‘What…? But why?’
Asvattama ignored the general rustle of discomfort and consternation his words had caused and kept his gaze on Syoddhan alone. ‘Because each moment from here on threatens to destroy us, destroy our way of life. What we fight for will become meaningless, if there is none left alive in this realm. Vasusena had his one chance with the Naga-astra. For better or worse, Govinda is fatally hurt, probably dead. I dare not wonder what weapons Govinda had kept secret, but clearly he is in no position to stop Partha from using them. If we don’t end this right now…’
‘You’d have me make peace?’ Syoddhan exclaimed. ‘Now? When we stand on the brink of victory?’
‘And what price will you pay for your victory?’
Syoddhan turned to face Asvattama. He flexed his arm, the bulging of mighty muscle forcing Asvattama to loosen his grip, and then to let go completely. ‘Why now, Asvattama?’ he asked, his tone holding more questions in addition to the one stated. ‘Not once before have you dissuaded me in such categorical terms. Why now?’
‘Syoddhan, I…’ Asvattama began to explain. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the flash of Vasusena’s Bramha-weapon as it sped, unerring, towards Partha. Breathing out hard, he declared. ‘It’s all right, my friend. It is too late. But whatever comes next, I will stand with you to the end of all things. Now, I think this might be a duel worth watching. Shall we move in?’
Before a confused Syoddhan could reply, Asvattama signalled to his rig-driver to move towards the site of the battle. Frowning, Syoddhan followed.
Partha felt the tip of Vasusena’s arrow pierce the skin of his chest, but he neither shrank back nor let his mind feel the pain. The toxin of the Bramha-weapon surged through him, inviting him into the depths of darkness. He followed, as he had been taught to, turning the fear into anger and thus into strength. When demons and other unspeakable creatures rushed at him from the recesses of his imagination, he embraced them, turning their might into his own. Laughing, gnashing his teeth, he reached out for another arrow from Govinda’s arsenal. Recognizing it as a flint-tipped arrow though constructed for a more devastating purpose, he struck the arrowhead on to the side of the rig, igniting a spark. He quickly set the arrow to the Gandiva, and let the shaft fly. Partha found sudden delight in the cast of awe on Vasusena’s face, for clearly the latter did not know the exact workings of the weapon. Nor did Partha, and he watched as his arrow wound its way towards Vasusena, and flared up into a huge flaming brand just as it descended towards him. With a shout of effort, Vasusena brought up his shield, fanning away the flames. At the same time, Shalya swerved, moving the rig out of the astra’s path.
Partha laughed again at the sight, the prospect of death, his own or his enemy’s, stirring strange sensations through his toxin-spurred trance. A pleasant shiver ran through his body, a feeling not unlike the secret pleasures from a courtesan’s touch. He yelled, head thrown back, a terrible, blissful cry that made the bravest of carrion-eating vultures squawk and flutter their wings.
Vasusena remained unaffected. Not to be outdone, he picked up a shaft shaped like a lightning-bolt, the weapon, they said, of Indra himself. This time, Partha could not predict the erratic path the unfamiliar weapon drew as it hurtled through the air. Only at the last instant did he see where and how it would strike. He tried to dodge as best as he could, turning sideways to allow the astra to strike him flat on the back, where his armour was thick and strong. The move served to protect him from earning a blood wound, but he was thrown back by the force of the impact. It didn’t take him long to get to his feet and in a last, desperate attempt, he set a bunch of arrows to the string and released them. Then he toppled over the side of the rig and on to the ground, and the Gandiva was knocked out of his hand.
Partha did not remain down for long; he dragged himself to his feet, spitting mud and dust. He searched around for the Gandiva, and had just recovered it when he heard his name being called.
‘Partha….’
The voice was a feeble groan in the distance, but it held a familiarity, a warmth that brought Partha out of his toxin-induced bloodlust. Eyes bulging, he looked around him, as though seeing for the first time all that had just transpired, as though the man who had fought in his body had been someone else. In the distance, battle continued, but around him the field was empty and silent. Sensing something amiss, Partha turned to the enemy he had fought all the while.
