The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (50 page)

He imagined her older, further wrinkled, a little shrivelled, bent over with the burden of her years, hair white as the snow-packed reaches of the Great Mountains. But her eyes would remain the way they were now, and he would long to look into them as he died. There was a fire in their depths that nothing, no travail, could extinguish, and it served as his last solace to know that there was at least this one thing left, this one goodness that he could not destroy, no matter what mistakes he made. Govinda let the thought pass. Some things, he knew, could not happen, not any more, but to feel intensely the bitter pain of that loss was better than living in the empty happiness of oblivion. He was content to watch her in the moment, admiring the proud line of her shoulders, the defiant upward thrust of her chin. As he watched, she seemed to grow, not in size but in courage, walking through flames to emerge unscathed.

‘Do you know,’ Panchali began, ‘not a day has passed since Dharma, and…even I…have wondered if I did not bring this misfortune on myself, on us… Wait, let me explain,’ she interjected, as Govinda began to protest. She went on, ‘After the game and after you met us at Kamakya, on many occasions Dharma argued with me and cautioned me that my arrogance was my undoing. There have been times, during the darkest of nights when I have lain awake wondering if what I did was wrong. Perhaps I should not have been defiant. Perhaps I should have begged for Syoddhan’s mercy, for the kindness of the elders present. I should have said, yes, I am your slave, but have pity on me… I should have implored Dussasan to let me go, called him “brother” and begged him to look on me as his sister. I should have cried instead of arguing, I should have asked for mercy, instead of justice. I should have submitted and kept what honour was left me by my masters and by my destiny. But I did not, and I don’t regret it. Do you see why?’

Govinda shook his head. He did not dare meet Panchali’s eyes and his gaze remained on her fingers. His nostrils flared as he tried hard to remain calm.

Panchali extracted her hand from his grasp and placed it on his cheek, tilting his head up so that he would look at her. ‘You did that to me, Govinda. Just as you did to thousands of gwalas who had believed that their birth and destiny condemned them to the life they led, that power was an end in itself and that to be weak meant to give up, to surrender. I could not beg, I could not give up, because you showed me that to be human is to have the right to be free, to be my own person and be worthy of basic respect, my birth and gender and stature notwithstanding. You taught me that my body, my soul, were my own, and not meant to be taken from me by force. You taught me that the true role of a ruler is to protect the rights I was born with just by the virtue of being born. That society, law and justice were all human creations – systems made to preserve what we can call righteousness or dharma or whatever we like. To surrender would be to give up that which cannot, ought not to be ceded.

‘Dignity is not someone else’s to give me, Govinda. It is mine, to keep. You showed me that. You’ve shown your fellow citizens at Dwaraka that. We shall not forget. Twelve years ago, it was just me. Today, I know for sure that Nakul, Sadev, Partha and Bhim would stand with me, as would my brothers.’

‘Panchali…’

‘Listen, Govinda! You wish to blame yourself? Yes, you are to blame, but only for making us what we are. Revolution is here! It is time. What Satya began is not over yet. Destroying the Firewrights as they were is not enough. Removing the distinction between those who fight to hold power is not enough. We need to remove the distinction between those who have power and those who don’t.’

‘You don’t know what you’re saying, my dear. I understand you want to find meaning for your suffering but…’

‘You did not fail. The system failed. The kings who promised to protect me, righteousness, morality, law – the institutions I called on to defend my right as an individual…they failed! Not you, Govinda. Not yet. But if you were to give up now, you would fail, just as everyone else has failed me. The choice is yours.’

‘It’s a choice I cannot make. I cannot bear to put you at risk. I’ve had enough of believing in my own rhetoric, in the nobility of sacrifice and the greater good of Aryavarta. Who am I trying to convince, Panchali? You and I both know that I am a selfish man who does what he does because it makes him feel good to do it. I am no different from Dharma or Syoddhan or any of the others. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to understand me. And you do. That is enough!’

Panchali held back a sob as Govinda averted his eyes. She had never seen him this way: angry yet vulnerable, honest yet fighting the truth, both selfish and selfless at the same time. She wanted to say so much, explain that she not only understood, but that she also admired and cherished him just as he was. But she could not. She nodded, conceding the point, and walked a few steps ahead.

