Panchali said, ‘If you are trying to provoke me, Uttara, it’s not working. I’m beginning to like you all the more, in fact.’
Uttara laughed out loud. ‘You know what they say – most friendships are based on trust and respect. A few are based on mutual insult, and those are the strongest.’
‘My brother has a friend, with whom he’s like that. But they’d die for each other.’
‘He’s a lucky man. And his friend is luckier still. Though I would like to know if this affinity for strange friendships runs in your family.’
‘Ask him yourself.’
‘Your brother?’
‘His friend, though before that I need your help to bring him here.’ As Uttara frowned in puzzlement, Panchali added, ‘His name is Govinda Shauri.’
23
GOVINDA SHAURI.
Uttara knew the name well, but the only recollection she had of the man was a fleeting, childhood memory from over a decade ago. He had come to Matsya, she had seen him, and she remembered how the older girls of the palace had whispered things about him that she had not understood then. More than anything else, she remembered the horrible argument that had ensued between her parents and her uncle the night Govinda Shauri had arrived. Keechak had held a dagger to her mother’s throat, saying that he would rather kill his sister than let her serve as a whore to those forsaken Firewrights. Uttara had asked her brother Sankha what a whore was and he had told her to leave the room. But she had stayed, and watched as her brothers and her father reassured Keechak that never again would they welcome Govinda Shauri into Matsya.
As she had grown older, Uttara came to understand what that conflict had been all about. Keechak had insisted that Govinda Shauri was a traitor – why else had he not made Matsya a part of Dharma Yudhisthir’s empire? He had cursed Satya and her descendants, the clan of Kuru, to eternal damnation and sworn that if ever a Kaurava or that lackey Govinda Shauri set foot in Matsya he would drink their blood.
And now Uttara was helping a Kaurava fight another Kaurava who sought to invade Matsya, and even considering the idea of bringing back Govinda Shauri to her homeland.
I must be crazy, Uttara cautioned herself. Yet, she also knew why she was entertaining Panchali’s suggestion: Deep in those childhood memories were other, pleasant recollections. She could not remember why, but the thought of Govinda made her think also of swings and laughter and running playfully over hot sand. It made her remember her father as he had once been – a boisterous, wholesome man who had been quick to humour and slow to anger. A part of her had once thought, and still did, that Govinda Shauri could bring back her father’s laughter.
‘This way, is it not?’ Partha, or the man Uttara had known as Brihannala, whispered in the darkness.
Night had brought a fearful silence over all of Upaplavya and no one ventured out of their homes but for the city guards on duty. Uttara had the authority to order the guards to let them pass, but Partha insisted that secrecy was better. She did not dissent, and now led her companions silently through the darkness. ‘No, there is a passageway here between the army barracks that leads directly to the funeral ground,’ she told him. He did not look convinced, but Panchali gave him a reassuring nod. The trio walked on in silence.
A short while later, Uttara said, ‘There! See, we are almost on the other side of the grounds. I think you must have entered from the other side, when you…’ She stopped, realizing she had no idea what Partha was doing. ‘Why did we come here?’ she asked.
Partha said, ‘We hid our weapons here before we came into Upaplavya.’ He turned to Panchali. ‘I will need your help.’
Together, the two clambered up a solitary sami tree that was used by the people of Matsya to dispose of the bodies of the worst of criminals. The corpses of the convicted were bound in cloth and tied to the branches of the tree, and left to rot at leisure – ensuring, it was hoped, that the deceased had as difficult a passage into the afterlife as possible. Uttara flinched when Partha examined one of the cloth bundles by sniffing at it. With a look of satisfaction, he nodded to Panchali, who helped him untie the bundle and bring it down.
‘Weapons?’ Uttara asked. ‘But we make the best weapons in all Aryavarta. Why did you have to go to such trouble… Oh!’ She said nothing further as the cloth covering the corpse-shaped bundle fell apart to reveal a bow, the likes of which she had never seen. The metal looked light and supple, every curve and line of the bow crafted with sleek precision, as though fire had been tamed and given form.
‘Gandiva,’ Partha said, as he reverentially picked up the bow. ‘Forged by Agni and wielded by Indra, king of the celestials, it is said.’
