‘You … you piece of … You!’ Panchali hissed at Govinda the moment she saw him.
‘I’m well, thank you, and how are you?’ he sarcastically responded.
She ignored him, and went on, scathing now, ‘Again the great Govinda Shauri walks in and out of Aryavarta, in and out of our lives, as though we were … nothing. I haven’t heard from you in all these days, and now you just saunter into my room and expect me to say that I’m happy to see you?’
‘Panchali …’ he tried to speak but she cut in, swatting off the calming hand that he placed on her shoulder.
‘You come running at Dharma’s beck and call … You do enjoy your newfound role as hero to the Kurus, and enjoy it enough to support this … this abominable war against the Emperor, don’t you?’
‘Panchali, please …’
‘… this … this thing will ruin our people with useless bloodshed and unfair taxes …’
‘Panchali …’
‘… not to mention that we can’t hope to win. And if we do leave Aryavarta without the firm leadership it needs, it’ll spawn an entirely new breed of corrupt vassals who will do nothing but backstab and bicker among themselves! You and Dharma … you … you men! You arrogant animals, all! Hah!’ She flopped into a chair, in a dark and determined sulk.
Govinda bent down, resting a hand on each arm of Panchali’s chair. ‘You should have considered all that before you began meddling around, as you have,’ he told her.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Where did you think it would lead? You trade, you build new roads, and maybe someday you’ll even farm the barren, lifeless desert … Did you think the rest of Aryavarta was going to watch you with glee and shower their blessings on you? Did you even consider what the next step was, after Dharma sat on the throne of Indr-prastha? You don’t have a choice; none of us do. This goes way beyond anything you could imagine.’
‘So you admit, then, that you foresaw this? You foresaw that we would go up against the Emperor?’
‘Foresaw? I’ve tried my best to bring things to this …’
‘Then you also admit that you’ve used me in this game of yours?’
‘Do you object?’ he asked, looking a little amused.
Panchali said nothing, but evenly met his gaze. She felt a certain calm knowing that things were going as predicted after all. First Govinda would use the Kurus to destroy Jarasandha. And then …
‘Trust me,’ Govinda urged, cutting in on her thoughts.
‘Trust you?’ she said, incredulous. ‘Hah! Govinda, the world is divided into those who admire you and those who fear you. Neither lot questions you, and you mistake that for trust. But trust is something that only an equal can give, it’s something that each one of us must earn by his or her word and deed. You can’t go around being secretive like you are and expect people to trust you.’
Govinda straightened up and stood with his arms crossed across his chest. Panchali looked up at him for a few moments.
Letting go of her anger, she tried to reason with him, ‘I know Govinda Shauri always has a plan, but why doesn’t anyone ever know what it is? Why won’t you ever share what’s on your mind, truly and completely?’
‘Then it becomes rather boring, doesn’t it? No more mystery, no more excitement left in anything.’
‘But it’s so unfair of you to hoard all the fun and excitement. What will become of petulant princesses like me if you don’t entertain us?’
‘Fair point,’ Govinda jestingly conceded. Softly, he added, ‘But, surely, there are other activities both of us would find more entertaining to share?’
‘Stop flirting with me, Govinda,’ Panchali commanded lightly. ‘Rudra knows you’ve said and done enough to break my heart already.’
Govinda ignored the veiled truth in her words and said instead, ‘So, does that mean I have to beg some more, for forgiveness?’
‘Just a little bit more.’
‘What if I said you look lovelier than ever?’ Govinda teased.
‘Oh, shut up! As if I don’t know you … Don’t bother trying to mollify me with such ridiculously old-fashioned lines.’
‘Should I try some new lines then? How about if I said that you look more intelligent than ever, that a new wisdom sparkles in your eyes?’
‘How about if you said you’ll spare me all this indulgent banter that obviously assumes I have the intellect of a six-year-old?’
Govinda threw his arm around her shoulder. ‘Go on then, tell me what I should know about what I’ve just done. Rather, agreed to do.’
‘And you’ll listen?’
