‘That’s it. Get it all out. Don’t hold back,’ a kind voice was telling him.
Partha!
Shikandin opened his eyes and shut them again as sunlight pierced through them. He wanted to speak but his mouth felt dry and his throat seared with pain.
‘Here, drink this,’ another voice held a bowl of water to his lips. Shikandin gulped down the water, flinching at the way it tasted in his mouth. With effort he forced himself up on one elbow, into a half-sitting position. His burning eyes slowly focussed on Govinda.
‘The last time I saw someone get this sick and throw up with such violence,’ Govinda calmly began, ‘was Samva, when he was fifteen. Gulped down an entire jar of wine on a bet or some such. Made a mess all over his best silk robes, not to mention the entire courtyard of our house and part of the dining chamber too.’
Shikandin groaned and clutched at his head.
‘Oh yes, Samva had the most horrible headache as well. He was miserable for three days and gave us the worst time of it. I hope you’re not going to be as troublesome, Shikandin.’
‘And it’s good to see you alive too, Govinda,’ Shikandin grunted in reply. He sat up straight and gestured for more water. Taking the bowl that Partha held out, he sipped cautiously from it before emptying the rest over his head. Wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic, Shikandin took a deep breath, letting the fresh air clear his lungs.
Partha let out a sigh of relief at seeing him visibly recovered. ‘What happened here?’ he asked.
In as few words as he could, Shikandin told them the whole story. Partha walked over to where the shards of Devala’s poisoned arrow lay and gave them a disbelieving look. He said, ‘You’re a lucky man, you know. All we had was the antidote for snake-bite. Of course, we’ve pretty much filled you up on enough anti-venom for about twenty-five bites. I’m just glad it worked on whatever it is they used on you.’
‘It is snake-venom. Concentrated and vapourized,’ Shikandin said, nodding towards the wicket baskets at the edge of the clearing. ‘In there. You want to be careful, now.’
‘Speaking of careful, that really was a close call, my friend …’ Govinda said, his words finally betraying his concern.
‘It was,’ Shikandin admitted. His throat hurt less now, though his voice seemed to belong entirely to another creature. ‘And all it took was a single, stupid, arrow! Moments like these make you reconsider your life, all your decisions. It’s never the best times, of course, but the regrets that come to mind … Or perhaps they go together …’ He apparently thought that he had said too much, for he fell quiet.
‘Do you have any regrets, Shikandin?’ Partha asked, a little amused.
Shikandin managed a wan smile. ‘Don’t we all? But never mind that,’ he forced some cheer back into his voice. ‘How did you two know where to find me?’
Before Govinda could reply, Partha interjected in a disapproving tone, ‘There was a Kritya.’
‘A Kritya? Wait, did this woman happen to appear just after I’d left?’
‘Yes,’ Govinda said. ‘In fact, she said she’d seen you. She told me where you’d be … Rather, where she thought you’d be taken. We followed her directions and ran into Devajit on the way. We left him and the rest of the men at the fork where this stream joins the Lauhitya and made our way here. Just as well, as it turns out. I didn’t really believe her at first, but she was sure you’d get yourself into trouble …’
‘And you trusted her? You trusted her enough to go where she told you to? Yabha! Govinda, are you out of your mind?’
‘She was right, wasn’t she? Not to mention that she didn’t kill me when she had the chance.’
Shikandin immediately turned to Partha. ‘And you? How could you let him do such a silly thing, like romance around with a Kritya? Or were you too busy looking up your courtesans’ robes to care?’
‘You stinking Panchala dog, how dare you …!’
‘Enough!’ Govinda commanded.
To Partha’s surprise, Shikandin was smiling roguishly at the exchange, and did not appear at all bothered by the insult. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to apologize.
‘I’m sorry,’ he perfunctorily declared. ‘It’s this miserable weather, not to mention that scheming bitch. What could I do if she seduced Govinda?’ he directed the last statement towards Shikandin.
‘That she did,’ a sombre Govinda affirmed. ‘She seduced me, all right. Completely and, I may add, effectively.’
