The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3

by Krishna Udayasankar

  6

  ‘READY, DARUKA?’ GOVINDA STEPPED INTO THE STONY CLEARING where he had left Daruka, the carriage and the horses while he indulged himself in a swim in the cool, swirling waters of the Yamuna. It was these tempestuous waters that he had bathed and played in every day of his childhood as a village-dwelling cowherd, and to relive those moments after the morning’s events was a pleasant reprieve. ‘Daruka?’ Govinda called again, sleeking back his wet, grey-black hair. The horses were there, but were visibly restless and their nostrils were flared.

  As suspicion of what might have occurred set in, he reached for his sword, only to stop short as a voice called out, ‘Don’t move! Or he dies.’

  A mercenary emerged from the cover of tree trunks holding Daruka in front of him, a jagged blade pressed against the captain’s throat. More men leapt out, some advancing towards Govinda with ready weapons, others moving to grab the horses by their reins.

  ‘Your sword…’ the man with Daruka said.

  Moving slowly, Govinda undid the sword-belt at his waist and threw it to the ground. ‘You’re a long way from home,’ he said, speaking in the tongue of the Yavanas.

  ‘We go where our trade takes us. And it seems we are needed everywhere.’

  ‘But of course.’

  ‘But of course! With men like you around, Govinda Shauri, we need not fear unemployment. Sooner or later, you make trouble for the wrong people, and they decide to put an end to you and your actions.’

  ‘All I can say is that I’m glad your employer hired you. I was getting tired of the Danava mercenary lot. They are so predictable and easily corrupted. You men, on the other hand, I have found to be more reliable. But, you see, that makes me all the more curious. I’ve never known a Yavana soldier for hire to bother with small talk and surrender. What is it you want from me?’

  The mercenary tightened this grip on Daruka, and used his sword-hand to reach for his cowl and pull it down. A hideous scar ran across his face, traversing a misshapen nose and splitting both upper and lower lip into half. Part of the cowl still obscured the sides of his face, but Govinda knew the man would also be missing an ear. ‘I wanted,’ the assassin began, ‘you to know who I am… and what I…we…did. I wanted you to know how she screamed. Philista, your precious Philista. Oh, she fought like a wildcat. We had a man holding each of her legs, pulling her thighs apart. But by the time we were done with her she had fainted. We had to hurt her just to bring her back to her senses. I liked that, I liked that part a lot.’

  Govinda eyes blazed, but he remained otherwise expressionless. ‘Is that all? Shall we get on with it then?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, not so soon, Govinda. I thought it might be an interesting experiment to see whether you last longer than Philista. My brother there,’ he gestured to one of the other men, ‘has wagered that you would actually enjoy it, if you know what I mean.’ As one the mercenaries burst out laughing, Daruka’s eyes widened with horror and he tried to wriggle free. His captor pressed the knife deeper, cutting a little into the skin of the captain’s throat.

  ‘Let him go,’ Govinda said. ‘Let him and the horses go. I’m the one you want.’

  The lead mercenary spat on the ground in contempt, and then gestured to the man he had earlier identified as his brother, who pulled out his own blade and advanced towards Shaibya, one of Govinda’s four white horses. The horse, sensing the danger he was in, moved back. Taking their cue from him, the other three stallions too, began to rear and snort.

  ‘Wait,’ the first mercenary called to them. ‘Your turn will come, my pretties. Your hides will fetch a good price in…’ He faltered as a loud, inhuman yell of rage filled the glade. The sheer hatred and violence in the voice had all the men, including Daruka, stunned.

  Govinda struck.

  He did not bother with his sword or any other weapon, throwing himself bodily at the man near Shaibya. The force brought the two men to the ground, but before the Yavana could rise, or his friends could come to his help, Govinda grabbed the man’s head with both hands and bashed it against the hard ground. The mercenary’s skull broke open, his brains spilling out in a bloody, putrid mess. Govinda did not flinch. He knew he only had moments before the mercenaries and their leader reacted, though he was certain that the latter would do nothing but wait, safely holding on to Daruka. It was the others who had to be dealt with.