Govinda stood where he was, in silence, expecting that she would stop and she did. But she did not turn around. She continued to look into the distance as she said, ‘You’ve never really told me about your mother, you know. I’ve asked before, but you’ve never quite answered me.’

‘What do you want to know?’ Govinda said, frowning at the unexpected mention of the woman he thought of often but never spoke of.

‘What is your oldest memory of her? No, tell me, what is your most cherished memory of her?’

Govinda crossed the distance between them slowly, deep in thought. ‘I remember her singing to me as she went about her chores. Most women in the vraja would sing to themselves as they worked, but she…she sang to me. She would speak to me even when I was an infant, and not the meaningless sweet cooing that everyone does with babies. She would tell me things as if I were an adult, like how the harvests were coming along, or how the village was worried that there was no rain. She’d talk about taxes and tax collectors, vassal lords and river and mountain spirits and…and so many things. And she’d always end with a song, a song to me… Don’t ask me how I know what she said, Panchali, but I did…or I feel I did.’

‘You loved her?’

‘Of course!’

‘And yet, when you left your village in the countryside behind to become the Prince of Surasena, you never saw her again. At least, that is what I’ve heard…’

Govinda said, emotionless, ‘It’s true.’

Panchali said the words as kindly as she could, ‘Do you even know if she is alive, Govinda?’

The reaction was muted, but Panchali knew Govinda well enough to imagine his clenched jaws, the slight throb at his throat and, finally, as he pulled himself together, the near-imperceptible swallow. ‘No, Panchali,’ he stated. ‘I don’t know if she is alive.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what, Panchali?’

‘Why didn’t you go back to her…or for her? Why did you turn your back on the woman who raised you, protected you and loved you, and made you the man you are – a man who has been a prince and a commander and so much more…’

‘What are you implying…?’ Govinda began, defensive. He fell quiet as he understood. ‘Oh Rudra!’ he swore under his breath.

Panchali said, ‘Everyone thinks
you
made this sacrifice, like every other one that you’ve made. But it wasn’t your sacrifice to make, was it? It was hers. She let you go. And her loss made you see what you had to do for your people, for Aryavarta. We cannot sacrifice that which isn’t ours, Govinda. And that which is truly ours, we never sacrifice in vain. You dared defy a tyrant because your mother thought that the life of a simple, poor gwala was fighting for. Great things happen when the weakest rise. You knew this in your heart when you swore to make me queen over all kings, for when you said that there was none weaker, none more desperate in all of Aryavarta, than I. You know this now, when you say compassion is greater than reason, than duty, because compassion is what makes you rise, to do right.’

Govinda asked, ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘That is not for me to decide. Mine is the honour of sacrifice. I did not always understand, you know. So many times I’ve blamed you for what happened to me…from the very beginning of it all. In moments of weakness, I rail against you still. But never so much that I forget that you would not give up what you don’t honestly think is yours.’

Govinda stood stunned for an instant, and then he threw his head back and laughed. Panchali felt herself smiling at the mere sight of his mirth, for it had been far too long since she had seen him laugh this way – open, fearless and with unfettered joy. When he finally settled down his eyes once again held the spark that she knew so well and loved. ‘I asked you a simple question,
Princess
. I might have thought twice about it if I’d known that your host of enviable talents does not include brevity.’

Panchali was all set to retort in a similar vein, but the smile faded quickly from her face. She was painfully direct now. ‘The answer to your question is this: I want you to take us to war, Govinda.’

Govinda frowned. ‘War is not mine to declare, Panchali. Rightfully, it is for your husband, the Emperor, to deal in such terms.’

‘And he will fight because it is his duty. As will Syoddhan, because it is his. As will the Grandsire, and the acharyas Dron and Kripa – and Dwaipayana and Vyasa Markand will bless them all for it. But who will fight for what is right, Govinda?’

‘It’s not that easy. Dharma may not even agree.’

‘Many won’t agree. But when has that stopped you?’

‘I don’t want war, Panchali. All I’ve ever wanted is peace.’

‘No, Govinda. The price for peace will be too much to pay. The different kingdoms compete to grow their armies and arsenals, to lay claim to more and more power, and that can never lead to peace. This is no longer about Firstborn and Firewright, heretics and rebels. This is about why we do what we do, the very meaning of being Arya, of being noble. It is time for revolution. It is time for Vasudeva Narayana, he who sleeps on the Eternal Ocean, to rise.’

