The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 (8 page)

She looked at Dhaumya to find that his face bore the cross expression of a brother disappointed with a younger sibling. ‘What more must he do to prove himself to you, Panchali?’ he hoarsely demanded.

‘I…’

Why do you doubt him? Do you know that few have understood me…or him…the way you have? Yet, it would seem that few have misunderstood us both so badly. But that means little now. He is gone.’

Panchali felt a sourceless pain fill her at that statement. ‘Do you think he will return?’ she asked, dully.

‘No. He won’t. He cannot.’

‘He never planned to, did he? It tore me to banish Govinda from Aryavarta right after Dharma’s coronation, yet I did… But it had nothing to do with what I said or did, isn’t it? He was going to leave us all anyway.’

‘Yes. He had to. Your husband may find it convenient to live in denial, but it won’t be too long before those who don’t start putting one and one together and realize that Govinda is a Firewright. And because of his own actions they won’t stop to ask whether he is any different from the power-mongers of old.’

‘He doesn’t
have
to do anything, Dhaumya. Govinda Shauri never did anything he didn’t want to. He believes in choices, not compulsions, so let’s say it as it really is. Govinda chose to leave.’

‘Because he thinks it’s best this way.’

‘He presumes too much.’

Dhaumya sighed and turned his palms upwards in a gesture of submission. ‘For what it’s worth, he has asked me to watch over you on his behalf. I shall try to fulfil that duty as best as I can.’ He placed a hand on her head in blessing and continued, ‘Jatavedas, the refulgent Agni, shall light your way, Empress. Be strong.’

With that, he walked away.

Panchali turned back to the view before her. A city that was silent, even lonely; a small, fragile whiteness against the mighty earthiness that was Aryavarta. She felt the confusion that had long cloaked her grow into a strange melancholy, turning finally into sheer despondence. There was, however, something familiar about the feeling. Govinda had made her his puppet, using her to weave his web of politics over Aryavarta. From the day he had turned down her affections, citing political imperative, to the day he crowned her Empress and left her behind he had always been one step ahead of her. It was important, he had told her, for the Vyasa and everyone who knew or suspected him to be a Firewright to believe that he was no longer a part of the empire’s affairs. And for that he would leave everything – and everyone – behind.

Panchali tried to turn her mind to the promised glorious future of the empire –
her
empire. But reason failed her and the attempt proved futile. All she was aware of was an excruciating pain at the thought that Govinda would not return.

7

‘NO! STOP! PLEASE…!’

Syoddhan, the crown prince of Western Kuru, lay on the cool marble floor, his hair and clothes dishevelled, begging for mercy and reprieve. It would have been a cause for worry if he did not occasionally break out into laughter as he wilfully lost the wrestling match. The bout finally ended with Syoddhan reaching out and pulling his five-year-old nephew, his sister Dussala’s son, to his chest. His own son Lakshmana was nearly sixteen and far too old for such juvenile pleasures, and when the blissfully exhausted child rested his head on his uncle’s broad chest and fell asleep, Syoddhan lay back on the floor, enjoying the pleasant weight of his nephew’s little body on his own, one hand gently patting the boy as he slept.

The bustle and murmur on the other side of the doorway told him that everyone had taken their places and the visitor they had gathered to meet had arrived. He decided to let them all wait. He wanted a few more precious, blissful fragments of peace and affection before reality intruded. Without quite realizing it, he was already frowning, as he ran his mind over what lay ahead.

Syoddhan had never shown much ambition, even though his father had tried desperately to inculcate the quality in him. His brothers, however, oozed the quality. It was just as well that he was the eldest, Syoddhan noted. He was forty-six years old but still a prince, while his father remained king of Kuru. Few others, his brothers included, would have been as patient as he had been. Dhritarastra, Syoddhan remembered, had once used the argument that his remaining king was the only way to keep the Kuru throne from passing to Dharma. The excuse was no longer valid, but Dhritarastra still held on. For his part, Syoddhan did not mind. His father’s childishness inspired only pity in him, not anger. He knew how much it had hurt the blind king to be denied his right to the throne as the elder son and then be given the crown once his brother no longer wanted it.