‘Why not? Haven’t I, before? And shouldn’t I all the more, now? After all, from what I hear, the finances and most other affairs of Dharma’s establishment are in your care. And now I find he and I cannot even have a private discussion without you coming to know of it …’
Panchali considered Govinda for a while, becoming aware by the moment that this was her chance. Choosing her words carefully, she began to explain, ‘Aryavarta is in great danger – you know that better than anyone else. The threat of civil war and the threat of foreign invasion both lie heavy over us, though many would want to deny it. But a new empire, a different emperor – these aren’t the solutions to the problem.’
‘Then what is?’
‘Listen to me, Govinda. The vastness of Aryavarta has cajoled us into being nurturers and lulled us into a false sense of security, making us easy targets. It’s also tied us to the land. We not only lack skill as seafarers, but we also lack what I can only call a sailor’s heart, the sense that the vast oceans and what lies beyond them are relevant to us, part of our view of the world. I know someone from a smaller nation, or an island kingdom, would be more at ease with these ideas …
‘Unfortunately,’ Panchali continued, with a slow, sad shake of her head, ‘it’s not in me and not in most Aryas to see the oceans the same way. It’s not in us to seek out distant, new lands to conquer and colonize. Which is why we have civil war, one cycle of upheaval after another. Emperors overthrown by their own vassal kings, and kings by their saamantas. We make war either against our own kin or against our friends and neighbours. But you? You have the heart of an explorer, Govinda. You have the seas and the lands beyond to conquer. You don’t need war, not with Jarasandha. Not with anyone in Aryavarta. Don’t do this!’
She looked at him in earnest as she finished, hoping that this time she could achieve using reason what she had failed to using emotion, back at Kandava. She fought back the bile that rose in her throat at the thought of a war with the Emperor, the inevitable bloodshed that would come upon them if she failed to convince Govinda.
She could not fail. She would not fail.
Govinda, however, seemed less than persuaded. He studied her for a few moments, a slight frown creasing his forehead. His eyes remained hard and impenetrable, as they often were of late. ‘And Dharma?’ he finally queried.
Panchali did not know what to say, except for what she honestly believed. ‘An Arya’s sense of honour is driven by the belief that conquest and glory are part of our divinely ordained duty. Such passionate principles have been instilled in most of us over generations and they can’t be expected to subside overnight. In Dharma’s case, these strong foundations have been significantly repressed, all in the name of peace and nobility. He longs to emulate someone like Grandsire Bhisma, where he can lay claim to virtue through personal sacrifice but not give up on that which defines him as a warrior and an Arya. But …’
‘But?’
‘Whatever the reasons, he’s been forced to do the opposite. His reputation for nobility has been earned in a public role, as a lover of virtue and justice. He has been left to gratify his need to feel like a warrior through personal trifles, like gambling. To make him play the part of conqueror would be to place unfettered power in the hands of one who believes in morality but lacks the self-restraint to live with it.’
Govinda chuckled. ‘I’m really impressed wit
h your analysis. And, for what it’s worth, I quite agree with you. War against Jarasandha is a bad idea for many reasons, including the very persuasive ones you’ve just pointed out.’
Panchali rose from her seat in a sudden move, forcing Govinda to take a step back. She set her hands on her hips in a gesture of defiance, tilted her head back to stare straight into the tall man’s eyes. ‘But you won’t change your mind, will you?’
‘No, I won’t,’ he admitted.
‘In that case, let me speak frankly. You can’t go to war. You shouldn’t go to war. You’d never win.’
‘What should I do then, Princess?’ Govinda asked, a gleam in his eyes. ‘Ask Jarasandha nicely? Maybe tell him it’s someone else’s turn to play on the imperial throne?’
Panchali squared her shoulders and declared, ‘Assassinate him. It’s the only way.’
6
GOVINDA PACED THE SMALL ROOM BHIM AND HE WERE SHARING in a nondescript inn a day’s ride from Jarasandha’s capital. Pensive and grim, he scratched at his three-week-old beard. He desperately longed for a shave, but that minor inconvenience aside, their plan or, rather, Panchali’s plan was working perfectly.
