Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles)

by Krishna Udayasankar

  Shisupala strode forward, to stand directly before Bhisma’s seat. He continued, ‘You call on monarchs and preceptors to legitimize the emperor, and a cowherd is the best you can find to lead us? And like a stray dog picking up scraps and leftovers, this slave-born bastard Govinda accepts … He dares accept the First Honour; he dares to touch the sacred arghya? And you just sit there, smiling on it all! Yabha! Is there any honour left in the blood of Aryas? Answer me, Bhisma. Or have you turned senile once and for all?’

  ‘Why, that son of a …’ Bhim began to move forward, but Bhisma grabbed his hand restraining him.

  ‘Shisupala, my boy,’ he began, ‘I shall forgive your words as spoken in the impetuosity of youth. You ask why Govinda Shauri was given First Honour. The answer is simple: Because he deserves it. We considered … why, I considered everyone here, young and old, and decided that no one merits this show of respect more than he does. Does that satisfy you?’

  ‘Satisfy? It satisfies me that you’re mad indeed! Don’t you know the law? A man born into captivity, the son of prisoner parents, is nothing but a slave. What right does Govinda Shauri have to even be here? When fortune carried him to the brink of nobility, he pissed in its face. Can you deny it? Can anyone here deny that he surrendered Mathura? And you place this slave on par with the likes of us? How dare you treat him as our equal, our leader? This is an insult to us all. I will not be led by a cowherd, not in battle, and certainly not in proclaiming my allegiance to this muhira of an Emperor!’

  The categorical declaration pulled the assembly out of its shock. The guests slowly began to comprehend Shisupala’s argument. Many found his cause to be valid and said as much, while others tried to reason with them. As voices rose, harsh and angry, and the situation grew decidedly unpleasant, Syoddhan went up to Shisupala to try to calm him down. Shisupala simply pushed his friend away. Balabadra and Yuyudhana were already arguing with Kritavarman and some of the other Yadus who had taken Shisupala’s side.

  At a signal from Dwaipayana, Dron and Asvattama had discreetly placed themselves close to the unarmed cluster of priests and scholars as a precaution. Shikandin signalled to Pradymna to keep an eye on the young Abhimanyu and Yudhamanyu even as he and Dhrstyadymn silently moved close to Govinda. Partha and Nakul came to stand next to Sadev, their eyes on Dharma as they awaited his command. Bhim alone remained determinedly vocal. He let out another menacing cry, punctuated with a few choice expletives and threats.

  Bhisma restrained him yet again, this time loudly proclaiming, ‘Let him be, Bhim. He’s an imbecile. What does he know of honour, or law, or morality?’

  Shisupala grit his teeth. He had neither patience nor respect left to waste on the Grandsire. ‘You, Bhisma!’ he called out rudely. ‘Careful, old man! You can only condemn your kin with your blind folly for so long. Sooner or later, they will see you for the gutless woman that you are. You asked what I know of honour and morality. Where were you, noble and honourable one, when Govinda Shauri cheated and lied his way into Jarasandha’s palace? Where were you when he killed his own uncle, Kans? Govinda is nothing but a murderer, but you allow him to be honoured as befits a king? You, who claim to worship law and morality – how did you ever allow all this to come to pass? Perhaps your great vow of chastity, too, should be suspect …’

  ‘How dare you!’ Bhisma bristled. In all these years not even the greatest or most revered of men had spoken to him the way this arrogant fool was. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw it.

  Shisupala noticed, and gleefully challenged him, ‘Fight me, old man. For too long the great kings of Aryavarta have looked up to you, feared your reputation. It’s time to show them that you are nothing but a sycophant, singing praises of Dharma and his cowherd lackey. You are but a spineless eunuch – possibly in more ways than one! Shandha! Impotent!’

  Bhisma let out an angry cry, sounding every bit the warrior he was. ‘Come then, you arrogant fool! Come and die!’

  ‘Why would I fight you, shandha? You’re a coward of the worst kind, for you justify your actions with no less a veil than righteousness! I used to hold much respect for you. You are, after all, Grandsire to Syoddhan – the man on whose silence Dharma’s new empire stands. But it never occurred to you to even ask why Dharma is being crowned and not Syoddhan, did it? Rather, it did, but you’re just too damned afraid to speak! One word from you and none of this would’ve happened.’

