For a moment, Partha did not understand. Then he turned his attention again to Syoddhan and realized that the other man was shouting out orders, yelling for Jayadrath to retreat.
Jayadrath!
He knew he did not have much time. Not only did Asvattama press his attack, but Partha could also sense the darkness around them thinning rapidly as the eclipse neared its end. As visibility returned, so would the enemy’s confidence. His advantage would be lost, and they would merely be a warrior and his horseman caught in the thick of enemy lines, hopelessly outnumbered.
‘Go on, Partha,’ Govinda said, this time without any trace of urgency.
Partha closed his eyes, focussing his mind on every sound around him: Syoddhan’s words that indicated that Jayadrath was moving to Asvattama’s assistance, the cadence of his horses’ hooves, and finally, the sound of Jayadrath’s voice answering Syoddhan. It was all he needed. Frowning in concentration, he fitted a wide, crescent-headed arrow to his bow. He pulled back the string and let the shaft fly. The arrow flashed high in the lightening sky, the silver-white metal striated with the reflection of the half-hidden sun and its shadow- moon before looping back down towards the earth and speeding past where he and Govinda were, barely an arm’s length away from them.
Govinda did not wait to see what happened next; he did not have to. Partha had never missed a target, and the splatter of warm blood Govinda felt on his cheek was just a solemn assurance. He heard the screams, the cries of woe as Syoddhan and the other commanders realized that the crescent-shaped arrowhead now bore a precious burden: Jayadrath’s severed head.
Before any of the commanders could think to mount a counterattack or resist their departure, Govinda began turning the horses around and urged them into a gallop. He and Partha were now weaving through the enemy’s men, the foot-soldiers clustered, aimless, too stunned at Jayadrath’s fall to offer resistance despite the quick return of the sun. Only when he saw Yuyudhana and Bhim and heard their jubilant voices shouting praise, did Govinda allow some slack on the reins.
They rode towards their camp loudly cheered on by their army, but Govinda did not stop till they were all the way in. He jumped off the rig, leaving the horses to a waiting Pradymna, and strode through the camp, oblivious to the celebration and conversation around him, searching. He found Panchali sitting quietly inside Abhimanyu’s tent, watching over Uttara as she slept, withered and curled up, on Abhimanyu’s bed.
Panchali looked up as Govinda entered. She took in his blood-splattered face, his dirt and sweat-stained body, his chafed, bleeding palms and the arrowhead still lodged in his arm, and then turned away. Govinda left the tent without a word. He knew Panchali needed a few moments alone to weep for Abhimanyu, for the son who had died and the dreams of a new Aryavarta that had died with him.
24
‘GOVINDA!’ DHARMA BURST INTO THE MEDICS’ TENT, WHERE Partha was helping Govinda bind a poultice on to his rein-chafed, bleeding palms. Dhaumya was plying them both with a refreshing potion, as he warned Govinda that his palms would soon be covered with excruciating blisters if he took up the reins again without rest. ‘And,’ Dhaumya was saying, ‘do I have to remind you that you run the risk of losing your arm if you go on straining that shoulder?’
Govinda gestured to Shikandin, who was wrapping a linen bandage around his chest with Panchali’s help. ‘If he can be out there, so can I!’
‘What can I say, Govinda? I guess us Panchalas are just born tougher than you vagrant Yadus.’
‘Oi!’ Yuyudhana exclaimed. ‘There are enough vagrant Yadus out there for you to kill, Shikandin, don’t get a war started in here!’
‘Govinda!’ Dharma repeated, impatient that he did not have their attention as yet. He suddenly turned on Yuyudhana, ‘And you! What are you doing here? You’re not hurt, are you?’
‘No,’ Yuyudhana replied with narrowed eyes. ‘I’m just making sure that my friends won’t be either. Knowing these men, they’ll throw themselves out there the moment they are done here. Someone had better check their weapons, because they won’t, for sure!’
‘We are losing by the moment out there, and you are worried about your friends and their weapons?’
‘Swasti, Dharma,’ Govinda said, ‘The war isn’t over. We’re not dead. Not yet.’
‘We will be soon. You had all better get back into battle. Vasusena and Syoddhan are laying waste to anything that stands in their way. And Asvattama…well, he’s a man possessed. It’s nothing short of a massacre out there.’
