‘Yes …’
Govinda continued, ‘So, what is the greater good? Who decides what is just? A few years after I’d become prince, I refused to order another culling. Then, the very same lords who’d once agreed with me began to find my policies unjust. Mathura was in an uproar, and the vassals and chieftains were appealing to Jarasandha for help, asking him to get rid of the crazy prince with his new-fangled notions. And so the Emperor marched against us in the interests of the greater good – the greater good of the powerful.’ His voice remained even throughout, but his eyes burned with fervour.
Bhim regarded him with a slight touch of awe. At length, he said, ‘It’s not my place to ask, Govinda, but why …?’ He hesitated.
‘Why did I surrender Mathura?’ Govinda coldly prompted.
Bhim chose his next words with care. ‘You’re not a coward, my friend,’ he began. ‘You didn’t leave because you were afraid. I can only assume that having been brought up a gwala you failed to see that your duty, your honour as an Arya, lay in fighting Jarasandha. Don’t get me wrong …’ he hastily added. ‘You might’ve thought that bricks and mortar were not worth human lives, which I completely agree with. But perhaps you didn’t see that you gave up the very identity, the sovereignty of your people. Their honour was lost, along with yours …’
‘My honour?’ Govinda raised an eyebrow.
‘I’m sorry, I …’
Govinda waved him into silence. ‘I’m not offended, if that’s what you’re apologizing for. I just find it rather amusing. Most of us, including you, Bhim, talk of honour and nobility as the things that define us. How then can something so essential, so fundamental, be given or taken away? And that’s why I neither explain nor apologize for what happened.’
‘Fine. I ask for neither explanation nor defence, but I do want to test my conjecture. Won’t you tell me the true reason why …?’
Govinda sounded detached. ‘My people were on the verge of civil war, Bhim. The Surasena kingdom was the last bastion of Yadu unity and it had held together only because of a shared terror of Kans. Giving up Mathura was the only way to avoid a bloodbath.’
Bhim merely nodded in response. They sat silently for a while and then, as a matter of discipline, went to bed. It took Bhim a long time to sleep that night.
7
IT WAS NEARLY EVENING BY THE TIME GOVINDA AND BHIM looked down from the peak they stood on at Jarasandha’s capital city, Girivraja – so named because it was nestled in a valley between five hills.
‘Truly impregnable,’ Govinda noted. ‘No wonder Jarasandha can afford to be such a conqueror – these hills protect his own people from assault and the verdant abundance makes food and water available in plenty. But I think I understand why he wanted Mathura so badly …’
‘Oh?’ Bhim was curious.
‘In a way, Jarasandha is not unlike me, a cowherd at heart,’ he indicated to the huge flocks that grazed on the hillsides. ‘How could he not be tempted by another pastoral heaven like his own home? It explains why he wanted Mathura, and why, even now, he nurtures hopes of conquering Dwaraka.’
‘Ah, but the difference is, Govinda, you wouldn’t covet his kingdom for your own.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure, Bhim. If I knew I could have it, I might just want it.’
The two men gazed down at the city for a while longer, until Bhim said, ‘What now?’
‘We wait for morning and make our way in with the throngs. It’s full moon tomorrow night …’
‘Ah! Market Day!’
Govinda laughed at that. ‘My dear Bhim! We’ll make a gwala out of this Kuru prince yet! Yes, Market Day. Should make for a fair crowd in the city.’
‘And once we’re in?’
‘I just want some news, Bhim. We can scout around a bit and hopefully get out by evening. We can head back to one of the outpost inns and wait there. What else can we do?’
‘And I thought this would be quick and dirty!’
‘It’s politics. Dirty yes, but hardly quick. But enough of all that. Be a good man and light a fire, will you. I’ll see to our horses.’
As the sun went down, the light of many small campfires could be seen on the hills around the city. A little after dawn, all the campers began making their way down the hillsides to join the already teeming masses on the road to Girivraja. Govinda and Bhim fell into that crowd, mingling unnoticed into it.
It was not long before Govinda frowned, clearly not at ease. Bhim nudged him and threw him a questioning glance.