  At the mention of his name, Syoddhan tried yet again to intervene, this time by appealing to Bhisma. The Grandsire simply shook the younger man off, his eyes on Shisupala all the time. ‘Enough boy! You’re asking for a drubbing!’ he cautioned.

  ‘Boy? Yes, that’s pretty much what we, the kings of Aryavarta, have been to you and your beloved grandchild Dharma, haven’t we? Boys! Hah! We’re great kings! We won’t be treated with such impunity. We will not swear our allegiance to any fool emperor.’

  ‘You question my decision? My fairness? Fight then, you bastard! And bring your great kings, as you call them, with you! I spit on them all! Not one of you has the bloody pluck to question me this way, leave alone speak of either being Emperor or receiving the First Honour!’

  Shouts of anger, threats and conciliation all rose and drowned in one senseless drone of noise. Many more swords were drawn as the assembled kings erupted at Bhisma’s words, their eager chants ringing off the walls.

  ‘Burn the old man! What does he think we are, his slaves?’

  ‘Kill the arrogant madman!’

  ‘He’s lived for far too long already. Syoddhan, Dussasan, rid yourself of this dotard and his stupidity.’

  ‘If only it were stupidity … He’s a coward and a hypocrite, too. Eunuch, rightly said!’

  ‘Go on, Shisupala! Kill him. Do us all a favour and redeem the honour of kings.’

  Vilified, Bhisma’s anger rose and his face turned red. He tightly gripped the hilt of his sword. A confrontation was imminent. Yet, even as the gathering waited with bated breath, the imminent did not come to pass. Bhisma did nothing, nor did the Vyasa.

  At that realization Dharma stirred. His reaction, still, was one of disbelief. ‘But … how … why …?’ Looking bewildered, he turned to Govinda.

  Govinda stood still as stone, exactly where he had been when Shisupala had intervened. His head was bowed, not in shame but in silent acceptance, and he did not stir. Not even when Shisupala spat on the ground right in front of him.

  ‘What …’ Dharma repeated.

  Panchali watched silently, feeling her well-practised, quiet acceptance cloak her once more. She knew well what Govinda waited for and why: That one moment when Dharma, and all of Aryavarta, would turn to him to set things right. To resolve the situation as he always had and only he could. The moment of surrender that was far more powerful than receiving First Honour, or any declaration of allegiance, any crown or throne. Or, perhaps, he truly was crushed. For all that he had done, all that he had achieved, there were some things Govinda could never have. Perhaps, this once, he felt the pain of his loss after all. Panchali desperately wanted to believe it was so, and she knew a part of her did.

  She sprang to her feet. The sudden action forced Dharma out of his daze, and he too stood up. The almost-Emperor looked around in helpless alarm, his gaze finally coming to rest on the woman next to him. Her calm countenance drove him to action. He ran down the stepped dais towards the centre of the altercation, Panchali right behind him.

  Going directly to Shisupala, Dharma began, ‘Your Highness, please …’

  This only made Shisupala break into raucous guffaws. He threw his arms up in dramatic despair, and said, ‘Ah, now Dharma will beg, will he? At last, the Emperor will deign to speak to us! Why not? Honour, honour, honour – we all keep spouting this great word. But honour means no more to you than it does to your Grandsire there. He’s spent his life licking Dwaipayana’s feet and you continue the tradition. If only you’d chosen someone as worthy as the Vyasa instead of this bastard cowherd to serve
with your grovelling … But enough!’

  His voice was sincere, even sympathetic, as he said, ‘You’ve damned yourself, Dharma. Your coronation is now worthless, for no man here will swear allegiance to you. Your empire means nothing at all and your dominion is forfeit. Enough! Stop this travesty of a sacrifice at once!’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No, Dharma. It is done. You had your chance and you’ve lost it. You’ve lost all that you gained because you’ve lost your honour. You threw it at that slave-boy’s feet and lost it all. You’re a disgrace to every Arya.’

  A speechless Dharma stepped back, his head hanging low in shame and agony. His surrender seemed to signal the end. Many of the assembled kings prepared to leave. A whisper of consensus ran through the hall, the words indistinct, but clearly mocking the farce the coronation had now become. In a slow, almost reconciled way, the crowd began to disperse.