‘You can gape at it later,’ Panchali told an open-mouthed Uttara. ‘Now help me tie up the rest of these.’
Panchali had taken out her own sword and bow, as well as the rest of Partha’s weapons. That still left an impressive, gleaming collection on the ground. Uttara complied, though not without confusion. ‘Who…to whom do the rest of these weapons belong?’
‘To my husband, Emperor Dharma Yudhisthir, and his brothers,’ Panchali replied, tightening the last knot in the bundle.
More questions spun inside Uttara’s head, but Partha said, ‘Ready? Let’s go.’
‘Where?’ Uttara asked.
‘You and I are going to face my cousins. Panchali is going to get us help.’
‘I am?’ Panchali did not look pleased at the prospect.
‘You have to, Panchali. You need to let Govinda know what has happened here, where we are, and what is going on. Get out of Matsya. Find him, find your brothers. Bring them back here before it is too late.’
Panchali stood where she was, frowning.
‘There is a way…’ Uttara offered. ‘There’s an path up the across the plains from the old riverbed. My uncle ordered it destroyed, but it can still be used…if one is careful. I’ve used it myself. Head due south-east from the marker beyond the palace. You won’t be able to keep a straight line, because it will run through the marketplace and the dwellings beyond, but once you are out of the city you can follow the stars. I can get you to a horse, and you should be able to reach the cliff before dawn.’
‘What about the two of you?’
Partha replied, ‘We will need a horse and a rig. If we ride out now, and then rest for a while, the two of us should be able to meet Syoddhan’s armies by first light. They are holding their position just west of the city. It’s a good position – they will stand between the city and the returning armies, if needed.’
‘A siege?’ Uttara said.
‘In time, yes.’
‘Two of you can’t fight an army by yourselves. What are you thinking of, Partha?’
‘I’m thinking of challenging Syoddhan to single combat, Panchali. He and whoever else might be willing to fight. I can’t defeat them all at the same time. But one by one…’ He smiled, though it was not one filled with mirth. ‘If we create multiple obstacles – first me, then the city guards – it may hold back Syoddhan’s forces for long enough. It will only be a few days before the Chief and his men return. We need to hold out till that time.’
Panchali said, ‘No, Partha. This is wrong. Not your plan, but that she is a part of it.’ She turned to Uttara. ‘You go. I’ll ride with him.’
Partha was about to protest, but Uttara cut in. ‘No, Panchali. I might get out of Matsya, but I wouldn’t know what to do next. I’ve never been too far from our borders, and I certainly have no idea how to find Govinda Shauri…or your brothers. Besides, I think it is a matter of honour that at least one Matsya soldier stand before Syoddhan. Else, my father will die of shame! Go. Brihannala here is enough to entertain me.’
Realizing that protest was futile, Panchali agreed. Less than half a muhurtta later, she set off from the stables on a dark stallion that would be difficult to spot by night.
Partha watched her leave, then looked at Uttara. ‘Thank you, Princess. That was kind and brave of you.’
‘It was
sensible of me, that’s all,’ Uttara said. ‘I don’t know why you wanted her out of harm’s way, but I supposed that unless you got what you wanted you weren’t going to be in best form. And that I cannot risk, considering I want to stay alive.’ She laughed softly and added, ‘You do know there is no chance whatsoever that she will be back in time with help?’
‘Yes,’ Partha said. ‘But there is a good chance that if we hold the enemy back and make them wait, your father’s army will return. That apart, the point of sending Panchali away was to keep her safe, as you rightly guessed.’
Uttara looked amused at the confession. ‘Why?’ she asked, her eyes twinkling.
Partha caught her insinuations, but did not share her mirth. He replied with a straight face, ‘Because I owe her safety to a friend.’ Feeling inexplicably happy at the thought, Partha pulled Gandiva off his shoulder, strung the bow and tested the string. A loud, solemn note boomed through the night, travelling as echoes off the cliffs and resounding ahead till it faded in the distance. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘are you any good with chariot rigs? Think you can handle two horses?’
‘Hah!’ Uttara said as she began measuring out reins for four.
