True to Devajit’s words, though their numbers were small, Shikandin and his men moved about like ghosts, avoiding every trap the enemy had laid and setting up many of their own. For two years they disappeared, seemingly without a trace. The forest dwellers spoke of them only as a nameless force, a dreaded creature of the woods, who appeared out of nowhere and was gone before it could be seen. As for the pirate chiefs, they finally met their match in these men. Shikandin’s tactics were unlike any they had encountered so far. In addition to the usual stake-lined pits and hidden creeper nets, Shikandin and Devajit devised an underwater trap – a simple rope loop, which they set into the shallow bed of the swamp. When one of the pirates stepped into the loop, it sprung a reed lever, which immediately pulled the rope tight around the man’s leg and dragged him into the water. It was tough work laying the long ropes in the sticky clay bed of the canals that made up the swamplands, but once the traps were set they were difficult for any quarry to spot and once caught they were impossible to escape from. The legend began to take root that the forests themselves had come alive to destroy evil.
Shikandin was only too happy to give up due recognition and encourage such tales, something Bhim did not quite comprehend. ‘A man can give up anything but this,’ he argued with Govinda. ‘Valour and honour are the only thing that truly defines us. How can Shikandin not care for these things?’
Govinda smiled affectionately at the thought of his friend. ‘Shikandin,’ he said, ‘believes that valour lies in getting things done. He knows that these legends will last and serve to keep new pirates from coming up long after he has left the place. If he takes credit the piracy will start again the moment he leaves.’
‘By that logic,’ Bhim pointed out, ‘even empires should fall once the men who built them are gone.’
‘Indeed they will,’ Govinda said. ‘Unless you make legends of them too.’
Bhim’s reservations were soon assuaged as news began to come in that the pirate lords who were still alive were surrendering, one by one, to the kings of Kalinga or Vanga, asking for mercy and reprieve. As the Kalinga coast regained its ancient reputation for safety, trade boomed and the region began to prosper. In the end, a newer, stronger treaty was set in place with the grateful King Srutayus and work began on extending the Great Road from Magadha to the key ports of Kalinga.
At this time Panchali proposed mirroring the new eastern stretch of the Great Road in the west. Linking Dwaraka to the Great Road, she observed, would connect it over land to Kalinga, resulting in a much shorter journey than sailing around the southern peninsula of Dakshinavarta. The proposed highway served to seal Sadev’s negotiations with the powerful kings of Kishkinda and Pandya, as well as their allies. Soon after, work began on the web of roads that would connect the two great ports of the east and west, and link the northern mountain pass to the peninsular plains. Aryavarta was becoming one glorious empire. Dharma’s empire.
14
WITH MATTERS SETTLING SOMEWHAT IN THE EAST, GOVINDA SPOKE to Bhim of returning to Dharma’s side at Indr-prastha. But news reached them at Magadha that Partha had run into trouble on his northern mission. For the past six years, the northern conquests had gone better than planned and Partha had been able to raise a vast fortune through tributes from the newly acquired vassals there. The many victories had, however, cost him dearly in terms of his armies. More than two-thirds of his forces had been lost and what remained of it was simply not enough to defend the fortunes he had raised on their journey back through hostile territory.
Govinda left right away with more than half of Bhim’s troops, as well as food and other supplies, to help Partha. He followed in reverse the same path Partha was to have taken on his return, trekking through Deva-prastha, a gorge in the White Mountains that connected the northern-most hill ranges of the Kashi–Kosala kingdom – the largest and most loyal vassal of Magadha – with the mountain kingdoms of Nepa and Cinna. That particular year though, there were an exceptional number of landslides in the region; enough, in fact, to suggest that nature was not the only malevolent force at work.
It was, therefore, with grim relief that Partha welcomed the weary Govinda and his bedraggled soldiers. He threw his arms around the other man, letting go quickly as Govinda winced, ostensibly from the pain from some injury. ‘What happened?’ he asked, more as a matter of course than of conversation.
‘Landslide,’ Govinda replied. ‘Or rather, I should say, landslides. At least six of them.’
Partha’s eyes widened as the hidden implications of such events came to mind. In a hushed voice, he asked, ‘How many men have you lost?’