Vasusena was staggering, unable to stand steady on his rig. A hand clutched at an arrow, one of many that had pierced his abdomen, and blood dribbled out the side of his mouth. Partha’s arrows had also cracked the axle of Vasusena’s chariot-rig. One of the wheels had become lopsided, with shafts caught in the splintered wood. Shalya was just getting to his feet next to the rig, dazed and disoriented from having been thrown out of it.
Seeing Partha look in his direction, Vasusena held up a hand to gesture restraint and, placing his bow down, descended to pull out the arrows and set right his vehicle.
Still breathing hard, Partha let his arms drop to his sides.
‘Partha!’ The familiar voice sounded again in his ears, this time closer, stronger despite the pain it still held.
‘Govinda! I thought…I thought you were…’
‘What’s wrong…with you, Partha?’ Govinda said, gasping for breath. ‘Kill…kill him! What are you waiting for?’
‘Kill him?’ Partha repeated, confused. ‘But that’s not right, Govinda – Vasusena’s asked for reprieve…’
Govinda opened his eyes. They shone dark and fiery. ‘Panchali asked for justice,’ he said, his voice filled with quiet strength. ‘Your son, Abhimanyu, asked for fairness. Hidimbya and so many others like him have spent their entire lives asking for equality.’
‘But it wasn’t Vasusena who denied them justice and equality.’
‘No,’ Govinda admitted, ‘But he remained silent while it happened, and that is guilt enough. Kill him, Partha,’ he ordered.
‘Govinda…’
‘Now.’
Partha gazed deep into Govinda eyes. Finding what he needed in their depths, he nodded and raised his bow. He reached out, without looking, for an arrow, and smiled when his hands closed in on a dark, gleaming shaft, its head made up of curved prongs, like hands folding together in salutation. Anjalika, the shape was called, and Partha had seen it used before by Bhisma, crafted out of stinging Wright-metal; he had seen Purbaya Hidimbya and Sthuna of the Eastern Forests set it to their bowstrings, but then it had been the dull, dark metal of Kali. The one he now held was the same, yet different – made of Kali but finished to the precision and lightness of Wright-metal, filled with a muted blaze of its own like the black depths of a raging fire. This, Partha realized, was why Govinda had started on this long journey when he had been but a cowherd-turned-prince, begun this story that they stood within, all those years ago: He had seen the future, and the future had held death and destruction. Now, it was time for the tale to end.
Partha placed the anjalika-arrow to his bowstring and carefully took aim. Unhurried, unperturbed, he drew the string back. The arrow, it seemed to him, left his fingers with a life of its own.
‘Get him! I want that murderer! Now!’
Partha started at the sound of Syoddhan’s voice. Already, Kritavarman and Kripa were charging at him in response to Syoddhan’s command, and a host of other men followed close behind. He glanced back in the direction of Vasusena’s broken rig, where Shalya stood holding the warrior’s severed head, staring at it with a reverence Partha could not comprehend. He instinctively made to go towards the Madra king to speak some words of explanation, though he did not know what he would say. But there was no time.
‘For Agniveshya!’ A man Partha took a few moments to recognize as Takshaka charged at him with a blood-curdling cry, while Kritavarman and Kripa both notched arrows to their bows.
Even as Partha readied to take on the attackers all at once, Govinda pulled himself to his feet, his bloody hands leaving
red smears on the sides of the rig. He took up the reins, wincing as he tried to see clearly, to find the strength to guide the horse.
‘Don’t even think about it!’ A voice warned him and an arrow sped through the air to bring down the charging Naga King.
‘Get out of here,’ another voice said. ‘Get back to camp!’
Govinda meekly complied as Yuyudhana and Shikandin drew up alongside. Leaving them to deal with Kripa and the others, he turned his horses around with a word of command. A flick of the reins, and they were off at a gallop.
‘Are you mad?’ Partha shouted. ‘Let go at once! Let me take the reins. You’ve got to get the arrow out!’
With a weary look at his friend, Govinda slowed the horses down to a canter but held on to the reins with one hand. With his other hand he tugged hard at Vasusena’s poisoned arrow. It did not budge, but the searing pain it caused brought with it a curtain of darkness. Govinda fell forward.
Partha caught him just as he doubled over and took over the reins from him. ‘Pradymna!’ he shouted out, vaguely aware that the warrior was somewhere nearby. ‘Prad…oh thank Rudra!’
