The Aryavarta Chronicles Book 03: Kurukshetra

by Krishna Udayasankar

  Sukadeva Vasishta Varuni. The future Vyasa of the Firstborn.

  Suka’s father, the former Vyasa, Krishna Dwaipayana, had been a prominent feature of Aryavarta’s politics as well as the personal history of the Kurus. But there had been more to that history, a fact that few had known – Dwaipayana, the one destined to lead the Firstborn to their greatest heights, was born of a Firewright womb. Satyavati, the Kuru queen and Dwaipayana’s mother, had been born Princess of Matsya, a land that had once been home to the Wrights.

  These complex considerations had influenced Dwaipayana and, in turn, his direction of Aryavarta’s moral fabric. For his part, Govinda had never hesitated to twist those strands to his own ends. Suka, however, was spun of a different thread altogether. As far as Aryavarta was concerned, Suka remained a relatively unknown entity. A tall, handsome man who bore an uncanny resemblance to his famed grandfather, but none at all to the dark, diminutive Dwaipayana, he was to be seen occasionally at rituals and yagna-sacrifices as part of the large group of scholar-priests always by Dwaipayana’s side. He hardly spoke, and if at all he did it was in restrained tones that suggested a perpetual sense of being an imposition upon the moment. No one noticed him. No one bothered with him. He came and went as he wished, did as he wished, for no one stopped to think that he might wish anything at all.

  The thought of Suka made Govinda stop in his tracks. He took a deep breath of the crisp morning air. He was not a man who lacked courage, but neither was he foolish enough to not know fear when it was due. The idea of having Suka for an enemy made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. What needs be done must be done. It matters not who stands with me and who stands against me. It doesn’t matter whether I succeed or fail. All that matters now…

  He pushed all thought aside as he arrived at Dharma’s chambers. The solitary attendant let him in without a word, the act indicating that he was expected. Govinda entered.

  Dharma Yudhisthir looked as an emperor ought to. Even in solitude, he sat proud and erect on a cushioned chair as though it were a throne. He had a clean, sharp face that was more refined than rugged, and the wrinkles that time had etched in were thoughtfully placed, as though to suggest wisdom and kindness rather than age and exhaustion. He was reasonably tall, but lacked the broad shoulders and thick chest common to the Kurus and clearly visible in his cousin, Syoddhan, and where Syoddhan radiated energy and vigour, Dharma was the epitome of quiet certitude. One is the perfect emperor for war, the other just what we needed in times of peace, Govinda noted, wondering at the same time whether he had made the wrong choice decades ago. It had seemed to be the best option then, but now…

  Don’t, he chastised himself. This is not about you, your decisions, your actions any more. This is far bigger than any of us. Syoddhan and Dharma are but two halves of a whole. It is that whole you question, not its parts.

  As Govinda neared the seated Dharma, the former emperor sighed and looked up. ‘So…’ he said. ‘It appears that Syoddhan was not easily convinced, was he? And now you have no choice but to make do with me, as you did years ago when you made me Emperor.’

  Govinda walked over to where a wrought iron jar filled with spiced wine was set out, along with matching goblets carved in the same intricate patterns. He poured himself some wine before sitting down in a chair made of the same metal. He took a sip from the goblet, enjoying the way the liquid slid down his throat and into his veins, warm and soothing, and said, ‘Your empire was supposed to be the foundation of peace and prosperity.’

  ‘Hah! Peace! Prosperity! You say those words like they have some magical power, the ability to set everything right. But they didn’t. How could a weak empire be a peaceful empire? It was nothing more than an empire of consensus, Govinda. An empire led by a weak emperor. That is why you chose me, is it not?’

  ‘Is that what you thought? You thought yourself weak?’

  ‘Didn’t everyone?’

  ‘Not I, Dharma. In retrospect, I should have been more forthcoming about it. I saw strength, the power of people bound by reason, the only kind of strength that matters. I saw an emperor who would place righteousness and the interests of the people before himself.’

  ‘Then…’ Dharma let his confusion show. ‘What happened to you, Govinda? All these years? And now? Things are not the same between us. You are not the same. I know what I did was… Well, that Govinda Shauri had no thirst for blood.’