‘More than half,’ Govinda replied. ‘We saved most of the food and other supplies though. Hopefully, it should be enough for us all to get back.’
‘It will take us at least three months to reach the borders of Kosala …’ Partha pointed out.
Govinda shook his head. ‘It will take us much longer. The trail through Deva-prastha is blocked. We’ll have to find another way home.’
‘Blocked? By Hara! But … how …?’
‘Like I said, landslides.’
Partha’s joy at seeing Govinda again all but disappeared. ‘If we can’t go back through Deva-prastha …’
‘We’ll have to go further east, find another pass. And the faster we move, the better. Winter is almost upon us. Many of these mountain paths will become inaccessible and I want to be out of the highlands before that. It’s not going to be easy, Partha, and there’s no point pretending that our position is anything but precarious. But if we get out of the higher regions before winter sets in …’ Govinda shrugged lightly and left it at that.
Partha nodded. He had faced extremes of weather since he had left Indr-prastha on his journey of conquest, to the point that he had almost forgotten the familiar, native climate of Kuru. In the first couple of years, the trek northwards from Bhogavati had been, in retrospect, comfortable enough. For the most part he only remembered the cold, and that too with some astonishment that there could be so many different degrees of chilly weather. There were the more subtle but deadly dangers of the icy winter along the Great Mountains and the misery of freezing winds that ripped all life from barren mountainscapes during the so-called summer months. The pleasantly warm sunlight had initially promised some reprieve from the wind, but Partha had soon learned that the thin air of the high altitudes turned the sun into a silent killer.
By his third summer in the mountains, Partha no longer noticed the irony of sweating under thick furs while a cold wind blew all around them. By the fourth winter – his sixth in total since he had left Indr-prastha – he had learned the most important lesson of them all. Men died in the ruthless winters of the White Mountains. The barren lands claimed their due victims every season, no matter what one did to try and stay alive. After all this while it had become a simple calculation for Partha, one that now told him that Govinda was right. They could not afford one more winter in these lands. None of them would survive.
His eyes dark, Partha asked. ‘What power can do this, Govinda? What power could cause entire mountains to move, the earth to shake and explode this way? What demonic force conspires against us so?’
Govinda said nothing, though the nagging guilt that he should have killed Devala Asita even before the imperial campaign had begun tugged at him. But if he had, he would not have known how to explain it to Panchali. It would not do, Govinda reminded himself, for reasons of political expediency and personal preference both to have her hate him any sooner than she had to. But someday, he would have much to say to her, and no doubt, she likewise. His last thought as he fell asleep, lying with his back to Balahak’s warm body, his second and third ribs bandaged tight by Partha’s medic, was that he had not seen her in years.
‘Your Highness?’
Govinda woke at the touch on his shoulder. He sat up, pushing aside the thick blanket that covered him, and wriggled his toes to restore the flow of blood to his feet. In these parts, anyone who wan
ted to keep their feet attached to their legs knew better than to sleep without the fur-lined boots that every soldier wore. He thought fondly, as he had every morning for the past some weeks, of a hot bath and the feel of crisp cotton robes, but settled instead for drinking in the white, pristine beauty around him.
On all sides, as far as the eye could see, ran tall mountains, most of them covered in snow. Their camp was located in the Highland Core, the sprawling plains between the different ranges of the White Mountains, an immeasurably vast tract of land that knew no comparison with any other place he had seen in all his travels. Its starkness and its sheer size were humbling, yet its silent expanse was comforting in its own way. Govinda breathed in deep of the thin air, enjoying the solitude that these harsh lands held in their keeping. His eyes then came to rest on a ridge of peaks that lay to the east. These, he knew, were the mountains they would have to cross to emerge from the flatlands on to the path that would lead them home.
‘Your Highness?’ The same soldier who had woken him up held out a bowl of boiling hot water for him to wash his face.
Govinda took it with a smile, and said, ‘Henceforth, my friend, there are two things that I need you to never forget. The first is, wake me up before we break camp and not after.’ He gestured to where most of the men stood, ready and mustered to march on. Even Balahak had been saddled, presumably by Partha.
‘Understood, Your Highness. And the second thing?’ the soldier asked, eager and obedient.