24
BALABADRA WOKE UP WITH A START. BREATHING HARD, HE SAT in his makeshift bed and looked around. Their campfire, small and hidden from view by a pile of stones, was smouldering but had not yet gone out. The night was quiet, the air, cool, and little appeared amiss other than the fact that the makeshift bed next to his was empty. As his eyes got used to the darkness he could make out the dark shape of a man setting on a rock at the cliff’s edge. With a weary groan, Balabadra got out of his warm bed and made his way over.
‘Can’t sleep, Govinda?’
Govinda turned to look at his brother and shook his head. ‘I thought I heard….’
‘Hmm?’
‘Gandiva. I thought I heard Gandiva.’
Balabadra sighed. ‘Wishful thinking?’
A voice called out from behind them, ‘Wishful indeed. You can hear an absent Gandiva, but neither you nor your watch could see this ambush coming, could you?’ At the sound of the voice, the rest of the men sleeping around the campfire rose to their feet, swords drawn.
Shikandin laughed at the sight, though not unkindly, as he and Dhrstyadymn stepped out of the nearby thicket and on to the rocky ground of the campsite. ‘Oh please! A little too late for that, don’t you think? Whatever happened to the Yadu hunters’ instinct? Or has your inner gwala taken over?’
‘Considering the inner gwala of this Yadu hunter has an arrow aimed at your head, you ought to be a little more polite in your greeting.’
Both Shikandin and Govinda turned to look at the new speaker, who swung down lithely from a tree, and then at each other. Shikandin said, mock disappointment lacing his voice, ‘By Hara, we weren’t like this, were we?’
‘We had better lines,’ Govinda said. ‘This boy thinks he’s in a play at a village fair.’
At that the company burst out laughing. Yuyudhana, still bleary-eyed from having been woken up, but delighted to see Shikandin and Dhrstyadymn stepped forward to greet the brothers with vigorous embraces. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, my friends.’
‘You can say that again,’ Shikandin replied.
‘How did you get here?’
In response, Shikandin pointed to the dim outline of a lone eagle perched on a rock nearby.
‘I didn’t send you a message,’ Govinda protested.
‘No, but Subadra did. We were heading for Dwaraka, but our feathered friend found us on the way. Anyway,’ Shikandin gestured to Govinda’s whiplash wounds, ‘what happened to you? You look like you mated with a spiked sea-creature.’
Dhrstyadymn screwed up his face in disgust. ‘Why the sudden references to mating with different animals, brother?’
It was Govinda who replied, ‘It means Shikandin has been spending a lot of time with old friends.’ As Dhrstyadymn started, he explained, ‘These are turns of phrases unique to their tribes. How is she, Shikandin? And that brother of hers – Sthuna? Does he still sing as well as he used to?’
‘She’s dead, Govinda. And there hasn’t been much cause for Sthuna to sing of late.’
‘I…’ Govinda struggled for words. Giving up, he squeezed Shikandin’s shoulder. With a deep breath, he declared, ‘I’m tired, Shikandin. I’m tired of losing those we love. I’m tired of hiding the pain and pretending to surrender to a greater cause. I’m tired of fighting battles for others. One last fight, one last plan, and I’m done.’
Shikandin said, ‘Let’s get Panchali out of there and go home. But first, there is someone I’m eager to meet.’
‘Abhimanyu,’ Govinda called out. The young man standing by the tree came forward.
Shikandin let out a low whistle, even as Dhrstyadymn gasped.
‘Now, my friends,’ Govinda cautioned. ‘You don’t want to say anything about his resemblance to me. He hates it!’
‘Who in Rudra’s name said he looks anything like you, Govinda?’ Shikandin said. ‘This man has Subadra written all over him. He has her eyes.’
Abhimanyu looked at Shikandin with newfound curiosity. It served to remind him of his manners, and he bowed to the two brothers and greeted them respectfully. Then he straightened up and said, ‘Well, what now? Reunions are all very well, but I prefer either sleep or strategizing to sentimentality.’
‘And there the resemblance to Subadra ends and Pradymna’s influence begins,’ Govinda affectionately complained. ‘But he has a point. Since it is less than a muhurrta to dawn, I suggest we decide on the next plan of action.’
