When Govinda had finally emerged from his well of despair, the Secret Keeper had rejoiced at the return of one of the finest minds Aryavarta had seen through the ages. But the Govinda he met then was a different man – different and dangerous. Govinda retained his acumen, no doubt, but no longer had either the Firewrights’ dispassion to use it objectively or any concern for the less efficient but nevertheless useful notions of duty and destiny that the Firstborn held dear.
Rebel.
Many times had that name been used for Govinda Shauri, but never before had he so deserved it nor would so many pay the price for his self-indulgence.
The Secret Keeper thought immediately of Philista and her suffering. A pang of pity came with the memory, and went just as quickly as his mind moved on to the words she had spoken about him. The opinion she had expressed of him had come as a shock, more so than the fact that despite all the torture she had endured she had taken the secret of his identity to her pyre. Or perhaps, he wondered, she had truly not known his identity, in which case her courage in the face of death was all the more laudable. As for the momentous things that had happened soon after – from Bhisma’s unequivocal declaration of his allegiance to Syoddhan, and Govinda’s dramatic assertions in the assembly hall – they had all gone as expected.
The events, however, gave the Secret Keeper less satisfaction than they ought to have. With a sigh, he admitted to himself that he was disappointed, not with the outcomes in themselves, but with Govinda Shauri. Once, he had reckoned Govinda amongst his dearest friends and strongest allies. Now, not only was Govinda the enemy, he seemed to have become a most predictable and malleable man. Indr-prastha, he mused. What an obvious and indisputable goal! But then, it was inevitable. The more a man thought he dealt in intrigue, the more predictable he became. Govinda was no exception.
Nor was Sanjaya.
The Secret Keeper had known that it was but a matter of time before Sanjaya had begun to suspect Suka’s declared motives, and not without cause. Suka’s words to him contained enough that Sanjaya could construe as a promise, while Suka could deny that he had meant it that way. But the words had had their intended effect: Sanjaya believed that Suka would make him Emperor of Aryavarta. To Sanjaya, no true scholar could make a false promise, but at the same time he knew that no true scholar would ever sanction wanton destruction and war. His attempts to grapple with the consequent logical contradiction made Sanjaya’s actions foreseeable beyond doubt. And so…
The Secret Keeper decisively set his mind on the next move, though not without a trace of tiredness. Stay focussed, he told himself firmly. Don’t confuse others’ goals with your own. Remember why you do what you do. Remember what it is you want. The caution sounded in his mind in a voice that was his own but not quite, for he recognized it immediately as being Ghora Angirasa’s.
The question that followed was his own: But what do I want?
This time, his teacher’s voice rang clear: Time. All you need is time. You must fulfil the task that was left to you. War and peace are fleeting, kingdoms and empires are transient. Only one thing endures. Knowledge. It is true power.
‘It is power, indeed,’ the Secret Keeper said out loud as he walked into the stone-lined room startling Vaishampayana, the Firstborn scholar who sat hunched over a bundle of palm leaves, squinting in the dark confines despite the wick lamp set before him.
Vaishampayana smiled, understanding his fellow scholar’s unstated words, for they were spoken often by those who frequented the space they now occupied – the small, deceptively bare entrance chamber to the great library of Hastina. Even a daily visitor was, every now and then, moved by the import of what lay beyond the simple wooden doors at the other end of the room, and the Secret Keeper – though Vaishampayana did not know him to be such – was no exception.
‘Welcome, Acharya,’ Vaishampayana said, standing up to greet one of his four colleagues, the men to whom Dwaipayana Vyasa had left the task of compiling his books of knowledge.
The Secret Keeper returned the greeting, relishing the joy their shared charge brought. Such moments brought him immense enjoyment at being one of the Firstborn who served the all-important function of providing spiritual, moral and thus the appropriate material counsel to the entire population of Aryavarta. But more than the scholar-seers themselves, it was the nature of the counsel they provided that was of utmost value: allegiance to the Divine Order, allegiance to the precepts of the Vedas – the books of knowledge to which three generations of Vyasas had given corporeal form and allegiance to the hierarchy of Aryavarta. And so it was that he had divided, and thus made peace with, his identity. He was one of the Firstborn to all outwards appearances and yet completely the Secret Keeper of the Firewrights in his mind, the duality so seamless that it did not bother him that he claimed either affiliation.