‘It’s too crowded,’ Govinda replied.
‘You don’t like crowds?’
‘No, that’s not what I meant. It’s too crowded for just another Market Day. Something’s happening.’
‘The city seems to be on high alert. There are guards posted everywhere.’
‘Hmm. Look over there.’
Bhim glared at the convoy that marched in a slow, steady rhythm, coming at them from within the city. At a shout from the guards, the crowds shuffled off the road and to the sides, making way for the troops. He cursed under his breath. ‘He’s sending out the troops. He’s marching to war!’
Govinda stopped in his tracks for a moment, considering something. He then turned to a group of men walking next to him and struck up what appeared to be a completely frivolous conversation. Bhim walked patiently alongside, watching him joke and laugh with the men, who looked like they were farmers from the Magadhan countryside. When Govinda ended his banter and turned back to Bhim, his face was grim.
‘It’s no simple Market Day, Bhim. There’s to be an execution … Careful now, they’re watching. Look excited. Laugh!’
Bhim forced out a loud guffaw, as though delighted at the prospect of watching some criminal die a gory death. He quickly quietened down into a morose silence. ‘It could be someone else,’ he said. ‘Some thief or rapist or …’
Govinda did not reply.
The two men did not have to wait long to find out. The crowd took them directly to the central square of the city, where a makeshift platform had been set up. People filled the square on three sides while the fourth, which opened on to the path that led to the royal enclosure, had been sealed off with a light wooden barricade. Soldiers stood guard in front of the platform, vigilant and watchful. Two elephants also waited there, swaying restlessly from side to side. Occasionally one of them would let out a loud trumpet, the noise ringing over the square and sending the gathered throng into a renewed bout of frenzy. Horror, excitement and the strange relief of being a safe spectator hung in the air.
Govinda found the moment disconcertingly familiar. It reminded him of another crowd, another would-have-been execution. At the end of that day there had been another king, a dead one who had set him on the path that had brought him here today. Taking a deep breath, he shut out the noise and all thoughts of the past.
‘Look!’ Bhim exclaimed.
The crowd began jeering as a group of guards made their way on to the platform dragging a bloody, mangled figure along by his chains.
‘Mih!’ Both Bhim and Govinda swore under their breaths as they got a good look at the prisoner. The sockets of his eyes were bloodied and empty. Strips of skin hung from his naked frame like tattered cloth. The flesh was gone in some places, probably burnt away, and the white of his bones showed clearly for all to see. The jubilant crowd had suddenly fallen silent, shocked at the sight of the living remains of what had once been a man. A stink rose as someone retched nearby. Some spectators looked away, even as many others stared, transfixed. A young man sobbed quietly and whispered what sounded like a prayer.
‘Is that …?’ Bhim asked in a low whisper.
Govinda nodded. Despite the state of the prisoner, he had no doubt that it was indeed the man they had sent.
‘He’s been tortured badly,’ Bhim went on. ‘Do you think he’s talked?’
‘No, but he doesn’t need to. Our armies are less than a fortnight’s march away. It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?’
&nb
sp; The two men watched in uncomfortable silence as the prisoner was brought forward, his legs twisted and useless, the result of broken knees and ankles. The guards threw him unceremoniously on the floor of the platform and stood in a loose formation around him, laughing as they kicked him and prodded him with their lances to make him squirm some more for the crowd’s entertainment.
Shouted conversation soon picked up.
‘So it’s true,’ an old man said. ‘I’d heard that the Emperor had been attacked.’
An equally wizened figure next to him added, ‘The medics feared for his life. It was a blow to the neck, almost. A lesser man would’ve died.’
A young man argued, in a rough whisper, ‘Liars! I heard nothing of the sort.’
‘Of course you didn’t, you rascal! You think they’d announce that the Emperor is fighting for his life?’
‘So how do you know, old man?’
‘My son is a palace cook. Even so, he swore me to secrecy, till today … He saw it all, you know! Happened to be waiting on the king when that son of a whore attacked.’
‘And what did your son do? Hide?’ the young one taunted.
