‘Oh yes,’ the scholar confirmed. ‘His stupidity is merely congenital.’
‘If you weren’t a learned man, and you, if you weren’t injured – I’d have done you both some damage, I swear,’ Shikandin said. ‘But as it stands, I’ll live with the satisfaction of having irked you, which is what I was hoping for. Getting to the point …’
‘Finally …’
‘I said, getting to the point, Syoddhan knows Takshaka and his people are all right, that they left Kandava in time. I hear he’s conveyed as much to his dear friend, the Emperor. Beyond that, even Jarasandha concedes that this remains an internal matter of the Kurus.’
Govinda said, ‘Frankly, the whole affair should make Syoddhan happy. After all he’ll now have Hastina for himself to rule. I’m certain that both Bhisma and Jarasandha would have found that an argument persuasive enough to turn a blind eye to my … erm … activities.’
‘True, but I’m not sure it’s enough to make you Syoddhan’s best friend, though …’
‘If you’re trying to break my heart, Shikandin, I’m afraid it’s not working,’ Govinda quipped.
The three men shared a round of laughter, cut short as Govinda winced.
With a meaningful glance at Shikandin, Dhaumya pulled back the covers to take a look at the bandaged spot on Govinda’s side. ‘We haven’t told anyone about this,’ he said.
Govinda responded with a noncommittal nod and lay back in the bed, revelling in the fresh, crisp scent of the silk covers. After all the soot and smoke, it was a relief to feel clean again.
‘Well?’ Shikandin prompted, not in the least distracted.
‘Would you two believe it was a common spear?’
Neither of the men bothered to respond and Govinda had little choice but to continue, ‘The Bramha-weapon …’ he was terse. ‘Except that …’
‘Hmm?’
Govinda searched for the right words to explain. ‘The poison in the Bramha-weapon is supposed to work by pulling images out of your subconscious mind, causing hallucinations, a confused view of reality. It works best on a crowd or group, usually because it leads to chaos – soldiers killing their armies, people burning down their homes … But this … what I felt, it was more than chaos …’ He shivered slightly at the memory.
Dhaumya said, ‘Do you realize that it’s unheard of to survive a direct attack using the Bramha-weapon? It’s renowned for never failing, even against those trained to resist it, if the arrow or blade with the poison pierces the skin.’
‘It seems to have failed this time …’ Shikandin pointed out.
‘Then it wasn’t the Bramha-weapon,’ Govinda declared. He wondered whether he ought to mention how he had managed to fight off the hallucinations, but then decided against it. Instead, he turned to Dhaumya, ‘Did you have a chance to examine the poison? There must have been some left in me …’
‘Yes, I had to bleed you a little to get it out. The contents were similar to the Bramha-weapon, but not the same. In any case, this wasn’t some simple Ganjika herb. Surviving this weapon, Bramhaastra or not, was no small feat. You’re either a tough man or a fortunate one. Maybe both.’
Govinda ignored the compliment, and the implied question.
‘A new weapon made from a new poison,’ he said solemnly.
‘Agniveshya?’
‘Yes. This was Agniveshya’s work, all right. I can only suppose he was trying to recreate the Bramha-weapon with new ingredients, ones that were more readily available. He must have ended up with this instead – a poison that draws on your deepest fears. It magnifies them, exaggerates them, it makes you relive them. Except it is worse than reality. It’s the most horrible way to die that I can think of. Yabha!’
A strained silence met his statement, and despite the warm orange-red beams cast by the setting sun on the white marble floor, a gloom seemed to descend over the three friends.
At length, Shikandin ventured, ‘At least we know how his killer found it so easy to get to him. It’d be dangerous and pointless, too, to keep Agniveshya alive if there was nothing more to be gained from him.’
Govinda looked from one downcast face to the other and said. ‘Unfortunately, all we have is our guesswork … But I’ll make do with that for the moment.’ He indulged in a prolonged stretch and an ostentatious yawn, making his two friends laugh and bringing back cheer to the conversation.
At last, when they had settled down, Shikandin said, ‘Conspiracies, and more conspiracies. I wonder, Govinda – you and Dwaipayana – who’s the master and who’s the puppet?’
