‘No, Govinda,’ she said. ‘I do not want to know. I do not need to know. I think the very fact that you have known but kept it from me, from us all, explains much. I can venture a guess, but I don’t want to. I am what I am. It is enough.’
Govinda struggled not to show emotion, though his eyes glistened, moist. ‘Panchali, I’d swear you are me and I am you. By Govardhan, it feels like I am looking into a still lake on a clear day and seeing my own reflection. If someone had heard only of my thoughts, my words and did not know who I was, and then one day they met you, they’d think you were Govinda Shauri.’
Panchali said, ‘I have no aspirations of becoming Govinda Shauri. But yes, I do aspire to the highest possible devotion anyone will have for him. Does that not deserve truth, as a reward?’
Govinda exhaled hard. ‘Then here is the truth you seek. I do not want war. I do not mean to lead us to war. Indeed, I have promised Dharma that I will do all I can to keep us from war. What I want is for all Aryavarta to see, for Dharma and Syoddhan and every man and woman who call themselves Arya to see…’
‘See what, Govinda? Two armies under the control of their respective kings? A realm at war for the very notions of hierarchy you claim you want to destroy?’
‘Oh, Panchali. How is it that you ask me such questions, when you know the one thing there is to know about me is…’
‘Govinda Shauri always has a plan,’ Panchali finished. ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see this arrogant, self-assured side of you again, Govinda, but for this silly notion that I can’t get out of my head – that you can no longer stop this war even if you want to.’
Govinda smiled. ‘I once heard your father tell you the story of Vasudeva Narayana. You will not remember that incident, but perhaps you know the story?’
‘Yes. It is said that Narayana, the Supreme Being, would never forsake Sri, the very essence of the earth.’
‘Remember that, Panchali,’ Govinda said, laying a hand on her head. ‘When I am gone, remember that…’
‘What! Why would you say something like that…?’ Panchali was alarmed.
Govinda immediately shook his head, smiling. He changed his tone, forcing evenness into it. ‘Now, it has been a long day, and it is time we both went to our respective beds. Off you go!’
Slowly, Govinda pulled his hand away from the warmth of her skin. Panchali closed her eyes as she felt his touch fade. When she opened them again, he was gone.
26
‘WHAT, IN BRAMHA’S NAME, COULD BE SO SACRED ABOUT THIS place?’ Dhrstyadymn exclaimed, running his eyes over the huge expanse of land known as Kuru’s Fields.
In the weeks it had taken them to lead the mustered men from Upaplavya to the hills they now stood on, his mood had turned dark, partly under Dharma’s influence and partly due to his own inner confusion. Now they were here, the advance teams having already set up their camp, into which the last of their allies’ soldiers now marched. All that remained was for Chief Virat’s army to arrive, and for its commanders and their personal guards to take their places in camp. The precaution of getting the soldiers to take positions first had been Dhrstyadymn’s – that way, they could avoid any traps the enemy may have set for them at Kuru’s Fields. Contrary to his expectations, there had not been any attacks on the way, nor had any fighting been required for the soldiers to take up their posts. It made him wonder if, like them, Syoddhan too intended to use war as a feint, a threat. If so, who will win this game of postures, and how? The question was but one more of the many that haunted him.
‘My ancestor, Emperor Kuru himself sanctified this earth,’ Dharma said, in answer to Dhrstyadymn’s earlier question. ‘They say, those who live after fighting here are the truly blessed.’
‘And those who die?’
‘They go to the celestial realms and are honoured amongst the ancestors.’
‘Supposedly…’ Govinda interjected.
‘After this hell, anything would feel like Indra’s realms,’ Dhrstyadymn muttered. Panchali, a constant presence in their midst, squeezed her brother’s hand in reassurance.
The battlefield, such as it was, appeared remarkably ordinary, but for the fact that both approach and retreat were possible from only two directions. The field was bound on one side by the rocky but verdant hill range that they stood on and on the other by the River Hiranvati. Both approach paths had been taken up by the two armies; the sprawling camps small against the boundlessness of the battleground. Nevertheless, there was something impressive about the immaculately ordered array of tents, equipment, animals and soldiers that filled the plains before them.