The sleeping child stirred, bringing Syoddhan out of his reverie. He looked down at the boy with affection, pondering the hackneyed line about outgrowing childhood innocence.
We are all creatures who have once been divine and will, one day, become one with the divine. Our tainted humanity is but the present, and it shall pass. And that’s why some things have to be protected, have to be fought for.
He closed his eyes again, trying hard to use the tranquillity of the moment to think things through. A medley of images flitted across his mind, drowning out the many tensions that lay coiled within. He was alone now, with nothing but his own thoughts.

Ever since Dharma’s coronation as Emperor…
Syoddhan stopped himself short. It was not, he grimly reminded himself, a day to be remembered as a joyful occasion. On the contrary, it was the day his dearest friend Shisupala had died, no, the day he had been
murdered
by none other than Govinda Shauri
.
Shisupala had very nearly made public Govinda’s terrible secret. From the destruction of the forests of Kandava and Ghora Angirasa’s death to the long-ago obliteration of the Firewrights near Mathura, which had set a young Govinda on his path to power – all of it was nothing but a carefully orchestrated farce to deflect attention from the truth: Govinda Shauri was a Firewright, and one who had no qualms about using their knowledge to his gain. After all, which man possessed the will to destroy a source of power when it could be harnessed instead?

And for that ambition, Shisupala paid with his life.
Memories of that day would never leave him, Syoddhan knew. He had managed to keep his temper in check for the duration of Dharma’s coronation to the imperial throne, but hardly had the proceedings concluded than he had set out to find Govinda and exact his vengeance. He had not, however, expected to find Asvattama barring his way.

‘You’ll regret it,’ Asvattama had cautioned. ‘You do this now, you pave the way for Dharma’s downfall and the empire’s with it. Whatever complaint you have against Govinda, don’t make your cousin, your blood, pay for it.’

‘My cousin?’ Syoddhan had spat out. ‘What about my friend? What about Shisupala?’

‘What about duty and honour and glory? Much as you may hate Govinda and what he has done, killing him now will only serve to destroy confidence in Dharma’s empire. Let it go, Syoddhan, for now, at least.’

By then his close friends and advisors had clustered around him, adding their voices to Asvattama’s.

‘He’s right, Prince,’ Sanjaya had said. ‘Think about what will happen if news of Govinda’s death comes back to this hall. Things will descend into chaos, at least half the monarchs in here will get slaughtered, and where will that leave Aryavarta? Bereft of our kings what will happen to the people?’

‘Do you counsel me to abandon my duty to avenge my friend? A scholar and a Suta telling a warrior of the Kurus to turn from a fight?’

‘No,’ Asvattama had said. ‘I am telling you to follow a higher duty. It surprises me that the Suta here understands such a noble thing. Looks like there is still hope for him…’

Asvattama’s characteristic snideness had restored sanity to the occasion. Syoddhan had agreed, but reluctantly and not without a sense of guilt that continued to haunt him still. He sighed, grappling with his emotions as he tried to assuage his conscience. But no matter how he looked at it, what Govinda had done to his dear friend was wrong. He could never completely let it go.

With that thought, he stood up carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping child in his arms and signalled for an attendant to take the boy from him.

Syoddhan strode down the marble-floored corridor with its gold-trimmed pillars and the omnipresent elephant motif – the mark of his great ancestor, King Hastin, the founder of the city. Always prosperous and proud, the Kauravas had spared no expense in making their palace ostentatious and awe-inspiring, to the extent of being excessive. Now that a prince of Kuru sat on the imperial throne it was all the more reason for Hastina to shine, to take her place as sister-city to the imperial capital, Indr-prastha. But neither Syoddhan nor his father could think of their beloved home that way. Hastina was the heart of Kuru.

He stepped out from the corridor and into King Dhritarastra’s private audience room. The room was meant for conversation and diplomacy, rather than a formal gathering of an audience. The seats, including the King’s throne were arranged in a cosy circle. The throne was empty now, in Dhritarastra’s absence, though Sanjaya stood, as he always did, right next to it. Also noticeably absent was Asvattama. Syoddhan found himself wishing that he had not taken Sanjaya’s suggestion to send Asvattama to interrogate the captured Firewright, Devala. But it was an important task, and Asvattama was the best man for it.