  ‘I haven’t changed, Dharma. I wanted peace then, why would I not want it now?’

  ‘That is not what you declared at Hastina. What you said there is no rumour.’

  ‘Then you know war was declared in your name. That implies your assent.’

  ‘What made you think I’d go to war?’ Dharma asked.

  Govinda settled back against some cushions and reached out to take another long sip of his wine before saying, ‘What makes you think I’d go to war, Dharma?’

  ‘A feint then?’

  ‘A feint. Syoddhan doesn’t want war any more than we do; no one does. We just need to play this along till such time as we get what we want: an admission that…’ he trailed off.

  Dharma smiled. ‘An admission that denies me the authority that I believe was rightfully mine; mine by destiny and divine will. That I may not have used it in a manner you approve of cannot change the fact that I had the right and the power to do what I did. But you would have me deny it, and you would have me opppose my kinsmen, the very people who share my beliefs.’

  ‘Will you?’ Govinda asked, his voice guttural as he threw his head back to empty the goblet.

  ‘Why should I? Why would you want me to, if you believed what I did was wrong.’

  ‘Because to let it stand unquestioned would be worse. You did exceed your authority. But that is no excuse for Syoddhan to assume your role. Aryavarta was built as an alliance of nations, an empire of freedom and free will. It is for the leaders of this alliance, the willing vassals and tributaries to decide whether you ought to remain Emperor, and if not, who ought to be Emperor in your stead. At the very least, calling the rest of Aryavarta to arms will show us what they truly think.’

  ‘And if the vassals are divided in their opinion? If they do not agree to support us? Already the Yadus have chosen to side with Syoddhan. Vasusena, Asvattama and their vassals are a given for him too. King Dhrupad’s allegiance to us, our spies report, is suspect, and I am inclined to agree. The very same Dhrstyadymn who rejoiced to see me take the throne of Matsya now refuses to respond to our messages, yet he gathers his forces at Kampilya. If the Panchalas stand against us, it not only questions the legitimacy of our cause but also leaves us severely outmatched in diplomatic and martial terms.’

  ‘That is a risk we must take. One that I shall do my best to counter. But I make no promises and would not have you believe otherwise.’

  ‘And that is why I say you’re a different man. Where are your reassurances, your confident assertions? Where is the man who always has a plan?’

  Govinda twirled the empty goblet in his hand. His eyes remained on it as he said, ‘I told you that I saw an emperor who would place righteousness and the interests of the people before himself. By that assessment, I still stand. As for the man with a plan… He is asking his emperor to step forth and do what is needed for the people. Will you?’

  ‘Yes, I will.’ Dharma was resolute. He said, ‘I have made mistakes, Govinda. Just not the kind you think I did. And I want the chance to set things right, to do my duty. I failed to protect evil from itself, but I shall not make that error again. I cannot risk that my obvious love of peace becomes cause for strife. If I do not stand firm against Syoddhan, who knows what ancient horrors, what forgotten Wright weapons the various kingdoms pull out from hidden coffers, either to please or to defy him. You may think Dwaipayana Vyasa – my grandfather and the greatest ever Firstborn scholar – kept the truth of his mother’s identity hidden out of shame, but I tell you this: He kept it hidden because he knew evil had to be guarded from itself. The fact t
hat he was born of a Firewright womb was not a blight but a weapon, and a powerful one in the hands of those who would wield it.’

  ‘Like your cousin Syoddhan?’ Govinda prompted.

  ‘Like many men who would taint his intentions with their advice,’ Dharma said. ‘Now that you have shattered the former Vyasa’s secret, who is to be the conscience-keeper of Aryavarta? Even as we speak, I am sure that Vasusena, Jayadrath, and many others search nook and cranny of the realm for the famed final creation of the Firewrights – the Naga-astra. Who can now hold them back? Certainly not the Firstborn! As for Grandsire Bhisma, Acharya Dron – these men are bound by their oaths of allegiance, the very Divine Order that Syoddhan and his cronies now threaten. They are slaves to their own nobility, and I do not hold it against them. But I…I am not beholden to Syoddhan, or to anyone else. If anyone stands against him, it must be me.’

  ‘I understand, Dharma.’

