The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (52 page)

He saw Syoddhan and Grandsire Bhisma together in the armoury bonding over weapons that had previously been stored with utmost discretion to look as if they were of no importance. Vidur, uncomfortable but dedicated, described the inimitable gleam of the Wright-metal to an accompanying Dhritarastra, whose blind eyes lit up with delight. Elsewhere, he saw Dron and Asvattama in deep discussion, each man radiant with the glow of having found that which they had always been denied – acceptance by those who had earlier dismissed them. Vasusena and Dussasan alternated between sullen, excited and inebriated, even as Dussasan’s spies brought him timely updates on all that transpired in the palace as well as the on-going search for Devala throughout the realm.

Of course, the fact remained that the recent developments had cost Sanjaya his personal hold over Dwaipayana. But a public revelation of the old scholar’s shameful secret, and that too by one such as Govinda Shauri, had only served to diminish Dwaipayana’s stature. It was only a matter of days now before the Firstborn would stand destroyed beyond recognition He nearly laughed out loud at the thought of how simple it now was: Govinda had destroyed the Firstborn and legitimized the Firewrights. Now all he had to do was destroy Govinda and the rebel Firewrights, an easy enough task. Those fools would soon be crushed under the might of Syoddhan’s empire.

Though the situation was cause for joy, Sanjaya’s heart held a strange foreboding, a sense of impending doom, made worse by the fact that he was not usually inclined to place any worth in such irrational premonitions. He could not ignore that his calculations had been incorrect, and that Govinda’s unexpected revelations had swung the balance of power in the latter’s favour again. The thought brought to mind Dwaipayana’s old lessons on the true nature of strategy, of seeing the field of conflict as a fluid, everchanging, living creature. Another thought followed, this one self-recriminating – that despite the many years that had passed, Sanjaya still thought of Dwaipayana as his teacher and found himself applying Firstborn aphorisms to his life and actions.

It had been a long and very lonely journey and he was tired of constantly sifting through the clutter of human minds, trying to manipulate people into doing what he wanted of them while they were convinced they were doing so of their own will and volition. A few muhurttas of silence and solitude was what he needed.

Sanjaya headed to his small but lavish rooms in search of exactly that, but a curse escaped him as he saw his attendant waiting at the door.

‘Mih!’ he swore again as the identity of his visitor became apparent. Determined not to entertain the unwelcome guest with even a smattering of warmth, he burst into the room with quick, angry strides.

He stopped.

He was familiar with the silent nod with which his guest greeted him. But the visitor’s cold gaze, the way he reeked of arrogance and power, made him a stranger. Sanjaya could not remember the last time he had felt this unsettled, afraid from the pit of his stomach – not mortal fear, for the man before him was no warrior, and despite his considerable stature was not likely to pose any personal danger. The fear he felt was more subtle. He could smell it in his own sweat, the tang of rust and salt that overcame the perfume he was fond of wearing. For the first time in his life Sanjaya was afraid he would fail.

‘Come on in, Sanjaya.’ Suka was positively cheerful, startling Sanjaya. ‘Come, come, sit down. We have much to talk about and unfortunately very little time.’

Sanjaya could only stare and wonder what had happened to the timid, reticent man he had known all these years. The Suka who stood before him looked no less self-assured than a king, an emperor even. Enraged, he lashed out, ‘Whatever you’re here for, Suka, you’re wasting your time. I’ve told your father and your half-brother this already: I will bring the Firstborn down, if it is the last thing I do. There is nothing you can say to change my mind.’

Suka sat back, adjusting the cushion behind him for comfort. ‘Why not?’

‘What?’

‘I said, why not? Why can’t I get you to change your mind?’

‘Because, unlike your father, I am not ashamed of who I am… I am not ashamed of my heritage and blood, whereas your father… Yabha! Your father finds it such a shame that he has never told you, even once in all these years, who he really is, has he? And what that makes you! Now that the whole world knows you have come to me begging for my help.’

‘Really, this is confusing – your father, my father, their blood, our blood. It’s all one, you know. But that’s not the point. I have no intentions of insisting on formality, so there’s no need to stand in my presence. Do sit down and let’s talk about this in a civilized manner.’

‘Civilized? You talk to me of being civilized when your father…’

‘Enough about my father. Personally, its my grandmother I’m more interested in – as, I think, are you.’