The ostensibly weighty declaration forced Shikandin to chuckle. He shook his head in disapproval and muttered something about Govinda and trouble, but beyond that let the matter go.
Partha did not know whether to be irritated or amused. He settled for mild consternation, but nevertheless voiced his complaint about the affair. ‘Of course, I still don’t understand how you could let her go without finding out who had sent her …’
‘She wouldn’t have told me,’ Govinda protested. ‘She wouldn’t have betrayed the one who hired her, even under duress and torture. It takes great discipline and the most rigorous of tests, before one is declared a Kritya. There was no more information to be got from her. Besides, I’m quite sure that Bhagadatta didn’t send her, which is what you really wanted to know, isn’t it?’
‘Then who?
‘Sudakshin.’
‘Sudakshin? But that doesn’t make sense. It isn’t likely that he would dare do all this on his own. Someone must be behind him,’ Partha argued, still looking surly.
Shikandin said, ‘You’re absolutely right about that. There is someone behind him …’ he favoured Govinda with a meaningful look, to which the other man responded with an equally meaningful nod.
‘You two need to see this,’ Shikandin said as he picked up a grey and white feather he found on the ground. He set it on his palm and held it out for Govinda and Partha to examine. The woolly edges clearly showed that it came off a pigeon or dove of some sort.
‘They had falcon-hawks,’ Shikandin explained, ‘which caught and brought in the pigeons. I saw one of the soldiers pull the scroll off from the pigeon, before he fed it to the snakes … It’s not just our messengers, our men, who couldn’t get through. Dwaipayana’s pigeons have failed too. Sudakshin has both land and sky covered.’
Govinda looked grim as he took the feather from Shikandin.
Partha mournfully observed, ‘Then in Indr-prastha they probably think we’re dead. They might even think it’s all over. For all we know, Dharma might’ve conceded failure already …’
Govinda shook his head. ‘Panchali and Dhaumya would never let him do that, not to mention Dwaipayana.’
‘Never is a long time, Govinda. I heard these soldiers talk about the last scroll that had been sent from Magadha and, like it or not, Dharma is considering admitting failure. We need to take this victory back to where it belongs, else it is just a matter of time before Dharma cedes his position – Panchali or no Panchali.’
Govinda said nothing, and appeared to be lost in thought as Shikandin stared pointedly at him. Partha looked from one man to the other, before realizing that Shikandin had something to say but would not do so in front of him. He felt a momentary pang of jealousy, one that he was slowly getting used to, but brushed it aside and said, ‘I’ll go find Devajit. We should gather the dead men and give them a proper cremation.’ Then, with a final glance at the two men, he walked away.
Shikandin waited till Govinda looked up of his own accord. Without prelude he said, ‘You could ask for help. You’ve had help in this terrain before …’
‘Do you think I haven’t considered that? It’s not worth it. Such help would come at a price. Not in terms of what I’d have to give to receive it, but in terms of the larger questions it would raise. It could compromise the entire campaign.’
‘The campaign is already compromised. Nevertheless, it is up to you … Just remember you weren’t above such trade-offs the last time you were at Pragjya, a fledgling prince with nothing but a plain cloth for his bann
er …’
‘The stakes were different then, Shikandin. Or do you doubt my judgement? Perhaps it’s my intentions you question, my loyalty?’
‘Your loyalty to whom, Govinda?’ Shikandin said. ‘This is your empire as much as it is anyone else’s. Why would I doubt your loyalty to yourself?’
Govinda did not reply, but met the man’s cold gaze with a haughty glare of his own.
Shikandin knew better than to continue the argument. ‘Like I said, it’s your choice. As long as you’re sure it’s only the stakes that are different this time …’
21
THE EAGLE PRESENTED A SLEEK, STYLIZED SILHOUETTE AGAINST the sharp crags of the mountain behind him. He sat impossibly still, balanced on the thin ledge. Below him, the sheer cliff fell away into a deep ravine that held nothing but emptiness and stone. With narrowed eyes, he followed the susurrus of movement in its depths. In these dark realms, everything that moved either died or brought death. It had always been so, but not this time.