Dhrstyadymn said, ‘The plan of action is simple. We go into Matsya. We get Panchali. We come back out.’
‘Except for one problem,’ Balabadra pointed out.
‘Which is?’
‘That,’ he pointed over the cliffside into the gorge that lay far below.
‘The pass?’
‘No, what’s in it. More soldiers than it can hold, Dhrstyadymn. Syoddhan is here with his entire army, as well as Vasusena and Asvattama’s men. How do you suggest we get past that?’
Shikandin threw himself down and stretched out on the ground. He said, ‘By waiting till the inevitable happens.’
‘And that is?’
‘After an expected and rather jaded dramatic pause, Commander Govinda Shauri will tell us there is another way.’
They turned in unison to look at Govinda. He shrugged.
‘Well?’ Balabadra urged, with learned impatience.
‘What can I say?’ Govinda replied. ‘There is another way…’
25
‘AGRAJA…’
The voice that called out to him was a familiar one, yet Dharma Yudhisthir knew he had not heard it in years.
A dream, he noted, and himself an observer suspended between the waking world and the one inside his mind. A memory flashed within the dream – his grandfather teaching him how to let the conscious self retreat into sleep so that one’s inner voice would speak, revealing truths that remained hidden in daylight. Except, Dharma did not know what it was that he had sought out his inner voice for.
‘Agraja!’
This time, the voice was urgent. In his vision, Dharma turned with a tired sigh to face the speaker. ‘What is it, Syoddhan?’
‘Agraja, you must come at once. Bhim and Dussasan…’
‘They are fighting again? By Hara, these boys… What is it now?’
‘Something about nothing, as usual. Bhim called my father a blind snake and Dussasan called yours a spineless coward…’
‘That’s all? And they’re fighting over this?’
‘Well…’ Syoddhan looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Their choice of words wasn’t as mild as mine. But please, Agraja, come with me. Bhim won’t listen to anyone but you.’
‘Bhim is your younger brother too, Syoddhan. He ought to respect you.’
‘Hah! I can’t get Dussasan to respect me or listen to me. Bhim is a far cr
y from that lout. One day my brothers will be the death of me. Yours will be your strength. I’d give you my crown, my throne, any day if I could have brothers like yours.’
Dharma laughed, restrained and adult-like, even in youth. ‘That is destiny, Syoddhan. Yours is the throne, and mine is the means to rule.’
‘Then, perhaps, the throne too should be yours. All I can do with it is what my father already does – sit on it just so that it does not fall into the wrong hands. I often wonder what I am, a warrior or a sentry.’
‘Dear brother, you have no idea what a noble function that is. There are only two things worth guarding in the world – uncorrupted good and undiluted evil. Good is a great power, and it must be preserved and passed on. As for evil…’
Syoddhan’s unlined boyhood face lit up in a way few ever saw. ‘Dharma Yudhisthir, wise beyond wisdom and mysterious as an elephant’s backside. You’ve got my attention, Agraja, so I shall ask: Why would anyone guard evil?’
Dharma threw his arm around Syoddhan’s shoulder, pulling him into a fraternal embrace as they began walking. ‘Because, my dear crown-prince-who-knows-the-answer-but-is-too-lazy-to-explain-it, evil must be guarded if only to keep it out of the wrong hands.’
‘In that case, we’d better hurry. Dussasan may or may not be undiluted evil, but right now Bhim’s hands are certainly the wrong ones!’
The dream continued, a garbled version of true memory. Dharma the observer found himself getting impatient: Why am I here? What’s in this dream? His mind protested, watching himself observe a young but still powerful Bhim beating his cousin Dussasana to near-death.
‘Patience!’ The voice that now counselled Dharma came not from memory but from imagination. It was a voice he had always longed to hear.
Grandfather, the observer called out, as Dwaipayana took form in his dream.
‘You promised me, Dharma. You said you wouldn’t let me down. I told you after your coronation that it did not matter how you had become Emperor. What mattered was why you were on the throne. Your rule was the beginning of a new era. I chose you over Syoddhan for that reason alone. But you…look what you’ve done.’
The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 Page 33