The Command Tent, the heart of Dharma Yudhisthir’s war, stood aligned with the centre of the field, though well within their camp itself. In fact, it was located inside the royal enclosure, which would house Dharma, his brothers and their close allies. Around them, the camp was arranged in blocks, along two lines. Lieutenants and seniors leaders flanked the central section on three sides, leaving it open on the side facing the battlefield. The allies’ armies, each now a division of Dharma’s grand army, had their separate campsites around this core. Each of these sites was further divided into housing for the soldiers, stables for the horses and elephants, as well as a small store and an armoury. Kitchens, too, were separate for each unit, and sometimes a single division might have two or three kitchens to feed its soldiers. This was done to reduce the risk of poisoning, whether accidental or intentional. Usually, equipment and vehicles such as supply carts, were arranged around the periphery of each camp, serving as a protective wall.
Towards the battleground, much of the campsite was left unoccupied in order to have adequate visibility and to allow the men to march out of camp quickly. Yet, it was far from unprotected. A series of small camps, comprising musicians, heralds, trumpeters and such dotted the landscape. The various commanders’ chariots were placed in between the camps in specific sequences that together formed a maze and so provided yet another line of defence. At intervals, gates, as well as guard-posts were set up. Those in charge of protecting the camp and those on sentry duty were not part of any of the divisions, but were to report directly to the Commander-in-Chief of the army – in this case, Dhrstyadymn.
Impressive as these arrangements were, it was what lay to their left and beyond that made the company breathless, though each one was loath to admit it: Dry, despite the river that flanked its southern border, and barren, despite the verdant hills they stood on, to its north, Kurukshetra was a massive tract that spread from west to east, vast enough to make most armies seem but a band of lost children. It was difficult to think of the place as a battlefield, but there was little else anyone ever called it. It had the structured appearance of an arena, but all sport played on this ground was bloody. Legend had it that long ago a lake had filled this entire region but that body of water had been lost to Firewright pride, just like the river that had once run through Matsya. No clear memory remained of the incident, and those who possibly knew enough to confirm or deny the myth were not inclined to speak of it. All that remained of both the vast lake and its tale was a small pond in the woods that bordered a minuscule part of the otherwise dreary field, a token remainder of a long-ago landscape lost against the inevitability that lay before them: A battlefield without compare and, at its far end, the enemy’s army, the size of which defied even the most fearful man’s imagination.
‘By Rudra!’ Dharma exclaimed. His voice fell to a whisper. ‘Is that really just the seven akshauhini we had expected?’
Govinda shrugged as though he had just been asked whether he thought it would rain later or not. ‘At last count, yes. Shikandin’s spies confirmed it…’
‘And we stand here with four.’
‘The same seven and four we had anticipated when we marched out of Upaplavya, Dharma. Nothing has changed.’
‘Indeed, nothing has changed, Govinda,’ Dharma said through clenched teeth. ‘Things have gone exactly as you planned, have they not? This isn’t battl
e you lead me to, nor is it peace. You want me to surrender to Syoddhan, don’t you? You want me to lose what little equanimity and respect I have found in all these years. Why? Why do you hate me so; why do you want to destroy me? Ah yes, but the answer is obvious, is it not? Truly, I cannot decide which lust of yours holds the greater sway – the one for blood or…’
‘Don’t, Dharma!’ Govinda’s voice was a malicious hiss. ‘Don’t say it. Don’t think it. That thought is the very end of the world, the fire of Pralaya itself. Once is too many times already, don’t think it again.’
Dharma stared, silent.
‘Agraja…’ Partha made to protest.
‘Vathu, Partha!’ Dharma ordered. He then glared at Panchali, defying her to retort. It was, however, Govinda’s voice that he heard in response.
‘Look to the west, Dharma,’ Govinda said. ‘Look.’