  Govinda got to his feet, in the same move picking up the dead man’s shield and driving it right into a charging soldier’s face. Then, pulling the shield back, he threw it like a discus, beheading two men who rushed at him. A third man tried to circle around to attack him from the side, but ended up moving too close to Govinda’s horses. The steeds, already unsettled by the noise and the sense of being under attack, were pushed beyond control. Neighing and stamping, they crushed the soldier under their hooves, the man’s pitiful screams filling the glade. Two other soldiers were quick enough to move away from the rampaging horses. Govinda turned his attention to them, his blood-stained fist his only weapon. He smashed it into a mercenary’s face, feeling the man’s cheekbone shatter under the blow. Bringing his knee up, he connected with the doubled-over assailant’s ribcage, breaking through the bone to squelch his heart. The Yavana screamed; blood spurted from his mouth onto Govinda’s bare chest and soaked into his robes.

  More mercenaries emerged from the cover of forest. Pausing to regain his breath, Govinda did a quick count of the men around him. Five. Six, he corrected himself, cursing aloud as a jagged blade tore through the muscles of his back and right shoulder. The dagger remained stuck there, depriving his attacker of a weapon, as Govinda turned, wrapped his elbow around the man’s neck and slammed him down to the ground, breaking his spine. The effort, however, caused the sharp blade to shift deep in Govinda’s flesh, and he cried out in pain and stumbled. Sensing an advantage, two of the remaining mercenaries launched themselves at him. One drove a sword hilt into Govinda’s stomach, and the other used a shield to strike a blow across his face.

  Govinda managed to hit back, catching one of the men with a jaw-breaking punch, but the other moved out of his reach and struck him yet again with his shield.

  ‘Govinda!’ Daruka shouted out.

  Despite throbbing pain and the spinning inside his head, Govinda wanted to smile at Daruka’s use of his name. The dull thought arose in his mind that if the captain were so moved during a fight as to show concern, the two of them must really be in trouble. He tried to steady himself, but his left eye had begun to swell up from the shield-blow. He would have faltered, but right then a mercenary tried to stab Balahak, only to graze the stallion’s flank instead. Balahak let out a high whinny as a red gash blossomed against his silver-white hide.

  Anger renewed Govinda’s strength. His thoughts of Daruka left aside, Govinda lunged at his fallen sword, Nandaka. He grabbed it by the hilt, pulling it out of its scabbard as he launched himself in the air, slashing twice with the Wright-metal weapon as he came down. Twirling his wrist, Govinda caught the last but one mercenary in the abdomen. By the time Govinda’s feet had touched the ground, the glade was silent once again.

  The scarred Yavana remained as he had been at the beginning of it all, just as Govinda had expected. Daruka was still in his grasp.

  ‘You always were a peculiar man, Govinda Shauri,’ the Yavana said. ‘People mean little to you, isn’t it? Even animals matter more to you than those who’ve been loyal to you. Or perhaps that is the point – the more the loyalty, the stronger your sense of ownership and the more the impunity with which you use men and women to your purposes and leave them to their fate when your task is done…’ He sighed and pushed Daruka away. The stunned captain stumbled but remained on his feet, standing between Govinda and the mercenary.

  ‘Your choice,’ the Yavana said. ‘You can kill your own man and make it quick for him. Or else, you can take the risk of fighting me. If you win, you save both your lives and if you lose…I can promise you his death will be a painful one. Sound familiar?�
�� he asked, as he saw recollection spark to life in Govinda’s eyes.

  Govinda nodded. It was a conundrum, one that he had posed to Phyrro, a scholar from the city of Elis in the Yavanas’ homeland and his followers, including the mercenary before him. He had told them that reason dictated that one always choose the second option, not because it gave one a chance to save the other person, but because there would be a greater chance of saving oneself. He had explained, they had listened, and at the end of that meeting Phyrro and his fellow scholars had chosen to revive their relations with Aryavarta and the Firewrights, sharing the knowledge that the two similar groups had built over the years. It had, as many believed, changed the destinies of both nations, and not necessarily for the best. Clearly, the scarred mercenary anticipated Govinda to reaffirm his answer of old.