Turning his head ever so slightly, he let out a cry that was distinctly his own but hardly out of place in the surroundings. It was answered by a young boy, barely nine or ten years of age. The child was lean, but strong. He bounded across the narrow ledge without hesitation. The Eagle nodded and the boy returned the way he had come, this time at a run.
Not very long after, sounds of conversation came floating gently on the wind. The Eagle turned, as the boy and his companion stepped out on to the ledge.
‘It’s good to see you, Govinda.’
‘Likewise, my friend.’
The two men embraced heartily, and though neither spoke of it their minds flitted over their past adventures. If it had not been for the tribal chief, Govinda knew, he could not have defeated King Naraka, Bhagadatta’s father. If it weren’t for him, he silently mused, I probably wouldn’t be alive.
The Eagle regarded Govinda with concern. ‘You look tired. I suppose that is to be expected.’
‘You know then …?’
The chief sighed. ‘Sometimes I wish these mountains had remained undiscovered. Civilization, as people call it, hasn’t turned out to be the blessing that it was promised to be. But then there’s no point hanging on to the past.’
‘Garud, my friend, my fears are for the future …’
‘I too used to worry for the future, once … till I met you.’
‘And then you gave up all hope?’ Govinda jested.
Garud threw his head back and laughed, while the boy, his son, tried to politely stifle his mirth. Finally, the man drew a breath, steadying himself. ‘How much time do you have?’
‘A week at the most … Partha’s armies have been marching for the past ten days. We’ll meet them by the river.’
‘You plan to cross at the bend? That’s good. It’s the sturdiest bridge across the river and part of it is built on stone shoals, not wood. There’s little risk of losing your men to the waters … But still, I’m curious …’
‘Hmm?’
‘What made you move the men all of a sudden? You’re safe at Pragjya. Bhagadatta isn’t the kind of man to hold malice.’
‘I know. But there was a Kritya … Whoever sent her will soon realize that she hasn’t done the job …’
Garud said, ‘That narrows it down. I’ve heard that the former king of Kashi had revived the old traditions. Presumably, his son Sudakshin continues with them. I also hear talk of a magician, whatever that means.’
‘No magician. That is Devala Asita. You remember him?’
‘I do. Tall? Thin? Bearded man?
‘Tall and thin, yes, but no longer bearded. Apparently, he’s now bald and clean-shaven, following the traditions of the Old Magicians – the very kind the ancient Firewrights once fought against.’
Garud frowned. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Why become that which you abhor?’
‘He thinks it might be a way to save that which he cherishes. It’s a mistake many make at some time or the other. Look at Aryavarta, Garud. How easy it is now to trade loyalties and rewrite the very notions of good and bad.’
Garud gave his friend a questioning look. ‘I thought you didn’t believe in absolutes like good and bad.’
‘I don’t. I was just testing you.’
‘Fine. I’ll pretend I believe you …’
The two friends laughed softly and then settled into a companionable silence that had been their space of comfort ever since they had met.
Govinda grudgingly broke it. ‘The Krityas – how many of them are there?’
‘From what my men tell me, not many. I’ve heard of just the one – probably the girl you met. Sudakshin’s trying to train more, though. Unfortunately, we hear it’s not just orphaned girls he takes in. Any child who shows beauty or promise is abducted, the parents killed. But few have survived the rigorous training it takes. It’s good news, I suppose, because it means that there’s less of a danger. Having said that, it’s disgusting too … these are just children, young girls … Much has been going on that’s not right, Govinda. I’d expected you here some weeks ago. You’re late.
‘Late? Perhaps. I grow old, Garud. Tell me, do you think I’ve changed?’
Garud looked grim and was silent for a while. At length he said, ‘Did you kill her?’
‘Who?’
‘The Kritya.’
Govinda shook his head. ‘No. I let her go.’
‘You haven’t changed much, Govinda.’
