Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles)

by Krishna Udayasankar

  Like all happiness she had ever known, it was fleeting.

  All of the so-called magician’s efforts had made the imperial campaign more difficult and bloody for the commanders leading the forces, but somehow it kept going on. He and Sudakshin were perpetually in a foul mood, and often squabbled like drunk madmen.

  Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her. She asked him, ‘This Dharma Yudhisthir. What does it matter if he’s made Emperor?’

  ‘What does it matter?’ he had turned on her, enraged. ‘Haven’t you understood a thing of what I’ve told you? If Dharma becomes Emperor he will stamp what is left of us – my order – out. Dharma is nothing more than Govinda’s toy!’

  She was not one to be intimidated. ‘What are you trying to protect by killing so many? What has this Govinda done that you hate him so?’

  In response, the magician had grabbed her wrist roughly and almost dragged her across the palace courtyard to a deserted corner of the building. A guard had opened a padlocked door, which led to a narrow corridor. She had lost track of the twisting, winding path they then took but it had ultimately led to a dark, well-guarded stairway. Only as they descended its rank depths had she realized that the bald man was leading her to the palace dungeons. There, she met Agnivarna Angirasa, son, she was told, of no less a man than Ghora Angirasa. Like his father, she learnt, this man too was a Firewright. Unlike his father, though, he was a prisoner.

  The man was naturally well-aged, but captivity had rendered him decrepit. Yet, he was far from insane or incompetent. He spoke with clarity, and told her many interesting things about his order, including how a man named Govinda Shauri had destroyed them. But, he also refused to answer the magician’s questions, even accept him as one of them.

  The magician had led her out in a huff. ‘You won’t believe what secrets, what great powers the Wrights of old held. I know much, yes, but there’s so much more I don’t know. If only I could get the old man to talk …’ Imagine! I was once so close to learning their greatest skills, to being taught by this idiot’s father, by Ghora Angirasa himself … But for that bastard, Govinda Shauri …’

  Govinda Shauri. It was, the Kritya mentally noted, the only time she had ever failed. She had returned to Kashi and claimed that Govinda had suspected her to be a spy before she could even get close to him. She had waited for Sudakshin to cut off her head in a rage. Instead, he had merely given her a contemptuous look and said nothing.

  Then, she saw the magician’s dark glee. He threw her into the same dungeon with Agnivarna Angirasa, ostensibly as a punishment.

  She had felt slightly afraid of the old man’s recrimination for her failure, for passing by the chance for his vengeance.

  ‘Govinda Shauri …?’ he had repeated, when she told him of her failed mission.

  ‘Yes, Acharya.’ Her eyes then brimming with the memory of what she had shared with Govinda, she asked the old man, ‘Is he really evil?’

  ‘Evil is a dubious word, my dear,’ Agnivarna had told her, with a sad smile. ‘Those who live to rule become the good, and those who are defeated are consigned to the ranks of the evil. But yes, Govinda Shauri shattered our order in a way no one else could have; not the Firstborn, not these kings who took such great pleasure in hunting us down and killing us, one by one.’

  ‘Then, should I have …?’ She left the words hanging in the air, the very thought stirring up a pain that she could not explain.

  Agnivarna briefly considered the question before finally saying, ‘No.’

  ‘Because Govinda is not evil?’

  ‘Because you are not.’

  She had hesitated, not knowing how to respond to that statement, when Agnivarna had asked her, ‘Do you know anything at all about your parents? Your family?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I know nothing. I remember nothing.’

  A slight shudder passed through the old man, but he quickly pulled himself together and said, ‘They took many of our children, the girls. Sudakshin’s father believed that Wright blood was magical, that those girls would make the best Kritya. Many died or went mad from the terrible potions they forced down their throats. The others … well, let’s just say they were better off dead.’

  She gasped, and said, ‘You mean, I might be …?’

  ‘Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s just the wishful thinking of an old man whose days are numbered. You see, I once had a granddaughter who looked a little like you. Her skin was darker than yours, but she had your smile …’

  They had spoken for a long time, of his family and many other things.