‘I’ll take care of it,’ Shikandin stood up, waving at Govinda to sit back for a while longer.
‘Take Yuyudhana with you,’ Govinda instructed.
Partha said, apologetic, ‘It’s just some time to dusk – if you can hold them off, just long enough…’
‘No, Partha,’ Govinda interrupted even as Shikandin and Yuyudhana left. ‘Trust me, the battle won’t cease tonight.’
‘But…the rules…’ Dharma was aghast. ‘It was agreed that we stop fighting at sundown. That is the way wars have always been fought. How then…?’
Govinda said, ‘When will you realize that things have changed around us, Dharma? With Bhisma gone, this isn’t a family squabble anymore. After today, our enemy’s fury is for real. Your precious Dwaipayana and Suka are not in the habit of showing benevolence to those who defy them. This point marks the beginning of the end.’
‘Defy? Mine is the righteous stand, not Syoddhan’s.’
‘Tell that to Suka!’ Govinda shouted. ‘Tell that to all those who whisper in the Vyasa’s ear….’
‘…including your old friend, the Secret Keeper?’ Dharma did not raise his voice, but his tone did not lack anger as he said, ‘If my faith in the Firstborn was ill-placed, then so was your faith in….’
‘My faith has always been in people, Dharma,’ Govinda snapped. ‘My faith has been in humanity. That has not changed.’
He forced himself to simmer down as Dhaumya to put the last touches on his bandaged hand, and then stood up. ‘If Dron had meant for it to stop,’ he said, his voice even, ‘he would’ve given orders to retreat by now. He knows that they have an upper hand, despite Jayadrath’s death. Our…err…eccentric strategies have cost us much in terms of our defensive formations. Besides, his men are angry and feel deceived by what we have just done. He won’t let that fury go to waste, rules of war or no rules of war. He will push on through the night, and he will hit us as hard as he can. Only a miracle can save us now.’
Dharma bristled at the statement. ‘I thought you don’t believe in miracles, Govinda.’
‘I don’t. But then, nothing else will change your mind, will it?’
Dharma realized he had been cornered. ‘How did you…?’
‘I’ve noticed you and Bhim arguing for the past few days. What else could it be about?’
‘So you know this too? What Hidimbya and his men really are? What they are capable of?’
Govinda did not answer the question directly. Instead he said, ‘Before there were Aryas, before there were Firewrights and the Firstborn, who walked these lands, Dharma?’
‘I… I don’t understand. What do you mean?’
‘Exactly what I said. What was there before we noble kings and scholars came along with our ways of life?’
‘I suppose…heathens, uncivilized brutes, forest-dwellers…’
‘And how did we get here? Are we invaders from another part of the world? Or were we created by the gods and sent down from the heavens? Who are we?’
‘I don’t have time for your theatrics, Govinda. What is it that you’re trying to say?’
Panchali spoke up. ‘I think he means that what you describe as Wright-craft existed long before the Firewrights came along to harness and study such things. Hidimbya’s people are proof of that, just as Virat’s people are proof that knowledge survives with or without its keepers, even without Divine Order… Knowledge is its own force, Dharma, just as humanity is. What Hidimbya can do for us can
change the course of this war. Don’t shun it just because the Firewrights claimed such craft as their own.’
Dharma glared at Panchali, but when she met his gaze with calm understanding he could not help but feel a little pacified.
Govinda’s voice intruded: ‘We are losing, Dharma. That is a fact that you know as well as I do. We may have killed Jayadrath, but it is a minor victory, a moral victory alone. The war goes on, and the enemy clearly has the upper hand. As we speak, Nakul is fighting Vasusena and is coming off the worse for it. Even you’ve had no choice but to retreat, beaten back by Kritavarman. We don’t even know where Dhrstyadymn is, and our formations have been broken through. Dhrupad, too, is missing. Bhim and Sadev are still out there fighting, but the rest of our soldiers huddle, desperate, in clusters that will sooner or later fall. The enemy has us on the brink of defeat and they know it. They will now fight to the end, fight to win. Please, for the sake of all those we have already lost; for Abhimanyu’s sake, please consider this option…’
Dharma did not reply but continued to look at Panchali, as though conversing with her in silence. He took a deep breath and said, ‘All right. But I want to know what exactly Hidimbya can do for us before I agree to let him and his men fight.’