  ‘Be sure that you do, Govinda. I will agree with what you say, for the present, because I see the reasoning behind what you propose. Remember though that even the best of intentions can’t be without limitations. We will follow your plan, for as long as we can. But the one thing we shall not do is go to war.’

  Govinda stood up and carefully stretched his arms above his head, at the same time stifling a yawn. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t. It is only in street corner plays and bards’ songs that wars are fought on battlefields as soon as they are declared. In reality, it takes a long time to prepare for them. Much happens before that, and that is often a war in its own right.’

  ‘What do you mean?’’

  ‘Wars cost money, Dharma. Wars take soldiers, weapons, horses and various other arrangements that you are only too familiar with. But what you might not know, given your royal birth, is that eventually men, money and materials, all come not from the royal palaces, but from among common citizens, the men and women who truly make up this realm, though they have no say in any of its matters. At the end of the day, though it may be Syoddhan Kauravya and Dharma Yudhisthir who meet each other in battle, the real war will be fought throughout the fifty-odd nations of Aryavarta. Taxes, rains and harvests, coffers that have been emptied or filled, old enmities and new ambitions…there are many, many things that will determine how things play out. No, Dharma, open war is a long way off, and I have no intention of letting things come to that.’

  ‘You finally sound more like yourself, Govinda,’ said Dharma. ‘But how can you be so sure? How can you be sure that there remains room for bargain?’

  ‘Because that is how the system of vassal allegiance works. I believe it is called Divine Order.’ Before Dharma could respond to the obvious sarcasm, Govinda was striding towards the door. He called out over his shoulder, ‘Now sleep, you look like you need it.’

  Dharma’s response was a motionless silence that could have meant acquiescence. Govinda, however, had no doubt that his last advice would go unheeded.

  8

  ‘OH-OH!’ ABHIMANYU YELPED AND JUMPED BACK AS A HARD ELBOW dug into the side of his stomach. He could not see his attacker’s face clearly in the dim light of the wick lamp, but then he did not have to. ‘What was that for?’ he hissed, his eyes gradually getting used to the near darkness of the tunnel he was in after the brightness of the room he had been peeking into through a spy-hole.

  ‘That,’ Uttara Vairati replied, ‘was for not keeping your bony knee to yourself!’

  Abhimanyu thought to argue about how it was her fault for not letting him peer through the peephole at what was going on in Dharma Yudhisthir’s room, but he decided on another ploy. ‘How do you know,’ he teased, ‘that it was my knee that you felt?’ He let the implications hang in the air, relishing what he imagined was a look of disgust on Uttara’s face.

  ‘You’d better hope it was, because this would hurt a lot more… elsewhere.’ She landed a hard kick with the heel of her foot on Abhimanyu’s left knee, making him yell as his leg buckled under.

  ‘Why you…’ He grabbed out, trying to remain standing by holding on to her, but was successful only in making her lose her balance.

  ‘The lamp! The lamp!’ Uttara warned as they both toppled over, but it was too late. The small wick lamp, chosen over a more resilient torch for its discreet light, hit the ground and immediately went out.

  ‘Oh, well done!’ Abhimanyu complained before Uttara could turn on him. She ignored him and began to feel her way to the wall to her right. ‘Stay as you are,’ she instructed. ‘If we can figure out which wall the keyhole was on, then we can align ourselves and feel our way back to the entrance. The passage is narrow, so we can…’

  Her hand landed on the bare skin of Abhimanyu’s taut abdomen, and he groaned with pretended excitement. ‘Oh, don’t stop!’ he added for effect.

  Uttara pulled her hand back, muttering indistinct words about slapping his face if only she could find it in the dark.

  ‘You’re rolling your eyes at me, aren’t you? I know you’re rolling your eyes!’ Abhimanyu baited her, knowing full well she had little patience with what she considered excessive and dramatic displays of emotion.

  ‘Vathu! Shut up!’ Uttara finally said, and returned to the task of feeling around, a little more cautiously, for the wall that had been in front of her. Despite her instructions to the contrary, Abhimanyu stood up and she could feel the warm skin of his arm brush hers as he did so. This time, Uttara did not complain. She knew Abhimanyu’s touch had not been intentional.