‘It’s all right. I’ve got the horses,’ the younger man climbed on to the rig, trying to not quail at the sight of his prone father.
‘We need to be quick…’ Pradymna urged the horses on as fast as they could go as Partha, with renewed fury, let his arrows loose on all those who came in their way. Blood trickled out of Govinda’s mouth, pooling on the floor of the small rig and collecting, warm and viscous, against their toes.
34
BY THE TIME PARTHA AND PRADYMNA HAD GOT GOVINDA BACK TO camp, the warrior had begun to retch and cough up blood in copious amounts. Ashen-faced, their bodies and robes stained red, the two men carried the warrior into the medic’s tent, shouting for Dhaumya.
Panchali, who was tending to a now-revived Dharma, took one glance at Govinda and turned away. ‘Who?’ she asked, her voice cracking with the strain.
Pradymna replied, ‘Vasusena. He’s dead. Takshaka was there too.’
Dharma started to sit up, his face bright with sudden exhilaration, but Partha glared at him as though daring him to say a word. He turned back to Panchali. Although she seemed outwardly composed, Partha saw what she held in her eyes. The day of the dice game, the day Jayadrath and his sons had tried to ravage her, the day Keechak of Matsya had assaulted her – not even then had she shown such fear. It made Partha want to kill Vasusena all over again.
Dhaumya rushed in as the two men laid Govinda down on a tress. Shikandin and Yuyudhana were right behind him. ‘Hold on, Govinda! Hold on!’ Shikandin urged.
Dhaumya barked out instructions and came to kneel beside Govinda. It was Panchali who complied with the directions. She began stirring up a poultice with crisp efficiency, while Dhaumya assessed the injury by pressing on the flesh around it.
‘Ahhh!’ Govinda cried out in pain. ‘Not…not dead yet!’
Relief washed over them all, enough to make Shikandin find his tongue. ‘And I am not some comely maiden to be wooed, so stop pretending that you are!’
Govinda opened his eyes, wincing again as Dhaumya continued to examine him.
‘All right,’ Dhaumya gestured to Pradymna and Shikandin. ‘You two had better hold him down. I’ve got to get the arrow out; it’s wedged deep in his flesh. I can’t give him a sleeping draught just yet because we don’t know what the poison is. This will hurt, no doubt.’
‘This is Agniveshya’s horror,’ Shikandin said through clenched teeth. ‘Govinda and I tried to track him down in Kandava, years ago. We heard that he was experimenting on the Nagas, trying to create the perfect poison. I was a fool to let Agniveshya go! Once again, my folly has come back to haunt Govinda.’ He turned away, his eyes filled with guilt and regret.
‘We’d better be quick,’ Dhaumya was grim. ‘The toxin is spreading through his body faster than any poison I’ve ever seen.’
‘Maraka! A plague on every Firewright,’ Partha swore. ‘Can’t you cut open his skin a little? Bleed the toxin out?’
Dhaumya shook his head. ‘He’s had a close call already. The arrow barely missed his heart – by a couple of fingers…I need to get it out before I do anything else.’
In a choked voice, Partha said, ‘It was meant for me… That arrow was meant for me…’
Govinda crooked a finger, beckoning Partha closer. Eagerly, the archer came forward. ‘Vathu, Partha! You’re killing me already…’ Govinda tried to laugh, but coughed up more blood as a result, and cringed as the arrow bit further further into his flesh.
Panchali held a cool, wet cloth to Govinda’s forehead, getting him to lie back and stay still. ‘What’re you doing here?’ he gasped.
‘Don’t worry, Govinda. I’ve seen my fair share of arrows. When I was the servant-woman Malini, one of my duties included pulling arrows out of General Keechak’s boil-covered buttocks…’
‘What? Yeaagh! Ahhh…!’
Dhaumya let out a short, nervous laugh and held out the gruesome arrowhead that he had extricated for Govinda to see. Govinda squinted, trying to see the shaft clearly, but soon fell back on the tress, weak from the loss of blood and the stinging pain he had to endure.
‘Imagine, an old war-horse like you falling for that trick…’ Panchali teased.
‘He is old, yes, but war-horse? Really!’ Shikandin joined in.