  30

  ‘WAIT!’ THE COMPELLING VOICE STOPPED THE DEPARTING KINGS in their tracks.

  A tired, forced stillness fell over them all. Panchali sighed, feeling somewhat irritated by the predictability, the inescapable melodrama. It came almost as a relief to her when Shisupala refused to be taken in by it.

  ‘Wait for what, cowherd?’ he rasped. ‘You’re really nothing but a slave. Who are you to command us all?’

  ‘I’m just a man like you, Shisupala …’

  ‘You’re nothing like me. You are nothing! The son of a slave mother, a liar and a cheat, that’s what you are. And Dharma worships you? And that old eunuch over there happily consents to it all like a whore spreading her legs? Why, cowherd? Why, why, why?’

  Snarling like an animal, Shisupala addressed the entire gathering, ‘Come on, all of you, ask yourselves … Why, in Rudra’s name, does Dharma give such importance to a man who’s good for absolutely nothing? This man here, this Govinda, to whom Dharma shows First Honour – this spineless rat surrendered the city he was sworn to defend as its ruler, when the honourable thing, if he knew what that meant, would have been to hang from the palace tower or to slit his own throat. But no! Govinda Shauri pissed on us all, and lives to tell the tale. He then assassinates the same emperor he ran from and we all keep our silence and watch, the epitome of honour, Bhisma here, included.’

  Shisupala walked up to Govinda, getting close enough for the other man to feel his breath, taste the venom and hatred in it. His voice was a hiss, a harsh whisper that curled its way through the entire assembly and sent a shiver down every spine. ‘I’m not the best of men,’ he declared. ‘I know I stand here in the shadows of great kings. But I am Arya and I am a better man than this Govinda. We – every Yadu here – should have killed him the day he traded our kingdom and our homes for his ambition and safety. Yes, Govinda, we should have quartered you and left your head on a stake in front of the Varaha temple at Mathura for the crows to peck at and the common folk to piss on. And what do we do? We leave you alive, for you to stand here and claim First Honour today, to lead us all in bowing to your figurehead emperor. No! Worse,’ Shisupala shook his head and added, ‘we do so without question. We do it all without question, slaves to the slave!’

  He glared at Govinda, who met his gaze without acrimony or amusement. Unperturbed, Shisupala turned his attention back to his rapt audience. He knew that the entire congregation hung on his every word and so chose them carefully. He now sounded more aggrieved than angry and to good effect. Anger was something that already simmered in their hearts. He needed them to use it, and use it well.

  Shisupala’s eyes sought out Syoddhan and rested lightly, meaningfully, on him for a moment before he looked over the assembled faces and asked, ‘Answer me, great kings of Aryavarta. What could Govinda Shauri possibly offer Dharma that our would-be Emperor flouts the most sacred of laws and tramples on the very essence of being Arya with such impunity?’

  The hushed stillness that greeted his challenge held many answers.

  Soon, Shisupala knew, some of them – those who truly mattered – would hit upon the one answer to all his questions. When that happened …

  He felt content at the thought. Squaring his shoulders, he resolutely turned back to Govinda. There still remained the final confrontation, the one thing left to be said.

  Malice seeped from every pore of Shisupala’s being. His eyes were red and bulging, the veins on his temples throbbed visibly and his voice was a low rumble as he began, ‘I should have known, back then, in Vidharbha … Perhaps I did, but I refused to believe it. You can’t fool me anymore, Govinda! You can cover Aryavarta with your tales and tricks, but you don’t frighten me! I don’t care if you’re …’

  For the shortest moment, emotion flickered across Govinda’s face. ‘Enough, Cousin!’

  The reaction took Shisupala by surprise. He hesitated for a moment, smiling to himself as he thought of something, the gesture betraying his familial relationship to Govinda. He declared, ‘True, Govinda. I’ve had enough. Come, Cousin. Let’s finish this as we should have, three decades ago!’

  With that, Shisupala drew his sword.

  A chilling stillness took hold of the hall. It erupted in a roar as Govinda slid his blade out from its scabbard.