‘Jarasandha will soon realize what we’re up to,’ she had pointed out to Dharma after convincing a visibly impressed Govinda of her scheme. ‘Maybe we can get him to believe that driven by our own arrogance we mean to challenge him in open war. If we move Kuru forces eastward and get Yuyudhana to lead the Narayaniya troops through the south towards Magadha … And ask my father to move the Panchala Eastern Guard through the Kosala kingdom. It would surely distract Jarasandha for long enough before he realizes that the armies are a feint.’
‘Distract him from what?’ Dharma had asked.
‘Our assassin,’ Govinda replied.
Dharma had winced visibly at that. He had said no words of approval or encouragement, but he had done nothing to stop them either. That had been enough.
The chosen assassin was one of Shikandin’s most trusted soldiers. He was a pleasant-looking man of Govinda’s years, half of which he had been spent serving in the notorious Panchala Eastern Guard and the other half as Shikandin’s spy. He had neither family nor friends other than his brothers-in-arms and his eyes held a fearless honesty. Above all, he was willing to do the deed, not for money or honour but simply because Shikandin had ordered him to. Govinda had liked him instantly, more so when the soldier had received the name of his quarry without as much as a murmur. The man also took with the same equanimity the news that he had, as Shikandin had phrased it, less than a trasarenu molecule’s worth of a chance of returning alive.
About a week after the man had set out, his identity and the exact details of his assignment a secret from all but Shikandin and Govinda, the armies were mobilized. It was then that Govinda had announced his intentions to ride to Magadha.
‘But why?’ Dharma had protested. ‘Yuyudhana leads your men and Partha leads the Kuru armies.’
‘I want to be there, just in case,’ Govinda had insisted.
‘In case of what …?’
Panchali had coldly finished, ‘In case the assassin fails.’
This had only perturbed Dharma more. ‘And if he fails …?’
‘We deny all responsibility, of course. Though I doubt anyone will believe us.’
‘It’s too dangerous, Govinda. If your man fails, we’ll have no choice but to meet Jarasandha in battle. He’ll attack even if we don’t. We can’t risk open war with the Emperor. It’s suicide.’
‘We’ll see,’ Govinda had flippantly dismissed.
Despite Dharma’s anxious protests, Govinda had left the very next day with Bhim. The two had marched with a single battalion of soldiers along the mountain roads almost till the borders of Vidharbha. There, in full view of imperial spies, they waited and met up with Yuyudhana and the soldiers from Dwaraka. The trio, along with their armies, then ostensibly continued towards Magadha, their progress slow and confusing to anyone who kept watch.
In fact, Govinda and Bhim disappeared, leaving Yuyudhana to lead the men. Playing the role of wandering mercenaries – two more in that teeming breed of battle-trained Sutas who would never have the honour or title of being true warriors – they had quickly travelled north until they were close to the borders of Magadha. This was a perfect disguise, for they rode their horses and carried their weapons without drawing attention to themselves. But they were also forced to choose rather simple inns and rest-houses for their lodgings. The two men cared little for such inconveniences and, in fact, found the variety of fellow-lodgers and the colourful tales they told rather entertaining. The one story, the news they waited for, however, never came.
Much was whispered about the omens of war – both man-made and supernatural – and in all those tales Jarasandha was spoken of as being alive and well. Either their assassin had yet to make his move, or had perhaps died even before getting close to his target. There remained, of course, the possibility that he had tried and failed, but both men tried not to think too much about that.
Bhim cursed out loud, bringing Govinda’s attention back to the moment. He too, was rubbing his jaw and seemed equally peeved by his rough stubble. Like Govinda, and unlike many of his brothers and cousins, Bhim preferred to stay clean-shaven. ‘All this, to overthrow a tyrant,’ he complained, turning onto his side on the hard plank that passed for a bed.