Govinda said, ‘Fair enough. Send for him, Dharma. It is time you met him. Besides, he can tell you best what it is that he and his people can do for you.’
The prospect that Hidimbya and his men could turn the tide of the war brought a sense of hope back to all of them. Panchali found herself resuming conversation with the others, though banter was still a long way off. She came across Bhim while making her way to the Command Tent, where Hidimbya was to meet with Dharma.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a son?’ she demanded. ‘You told me all about your romance with his mother!’
Bhim said, ‘I was trying to impress you, Panchali. Admitting to having a son hardly a few years younger than you; I didn’t think that was going to work.’
‘Oh, but I am impressed! Really! You must be very proud of him…’
‘I am. I just wish I could’ve seen more of him, over the years… I was barely eighteen when I met his mother and in all honesty, not much of anything. I couldn’t dream of disobeying Dharma and my mother, of arguing with them. Of course, I may have done so if I’d known she was carrying my child. I really wish now that I’d been there for Purbaya… that is…Hidimbya…’
‘And have him turn out like you?’ Panchali tried to jest, but the words felt hollow and forced. She added, once again sombre, ‘He has come at the right time, Bhim. I’d lost courage, lost every sense of wanting to be happy again after Abhimanyu… Hidimbya brings hope to us all.’
With that bittersweet moment, the two friends arrived at the Command Tent. They entered and waited quietly, so as not to disturb the meeting in session. Panchali took the opportunity to study the newcomer whom everyone had spoken of but few had seen: Hidimbya, son of Bhim.
He was, she noted, nothing short of gigantic, but still had Bhim’s lithe, graceful manner. His resemblance to his father was unmistakable, except of course for his dark skin, and his shiny, bald pate. She tried not to smile as she thought of the nickname, she had been told, it had earned him. His upper body was bare, and coils of black rope were wound over his right shoulder and under his left arm, covering his chest completely.
As Dharma acknowledged their presence, Hidimbya got up from his cross-legged stance on the floor. ‘Bless me, Mother,’ he greeted Panchali. ‘Abhimanyu had told me about you…’
Panchali felt a lump in her throat at the mention of Abhimanyu’s name. It collided with the surge of anger that rose in her stomach at the realization that the newcomer had not been offered a seat. She bit back the urge to mention the matter, deciding to save it for another day, and smiled at the tribal chief. ‘Welcome, Hidimbya,’ she wished him.
‘There he is,’ Bhim announced as Govinda came into the tent.
‘Govinda Shauri?’ Hidimbya’s eyes lit up with excitement. ‘It is an honour!’
‘Likewise, Chief,’ Govinda returned the greeting. ‘Now tell me, how many men do you have with you?’
‘Five thousand.’
‘That isn’t much! In fact, it’s nothing!’ Dharma exclaimed. He suddenly felt crushed. He had somehow assumed that Hidimbya had brought a division or more of men, and that it would turn the tide of the battle. ‘Five thousand…’ he dully repeated. ‘And what can you do, beyond shoot arrows? Have you any elephants or cavalry?’
‘No, Your Highness. We are miners.’
‘Miners? And what is that you could possibly mine in the middle of a battle?’
‘Black nitre. We mine nitre. That is our weapon.’
Black nitre. Hidimbya’s peculiar appearance finally made sense. Panchali had thought she recognized the nitre from its smell, but she had never seen it used this way, coated on ropes. She had always heard of it as a delicate and thus dangerous substance, but Hidimbya seemed the least concerned about it.
Once he had explained how the rope was used in battle, Hidimbya concluded by saying, ‘The effect it has on the enemy is greater the closer we are to their camp. How close can you get us?’
Govinda replied, ‘Right to their doorstep if you like. Pradymna, Daruka, Yuyudhana and I handle horses well, as do Sadev and Nakul. We will ride out as if we are carrying a warrior on the vehicle, but we should be able to fit about seven to ten of you on each rig. Maybe more, given that it is night. We can also get your men onto the field hidden in supply carts.’