  As he stepped back, Dharma instinctively pulled at Panchali’s arm. She refused to move. For the briefest instant, her eyes met Syoddhan’s, where he stood across the open space. Without words, the two of them turned back to the duel that was set to begin.

  ‘He’s mad,’ Dharma whispered. ‘Govinda’s mad. Shisupala’s one of the best …’

  Panchali snapped under her breath, ‘Best, strongest, greatest … Is there anyone we don’t describe in superlative terms? Any Arya who’s just a person and proud of it? By Rudra, can we get over ourselves, ever?’

  Her irate words did little to hide her anxiety. Shisupala was clearly the larger and more powerful man, and the way he twirled his sword as he cautiously circled his opponent showed he was an expert at handling the weapon.

  By contrast, Govinda stood where he was, the tip of his sword resting lightly on the ground, his eyes following Shisupala’s every move. Without warning, Shisupala rushed at him, sweeping his blade down with all his might. Govinda raised his own just in time. The clang of metal on metal rang loud, followed by the scrape of burnished blade against blade as the two men drew apart.

  For a man of his size, Shisupala was light on his feet. He sprang again at Govinda, jumping into the air to add more force to his blow. Govinda parried, and the two men moved around in a quick succession of strokes and counters that left them both breathless. Drawing back slightly, Shisupala resumed circling, looking for the right opening, while Govinda waited, his sword held up before him.

  Once more, Shisupala came forward to attack, this time turning his downward stroke into a sideways thrust at the last moment. Govinda saw the feint, side-stepped it, and brought down the flat of his sword right where his opponent’s blade met the hilt. It was a move that would have disarmed most men, at least painfully strained their wrist. The burly Shisupala merely grimaced and looked none the worse for it. ‘Is that all you can do?’ he jeered. Govinda did not rise to the bait. He stepped back and waited for the next attack.

  A small group of Shisupala’s friends and vassals joined Syoddhan where he stood. One of these men ran forward to throw Shisupala a shield, which the man happily accepted.

  ‘Want one?’ he cheerfully taunted Govinda. ‘Don’t complain later to Yama’s minions that I killed you because you didn’t have a shield, you coward!’

  Immediately Dharma looked around to his own, wondering which one of his allies would do the same for Govinda. Nakul was about to step forward, when Shikandin firmly shook his head to tell him not to.

  Govinda remained oblivious to these silent exchanges, his attention fixed on his opponent. Shisupala clanged sword against shield. The noise resounded through the hall, dispelling all traces of the festivities that had been on but a short while ago. This was battle.

  Shisupala flew at Govinda
again, grunting loudly as he threw all his strength into the stroke. Govinda brought his weapon up in a two-handed counter. Immediately, Shisupala used his shield to land a hard blow on Govinda’s shoulder and chest from the side. Govinda took the blow, using the proximity to bring his left hand up to punch his opponent hard on his face. Shisupala staggered back slightly. He spit the blood from his mouth onto the marbled floor, supplementing the action with as much derision as he could muster. And then, he raised his sword and made ready for another attack.

  This time, though, Govinda made the first move. He stepped in close before raising his sword, leaving Shisupala guessing. At the last possible moment he twisted inwards, driving his sword in a stabbing stroke. In response, Shisupala dropped his shield and used his now-empty hand to grab Govinda’s sword-arm. He tried to twist it back, but quick as lightning Govinda spun around and mirrored the ploy. Both men were now caught back-to-back, each man’s sword-arm in the grip of the other’s fist. Sinews strained as the two tried to use brute force to twist the other man’s wrist and get him to drop his sword.

  Here, Shisupala had a clear advantage, in terms of his physical strength. With a loud yell, he willed every bit of his strength into his bulging arms and pulled. His plan, simply, was to pull Govinda’s arms out of their sockets or get as painfully close to it as possible. Govinda knew it was futile to resist. He simply could not match Shisupala in terms of pure strength. He frowned against the pain, tried to shut out sound, smell, every sense of where he was and what was around him. Fighting the instinct to hit back or to struggle, he centred his entire being, his consciousness into the moment, a deeper oneness that didn’t know Govinda, Shisupala nor even the battle between them. A particular lightness, an incorporeal relief against the pain, flooded him. He let his sword drop out of his hand.