The truth of the matter, however, was more complicated – a truth he did not dare admit: that to deny one also made him lose his claim to the other. At the thought, a shiver coursed through his body, as though something utterly cold had melted into him. Shrugging it off, he passed into the main chamber of the library. The scribe in the entrance chamber shut the door behind him.
The Secret Keeper stood still, trying to centre himself, to empty and thus calm his mind as he relished the dim light and solitude of his surroundings. Later, he would blame the darkness for his failure to notice that he was not alone, but at that instant he let his surprise get the better of him and blurted out, ‘What are you doing here?’
It was a weak statement, all the more so given the man to whom it was addressed. Asvattama Bharadvaja curled his lips in a snide manner that could be called a smile and said, ‘Why? Am I not allowed to be here?’ He carefully placed the parchment he had been reading back into its receptacle on the wall and turned to face the other man.
The Secret Keeper recovered quickly. ‘Do trivialities like “allowed” and “ought to” matter to you, Asvattama? I was under the impression that you were master of your own will.’
‘Surely, as men loyal to the Firstborn, both you and I know that Divine Will is paramount and brought into force through Divine Order. “Allowed” and “ought to” have their place in that system, do they not?’
The Secret Keeper did not miss the emphasis on his loyalty to the Firstborn. He knew that Asvattama meant to provoke him with the words, though he wondered to what end. A possibility was considered, then dismissed. No, he does not mean me; he cannot mean me. There is no way he could know who I truly am. He thinks me to be Firstborn, through and through.
‘Well, Acharya, what would you rather have? Divine Order on earth? Or your precious library to yourself?’ Asvattama prompted.
‘As a matter of fact, Asvattama, I’d hoped to speak to you today. It is fortunate that I find you here.’
‘What could possibly be there for us to speak about?’
‘You do serve the Vyasa faithfully, do you not?’
‘Am I to understand that you now speak for him?’ Asvattama asked.
‘Do you doubt that I speak for the Firstborn?’ he snapped. ‘When Sanjaya brought you instructions, you never stopped to question whether they had truly come from the Vyasa’s person, or from elsewhere.’
‘I believed that my loyalty lay in obedience. It was for the Vyasa to ensure the integrity of his instructions.’
‘Aah. Then it had nothing to do with the fact that the Vyasa’s instructions often served your own purposes? For example, when you were sent to kill the last of the Firewrights or discover their lost secrets?’
‘What if they did? I assumed that a man as wise as Acharya Dwaipayana would think it best to assign tasks to those most motivated to execute them. That I may have benefitted from my actions does not change the fact that it was all done on the Vyasa’s command.’
The Secret Keeper said, ‘I am glad you think so. Then you should have no hesitation in doing what the Vyasas – I refer here to Markand and to Veda-Vyasa Dwaipayana – wish you to do.’
The point was made. Asvattama said, ‘Well then? What instructions do you have for me?’
‘War seems inevitable.’
‘Does it? Syoddhan is clearly reluctant to march against his brothers.’
‘His personal feelings cannot overrule his duty. He knows that. Just as he refused to return Indr-prastha to Dharma Yudhisthir, he will go to war to protect and preserve our way of life.’
It was now that Asvattama showed the first trace of hesitation. ‘It doesn’t have to come to war. The Vyasa can…’
The Secret Keeper was stern. ‘The Vyasa knows what he is doing. His duty. You need to concentrate on yours.’
Asvattama took a step forward, as though to show he would not be dominated. ‘What you want, and what the Vyasas want, are your problems. If Syoddhan asks me what I think of war, I will tell him exactly what I think. You cannot make me lie to him, nor can you make me change my opinion.’
The Secret Keeper raised his hands in a placating gesture. ‘You need do neither. By the time Syoddhan comes to you, he will have already decided in favour of war. Neither you nor I need trouble our consciences over that, for it is not we who will lead him there.’