Sanjaya clenched his teeth in a bid to show no response. He sat down.

‘That’s better,’ Suka said, leaning forward. ‘So, my grandmother. Queen Satya of Kuru. Of course, my grandfather…Parashara Varuni, met her before she became a queen. She was a lost princess, fleeing her tormented land… We both know the story, so there’s no point restating it. After she gave birth to my father, Dwaipayana, she met Shantanu, which makes her your ancestress by custom as well – through King Vichitravirya. You are, after all, a bastard child of the Kuru clan, are you not? For all legal purposes you are Kaurava…as much as Syoddhan and Dharma are, at least.’

Sanjaya sprang to his feet, growling.

‘Sit down,’ Suka instructed, as though Sanjaya were merely a troublesome student.

‘How do you know all this?’

‘What difference does it make? You thought my father would go to any lengths to keep the truth about Satya from me. And now that its public knowledge you think this revelation will destroy the Firstborn completely. Yes, you’re right, my father is ashamed. But you have to understand, Sanjaya, he’s human too. I think you can imagine what it is to be…shall we say…residual, like the leftovers of a sacrifice that no one wants but that still cannot be fed to pigs because it was sacred once. For what it’s worth, my father,
your grandfather
, Dwaipayana, still feels the same way. He does not know why he was concieved, and for whose vengeance. I think he just wanted to spare me the self-loathing that he, and in your own way you have gone through.’

‘And you…now that you know, you are not ashamed?’

‘Ashamed? Frankly, I couldn’t care less either way,’ Suka stood up and paced around slowly, weighing his next words. ‘You don’t really know me. I don’t know what you’ve thought of me so far, but whatever it is I assure you that’s not what I am. I am a practical man. But also a patient one, unlike you. Your problem, Sanjaya, is that you don’t deal well with priorities. You’re dedicated and focussed, and you have the resilience of a tiger, but you’re not good at delaying gratification.’

‘Hah!’ Sanjaya did not agree with Suka’s assessment of what he considered his greatest strength. ‘Considering the Firstborn are nothing more than an impotent group of hymn-chanters sired by the blood of Firewrights, a decrepit order led by a feeble, bumbling Vyasa like Markand. I’d thought of letting your lot fade away quietly but I swear by Agni that your arrogance won’t go unanswered, Suka. I will have the Firstborn hunted down, ravaged and tortured and verily plucked off the face of Aryavarta, the way your family had us hunted down during the Great Scourge.’

Suka smiled and Sanjaya could not help but notice how handsome, how impressive he was when he did so. ‘You mean
our
family, Sanjaya. Our family has been both the hunter and the hunted, depending on how you look at it. As for everything else… Oh well, I suppose I might as well tell you. I
wanted
Markand to be Vyasa before me. I wanted that docile, god-fearing hymn-reciter to become the Vyasa because I knew the Firewrights would rise again – one way or another. And, finally, when Aryavarta stood fragmented and leaderless with its kings and their mighty armies ready to fly at each other, in threat of war, of foreign invasion and internal dissent, when its kings trembled in fear because each one had outdone the other in a race to weaponize their forces, I would step forward. Yes, I, Sukadeva Vashishta Varuni would become the Vyasa of the Firstborn. Now, do you see?’

‘I…I don’t understand,’ Sanjaya refused to accept it. ‘Why bother to weaken the Firstborn and then rebuild their influence…assuming you could, that is.’

‘Oh but I can, and I will. You see, Sanjaya, despite what everyone says, I don’t take too much after my father or my grandfather. It is my grandmother’s blood that runs true in me…as it does in you.’

Sanjaya tried not to show it, but his eyes held curiosity and uncertainty both. Suka stood up and stepped forward to squeeze his shoulder, the gesture affirming every impossible speculation that Sanjaya entertained.

‘I’m not a man to destroy that which can serve me well, Sanjaya. And that is what you will now do…you and your fellow Firewrights, such as you call them. No…don’t bother to protest,’ Suka held up a hand, shutting the other man off. He said, ‘You and I have our differences. Very simply, we are both men who want the same outcome. Power and peace are mutually compatible ends, Sanjaya. One cannot exist without the other. And so, there is no reason why we both can’t have what we want. Now, who would you rather trust for this trade? A Vyasa you know to be your friend, or a puppet rebel Secret Keeper you don’t even know exists?’