‘I’ll have you know he nearly died for his Emperor,’ the old man retorted. ‘He would’ve throttled the assassin with his bare hands, but Lord Jarasandha ordered the guards to take the man alive.’
‘A relief for your son, I’m sure!’
‘Why, you fly-ridden dungpile …’
‘Now, now,’ the first man gently intervened. ‘It all ends well, that’s what matters. Our Emperor is invincible. The old blood of the Solar Line runs true in him. These wretched Kuru kings and their hired killers can’t do a thing to him, Hara be praised!’
‘Puuya!’ the young man swore. ‘Who needs the elephants? If you ask me, we should tear that man apart ourselves for what he tried to do!’
The words seemed to ring through the mob, infecting it. Two men broke through the light barricade and vaulted themselves on to the platform. The guards gave them an indulgent look and made no move to stop them. Urged on by the crowd, the men ran up to where the prisoner lay. One of them bent down, and spat with accuracy into the empty eye sockets. The other pulled aside his waist cloth and began urinating on the near-dead man, to wild applause from the mob.
Govinda watched without flinching, his hand in a strong grip around Bhim’s wrist. ‘Keep calm,’ he said. ‘We can’t do anything, Bhim.’
‘Can’t, or won’t?’ Bhim growled.
Govinda gave him a piercing look, and turned his attention back to the bloodied prisoner. The brave man had been a steadfast soldier and done what he had set out to. Govinda would have liked to tell him so, to assure him that despite what was happening to him he had kept his honour and died well. But he knew better than to waste time or emotion wishing for it.
A trumpet trilled from the roof of a nearby building. Immediately, the soldiers threw the commoners off the platform and stood to attention in two straight lines that flanked the prisoner.
‘The Emperor! The Emperor!’ The excited whisper built up into a shout and then into a resounding chant. ‘Hail the Emperor of Aryavarta! Hail Jarasandha the Mighty!’
The thunder of hooves drew close and loud as Jarasandha’s ceremonial chariot trundled towards the square and drew to a halt behind the platform. More soldiers ran forward, forming a guard of honour leading from the foot of the vehicle to the platform. A courtier, whom Govinda supposed was Jarasandha’s minister, led the Emperor on to the stage.
As one, the crowd bowed, many going down on one knee or both.
‘Get down!’ Govinda hissed and pulled on Bhim’s arm.
‘For what?’
‘This is his realm. He is its ruler till our task is done. It won’t kill you to bow to him.’
Grudgingly, Bhim went down on one knee, but both men raised their heads to look up at the Emperor.
Jarasandha was a huge man, one who deserved his reputation for strength. His hair was more grey than black, but the muscles of his arms were taut and his girth was hardly soft. Even at the slight distance, the battle scars on the Emperor’s right forearm and shoulder were clearly visible. There was, however, no obvious evidence of an injury from the assassin’s attack. Bhim and Govinda exchanged glances.
‘If only …’ Bhim whispered. ‘If this isn’t misfortune, what is? To get within striking distance, and fail …’
‘I think it’s more than misfortune. Our man wasn’t one to take chances or be careless. The Emperor knew. He was ready.’
‘He knew? But … that would mean …’
‘Yes. We’re expected. Perhaps betrayed.’
‘By whom?’
Govinda did not answer.
Jarasandha raised his right arm, calling for silence. A heavy stillness fell over the square. Govinda imagined he heard a soft whimper of pain, but could not tell whether it came from the prisoner.
‘My citizens, fellow men and women, people of Aryavarta …’ Jarasandha’s deep baritone boomed over them all. It was enough to make the mob snap. They rose to their feet, cheering and praising their Emperor, until Jarasandha held up his hand again.
His tone was honest and warm, though in no way lacking authority, as he gently conceded, ‘Truly, it’s your love for me, your prayers that keep me safe and alive. But wait. Hear me out completely before you give voice to your joy once again.’
The crowd murmured softly and soon settled down, urged by the occasional stern look from one of the soldiers posted to keep order.