  Three days later, the magician had stormed back into the dungeons, obviously enraged. She knew it had to be because Govinda had found his camp in the forests, and wondered if perhaps he suspected her. He appeared, however, to have other problems on his mind.

  ‘Do it,’ he told the old man. ‘Make the poison, damn you, or she dies.’ He had pointed at her.

  ‘No,’ Agnivarna had replied. ‘Not even for her.’

  ‘Then,’ the magician said, ‘we don’t need you anymore.’ Without any further ado, he pulled out a dagger and ran it through Agnivarna’s heart.

  The old Firewright met the blade without protest. His eyes sought out the Kritya one last time. Then he fell to the ground.

  ‘Narayana,’ he whispered and closed his eyes for the last time.

  It was all the Kritya could do not to cry.

  The magician had then taken her out of the dungeons and back to her palace. He had found another use for her; one more piece of magic she could help with. He had trained the falcon-hawks native to Kashi to hunt down the messenger pigeons Govinda and his friends had been using to communicate. Since he had lost his handlers in the attack on the camp, he now needed someone else to manage the birds – someone who could learn fast. She grudgingly obliged, riding out with him every day, helping him release the hawks, watching as they flew far and wide, searching out their prey and bringing it back to their master. It amazed her how faithfully they waited till he removed the tiny message-scrolls from the grey-white pigeons’ legs before returning the dead bird to its hunter.

  ‘They can catch anything and everything in the sky,’ he proudly declared.

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Almost,’ he admitted. ‘Everything except eagles.’

  From that day on she began looking out for eagles. Somehow they gave her hope.

  ‘Kritya!’ Sudakshin called out. She saw him standing by the sacred fire, ready to receive the gods’ blessings. Her feet felt sticky and wet on the splattered blood of a hundred men as she walked across the courtyard towards him. Sudakshin held a golden bowl in his hand and as she moved closer she saw its contents reflected in his insane, gleaming eyes: blood, the remains of the ritual.

  Despite all her training, the Kritya could no longer hide her emotions. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at the bowl. She looked up to see the magician staring at her. Her mind raged with hatred. How could he believe in this if he was a Wright? How could he have promised Sudakshin the power of the gods if the king offered a hundred men as sacrifice? Perhaps, this is what they really were, she wondered. This is why Govinda destroyed the Firewrights. And now, I must do what I must do.

  ‘Hold this, Kritya,’ Sudakshin held out the bowl.

  Kritya. That was all he had ever called her. She wished she knew her name after all, just so that she could carve it on Sudakshin’s chest with her sharp nails, the claws that terrified him so. But, she reminded herself, it was not all that important in the larger scheme of things. Smiling, she reached out with both hands, for the bowl. Before Sudakshin could realize how close she was, she struck.

  Digging her talons into his chest, she wrenched his heart out of his body, the ultimate skill she had been taught, now perfected with years of practice.

  Sudakshin stared, a stupid, uncomprehending look on his face, as he watched his heart beat defiantly in her hand before coming to a stop. Then he slumped to the floor, dead. Before the magici
an and his men could react, or even register what she had done, a loud, earth-shattering sound rocked the temple. It was followed by another blast, and then another. Agnivarna’s explosives, which he had taught the Kritya to make and set off before he died, had done their work well. She laughed till she felt the sharp edge of a dagger at her neck.

  ‘You bitch! You stupid, ungrateful bitch!’ the magician shrieked, pressing the blade enough to hurt but not kill her.

  She laughed again as she realized how afraid he was of her poisoned blood. For her part, she was not afraid to die, though she would have loved to see Govinda Shauri one last time.

  At the thought, she raised her eyes to the sky.

  An eagle circled overhead.

  25

  ‘LET HER GO, DEVALA.’