‘These are tangled skeins, Shikandin. I believe that I’m master of my own self and Dwaipayana believes the contrary. Is one of us wrong? Perhaps we’re both wrong and someone else holds the strings …’
Shikandin groaned his protest and mumbled something about waking up when Govinda was done philosophizing.
Govinda laughed. ‘Let me see, how can I put it in a way that might interest … what was it … one with congenital stupidity, such as you? Ah! Got it!’ He inclined his head to one side, and said in a cheeky tone, ‘It’s like the difference between a courtesan’s seductions and those of a mistress.’
Dhaumya stood up with a smile, saying, ‘This is not a conversation for my innocent ears. I am, after all, a man of renunciation. I ought to leave before you two debauched men corrupt a pious soul.’
Shikandin raised a disbelieving eyebrow, first at Govinda and then at Dhaumya, who was now at the door. ‘You’re joking right …?’
The scholar waved it off, saying he had other things to attend to anyway, and left.
‘Where were we?’ Govinda said, the moment he was gone. ‘Ah, yes! When a clever courtesan comes across a debauched and foolish possibility, like Prince Shikandin of the Panchalas, she knows that to keep his interest she’ll have to constantly surprise him, entertain him, vary the prize she offers. But the really ambitious courtesan, whose aim is to become Prince Shikandin’s official mistress, will play the game differently. There is just one prize, an immensely desirable prize. That does not vary. But she keeps you on edge by never letting you know how close you are to winning it. Just when you think you’re almost there, she’ll pull away … not completely, mind you. Just enough to make you go all silly and chase her again.’
Shikandin forced a serious expression on to his face, though he longed to laugh. ‘I’m sorry, Govinda, I don’t understand,’ he said solemn. ‘Are you seducing Dwaipayana, or is he seducing you? I didn’t realize you found him attractive, by the way …’ He tried to maintain his stolid seriousness, but soon burst out in a loud guffaw.
Govinda joined in heartily, saying, ‘Good thing our dear friend left …’
‘But you’ve made your point,’ a slightly breathless Shikandin conceded at length.
Govinda shrugged as he added, ‘Of course, it is possible that Dwaipayana uses me in ways I don’t even see … I’m no puppeteer, and I don’t think I’m a puppet. Well, I hope I’m not.’
Shikandin stretched himself on the couch, hands behind his head. He stared at the vaulted ceiling for a while and then said, ‘What if, Govinda … what if everyone is a toy?’
‘You mean in the hands of fate? Hu! I didn’t realize you of all people were Dwaipayana’s faithful, all these years!’
‘You know I don’t believe in fate. I believe in the Eternal Universe and its perfection, but not in fate.’
‘Then?’
‘I mean, ultimately, who holds the strings? You act based on what you think Dwaipayana seeks to achieve … What if Dwaipayana has let you think as you do so that you act as you do? And then, of course, what if you’ve let him think that if he lets you think as you do, you’d act thus, when actually … you see what I mean, don’t you?’ Shikandin finished.
‘True …’ Govinda admitted. He sat up in bed, cross-legged, pulling the silken sheet in place around his bare hips. ‘I’ve been bathed,’ he suddenly noted.
‘Indeed you have, and by a rather attractive handmaiden too
. But that’s beside the point.’
‘I was going to say,’ Govinda continued, ‘that there is no point.’
Shikandin nodded, but said nothing, leading to a short, comfortable lull in the conversation. Eventually, Govinda began, sounding grim now, ‘Shikandin, what can you remember about the time when we were in Kandava … I mean, when you and I …?’
Shikandin regarded his friend with concern and hesitation. ‘The poison … it stoked things hidden deep in your subconscious mind, didn’t it, Govinda? It’s been, what, almost seventeen years? You’ve never asked me about what happened, until today.’
‘I’m asking now.’
With a soft grunt Shikandin sat up again. He gazed out of the window at something in the distance. And then, without looking at Govinda, he began in a matter-of-fact tone, reciting his recollection of events. ‘There were twelve of us, including you and me. We picked up the trail from the ruins of Ghora’s village, near Mathura. It took us four days to make it to the heart of Kandava and another day to locate exactly where they were keeping Agniveshya …’
‘He was there, wasn’t he?’ Govinda interrupted.