‘Some would disagree.’
‘Possibly with good cause. You have started thinking too much and that is unlike you. But where it counts, though, in your heart, you remain the same. The question is, do you still listen to your heart? As for what others say, I can guess who it is you have in mind and I’m convinced that he’ll completely agree with me that you’re as dramatic and silly as you always were.’
Govinda raised an eyebrow. ‘Was that supposed to make me feel better or …?’
‘Feel how you like. And I must add that you remain just as decent. It should be no surprise, then, that you’re as foolhardy too. Your men are pretty much marching to your deaths once you cross the river …’ He paused before saying, ‘Why do I get the feeling this only makes you more determined to go on as planned?’
‘You know what they say, Garud. To kill a snake you need an eagle. In this case, the Eagle.’
‘This will take a whole tribe of Eagles,’ Garud said. He turned to his son. ‘Go, tell your uncles to have your brother ready to leave in the morning. And,’ he added, a clear tinge of affection in his voice, ‘tell your mother that I plan to spend tonight in drunken reminiscence with my friend, like the old man she accuses me of being.’
The boy nodded and set off down the sheer face with the nimbleness of a mountain-goat. He headed towards a narrow but voluminous waterfall. And then, suddenly, he was gone, lost in the foamy, bubbling stream at the foot of the falls. Govinda clucked his tongue softly. Behind the curtain of water, he knew, was most likely a hanging valley, a glen-like piece of land open to the sky but surrounded by the mountain on most sides. For the present it remained a pristine secret, one of the few untouched, sacred spaces that small tribes like Garud’s could retreat to.
Simply stepping into such a virginal, unmolested tract of nature was to go back a millennium, for many of the more remote hill-tribes lived as they had in antiquity. Govinda had always come away from those poignant encounters confused and amazed. He longed to revere the purity and simplicity that these people preserved as a way of life, but he could not ignore that they were indeed disjointed from the world around them. Undeniably, there was something mysterious, almost mystical, about these lands, as though even the gods had deferred to nature’s majesty and force. Legends of impossible waterfalls, hidden vales and glens, uncharted valleys and unconquered, sometimes invisible, peaks had been passed on dutifully and accurately over generations.
For centuries scholar–seers had claimed that somewhere within the bosom of these lands lay the eternal paradise on ea
rth, Swyam-Bhala the self-sustaining or Sham-bala, as Garud’s people called it. The many awe-inspiring myths of Aryavarta spoke of a land where the boundaries between earth and heaven were blurred and the Truth was revealed in its purest form. Some tales, even the Firstborn seers admitted, were older than their oldest records, for it was believed that the mystic nation had survived innumerable cycles of existence, the end of the world and the cataclysmic end of Time itself.
As a young man a partly disbelieving, partly sceptical Govinda had embarked on a youthful adventure to find this mythical land. He never spoke of what he had seen or found, but to those who had asked if he located Kalapa, the capital of this mystic realm, he cryptically replied that he had found what he had been searching for.
Water and rock, mountain and valley, joined together in symphonies of resistance and yielding. Obvious secrets and hidden truths, past and future, life and death – all existed together in a world as vast as the earth itself or as tiny as a dewdrop. It was where imperfection and symmetry, order and chaos, wilderness and civilization all came together. In this place, heaven and earth were one.
The touch of Garud’s hand on his shoulder brought Govinda out of his reverie.
‘The world as I’ve known it, as I’ve worshipped it, is almost gone,’ the tribal chief observed. ‘I sometimes think to grieve for what we have irrevocably destroyed. But I remember what you taught me: Destruction and creation are parts of the same whole, and that to see one and not the other is to be caught in an illusion. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your own injunctions. Especially not after all that pontificating I had to endure!’
Govinda merrily laughed. He spread his arms out in a hearty stretch, soaking in the pine-scented, crisp air even as he instinctively made to return the quip but stopped himself. Garud understood. The stillness around them was far too precious, and powerful enough to remind the friends of the truth it had once brought them to.
Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) Page 40