Govinda stared at him for a moment, taking in his youth, his unlined face. The man, more a boy, was hardly more than eighteen or twenty, he supposed. Brushing aside the host of thoughts that rushed at him, Govinda reached out to pat him on the back. ‘The other is: Never call me Highness. My name is Govinda Shauri.’
Whether it resulted from the news of that friendly encounter, or the much more important arrival of food and reinforcements, Partha’s men appeared to regain hope and energy. To his delight, they set out at a good pace. The entire company marched on foot, the thin air making it inadvisable to ride their horses unless they had to. What made the journey most frustrating was that while their destination lay clearly visible on the horizon, at the end of a day’s march the mountains would seem no nearer than they had the previous day.
It took them nearly eight weeks to reach the foothills that marked the end of the Highland Core. Only then did the towering height of the cliffs truly strike them. The peaks that had looked ordinary from a distance now looked as though they pierced the sky. The weather, too, was daunting. Though winter had yet to grip the region, it had grown much colder and icy winds blew relentlessly. Partha, however, decided to continue onwards, citing the importance of getting across the mountains before the snow piled too deep. The crossing itself was a much slower affair. Most of their supplies and their many treasures were already loaded on to the yaks, animals native to the terrain that Partha had procured early on in his travels through the region. In some places, however, it became necessary to physically coerce the animals, especially the horses, to move. Govinda would grit his teeth whenever the men whipped one of the animals, but he also knew better than to intervene. Terrain such as this made for terrible tempers, and the threat of dissension and infighting was real.
By the time they reached the small settlement at the foothills of the mountains on the other side, they had lost a good fifty men and as many animals. In a clear sign of how nerve-wracking the journey had been, no one suggested stopping in order to make a pyre to burn their dead. Come the spring thaw, Govinda grimly noted, the wild creatures of these lands were in for a feast.
He did not, however, let the thought affect his appetite as he and Partha dined at the stone-cut house that belonged to the chieftain of the settlement. The two of them made good on the mead-like drink served to them, but refused to strain the resources of the chiefdom further, despite the chief’s eagerness to display his allegiance to the Emperor-to-be. After arranging to buy what could be spared of the settlement’s winter supplies of oil, the two men returned to camp to discuss their next move.
‘Due east,’ Partha began as he stepped into the man-high tent he shared with Govinda. His voice was sombre. ‘Four, no, nearly five years now in these accursed lands and I can tell you this much: There isn’t anything left here that can defeat us now that we are out of the Core. We keep going east, the settlements get larger, and we can even reach areas that resemble civilization in about three months.’
‘Or,’ Govinda said, huffing slightly as he took advantage of the mead-fuelled warmth in his body to quickly change his anatariya, ‘we could go south till we hit the gorge through which the Lauhitya river runs.’ He wrinkled his nose at the dirt-stained garment, wondering whether he ought to indulge himself by throwing it in the fire outside, or put it away in case he needed it again.
Partha stared at him, disbelieving. ‘You’re mad,’ he snapped. ‘How in Varuna’s name can we descend into the gorge? Don’t forget that its upper reaches are almost as high as we now are, Govinda. We’d be dead within moments of even trying to climb down that sheer cliff! And what about the animals?‘
‘There’s a pass, or so I’ve heard.’
‘You’ve heard?’
‘I’ve heard traders from Cinna speak of it. It’s not frequently used and it’s supposed to be quite narrow, but it’s there. In fact,’ Govinda chuckled, ‘there are stories in Cinna that many decades ago Firewrights fled Aryavarta by that route …’
‘Stories! Hah! It will be the middle of winter by the time we reach the Lauhitya. Even if this path of yours really exists, we’d never make it down with all the frost and snow.’
‘Winter is already on us,’ Govinda softly pointed out. ‘The next three months are the difference between life and death, Partha. Between your brother ruling an empire and his failure to acquire one. And death is near certain if we insist on staying in these lands. If we head south, we will reach the gorge in less than two weeks, but if we go east …’
‘Mih!’ Partha swore, bristling visibly. ‘First you say let’s go east, and now when I say the same thing you say let’s go south! Must you always object to everything? You’re not the only warrior in these parts!’