‘Yes, he was. He was working underground in what looked like a forge, but lived in a nearby hutment. We saw him being taken down by the guards and resolved to attack the next time they brought him out to the surface.’
‘And then … we attacked, didn’t we? I remember we attacked …’
Shikandin nodded. ‘Something was wrong. The Nagas standing guard over the trapdoor hurriedly pulled Agniveshya out. He was screaming. That’s when we attacked, the twelve of us.’
Govinda nodded, trying to piece things together in his mind. ‘I went for the trapdoor, didn’t I?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you pull me back, Shikandin?’ Govinda asked. ‘You pulled me back and gave the order to retreat. Why?’
‘The forge was on fire, Govinda. You would’ve jumped in at any moment.’
Govinda simply stared at Shikandin. For the tiniest moment his eyes were blank, holding no emotion. He shut them in an effort to remember and forget, both. And then, his usual composure, his cool, unflappable, commanding presence was back. After a while, he asked, ‘Why didn’t we take Agniveshya with us? We could have ended it all that day, if we had taken him with us …’
Shikandin cleared his throat and stated as plainly as he could, ‘He asked to be left behind. He was … badly burnt and in great pain. He asked me to leave him my dagger, and I did. Perhaps he had no intention of killing himself or, perhaps, he was recaptured before he could take his own life.’ He waited, knowing that Govinda had every right to berate him for the slip. Especially since it had now come back to haunt them.
Govinda sighed. ‘You’re not the only one who’s made such mistakes, Shikandin. Yesterday … no, the day before, I saw him – Devala Asita. I suppose I should be happy that I’ve flushed the snake out of its hole. Or I could regret that I didn’t kill it in the first place.’
Shikandin was grim. ‘Does Dhaumya know?’
‘No. And I’d rather not mention it. Dhaumya won’t ever acknowledge him as a brother … Not after what he’s become.’
‘A Firewright …’
‘One could say that, yes.’
Shikandin studied Govinda for a while and then said, ‘All right, so what other stupid confessions am I yet to hear?’
Govinda let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. He lay back against the pillows and said, ‘The woods, they always mean madness. Speaking of which, what … what was I doing, you know, back then, after we left Agniveshya? I can’t remember that part at all … how did we get out?’ he asked.
Shikandin smirked mischievously, the gleam on his face dispelling the sombre mood that had fallen over them both.
‘What?’ Govinda urged, smiling in anticipation, without really knowing why.
‘For all the trouble you’ve given me, it was worth it …’ Shikandin replied, relishing the moment. Grinning widely, he said, ‘Just after I pulled you back, I punched you so hard that you didn’t come to until we were halfway to Kampilya …’
A few weeks later, a great host convened at the place that had once had been known as Kandava. Amid much fanfare and splendour, Dharma laid the foundation stone for a new city, the capital of his kingdom. Panchali stood on his left, holding a handful of the freshly dug, fragrant earth mixed with auspicious unguents and incense. Govinda stood at Dharma’s right, in the place of honour. He had found it curious that Panchali had not spoken to him even once of what had happened and, in fact, she carefully avoided the topic. It puzzled him still, much to Partha’s amusement.
Partha’s theory had been that Panchali felt too embarrassed at her own actions to revisit the matter. Govinda knew better than to assume so. Her silence told him many things, but he decided to let the matter go. The important thing was that it was done, and Takshaka and his people were safe. As was Panchali. Dharma, of course, deemed the entire event a wonder of divine providence, the vastness of which was beyond individual comprehension. He went on about how the benevolent gods had not only made it his duty to destroy Kandava, but also, acting through Govinda, had ensured that innocent Nagas would be safe, as was their destiny.
Destiny …
Govinda glanced at Dwaipayana, who joyfully observed events from his place of honour on an elevated dais, next to the Grandsire Bhisma and King Dhritarastra. It was, Govinda knew, for the same reasons of destiny that the Vyasa and Dharma both preferred to overlook Panchali’s actions as well as the events that had followed. They had made sure that no one came to know that she had been a part of the episode at Kandava. It would not do to reduce the dramatic version of events by introducing prosaic explanations for what had happened.