With that resolution Syoddhan turned his attention to the visitor, who stood up to greet him, an act of kinship rather than one of ceremony. Jayadrath, the king of Sindhu, was not only a friend but also Dussala’s husband. Syoddhan would have preferred a more suitable match for his darling little sister than the middle-aged Jayadrath, but the king came from a line of distinguished royals and had an uncontested claim to the Sindhu throne. Though nearly twenty years older than Dussala, he was an accomplished warrior and statesman. That had been Dussala’s only condition. She had demanded a man who was in no way lesser than her eldest brother, in stature or deed.

Looking around, Syoddhan smiled, this time with genuine pleasure, at his dear friend, Vasusena of the kingdom of Anga. His eyes moved on to rest on another man, one he welcomed with equal fondness if not familiarity – his maternal uncle, Shakuni. Thin and angular in build, Shakuni was the youngest of Gandhari’s brothers, and not much older than Syoddhan. He sported a long beard, and had the habit of smoothing it out whenever he was in contemplation, which was often. This made him seem much older than he was. That, and the way he enjoyed being hailed as ‘Uncle’. At that instant, though, Shakuni did not respond to Syoddhan’s silent greeting, instead gazing into the distance, lost in his thoughts. Syoddhan knew better than to be taken in by his uncle’s pretended abstraction. He was as wily as the red foxes of Dakshinavarta – a quality that the giant of a man seated next to Shakuni completely lacked.

Dussasan, the third of Dhritarastra’s sons and second in line to the Kuru throne, sat up straight as Syoddhan glared at him. It was but a few muhurttas since morning and, already, the second prince reeked of inebriation and indulgence. Dussasan had inherited all of their father’s ambition but none of his dignity. For this, Syoddhan blamed himself as much as he did his father. He knew well that Dussasan’s first drink of the day had been consumed in none other than their father’s chambers when the two men had got together, as they regularly did, to rant about how Dharma, the son of an impotent napunsaka, ruled over the empire that was theirs by right. Syoddhan had joined them once, in the very first days since their return from Dharma’s coronation, seeking reprieve from the pain of Shisupala’s death. He had left, shaken to the core, and never graced that particular gathering again. It terrified him still to think that perhaps such hatred as his father and brother harboured ran in his veins too, and that someday, despite his best efforts, it would rise to consume him.

With bitter fury Syoddhan wished, as he secretly had in his youth, that Yuyutsu – his father’s second child but by a palace concubine – had been born of a queen instead. Not one to wastefully cling on to what could not be, he dismissed the wistful, childish notion as quickly as it rose and strode to his customary seat.

‘So,’ Syoddhan began, ‘what’s this about? Looks like a matter of considerable importance! Tell me, what did you want to discuss, Jayadrath?’

The answer came as no surprise to Syoddhan.

‘Govinda Shauri.’

Govinda Shauri.
The very name made Syoddhan cringe. He said nothing and tried hard to keep his temper in check.

Jayadrath sat back, obviously enjoying the situation, though that was not because he had caused Syoddhan discomfort. He was fond of his brother-in-law: both of them were of the old, true blood. His undisguised joy, however, came from knowing that Syoddhan’s reaction signalled the beginning of many things. He continued, ‘I was one of those who held you back from vengeance for Shisupala’s death, and it was not without cause. I hold no goodwill towards Govinda Shauri, or even Dharma Yudhisthir, but it had looked to me that Dharma’s empire was to our benefit. Prosperity, peace and a placid Emperor. Of course, the fact that Govinda was neither seen nor heard of in the realm after the coronation completely justified my advice.’

‘Really? I would thank you for your counsel, but I suspect you have had cause to change your mind…’

‘Yes. Govinda is still in Aryavarta. There was a report of a fight, in an inn…’

‘Since when does the king of Sindhu take an interest in common brawls?’ Shakuni interrupted.

‘Since it coincides with what I see as the first act of tyranny by our new Emperor. Or should I say puppet Emperor? Your spies must have reported the happenings at Indr-prastha to you? Even as we speak, a scroll awaits Emperor Dharma’s seal of assent. It is an edict that will remove all taxes and tolls on Naga-made iron goods, that will supersede Takshaka’s sovereignity as ruler of his own people and interfere in
their
economic affairs. Takshaka will be the first to lose his authority, or even his crown. What’s to say you or I won’t be next?’