  ‘Kneel, Daruka,’ Govinda commanded. Daruka, a veteran of numerous battles, complied without question or hesitation. Govinda brought his sword to rest on the nape of Daruka’s neck. ‘My answer,’ he told the astonished mercenary, ‘has changed. Because I have changed. I once told you that reason was paramount. I was wrong. I can either let myself get buried under the burden of that mistake, or I can accept it and move on to serve a cause greater than reason.’

  The Yavana’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’d be a fool to listen to any explanations that you give, ever again. Do it. Strike. And if you try any tricks, it will go badly for both of you.’ Switching his sword to the other hand, he reached out and pulled out a large axe from the harness on his back even as he sheathed his sword. Using both hands, he brought the keen but heavy blade of the axe to Govinda’s neck, mirroring the sword held at Daruka’s. ‘One move, one breath out of place, and I’ll take it out on him…’ the mercenary emphasized.

  Govinda nodded. He tightened his grip on Nandaka, using the moment it gave him to observe his opponent. The Yavana’s eyes were fixed on Govinda’s wrists, set to judge the least deflection in the sword-stroke. If it seemed likely that Govinda was going to miss Daruka’s neck, even by a chance error, the mercenary would strike, killing Govinda first and then Daruka. It was why the Yavana had chosen the axe over his sword – to ensure against the possibility that in decapitating one man the blade might remain stuck in the flesh, thus leaving him weaponless. An axe promised a clean cut through flesh and bone, making it the weapon of choice for beheadings. It also made for a very predictable opponent. This, Govinda knew, was his one chance.

  ‘Forgive me, Daruka,’ he said, lifting Nandaka high in the air, gasping from the stab of pain as the dagger in his back dug deeper into his flesh. From the corner of his eye, he saw the slight rise of the mercenary’s chest as the man pulled back his axe, drawing an unerring line to Govinda’s neck.

  With a blood-curdling cry, Govinda slashed down. At the same time, the mercenary swung his axe, his eyes all the while on Govinda’s wrists. But not on Govinda’s feet. With the force of the movement that lowered his arms, Govinda kicked out with his left leg. His body tipped forward, the assassin’s axe cut through the air where his head had been. At the same time, his foot hit the Yavana’s wrist, cracking the bone. Govinda kept moving, his right foot now coming off the ground as he turned a full circle in the air, Nandaka grazing the silk of Daruka’s upper robe as it slid, harmless, off the captain’s back till the tip grazed the ground and, raising a small cloud of dust, moved on, completing its own arc to strike the Yavana mercenary on the underside of his arms, above his elbows.

  By the time Govinda stood with his feet back firmly on ground, the mercenary was writhing on the ground, his arms but bloody stumps at his shoulders. Daruka let out a loud, hard breath and, at a sign from Govinda, scrambled to his feet and went to check on the horses.

  Govinda picked up the fallen mercenary’s axe. Without pause, he brought the heavy, short blade down on the screaming Yavana’s face, wedging it through the skull into the blood-soaked ground below.

  Govinda clenched his fists and bit down as hard as he could on a thick piece of leather from Balahak’s bridle. Sweat beaded his forehead and he tried to stay still, but the pain was too intense. And then, just when he thought he would bite right through the leather, the burning ebbed. He let the leather bit fall from his month and gasped in relief.

  ‘I’m yet to seal it up, Commander,’ Daruka, crouched next to him, said. He held out the blade he had extricated from Govinda’s back for the injured man to see as he pressed hard with his other hand to stem the bleeding.

  ‘Do we have wine?’ Govinda asked.

  Daruka shook his head. ‘For the fifth time, no. The bag broke during the fight. Maybe if you’d been more cautious.’

  ‘Cautious?’ Govinda said, grunting through the agony of Daruka’s care. ‘I didn’t know what I was doing, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘That much was apparent, Commander. One would have thought it was some thorn, not a dagger in your back. Of course, you’re more than making up for it with all your whining now… The scarred man was right, you know. You’ve kept your calm in the trickiest of situations, but one graze on your beloved horse-friends and you were a madman. I think you forgot that I existed!’

  Govinda did not dispute the statement. Chuckling, he let his head fall on to his forearms and forced his breath to come evenly.