  Both she and Abhimanyu had submitted to their marriage to each other given the political importance of the alliance it forged between the Confederacy of Matsya and the Kingdom of Western Kuru, to the extent that the exiled Emperor Dharma Yudhisthir could still be called king. Also, the wedding had been an important element of Govinda Shauri’s plans to reestablish Dharma as Emperor of Aryavarta, or so Panchali had explained. Uttara had agreed, but not without anger, and certainly not without condition. As far as the world, the political audience for whose benefit this arrangement had been proposed, would know, she and Abhimanyu would appear blissfully wedded. But between them, there would be nothing, not even friendship or civility. And so the young couple endured each other’s company in public with smiling faces, all the while exchanging jibes under their breath and letting out sighs of relief when the ceremonies were over.

  Despite the understanding between them, Uttara had arrived in her rooms on their wedding night to find Abhimanyu there. She had been livid and far from restrained in her response to him.

  In response, for the first and last time in the months that she had known him, Abhimanyu had also shown open rage. ‘You think I wanted this? You think I like this? Did you ever bother, Princess, to consider that I too had plans for my life, that maybe I loved another woman and wanted to marry her? By Rudra! I thought you were a different kind of person, but you…you’re just another self-obsessed, spoilt royal brat!’

  Uttara had hoped that the dispute would be enough to make him leave her rooms, but was shocked as he had proceeded to make himself comfortable on her bed. ‘What? Did you want this side?’ he had asked when she had glared at him, but then had turned over and gone to sleep without waiting for her answer.

  The next morning, to Uttara’s amazement, Abhimanyu had apologized for his choice of words to her, but not his actions. She had felt compelled to reciprocate in kind. After that the two of them had tried to meet as little as possible and to altogether avoid speaking to each other. It had taken the fiery couple only a week to their next argument, after which both of them realized that it was easier to maintain snide interactions than it was to not acknowledge each other at all. Thus, a new routine had set in, which had turned out to be not at all unpleasant. Whatever graces Abhimanyu may or may not have had, Uttara had to admit that he did not lack humour and, despite his constant complaint that Uttara was unduly opinionated, Abhimanyu found her to be a most sporting companion, who could hold her own against him in every way. Still, their relationship was far from amiable
and, standing close together in the tunnel, Uttara wondered – as she suspected Abhimanyu did too – whether outright hostility had not been preferable. One of the advantages of anger, she realized in retrospect, was that it had blinded her to the fact that Abhimanyu was an exceptionally attractive man.

  Abhimanyu lacked the burly frame of both the Kuru and Yadu clans, and took his height and build from his maternal uncle Govinda. His features, however, were his mother Subadra’s. He had her golden skin, her large doe eyes fringed with long lashes and, Uttara suspected, he had also had Subadra’s rounded face till manhood had chiselled his jaw into strong, determined lines. A child of the turbulent times his family had faced, Abhimanyu had been relentlessly trained by Govinda and his son Pradymna, and had a strong body to show for it.

  It was not, Uttara reasoned with herself, that she had not encountered handsome men before, nor had they failed to tell her what she already knew – that she was not lacking in beauty. But there was an allure about Abhimanyu that stirred her attention, and she knew that he felt the same way about her. She had seen him struggle with himself, caught between discretion and brazenness when he looked at her. A part of him also struggled with the seeming redundancy of finding her attractive, given their animosity towards each other. Yet, when she and Abhimanyu were together in public, it was not too difficult to regard each other with what onlookers would interpret as affection and desire.

  To all impressions, the two of them made the perfect pair. If it were not for the circumstances of their wedding, Uttara suspected, she and Abhimanyu could have been friends. In fact, she noted, they were friends enough to have decided to eavesdrop on Dharma and Govinda’s conversation by means of the secret passages in Chief Virat’s palace, all of which she knew like the back of her hand.

  ‘What’s the matter? Can’t find another excuse to get your hands on me?’ Abhimanyu said.

  Immediately, Uttara regretted the instant of goodwill she had felt. Glaring at him, though the action was wasted in the dark, she said, ‘This way.’ She began walking towards the doorway to the tunnel, hands on the walls on either side for a sense of direction. She did not stop to check, but knew Abhimanyu was behind her.