Partha let out the breath he had been holding and threw himself flat on the ground. Dharma, too, settled back against his bed.
‘It isn’t done yet,’ Dhaumya cautioned. ‘We’ve got to bleed him a bit, get the poison out…’ Govinda closed his eyes, and clenched his fists, stifling his screams in his throat as Dhaumya pressed at the wound, forcing it to bleed copiously. A long while later, when it was done, Dhaumya covered the lesion with a poultice of herbs and resin, pinching the skin together to get it to seal as best he could.
‘That one’s going to leave a mark,’ Shikandin commented, running his hand over a long scar that spanned from his own shoulder, down across his chest. More scars covered his left side, including his arm and part of his face and neck, reminders of his battle against Bhisma Devavrata.
‘Would you rather look pretty or would you rather heal quickly and fight?’ Dhaumya challenged him.
‘If you ask me now, at the end of this war I’d say I’d rather look pretty…’ Shikandin jested.
‘Is it really the end?’ Govinda opened his eyes again, breathing hard from the effort.
Dharma was about to answer, when Panchali said, ‘It is the end, yes, almost. But who can say who has won…’
‘Vasusena is dead, isn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Panchali confirmed.
But Dussasan – he’s alive? And Shakuni too?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Syoddhan?’
‘Yes.’
Panchali looked into Govinda’s eyes, seeing something in their dark depths that the others could not. ‘Sleep now, Govinda,’ she told him, running her fingers through his curly hair. ‘Sleep. I’ll wake you up when it’s time.’
Govinda complied.
Dhaumya waited till he was sure Govinda was fast asleep and then let his own fears show. ‘He may not live. We’d better pray his body has the strength to resist the poison…I’ve only heard about it, all these years. It was Agniveshya Angirasa’s last and most deadly invention. They say there’s no antidote… In fact, this was probably the last of the poison…He may not…’
‘He’ll live,’ Panchali declared.
‘Panchali…’
‘The antidote is in the poultice. He will live…’
‘How…?’ Everyone turned to her, aghast.
‘The General… Back at Matsya… He had these vials…’ Panchali flinched as the memory of how it was that she had come to see them.
‘The General?’ Partha asked. He could hardly forget their year of exile in Matsya, in disguises that he wanted to not think of again, and it shocked him to hear Panchali speak of th
ose times. ‘You knew what it was?’
‘Yes. I’ve carried it around since the war began, hoping that I’d never have to use it. When I saw the wound…’
Dharma’s face clouded over. ‘And the toxin? Where it is? Panchali, you held the chance to turn the tide of this war in your hands and you…’
‘You think I’d keep the toxin?’ Panchali lashed out. ‘What for, Dharma? Do you still not understand what this war is about, what Govinda is fighting for? All of Aryavarta has come to war to avenge an Empress’ honour; but who stands for a mere handmaiden like Malini? We cry in horror when our darling prince Abhimanyu is killed, but who cries for Hidimbya? This war is not about who has the right to hold power. It is about restoring balance, setting right the scales. Firewright, Firstborn, Kuru, Panchala…even Dharma and Syoddhan… They were means to an end, but never an end in themselves. Yet no one knows anymore what that end is…’
She trailed off, but then found her courage again. ‘Yes, I destroyed the toxin. And I’d do it again. I kept the antidote because I feared that someday the Naga-astra would come to haunt someone, somewhere. I did not think then that it would be one of us; that it would be Govinda – but I did not have to. Some things are more important than power and hierarchy, though that power may be meant to preserve our way of life. It is simply a means. Life is the end! Don’t you see?’ Overcome with anxiety and exhaustion, Panchali buried her face in her hands and began to sob, giving in to the storm of emotions she had contained for days, years now.
Yuyudhana placed a reassuring hand on her head. ‘I do see, Panchali. We all see. Most important, Govinda knows that you see, that you understand why he has done it all. Nothing could mean more to him.’
As they all watched, it seemed that Govinda’s breathing took on the steady rhythm of a man in wholesome sleep. His worries assuaged, Yuyudhana added, ‘He owes you his life, Panchali…’
Panchali looked up, a feeble smile on her tear-stained face. ‘He is life, Yuyudhana. He owes me nothing.’
The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 Page 41