‘Get us to the outer perimeter of the field, around the field. That should do. I’ll go with you, along with thirty of my best men. The rest will start from the other edges of the battlefield and work their way inwards. Remember, once we light the nitre, you lot need to get out of there quickly…’
‘What about you and your men?’
Hidimbya laid a hand on the coils of rope across his chest, ‘We have our ways of keeping safe. Besides, all of us lay out the nitre but only some of us are needed to set it alight. That is a risk we must take…’
‘It is a risk we all take, Hidimbya,’ Dharma declared. ‘Us, all the more so, for putting our faith in a measly five thousand men.’
‘I think, Dharma,’ Govinda interrupted, ‘that five thousand shall more than suffice. Now, if you’ll permit us, I’d like to take Hidimbya to meet the others…’
25
‘IMPRESSIVE,’ GOVINDA REMARKED AS PATTERNS OF FIRE, BEAUTIFUL and deadly, lit up the battlefield. Like dark waves washing ashore or giant flowers blooming in the dawn, the flames ran quickly up and down the landscape, following the nitre-coated ropes that Hidimbya and his men had laid out. From these waves rose a wall of heat, a slow shimmering of the air that could be smelt before it was seen. Hardly did the soldiers have time to react to the fiery air, to realize that it was burning away at their skin and hair, when the storm followed – a blast, as though the invisible walls had exploded outward, shattering fire and stone. Such, Hidimbya explained, was the effect of black nitre, burning slowly to release heat and then, expanding the air in an explosion as the blaze spread. The patterns, he added, were part of their craft – a means of ensuring the most damage to the enemy –in physical terms and also as a means of intimidation. But the patterns were not always complete or perfect. There, Hidimbya’s men had fallen, their work incomplete.
‘I lost more of my men than I’d expected,’ Hidimbya confessed. ‘It’s accepted that some fall while the nitre is laid out, but not one of those I sent to light the flint has come back alive. I guess our enemy is not that easily confounded… Speaking of which, seven-hooded Sesha save us, this man is unstoppable!’
‘Vasusena…’ Bhim informed him, following his son’s gaze into the distance.
‘He fights like a man possessed!’
‘A man scorned,’ Govinda corrected. ‘He is one of the best warriors Aryavarta has ever seen. Much has been denied him in his life…’
Bhim flinched a
t the statement, but Govinda went on, oblivious. ‘Aryavarta is full of men like you and him, Hidimbya; good men who’ve been wronged in the name of hierarchy and lineage.’
Hidimbya grinned, his teeth flashing white against his dark nitre-coated skin. ‘And there are men like you, who struggle to set things right.’
Govinda did not return the smile. His eyes were cold as he regarded the Rikshasa chief. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I’m a better man, a different man even. Don’t trust me more than you have to.’
‘Who do I trust then, Govinda?’
Govinda remained silent till Partha tapped him on the shoulder and informed him that Dharma and Vasusena were headed directly for each other on the battlefield.
‘Yourself, and no one else,’ Govinda said without looking at Hidimbya. With that, he and Partha rode off to Dharma’s aid.
The night passed its darkest point and though there was little light in the sky, the crisp turn of air heralded the dawn of a new day, not long away. Dharma had come off the worse for his skirmish with Vasusena. As had Partha. And Shikandin, Yuyudhana and Dhrstyadymn. Indeed, Dhrstydymn grudgingly admitted, if not for Yuyudhana’s timely intervention, he would have remained missing, decimated by Vasusena and his troops in a far corner of the battlefield. There was no doubt that Vasusena was turning out to be as great a threat as Dron – given particularly that the war had now come down to single combat. Where Dron was a master of strategy, Vasusena was simply an incomparable fighter, not just for the impressive array of Wright-weapons at his command but also for his valour and skill. Between the two enemy warriors, it seemed, Dharma’s army faced certain defeat.
‘What is it?’ Dharma wondered out loud. ‘What drives him so?’
‘The truth,’ Govinda replied before stalking off to see to his horses. His mood had improved little through the night’s battle and his weariness was beginning to show.
‘We’ve lost nearly three divisions during this day and night,’ Dhrstyadymn pointed out to Dharma. ‘We need some way of holding off till dawn, when we can hope for a quick respite.’
The Aryavarta Chronicles Book 03: Kurukshetra Page 35