  Daruka continued, ‘An old enemy?’

  ‘He certainly wasn’t an old friend, though I think he came after us on the instructions of one,’ Govinda said.

  ‘The Secret Keeper?’

  ‘Yes. The worst adversary I could have. You see, we are enemies in principle and principle alone. We both agree on the final outcome, the importance of the task that was left to us to see through. But we no longer agree on what needs to be done to reach that outcome, and that is why we are no longer allies. In any case, he does not, cannot trust me and I – I see no point in trying to convince him of what he is duty-bound to deny…’

  Daruka did not completely understand, but then, he was a man of action, not explanation. Out loud he said, ‘It’s simple enough for you to destroy him. All you have to do is…’

  ‘…reveal his identity? Of what use would that be?’

  Daruka leaned back on his heels. ‘Don’t you think you’re taking this compassion thing too far, Commander? Unless…’

  With a hoarse laugh, Govinda admitted, ‘You know me well, Daruka. No, it isn’t some misplaced sense of kindness that underlies this decision. My self-interest, which I claim is one with the larger interests of Aryavarta, would not benefit from such a revelation. You see, the Firstborn have thrown their might behind Syoddhan. Dwaipayana has said nothing in public, but Suka’s presence at Hastina leaves no doubt. As it stands, there are rumours that the Secret Keeper and I are no longer of the same mind, but it would be another thing altogether if it became known that he considers me an enemy worth killing in cold blood. It would erode what little influence I have with Dharma Yudhisthir. Dharma would have little choice to surrender to Syoddhan, or leave Aryavarta and live in exile. Nothing would change.’

  Before Daruka could argue, Govinda continued, ‘I thought he was dead, Daruka – the Yavana, I mean. It’s disconcerting when the past suddenly turns up to haunt us like this when the present and future are more than enough to deal with!’

  ‘You mean, haunt you,’ Daruka said. ‘I take it you and he didn’t get along back then?’

  ‘No. He blamed me for bringing the bane of the Firewrights, their mistakes, to bear upon Elis. I guess he’s not the only one who thinks I’ve done wrong by his people.’

  ‘If there are more like him, Commander, you’d better watch your back.’

  ‘I thought I have you for that, Captain.’

  ‘You do now, Govinda. You do now. But if there should be war… who will watch your back when I’m gone? Don’t depend on me too much, old friend.’ With that, he turned his attention back to Govinda’s wounds.

  Flinching with renewed pain, Govinda said, ‘It must heal before we reach Matsya, Daruka. We can’t let anyone find out about thi
s attack. The Secret Keeper aside, our friends will want to blame Syoddhan. We cannot risk stirring anger and resentment against him at the moment. It might jeopardize my plans.’

  ‘I know.’

  Govinda let his head fall on to his forearms again. This time though, it was not pain that he wanted to hide, but the various emotions that threatened to surface all at once.

  7

  BY THE TIME THE LOW STRUCTURES OF UPAPLAVYA, THE MAIN CITY of the region of Matsya, were sighted through the desert mist, Govinda had little more to show for his recent battle than some stiffness where the gash on his back had been expertly tended to by Daruka. The swelling on his face had receded but traces of a bruise remained, not enough, he hoped, to draw comment. The journey from Hastina to Upaplavya had taken them nearly twice the estimated four days, but such things were easily blamed on the weather, or some fault with the carriage – excuses typically unavailable to riders.

  Alighting from the carriage at the entrance to the royal quarters, Govinda dismissed Daruka with a grateful smile. Then he made his way into the palace that had been – and still was in name – Chief Virat’s, though it was Dharma Yudhisthir who sat on the Chief’s throne whenever the assembly was convened. He noticed the lone grey-white feather that littered the corridor, awaiting removal by palace attendants as part of their cleaning ritual at dawn. It had clearly not been long since Dharma had received a message. There were few people in all of Aryavarta who used these grey messenger pigeons and Govinda knew instantly that the missive had come from Vidur. It was the consequent implication of the messenger’s presence that interested Govinda further – few people in all of Aryavarta had enough influence over the wise courtier to make him preempt Govinda, and one alone had the immediacy.

  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.