‘So, we do not lie, but we also do not refute another’s lie because it serves our purposes. How clever,’ Asvattama observed.
‘What’s new? Isn’t that how it has always been done?’
‘And you are comfortable with that assertion? Can you tell me now, without ambiguity, that war is indeed in the best interests of Aryavarta?’
‘It is not my place to decide these matters. I follow the commands of my superiors. As a man of ochre I can set your conscience at rest but not your political curiosity.’
‘Please don’t insult my intelligence, Acharya, just as I shall not insult yours by saying that war is not to your benefit, or the benefit of those you represent. Clearly, there are interests here to be advanced and protected, and the possibility of war helps you do that. As to the extent of your involvement – as I said earlier, it is not for me to question the integrity of the Vyasa’s instructions. But you are yet to convey them, and I don’t have all day to wait for you to get to the point. What is it you want from me?’
The Secret Keeper hid his satisfaction well. ‘I want your promise that you will side with Syoddhan no matter what lies ahead.’
Asvattama was visibly stunned by the request, and a little gratified. ‘I thank you for your faith in me, Acharya – or the Vyasa’s faith, as it were. But such a promise is redundant. I owe Syoddhan my allegiance and will serve him as best I can, promise or no promise.’
‘That’s not enough.’
‘Not enough? What do you want of me, Acharya? How much more blood will it take before you…’
‘Please, Your Highness,’ the Secret Keeper was earnest. ‘Please, for a moment, let us put aside our cynicism and egos, the burden of our duties, and speak as ordinary men. Whether you see it or not, whether you admit it or not, it is the best interests of Aryavarta that I hold in mind, as do the two Vyasas included. You may not agree with their actions, or mine, but please do not doubt our intent. Truly, I am not a bad man.’
Asvattama’s gaze was cold and unflinching. He said, ‘No. Not a bad man. Just a man obsessed with the ends, no matter what the means.’ He brushed disdainfully past the Secret Keeper and began walking towards the doorway.
‘Asvattama…’
‘I’ll do as you say, Acharya.’
‘You will.’
The Secret Keeper’s tone made the warrior stop and turn. The scholar smiled, satisfied. He held out his hand, the single grey feather that lay on his open palm making his slender fingers look longer still. ‘The two Vyasas must not be disturbed. The task of codifying the knowledge of Aryavarta into the Vedas, the books of knowledge, is at a critical juncture. It would not serve any purpose to distract the Firstborn Elders with these mundane happenings. For any messages you may wish sent to them, I am here. There will be no need for pigeons.’
‘In that case, perhaps you would be kind enough to convey a message to the elders since I no longer have the means of doing so?’
‘Yes…?’
‘Govinda Shauri has ridden out from Upaplavya. And my spies report that the newly-wedded couple has recently returned from a journey, ostensibly to some place of worship. The details of their travels are known to few, even in Virat’s inner circles.’
‘Hmm. I’d expected the first. The second piece of information, though unexpected, does not sound troubling. I suspect Govinda has been sending his trusted people out to barter with possible allies. But Abhimanyu and Uttara?’
‘I think,’ Asvattama said, ‘the more relevant question is whom he sent them to see.’
The Secret Keeper furrowed his brows, but kept his thoughts to himself. He said, ‘Let me know if you hear anything more.’
‘I leave for Indr-prastha in the morning, but I shall send word if there is anything of consequence. As for what I have just told you, you shall pass on the information…’
‘When…and if… I deem fit.’
‘I would deem it fit at the earliest, Acharya. Unless of course, in your wisdom you have expected this too. You see, I suspect that Govinda is headed towards the White Mountains. He is going to meet Dwaipayana.’
’You suspect? Or you know?’
‘Would it make a difference?’
‘No,’ the Secret Keeper admitted, ‘not really. Still…’
Asvattama said nothing, but turned and left, his gait strong with the satisfaction of knowing there was nothing further the Acharya could possibly say.