Govinda’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not retort. Nor did he object when, the next morning, Partha ordered the soldiers to break camp and begin marching east.
15
PARTHA STRODE FORWARD TO WHERE TWO OF HIS CAPTAINS waited, staring uncertainly at the way forward.
‘What in the name of the gods is going on? What’s the matter?’ he roughly demanded. He had been giving instructions to the men in charge of the last sections of their convoy, reminding them yet again not to fan out too wide, when he realized that the cavalcade was slowing down. By the time he reached the head of the formation, they had come to a complete halt.
‘Didn’t you two hear me? I asked you what was going on.’ Partha glared at them both. His rage was enough to make even the two war-hardy men hesitate.
‘The Commander …’
‘What commander? I am in command of this army!’
‘Commander Govinda …’
Partha drew in an angry breath. For a moment, he looked like he was on the verge of losing his temper. When he spoke again, it was in a quiet, chilling tone. ‘What did Commander Govinda say?’
‘He … he said the ice is too thin.’
‘Too thin?’ Partha’s voice rose to a shout. ‘And how does he, a man with barely two months’ experience in these lands, know ice from marble? Where is he?’
In response, one of the captains pointed. Some distance away, Govinda and Balahak were standing at the edge of what looked like a smooth expanse of ice, quite unlike the gravelled snow that crunched underfoot as Partha strode angrily towards them.
‘Ah, Partha. The lake here …’ Govinda began as he heard the other man approaching him.
Partha wasted no time on pleasantries. ‘Whose imperial campaign is this, Govinda?’
‘What �
��?’
‘I said, whose campaign is this? In whose name are we here?’
Govinda raised his eyebrows in surprise and then said softly, ‘Dharma Yudhisthir.’
Partha nodded once. ‘Dharma Yudhisthir. My brother. Now, I am ordering every soldier loyal to Dharma Yudhisthir to march across that frozen lake … That ice goes a good two feet deep. If you really knew anything about this terrain, you’d also know that it doesn’t get better than this in these parts.’
Govinda interrupted, his voice a low growl, ‘Partha, please. Something is wrong here. Look at this, look at the number of fish that have been trapped in the ice, and that too so close to the surface. This lake froze over almost instantly and that is not natural. It won’t take much for those who could bring down landslides on our heads to break the ice underfoot. Look, let’s send scouts to find a way around it. In the meantime, we can camp here.’
Partha took a step closer. ‘I said, every soldier loyal to Dharma Yudhisthir. The choice is yours.’ He walked away to where his captains waited and ordered them to resume marching at once.
Govinda waited, letting the first few soldiers pass by him, till Partha stepped on to the ice. Then he silently fell in with the ranks.
When they were about fifty feet in on the ice, an eerie, high-pitched whinny rent the air, followed by what sounded like the crack of thunder. It was followed immediately by panicked shouts. Govinda and Partha, both of whom were in the middle of the convoy, reacted at once. ‘Spread out! Spread out, and head back!’ Partha shouted.
‘Go!’ Govinda told Balahak. Balahak snorted hard and turned to head back. By some unspoken communication, or perhaps by sheer herd instinct, many of the other horses made to follow.
In the meantime, Govinda ran forward to the spot where the ice had broken. He cursed out loud as he saw the perfectly formed circle of ice that had given way, as though some unseen hand had cut away at it. He had no time to waste on anger, he knew, and immediately threw himself on to the frozen surface in an attempt to pull out the men who had fallen into the icy water. But it wasn’t just men who were in danger of drowning – seven horses had fallen into the water. Their heart-wrenching cries filled the air as they battled for life. Govinda forced himself to ignore their wide-eyed terror, their wheezing snorts of breath as they froze alive. He knew, no matter how much he wanted to save them there was nothing he could do. Indeed, it was a supreme effort to just pull the floundering soldiers out of the freezing cold water, weighed down as they were by their thick cloaks and now wet fur mantles. Govinda managed to drag two of the men out, and then grabbed wildly at a third. But it was too late. The man was dead. Govinda simply let his body go under. He frowned as he noticed that around him many other soldiers had come forward to save their fellow companions. Far too many.
Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) Page 36