  ‘Or what, Govinda? You’ll never learn to stop with your heroics, will you? After all the wars and armies and scheming, it still comes down to you, me and a girl …’

  The area fronting the temple had been empty, but when Govinda and Shikandin had made their way through to the inner courtyard they had found that the place was well guarded, after all. The best of Sudakshin’s soldiers now clustered around, weapons drawn and at the ready. Shikandin clucked his tongue and pulled a second sword out of his baldric. He twirled one blade in each hand and evaluated the opposition. ‘I’ve got this, Govinda,’ he casually said. ‘You go ahead …’

  The magician nodded at the soldiers. Then, his blazing eyes fixed on Govinda, he plunged the dagger into the Kritya’s flesh. At the same time, the guards rushed towards the two men, yelling loudly, but Shikandin barred their way, his blades flashing through the air in an impossibly quick blur. The first soldier was on the ground before the last had even stirred from his place.

  Paying no heed to the skirmish around him, Govinda rushed to the Kritya’s side. She looked up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, her face suffused with an aura of contentment. ‘I knew you’d come, Govinda.’

  He said nothing, but lifted her up into a sitting position and rested her against his knee. Pulling her upper robe off from around her shoulders, he pressed it against her bleeding stomach.

  ‘Careful …’ she warned him, but he did not seem to care. Slowly, he took in her bloody hands and the dead king sprawled close by, his hollowed-out chest still bleeding, his mangled pulp of a heart by his feet. Govinda did not bother to ask her why – the gruesome remains of the sacrifice around them said it all.

  ‘He … It was him …’ she gasped in explanation, trying to point to the magician. He was already across the courtyard and at the river’s edge. ‘Agnivarna Angirasa … old man … dungeons … he killed him,’ she gasped.

  Govinda thought for an instant, but decided not to leave the wounded woman’s side. There would be time to deal with Devala.

  ‘I’ll take care of it …’ he reassured her. ‘First we’ve got to get you to a medic …’

  With effort she raised her hand towards Govinda’s face and touched his cheek, staining his skin with her blood. ‘There’s no point …’

  ‘Don’t say that …’

  ‘Let it go, Govinda Shauri. Some things must come to an end. I am an aberration. Let me die.’

  Govinda looked into her eyes, staring hard at her. For an instant, his usually inscrutable expression gave to a medley of emotions, all writ clear on his face. And then, he was as always, his dark eyes warm yet indecipherable. The Kritya met his gaze with mild surprise, felt her heart throb with newfound joy, even as the feeling faded into a hollow, hungry sense of loss.

  Smiling weakly, she said, ‘What if I’d killed you, Govinda Shauri? How could you have trusted me?’

  ‘What’s the point of living if I can’t trust another human being?’

  She smiled, finally at peace. ‘Then, there’s hope. There’s hope for us all.’ Linking her fingers tightly through his, she closed her eyes.

  By the time Shikandin had finished off the last of his opponents and joined Govinda, her body was limp. He swore out loud and made to go after the fleeing magician, but Govinda stopped him.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I need you here. There’s much to be done. You can hunt him down another day …’

  Grudgingly, Shikandin stepped back and sheathed both his swords.

  It was almost evening when Shikandin came to join Govinda, who stood watching the flames dance over the Kritya’s pyre, the eagle perched solemnly on his shoulder.

  ‘It’s done, Govinda,’ he said. ‘Every building has been checked, down to the dungeons and cellars. The explosions brought down some parts of the old temple, the garrison and the royal palace, but most of the buildings are intact. The idea appears to have been to reduce the size of the army as much as possible. That she did,’ he nodded towards the blazing pyre.

  Clearing his throat lightly he continued, ‘We’ve found Devala’s workshops and armouries; he had every medic and healer in the city – some who claim to have learnt their skill from the Wrights themselves – at work, mixing his poisons and what not. Some of them claim they were kept prisoner, while the others … Frankly, Govinda, half of them are nothing but raving lunatics. Anyway, I’ve had them all arrested and placed under guard.’

  ‘Let them go,’ Govinda said perfunctorily, without looking up.

  Shikandin did not dispute the injunction. ‘All right.’

  ‘What about the people, the townsfolk?’

  ‘They’ve all been shifted out and are already on the plains. Our soldiers as well as the townsmen are building huts and putting up tents as we speak. As for Sudakshin’s family, his son and the queen are in Devajit’s care. They will be treated with all respect. I’ve personally sent the queen a message assuring her that she has nothing to be afraid of.’