Jarasandha continued, ‘For nearly a week now, Kuru and Yadu armies have stood at our borders. But the attack they’ve made is not the one you might think. Snivelling cowards as they are, they’ve sent a mangy jackal to hunt down a lion – an assassin to murder their Emperor!’
Despite the Emperor’s injunctions, the mob was in uproar. This time Jarasandha let them shout themselves hoarse, watching with an indulgent, paternal smile.
Govinda turned to the astonished Bhim. ‘You didn’t expect this, did you? You didn’t expect that people would actually like him?’
Bhim shook his head, letting some of his horror show.
‘It’s we who make monsters of our enemies, Bhim. We call them evil demons and pretend we do the world a favour by killing them. It’s the only way we can live with ourselves.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Bhim snapped before he could restrain himself. ‘I’m a prince. It’s my sacred duty to conquer and rule.’
Govinda considered the statement and then shrugged. ‘That delusion works, too, I suppose.’
Bhim made to retort, but realized that the crowd had fallen quiet and the Emperor was about to speak.
Jarasandha came straight to the point. ‘I have ordered this public execution,’ he announced, ‘not only to show to our enemies that we will not take aggression lightly, but also as a sacred sacrifice. Even as I speak, as we stand here, the mighty armies of Magadha have begun marching towards central Aryavarta. In two weeks’ time, our brave soldiers will meet the Kuru and Yadu armies at our borders in open battle, while forces from our garrison at Mathura will attack from the west. Unlike my enemies, I make no secret of my plans, but lay an open challenge for them to accept, if they dare. Or else …’ The Emperor laughed and let his words ring in a terrifying growl as he declared, ‘We all know that this isn’t the first time that men have fled before the might of Magadha. But let this be the last! Jayati! Victory!’
The crowd was jubilant. ‘Jayati! Jayati!’ they took up the victory chant. Even those who had flinched or turned from the tortured prisoner now looked on him with fearless pride. This was war and he was but a sacrifice, the first of the enemy to die.
Jarasandha folded his hands in prayer and with a charming smile stepped aside. He nodded his instruction to the executioner-mahouts and one of them led his elephant forward. The platform creaked with the weight of the animal as it made its way towards the prone prisoner in a drunken stupor that would allow it to kill on order. At the same time, sol
diers came forward to carefully position the prisoner on his back. The tendons of the man’s neck had already been severed and his head lolled back towards the crowd for them to see his face.
‘Stand back!’ the Emperor ordered the mahout and also waved off the soldiers around them. The men retreated to a respectful distance. Drunken elephants were not to be trusted. Jarasandha reached out to caress the royal elephant’s trunk, whispering to it some words of affection, or possibly command. He led it forward, unafraid of its uncontrolled might, till both he and the animal stood over the condemned man. An expectant quiet fell over the crowd. At a gesture from the Emperor, the elephant raised a foreleg and brought it down precisely on the prisoner’s stomach.
The man screamed. The dreadful sound tore through the forced calm, rising and ringing in an endless hell of agony. Then the screaming squelched to an abrupt stop. Where there had been a man, with a body, a head and a face, there was nothing now but bloody pulp.
Jarasandha cast one last look at his would-have-been killer before striding off the platform and towards his chariot. The mahout ran forward to take charge of his animal, even as prison attendants stepped up to see to the dead man’s remains. The crowd came out of its stunned daze and began to disperse.
‘Come on,’ Govinda pulled at Bhim. Bhim turned, vaguely aware that he was trembling and that his hands were clenched into angry fists. Govinda remained impassive. ‘Come on, we need to get out of here quickly!’ he urged.
Bhim stared at him with a new loathing. ‘By Hara, Govinda! What sort of a man are you?’
Govinda sighed, as though he had anticipated the question and was perhaps even tired of it. ‘I’m a man who wants to stop a war we can’t win,’ he lightly said, adding, ‘as, I assume, you are too. Can we please go?’
Gritting his teeth to stop himself from saying anything more, Bhim complied.
The two men quickly made their way to where they had stabled their horses. They left Girivraja well before noon, making their way out with the still-awed crowd that spoke of nothing but the morning’s execution and the war the Emperor would soon win.
Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) Page 31