Sanjaya’s eyes shone with frantic curiosity. ‘You know! You know who the Secret Keeper is!’

‘But of course,’ Suka said. ‘Surely you see it too…? Oh, don’t disappoint me, Sanjaya – I had great hopes of you!’

‘Who? Who is he?’

‘Let me finish,’ Suka imperiously cut in. ‘All that I have said so far has been out of courtesy. The fact is, you rolled the dice on this one. You held the secret of your grandfather – my father’s – birth over him and you thought you could hold it over me. But that is no longer a secret, thanks to your dear fellow Wright, Govinda Shauri. Nor can you hold whatever I’ve told you now against me. I assure you, no one would believe you if you told them that I, Suka, am not what I seem. Not my father, not Syoddhan and certainly not Dharma Yudhisthir. You have failed. Unless you have any other tokens to move, I’d say this game is over. It is up to you whether we play the next game as allies or foes.’

Sanjaya sank into a seat and let his head rest in his hands. He was not a man to concede defeat, leave alone doing so in haste, but to see Suka here, this way, speaking as he did… It made him wonder if treachery was less brutal than the sheer shock of having been fooled, of being shown up as a blind imbecile. ‘If…’ he began, but could not put his thought into words. ‘If I…we…?’

Suka said, ‘For now we’d continue exactly as you had planned, Sanjaya. Though my methods might be a little more direct than yours. Building forges, getting into these little skirmishes…the time for that is past. If you truly want these kings, these overlords, to fall at your feet, you need to show them the true reach of your craft. It’s not just one vassal lord here and there who needs to be touched by the Wrights, my friend. It is every man, woman and child in Aryavarta. You see, at the end of the day, these names, these orders – they are just ideals. What matters is power. You have the means, I have the motivation. The Firewrights hold scientific and economic power in their hands, but we, the Firstborn, control the political and the spiritual. It is time we began working together.’

‘And why would I do this when I stand so close to victory? I have brought Dharma Yudhisthir down by my own effort, Suka. I don’t need you to make the Firewrights win.’

Suka laughed. ‘What Firewrights do you speak of, Sanjaya? The ones in Matsya? The Nagas? Or the mercenaries under Devala’s control? There is only so much use he can be to you. With such power at their command, neither Dharma nor Syoddhan can resist the temptation to conquer, and we know where that will lead us all. Yes, either way, the Firewrights will win. But the question is, will
you
? You need me, Sanjaya. Just as I need you, to keep the legitimacy and influence of the Firstborn alive.’

Sanjaya’s eyes held a calculating gleam. ‘What can you give me?’

‘The one thing you want for yourself, the one thing that was denied you, and given, with what you believe to be no due cause, to your brother… Ah yes. I know. Rather complicated, these secrets of birth and ancestry. Be that as it may, give up this antiquated notion of being
the
Firewright. It means nothing. Become, instead, the Emperor of Aryavarta. You promised my father, did you not, just as he promised his mother, that a Kaurava would sit on the imperial throne? Are you telling me that you’ve never wanted that? Are you telling me that knowing in your heart that you’d make a better ruler than either of your brothers, you’ve never wondered what it might be like? An incompetent Dharma, an unambitious Syoddhan, both men have the power of the Wrights on their side now. Only I can give you more. And so, that will be our trade, Sanjaya. Help me legitimize the authority of the Firstborn over all Aryavarta. In return, I will legitimize your rule and the power of Wright-craft. Once that is done, nothing, no one, can stand in your way. In return, you will give me the peace I want for Aryavarta. You will do what either of your
brothers
have failed to do.’

It took Sanjaya a few moments to form any coherent words. When finally he found his voice, he heard himself saying, ‘How can I trust you?’ It was, he knew from experience of having been on the other side of many conversations such as this, the last, defiant question to ask before the final concession was made.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t,’ Suka noted with malicious amusement. He added, ‘But that is not the point, that is not the point at all. We have work to do.’

‘And the plan, Acharya?’

‘History teaches us that there is one thing, above all, that changes the world as we know it. It turns every hearth in every home into the fire of a forge, spurs new inventions, new discoveries and new political arrangements. Few things are ever as revitalizing, and when it is over it brings peace, undisturbed and lasting peace.’