And Dharma turned to look. In the distance, above a low raincloud, rose the golden lion banner of Matsya. ‘Virat’s army. But…’ He stopped short as he began to see what Govinda wanted him to. Soldiers filled the space on the horizon, covered every foot of ground between the ravines to the north and south of the battlefield, their lines extending as far as he could see by the dim light of the sun, obstructed not by dark clouds but by the dust raised by the march of an enormous army. ‘But…’ This time, his voice held incredulity, not disdain. ‘That army must be at least two divisions strong!’
‘It is two and a half akshauhini strong, to be precise. You see, I do not bring you to a dishonourable defeat, or to surrender in shame. Nor do I lead you to war, Dharma. I bring you here to make peace on your terms. You, and only you, will decide whether we fight or not. You have my word – I will not counter your decision. But don’t ever question my honesty or my intentions again.’
Dharma refused to be cowed down. ‘Where did so many come from, Govinda?’ he asked, his brows furrowed. ‘Virat’s army were barely one akshauhini, but it has now swollen twofold and more, and I am sure you are to thank for it. Mercenaries? Killers for hire? Or just robbers and rapists to whom you’ve promised pardons? How can I not question you? How can I, in all integrity as Emperor, not ask where these soldiers come from?’
‘They come from the same place where I once came from, Your Highness. These are the farmers and stone-cutters of Matsya. The nation’s true might lies in its forges, in the strength of the men and women who work those fires, and in the strength of those who till its fields and craft and build stone. With them are those I count my brethren – the simple gwalas and farmers of Dwaraka.’
‘But… but how did these Yadus not go to Syoddhan?’
‘Ah! Every man in Dwaraka is a fighting man but not all are soldiers by profession. Most have other trades but will rally to a cause as a matter of personal choice, as will our women.’
A silence followed, a tense mixture of awe and reluctance. Eventually, Bhim said, ‘They are not enough. Syoddhan still outnumbers us two to one. They are not enough.’
‘You’ll have more soldiers in two days,’ Govinda said, without meeting his gaze. ‘About two akshauhini from Kashi and the forest realms of Panchala and Kosala. Some Nagas, too, amongst them, I expect, led by Iravan of the mountain lands. Shikandin did not want to make a promise he could not keep, but not once have I known him to fail, leave alone break his promises.’
‘But Kashi…? Don’t tell me that Sudakshin…’
‘Sudakshin fights for Syoddhan, as do his armies. But like the Queen Mother of Kashi, a large number of Sudakshin’s people, his vassal lords included, believe in virtues beyond vengeance. They fight for themselves, for something more…’ Govinda trailed off, but before any of the others could ask him to explain, he added, ‘And before you ask – Don’t worry! The Matsyans already bring arms and equipment to fit twice their numbers. The people of Kashi’s regions have weapons of their own make, too. As it stands, we have six akshauhini divisions and then some. It’s a far cry from the less-than-four we had just days ago and certainly is more respectable against Syoddhan’s seven. Dharma, you rallied kings and warriors to your cause, men bound to fight for you in the name of duty. These soldiers,’ he nodded to the approaching force, ‘are the people of Aryavarta, they are commoners, as you would call them, come to fight for simple things such as right and wrong.’
Dharma said, ‘Against the Grandsire, Acharya Dron, Asvattama… there are countless accomplished fighters in Syoddhan’s army. What is the point of pitting common folk against trained and tried warriors with astra-weapons?’
‘You told me that your duty required you not only to protect all that is good, but also to guard evil from itself. It is why you came this far, Dharma. Have you changed your mind?’
‘I haven’t changed my mind, Govinda. I just can’t help but apply it. Even a child can see that your so-called army is nothing but a mob of farmhands and fishermen.’
‘I think,’ Govinda said, smiling, ‘that you’ll find every farmhand and fisherman, each gwala, twice the soldier you’d expect him to be. You see, there is one more advantage this army of commoners has that I have yet to mention.’
‘Which is?’
‘Warriors and kings do battle for duty and ambition, even greed. But all there is to fight for in this new age is freedom, freedom from the shackles of duty, freedom from destiny and Divine Order, the hierarchy that allows an emperor to wager the lives of others with impunity – be it at battle or at dice. No, Dharma, these people have come to fight for themselves. This is revolution.’