Govinda drew up a chair with his leg and sat facing the other man. ‘Is that what we’re doing? Think carefully before you answer, Bhim. Do you claim that this is a revolution against a tyrant? If not, what just cause do you have to overthrow him? Your own uncle Dhritarastra owes him allegiance. You can’t just brush away Jarasandha’s legitimacy and pretend he is unfit to rule.’
‘Oh? Then how does one judge when a monarch must be overthrown?’
‘Ah! I seem to remember asking myself the same question many, many years ago. You’d be surprised how many different answers there are to that one.’
‘How so?’
‘Consider this,’ Govinda began. ‘One fine day, a royal emissary comes to a Yadu village and claims that a seventeen-year-old boy is the son of the Surasena princess Devaki and the Vrishni chief Shura. He claims that the child and his half-brother had been sent away as infants to live in hiding for fear of their maternal uncle Kans, who ruled over the kingdom with an iron fist. Tell me, Bhim, if I were that seventeen-year-old boy, would I be justified in killing Kans?’
‘But of course! Your right to do so stems from the fact that Kans was a usurper but the people were far too terrified to say anything about it. That isn’t true assent.’
‘In that case, how can we be sure that the people of Mathura weren’t afraid of me and Balabadra? What gave us legitimacy but not Kans? After all, he took the throne from my grandfather because he felt the existing policies were far too conciliatory and not in the interest of the kingdom. Either he was a justified revolutionary and so were we, or both parties are equally guilty of tyranny. Don’t you agree?’
Bhim said nothing, but frowned in an effort to think things through.
‘Consider also,’ Govinda continued, ‘that the same policies that made Kans take the throne led him, in the longer run, to put the whole of Surasena to sword and fire. He imposed unbearable taxes to fund the Emperor’s campaigns and his soldiers often seized grains and livestock, leaving many to starve. When our turn came, out of sheer desperation and anger, the cowherds of my village stood up to Kans’s vassal lord with what little weapons we had. Everything that followed was social inevitability. In the end, the people rose against their hated ruler. That’s what truly happened, no matter how unromantic the tale is.’
‘The people placed you on the Surasena throne,’ Bhim argued. ‘The people deposed Kans. Choosing their new ruler was their lawful right.’
‘And that brings us back to where we started. Are we really overthrowing a tyrant? Jarasandha has been a good ruler to his people, and what we’re doing hardly qualifies as a revolution. But
then how many does it take to dissent? Has he truly been a good Emperor in everyone’s eyes? Is it in Aryavarta’s interest to align with outsiders such as the Yavanas to wage war against our own people?’
‘No king can hope to please everyone. All that matters is the greatest good.’
‘And how do you decide what is the greatest good? Who decides?’
‘The kings, the rulers of Aryavarta! That is what they’re here for. How difficult can that be?’ Bhim exclaimed.
Govinda inclined his head slightly, thinking. ‘When I was a young boy,’ he said at last, ‘we had a particularly bad monsoon and our cows were starving for lack of pasture. All over Surasena vassal lords sent orders to each village, instructing them to slaughter half their herds as an offering to Indra. I was livid, not only because I’d loved each and every one of those animals as a brother or sister but also because I saw that it was only the beginning. Depleting our herds would simply increase our dependence on the seasons and the fickle yield of the land.’
He grimaced, and added in a low growl, ‘Of course, our noble saamanta and his priests argued that I was committing sacrilege, and that by giving up half the herd we could save the other half. But for that you wouldn’t need the blessings of the gods – if you killed half your herd you’d have only half left to maintain over the same stretch of pastureland. The problem is that with fewer cattle the land you can till is less and you need to use human labour, which is not as effective. We’d also have less milk and so would need more grain, but without cattle to help till the land there’d be no more grain, do you see?’
‘Not really,’ Bhim pointed out. ‘Those cows might’ve perished anyway.’
‘Except,’ Govinda countered, ‘a random loss of livestock is very different from planned slaughter. One cow means the world to the common peasant, but what’s it to a vassal lord who owns many herds? Also, those with larger herds would stand to gain more because pasturelands are common resources, but cattle are not. The fewer cows others have means more pasture for my herd, even if I have to lose an animal or two myself.’
Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) Page 30