down to a walk as she tried to get her bearings, reminding herself that she had entered the woods facing west. Further inward the land would rise sharply, she knew, but here it was still level. The dank stink that now furiously invaded her nostrils came from the slimy lichen that carpeted the ground. The trees grew close and thick, just as Partha had said, forming a wall of wood as hard as one of any rock or stone. She tried looking up, but all she saw was darkness. This was different from the darkness that night brought – thicker, its uniformity somehow oppressive. Closing her eyes, she tried to rein in her other senses, focus them. But there was the silence, a horrifying blanket of emptiness that was more than the mere absence of sound. The horse’s breathing, the slight jingling of bridle and rein, even the susurrus of her own movement, nothing could be heard.

  A nameless fear crept up on her. Suddenly she felt dizzy and short of breath. Gasping, choking, she fell off her horse. The faithful steed whinnied and moved towards her to nuzzle her gently.

  ‘No, no, no …! Hai!’ she tried to stop the animal from turning to her, but in vain. She clambered to her feet, clutching its reins for support. ‘Oh Rudra and Hara!’ Now she would no longer know which way was west. She was lost in the darkness of Kandava.

  With a loud gasp, Panchali let go of the breath she had been holding. She became aware that this was not some horrid dream. Somehow, the realization made her feel braver than she had expected. Better to move, than to just stand here, she reasoned. Squaring her shoulders, she began walking, not knowing whether her steps led her deeper inside or back toward the light.

  Panchali knew it was hardly some time since she had begun walking, but it felt like a really long time in the strange darkness. She stopped, hoping that something had changed in the seamless black and that she could see something, anything at all. When she heard the soft steps, she first thought she was imagining things, or had perhaps been driven insane by terror.

  She very nearly screamed as someone called out, ‘Panchali! Over here!’

  She heard it again, and relief broke out on her face as she recognized the voice.

  ‘Devala! Oh, thank …’ she began, but he silenced her with a finger on her lip. Grabbing her wrist, he began walking into the darkness with familiarity. She had no choice but to follow. Completely unaware of where she was being led, and bursting with questions, Panchali matched the scholar’s long strides. In her other hand she held the reins of her horse, who faithfully trotted alongside. After a while it felt as though the darkness around her was lightening up a bit and she peered ahead hopefully, looking forward to getting out of the damned forest. Her heart fell as the light took on a reddish hue and the smell of smoke began teasing her nostrils.

  Devala was leading her towards the blaze.

  Panchali stopped in her tracks. Unbidden memories of another fire made her stomach churn and she dug her nails deep into her palm to keep from screaming. Devala pulled at her, but she did not move. The light was enough now for her to see him clearly. She looked at him, letting him see the terror and panic she felt. Slowly, almost pleading, she shook her head.

  The man considered her, frowning, and let go of her wrist.

  ‘Are you satisfied?’ he asked her, his voice cold. ‘Do you see what your precious Govinda Shauri has done? As long as Kandava existed, as long as the Nagas held some scraps of our old skills, there was hope. Now it’s all gone.’ His voice dropped to a sad whisper. ‘I’d believed you could stop him. I thought you would stop him! I thought that where every human emotion had failed, you could perhaps get Govinda to show compassion. But he feels nothing, does he?’

  Panchali failed to hold back her tears, though she only half understood Devala’s words. ‘I didn’t know,’ she screamed. ‘Trust me, I had no idea it would come to this. I thought … How could I have known that …?’

  ‘How could you not have known? Govinda lives to destroy us! All you stupid fools ever see are his petty squabbles with Jarasandha, you see him defy the Emperor and assume he’s just another idiot of a ruler. His true feud lies with us, with the Firewrights! If only you knew what a son of a whore he really is …’ Words of contempt finally failed the scholar and he spat on the ground in disgust.

  ‘No,’ Panchali protested. ‘You don’t know him
… He’s not like that, he’s not like that at all!’

  Even as she said the words, it came to her that this horrific fire had been Govinda’s plan. He had led Partha and Dharma to burn the forest. He was responsible for this horror! Devala was right, she should have known, right that very day when Dharma had first spoken to Govinda of this; she should have said something right then. But she had not. She failed in the very task Devala had entrusted to her. A part of her longed to run, to hide from the reality of her mistake by drowning in the sea of fire ahead, but even as confusion and fear dimmed her senses she was reminded of the events that had led to this moment, of why she had ridden into the forest. She turned to Devala, frantic. ‘We must get the Nagas out of here,’ she declared.

  ‘Muhira!’ the Firewright snorted in contempt. ‘It’s too late. No one defies the gods and the gods show no mercy to those who try. I shall pay for trusting you.’

  With a last look at her, he walked on, right towards the raging fire.

  Panchali watched, aghast, as he stepped through a wall of flame and disappeared from view. Devala’s parting words rang in her mind. She had failed. She had been nothing but a child, indulging in her pretended revenge against the system; she had lived in the make-believe worlds of those around her. How stupid, how careless of her. She should have confided in her brothers, in Shikandin if no one else. He would have done something to stop Govinda, to prevent this destruction.

  Screams and shouts echoed around her all of a sudden – the voices of men and women, the agonized cries of children. Panchali vaguely recognized her own wails of despair, adding to the din. Falling to her knees, she sobbed out loud, helpless and defeated. How had it come to this?

  Her mind rifled through scattered memories, of the day she had first met Govinda, the day he had kissed her hand in an innocent gesture of friendship, the days spent laughing and talking, with him, with her brothers … The happiest days of her life, when she had felt neither like an orphan nor like the princess of Panchala, but just a person, just who she was. A person with dreams of a better world, a better life. How naive, stupid, childish she had been!