27
VASUSENA RAN HIS EYES OVER EVERY DETAIL HE COULD MAKE OUT of the gathering mass of soldiers in the distance, from his vantage point on top of one of the hills that bound the plains of Kurukshetra. His gaze moved to the distant outline of a group of men on another peak – no doubt Dharma and his men surveying the approaching force with glee. Then he turned away, shaking his head in resignation, but his lack of comment held a clear message for Syoddhan: I told you so.
Not too long ago, Vasusena had proposed that they enroll and train those who he claimed were warriors in the own right – the guardsmen who protected each village, who safeguarded harvests and kine, and the swift and deadly hunters who inhabited the forests of Aryavarta. Of course, he had admitted, the fact remained that most of these men were not Arya by birth, but mere commoners, at best Suta-children of Arya fathers and slave or servant mothers. He had, however, argued that the time had come to admit that military prowess was its own redemption, particularly when such skill could change the course of the conflict in the offing. His eloquence had been convincing, and his example conclusive. No one could serve as a better instance for what could happen if his proposal were put into action than Vasusena himself: the son of a charioteer, and now the king of Anga and a renowned warrior.
Despite his passionate arguments, the idea had been rejected. Vasusena had then turned from arguing on principle to suggesting his recommendations be implemented as a matter of prudence. In private, he had told Syoddhan, ‘It is the only way. Do not underestimate the enemy; do not underestimate Govinda Shauri. He is not above turning to mercenaries or joining hands with some foreign power for his own purposes. And in all fairness, it is not uncommon – Jayadrath, your brother-in-law, is known to employ hired killers. Govinda is not a fool, Syoddhan. He would not march towards Indr-prastha without a plan. That is, if Indr-prastha is his true target.’
In retrospect, it turned out that Vasusena had been right on both counts. Whether or not Govinda had intended to capture Indrprastha, it was clear that he had not been taken aback by Syoddhan’s strategy of meeting the enemy head-on at Kurukshetra. That, and now this. An army of commoners. Overnight, Dharma’s forces had doubled in number, and Vasusena knew it did not lack for capable leaders. The assessment made him feel more grim, and he finally gave words to his ire. ‘I told you so,’ he said out loud.
Syoddhan ignored the rebuke, instead turning his own questioning glance to Asvattama, who shrugged. ‘You asked me how many warriors; I
told you how many warriors. To that number I hold.’
‘And if I were to ask you now: How many men? Or wait! How many fighters? Tell me that: how many fighters? I won’t have you telling me tomorrow that you did not count women, or young men, or those you considered inferior by virtue of your oversized sense of superiority. How many fighters?’
‘I’d say six akshauhini. I cannot be sure, because I do not know what numbers come in from the east. I make my estimates given the soldiers Sudakshin has already brought us…’
‘The same way you estimated the size of Virat’s forces?’ Vasusena sneered. ‘I told you we should have done what Govinda now has. We should have enlisted all able men, warriors or not!’
Asvattama hissed, ‘It was not I who opposed the idea, Vasusena. Nor was it I who feared that an army of commoners would be only too glad to carry a charioteer’s son to glory – even see him to the Imperial throne.’
‘Why you!’
‘Vathu, both of you!’ Syoddhan intervened. ‘I doubt neither of your loyalties. As for opposing the idea…both of you will remember that it was put to our entire Council of War. The Grandsire…’
Vasusena let out an instinctive snarl at the mention of Bhisma, which made Syoddhan visibly uncomfortable. ‘My friend, I…’ he began, and then turned to Asvattama for help.
Asvattama showed no hesitation. He said, in his usual scathing manner. ‘It is not what the world thinks you are that bothers the Grandsire, Vasusena. It is what a few of us know you to be that bothers him.’
‘And what am I, if not a charioteer’s son?’
The question left a lull. Vasusena sat down on a nearby boulder. Asvattama maintained his expression of snide amusement, but his eyes showed quiet sympathy. This time, it was he who pleaded silently for assistance.
The Aryavarta Chronicles Book 03: Kurukshetra Page 16