35

IT WAS NOT UNCOMMON FOR THE MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN
of Upaplavya to empty out on to the streets to cheer Govinda and the others as they went about their business. When that happened, Govinda would gratefully mingle with the crowd, relishing for the first time the sense of acceptance, even respect, that the identity of Firewright brought him. He spoke plainly and politely to all, often thanking them in earnest for their good wishes, and nodded and smiled at those who were too far away to hear him. It was on one such occasion, when he was walking back from the stables with Shikandin and a still-sullen Dhrstyadymn by his side that he noticed the silent group of travelling seers that stood in the crowd. They were less boisterous than their neighbours as could be expected, but they raised their hands in blessing as he passed them. Govinda bowed his head in respect, but his eyes remained on the bright-eyed man in the middle of the group, a man reclusive enough that he remained unrecognized by any of the others. He turned away as a few boys ran up to him.

In all the boldness of childhood, one of the boys said, ‘Aren’t you Govinda, the great Firewright warrior?’

He laughed and said, ‘I’m Govinda, yes.’

‘Is it true that you can kill ten men with one stroke? Are you really as strong as an elephant? Can you do magic? My brother told me you can fly!’

‘And who might your brother be?’

In reply, another wide-eyed boy was pushed to the front. Govinda went down on one knee in front of the two children. A throng of adults gathered around, curious to see what he would do.

‘I can’t fly,’ he said, in a sombre tone. ‘But,’ he pulled out a distinctly deformed brass coin bearing the Panchala emblem from his waist band, ‘I
can
do magic.’

Laying the coin out on his right palm, he waved his left hand over it in a grand gesture. The coin disappeared, to the amazed gasps from the children. The adults laughed at what they thought was a sleight of hand. Govinda stood up, glanced around him, and bent down to address the children. ‘Where’s it gone?’ he asked.

The children gestured their puzzlement, while the adults murmured that it must be concealed on his own person. Govinda dramatically shook his head. He nodded at Shikandin, who, with an expression of great surprise, searched around to find the coin tucked into the leather bindings on the hilt of his sword. It was unmistakeably the very same piece, bent out of shape in the very same way. The adults gasped and the children broke into spontaneous applause. Grinning widely, the warriors walked on.

Govinda waited till they were away from the crowd. ‘I hoped you still had it with you, old friend. Otherwise, it might’ve been rather embarrassing.’

Shikandin said, ‘The keepsake of our very first battle… err…together? Of course I still have it, I always do.’ Turning to Dhrstyadymn, he added as an explanation, ‘When Govinda and I first met, we placed bets on who was the braver man. These coins were the stakes.’

‘And who won?’ Dhrstyadymn asked.

Govinda and Shikandin burst out laughing. ‘We need to have yet another wager on that!’ Shikandin said.

Dhrstyadymn shrugged. ‘Well, now that I think of it, it was a rather simple trick. I mean, what you just did in front of those boys there – I too was taken aback.’

‘It’s the way he does it,’ Shikandin said, ‘the confidence and persuasive charm…’

‘Well, it was supposed to be Firewright magic…’ Govinda irreverently teased. ‘Or do you prefer Firstborn miracles? Repeat a fantastic tale often enough and it becomes the truth, that sort of magic?’ He chuckled dismissively.

‘You know, you’re not only insolent but you’re really apathetic too.’

‘No, Shikandin. Not apathetic. Merely…overwhelmed. But I’ve been self-indulgent for too long now. It’s time to change that.’

Dhrstyadymn regarded him keenly and was about to speak, but reconsidered. After that, his behaviour towards Govinda was almost normal, as though the unstated issue between them had settled itself for the time being. He did not think Govinda noticed either way.

It was nearly evening by the time Govinda was able to make his way through the palace kitchens to the courtyard behind them. As always, people waited in the hope of alms or even leftovers from the royal scullery. Many of the travelling mendicants he had seen that morning were there too. Govinda made sure the one he was interested in saw him distinctly before he continued to walk, heading into the agrarian sections of the city. He turned back just once, casually, to make sure that he was indeed being followed. After that, he did not look back again.