The Vyasa frowned ever so slightly as his eyes met Govinda’s. Govinda, however, immediately bowed with every bit of respect due to an elder and scholar. His humility was nothing less than endearing. Dwaipayana was moved to smile. Despite himself he mouthed a blessing, ‘Varuna protect you, my son.’
Govinda’s eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. Dharma had to call to him twice before he turned to listen. At Dhaumya’s instructions, Dharma and Govinda together lifted the consecrated foundation stone and set it gently into the ground, while Panchali sprinkled the sanctified soil around it. Straightening up, the two men embraced each other spontaneously.
‘Swasti!’ Govinda said, wishing all prosperity on the kingdom. ‘May every harvest be plentiful and every sowing peaceful.’
Dharma was visibly stirred. ‘What shall we call this city, Govinda? What shall we name it?’
Govinda looked up as the first drops of rain fell on his forehead. In moments, the strong, sudden downpour had soaked him to the skin. Around him, many ran to seek cover under the makeshift shelters of bamboo and woven leaves that had been set up for the day. Dharma and Panchali did not move, letting the torrent drench them within and without.
Laughing, Govinda placed his hands on Dharma’s shoulders. ‘Indr-prastha,’ he said. ‘Call it Indr-prastha, the city of Indra on earth … My King.’
Dharma found himself unable to speak, overcome as he was by emotion. Finally, he managed to rasp, ‘Stay, Govinda, please?’ His voice took on a note of urgency. ‘Stay here with us … Help me build Indr-prastha.’
Govinda glanced at Panchali. She showed not the slightest trace of any emotion. With a sad smile he replied, ‘This is your home, Dharma. It’s time I went back to mine.’
Part 2
1
DAWN BROKE OVER KAUNDINYAPURA, THE CAPITAL OF THE Vidharbha kingdom, as Govinda rode up to the city gates. The entire city was brightly festooned and decorated in preparation for a royal wedding. In contrast, Govinda was dressed in simple, well-worn clothes. His weapons were concealed. He observed his surroundings carefully, as he weaved through the celebrating masses. In time, he spotted the temple dedicated to Goddess Parvati. He swung off Balahak and led the horse to the shade of a nearby tree, pretending
to tend to him as he waited.
A sudden flurry of activity on the street announced the arrival of Vidharbha’s princess. Rukmavati stepped out of her royal carriage and walked into the temple. An amazed Govinda studied her discreetly. Despite her bridal finery, she looked younger than he had expected, hardly eighteen or so. Her skin was even and creamy, touched with shades of pink from the warmth of the sun. Her long brown hair had been done up in a large, complex knot on the crown of her head, highlighting her slender neck and graceful gait. Large doe-eyes were set in a rounded face, conveying the innocence of a child. Only her lips, full but unsmiling, showed the state of her mind.
A crowd began gathering as a grand procession made its way towards the temple. At its head rode the bridegroom – Shisupala, heir to the Chedi throne. To his right was Syoddhan, his friend and ally, and on the left rode Rukmi, the Crown Prince of Vidharbha and father of the bride. The three men also had the distinction of being Emperor Jarasandha’s most trusted vassals, and Shisupala was as dear to the Emperor as a son.
Son or not, Govinda noted, Jarasandha’s hand was clearly behind the wedding. The nations of Vidharbha and Chedi had consistently refused to join the Confederation of Yadu Nations, preferring to align themselves with Magadha. Now that the Panchalas were kin to the Kurus or, more precisely, to the fast-rising power that was Western Kuru, Vidharbha was the next political prize. The kingdom was strategically located to control the southern route across the span of Aryavarta. As a result, if Rukmavati married Shisupala, it would seal the Emperor’s influence over the southern roads, and leave Dwaraka in an extremely precarious position.
The chain of events was far from unexpected. Govinda had known well that something like this was inevitable ever since Kandava had gone into Kuru hands. And so, despite Dharma’s invitation to stay and help build the new city of Indr-prastha, he had returned to Dwaraka. He had waited and watched patiently for nearly three years, almost certain that it would be Vidharbha that came up as a political issue. But, he admitted to himself, he had not expected it would also become a personal one.
Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) Page 26