  ‘The city is empty?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Govinda reached up to whisper something to the eagle before setting it into the air. It circled overhead a few times and then, with a single, haunting cry, rose higher and glided out of view.

  ‘Burn Kashi down, Shikandin,’ Govinda suddenly said. ‘Burn everything down. Let nothing remain of this bloody past. Burn everything down, so that we can build anew.’

  Shikandin studied his friend for a moment before nodding and moving away to carry out the orders.

  Late that night Shikandin walked into his tent to find Sudakshin’s widow, the queen of Kashi, waiting for him. To his surprise, the bereaved woman was dressed in bridal finery. She wore red robes of the best silk and had flowers in her hair. Her eyes were rimmed with kohl, her lips stained red with a fragrant paste of sandalwood and herbs, and the faintest trace of a musky, seductive perfume filled the space.

  Shikandin stared, aghast, as she walked up to him with no trace of reluctance or sorrow and took him by the hand.

  ‘Mahamatra …?’

  She did not explain. Instead she led him to a seat and handed him a glass of wine before sitting down next to him.

  ‘You must be tired from your day’s battle,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you’d care for a bath? Or does Prince Shikandin prefer to take his prize still covered in the sweat and blood of his conquest?’

  Despite her words, Shikandin did not miss the flash of anger. And then he understood. He stood up at once. ‘You mistake me. I … I’ve no …’

  ‘You are the conqueror of Kashi. I’m your newly won property. Don’t you want me? Don’t you want to see how my body glows in the light of Kashi’s embers? Doesn’t the thought stoke your desire?’ she pouted seductively at him.

  ‘I …’ Shikandin did not know whether to feel shocked, or ashamed, or even angry with her for presuming that he would expect her in his bed.

  Mistaking his confusion for hesitation, the queen stood up and threw her arms around him.

  Shikandin gruffly pushed her away as he stood up. ‘I’m sorry,’ he gasped, after a moment.

  She looked at him beseechingly from where she lay sprawled on the ground. ‘What do you want from me? Tell me, whatever you want, whatever pleases you, I’ll
do it. Do you think I’m some child, who doesn’t know or understand? I swear I’ll serve you as you wish, but please …’ Then her courage failed her and she broke down completely. ‘I beg you, please … spare my son’s life …’

  ‘Hai!’ Shikandin exclaimed. He longed to comfort her, but did not dare go near her or even touch a finger lest she misunderstand. He waited till the sounds of sobbing had quietened down to a terrified whimpering.

  ‘Mahamatra …?’

  Grudgingly, she looked up at him.

  Shikandin was clear and reassuring. ‘Your son is now the ruler of Kashi. He’s a very young man, yes, but he will learn soon, especially with you at his side. I promise, no harm will come to you or your son while I’m here. Please, go back to your tent and tell your son whatever truth you may know about his father and the horrors he wreaked …’

  The queen was disdainful. ‘Do you think your mercy is any better than your torment? I’d much rather that you’d have ravaged me, killed me even, in exchange for my son’s life. That would have been honourable. Instead, you force us to choose between living off your charity and dying a despicable death …’ She stood up, pulling herself tall. ‘I’ll give you one last chance. I offer myself to you. If you don’t care for me alive, then kill me. Why, I won’t even ask for my son’s life, but rather suggest you kill him too. If you leave us alive all we’ll ever show you in return for your benevolence is malice.’

  Shikandin’s eyes twinkled as he asked, ‘Will you restrain your malice till your city is rebuilt and your people are settled back in their homes?’

  ‘I’ll hold my malice even longer. I’ll hold it till my son gathers his armies and marches to war against you. As the king of Kashi ought to!’

  ‘Then I suggest we both get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Goodnight.’

  The woman considered him with open confusion for a while. Shikandin met her troubled gaze with calm certitude. Then she nodded and said, ‘Goodnight, Prince. And pleasant dreams …’ She gracefully left the tent.