Finally, truly alone in the dim expanse, the Secret Keeper drew in a deep breath. He did not know what concerned him more at that moment: Govinda’s alleged actions, Asvattama’s lack of suspicion as to his identity, or the warrior’s assertion that he had something to gain from war being unleashed on the land. He closed his eyes as the notion taunted him, the implicit recognition of his influence stirring a heady sense of omnipotence. He could, he knew, try to stop the war. He could prevent the inevitable bloodshed and horror. All he had to do was proclaim the truth of who he was, step forth and openly declare himself the Secret Keeper of the Firewrights. Given the prevailing state of things, each and every leader, every monarch of Aryavarta, would fall over himself to swear loyalty to him. He could unite the region in peace, bind the nations of the realm together by the might of the Firewrights in a way that Govinda Shauri had never imagined. But that would mean he would have to abandon the ultimate task that had been left to him to fulfil. Surely, he reasoned, that would not matter. With the power that would be at his disposal, he could set everything right.
A new, uncanny emotion stirred in his being. It took him a while to identify it as ambition, a quality he had for so long been careful to avoid. To think that, after all these years, he had nearly succumbed to it… No! He set his resolve back in place. He had his one last duty. To reveal himself now would compromise that great undertaking, irreparably and for generations to come. Indeed, it was in the interests of future generations, of Aryavarta and beyond, that he would keep his silence, no matter what.
Letting out a heavy breath, he set aside all thoughts of the ephemeral future and focussed on the matter before him. He had to ensure that Dwaipayana received the appropriate advice, and from the right person. And there was only one person Dwaipayana would now trust: His son and heir, Sukadeva Vasishta Varuni.
19
THE BITING WIND WAS A CONSTANT FEATURE AT DWAIPAYANA’S hermitage, one that Govinda Shauri had come well-prepared for. The firm set of his shoulders under the heavy cloak was, however, in expectation of a different lack of warmth, particularly since he neither remained useful to the Firstborn elder nor was likely to be held in good esteem. After all, he had been the one to reveal the secret of Dwaipayana’s birth, thus losing his singular influence over the man. Still, Govinda knew better than to show his surprise when he was greeted without rancour by the old scholar.
‘The l
ast time you were here,’ Dwaipayana said, ‘you didn’t need cloaks and such. Is it that these mountains have grown colder, or…?’
‘I have grown older, Acharya, there is no doubt about it. I have also grown used to creature comforts and my appetite for adventure, in all its forms, wanes.’
Dwaipayana laughed. ‘“All its forms” is undoubtedly an exaggeration. Knowing you, that is…’ His mirth gave way to seriousness. ‘See, Govinda. That is the difference between you and I. You had the courage to admit you lost objectivity as soon as a deeper emotion began to rule your heart. I, on the other hand, have stuck to stubborn denial. I continue to claim objectivity, but in truth, I have let my love for my kin drive my decisions. It was a weakness I neither anticipated nor acknowledged.’
Govinda said, ‘Love can never be a weakness, Acharya. I made the mistake of thinking it was so before I was driven by great pain to realize that it was not. Without love, we would not comprehend compassion.’
Dwaipayana nodded, as though he understood. ‘Because it is in loving one that we learn to love the world…’
Govinda was gentle with his dissent. ‘That too. But it is more, Acharya. Love helps us to comprehend compassion because it helps us to understand creation; it helps us see why the Creator made us. We perceive ourselves as we were meant to be: Beings of light, capable of great things, of incessant growth… We do not need to learn to love the world, for that is what we do naturally. We only need to see ourselves for what we are. Compassion is but a word for that sense of sight.’
‘Compassion is also an aberrant word when used by one who leads thousands to war.’
‘Surely you, of all people, understand the principle that thousands of lives are a worthy sacrifice for the greater good of Aryavarta?’
‘I don’t think your war would achieve the greater good of Aryavarta. It would, in fact, break apart the very empire you built, that I encouraged you to build, for all the reasons we have discussed many times before – peace and prosperity not the least. These kinds of squabbles weaken us. Not only do they give foreign invaders a chance to attack while we are at war with each other, but also in the aftermath of such squabbles we are left with small, fragmented nations that are powerless in military terms and inefficient in economic terms.’
The Aryavarta Chronicles Book 03: Kurukshetra Page 11
