For once, Govinda’s eyes betrayed confusion.
Panchali stepped forward. She was much shorter than Govinda and had to look up at him, but the subtle pride with which she held her head up made her seem no less tall. ‘Or are you done with your manipulation?’ she taunted. ‘I don’t think you are, but you know what? It’s too late. It’s over. I’m done with being your figurehead, the so-called Empress of Aryavarta, through whom you will rule us all. It’s all over and you’ve failed! You’ve lost, Govinda! Your condescension has been your folly. You never thought your puppet, your dear little Princess Panchali, would amount to anything on her own, did you?’
‘Panchali …’
‘I won’t be your toy empress. I will not give you that pleasure. This is the land of the noble and there’s no room here for demons such as you. At every step of the way, I’ve fought you, don’t you see …?’
In a tearful whisper, Panchali added, ‘Don’t you see? I know everything, Govinda – right from Ghora’s death to Shisupala’s, it all makes sense … You are nothing but a traitor of the worst sort, for you stand by no one. You’re a man without allegiance or identity. All you want is supremacy, you want to lord over us all, and no, not even the First Honour can satisfy your appetite for power. I tried to stop you once. Yes. I’ll confess that I did try to stop you. I was the one who kept Devala informed about all your plans. I tried so hard to save Kandava …’
‘I know,’ Govinda interjected. ‘I know that it was Asvattama who pointed you to the old bow and that’s how you ended up meeting Devala. I also know that you tried to turn me away from war, from killing Jarasandha and, ultimately, from building you an empire. I won’t deny that sometimes you made sense on the face of it, but for the most part you were just trying to stop me because you thought me ruthless and ambitious.’
Panchali looked away, biting her lower lip in frustration. She wished he would at least try to explain or defend his actions. She would willingly accept any excuse he gave, if only he would say that he really did care. That he had used her, yes, but had never meant to hurt her this way.
He remained silent.
Unable to bear it, she went on, wanting to hear herself say the words out loud. ‘Kandava … You know, that day in Kandava – oh yes, I remember every moment of that day. That day, Govinda, for the tiniest moment, I thought … I thought I was more than just amusement to you. I thought you cared. And the truth is, you do! It’s been your only weakness. You care for me, and so you trust me … I’ve longed to believe it and to deny it. I didn’t want to betray you, but I can’t bear the notion that you …’
Fighting back her tears, Panchali made herself look at him. Govinda’s face was cold and emotionless. It made her want to scream, but she willed herself not to. ‘And so,’ she continued, her voice even. ‘I waited and I watched you as you built your empire, as you stripped Aryavarta of every shred of dignity, killing those who defied you. That’s why you destroyed the Wrights, all those years ago, isn’t it? And you went against those same Wrights in Kashi, not to weaken them but to destroy us! You’re like the rest of them, Govinda. This has nothing to do with principle and everything to do with power. The good become heathens and the bad turn sacred. These are just words that the powerful ones use to justify their might. The victorious always became the noble, because they define nobility.’
‘What’s your point?’
‘Do you really want me to make the accusation in plain words, Govinda? And what is it you want me to point out – who you really are or what you’ve done?’
‘That’s up to you. You know it doesn’t bother me at all. I am, however, curious as to the reasoning behind the assertions you make – or don’t make.’
‘Careful, Govinda. You’ve made me your Empress. It’s a little late for insubordination, don’t you think?’ Panchali paused, her eyes locked defiantly with Govinda’s as she searched for the words she wanted. ‘I hear,’ she casually began, ‘that for all their radical thinking, the Firewrights do hold themselves bound by law – their own laws, that is. Particularly in the matter of succession. One Secret Keeper must die for another to take his place, isn’t it?’
‘So I hear, too.’
‘So you hear. I think you’ve done more than hear, Govinda. Of all people, you had the most to gain or lose when Ghora Angirasa died. His death set off the chain of events that has brought us to this moment.’
‘The ancients call it karma, as you well know. The things we do, or don’t do, have consequences. I fail to see how this implicates me.’
‘Ghora took many secrets with him.’
‘I suppose so. He was the Secret Keeper.’
‘As did Shisupala. He wasn’t the Secret Keeper, though, just a smart man who’d figured out the truth.’
‘Battle doesn’t turn into murder based on the acumen of the deceased, Panchali.’
‘Irrespective of acumen, Ghora’s death was murder.’
‘Suppose it was. And my fault in that is …?’
‘You didn’t look for his murderer, Govinda.’
‘True, I didn’t. Why should I?’
‘Why not?
Govinda shrugged, a look of amused puzzlement on his face.
‘Why not?’ Panchali repeated. A hint of smugness crept into her voice, as she continued, ‘You know who the murderer is. You know it, and you’ve done nothing. Is it too much to wonder why?’
‘No, but the explanation could be a simple one. What if I just didn’t care?’
‘Oh, you do care, Govinda. You certainly do care about this. Your true enemies are those who see through you, who see the truth. And that’s why you killed Shisupala, isn’t it? But what are you going to do, now that I have seen through you? Will you kill me too, like you did Shisupala?’
Govinda laughed.
He threw his head back and roared with unrestrained mirth as a stunned Panchali watched, waiting for him to stop. He eventually did, with an acquiescent, grudging sigh. Then, clearing his throat and gathering his thoughts, Govinda said, ‘Perhaps I should apologize, seeing as you’re hurt. But I won’t. You want to know what I really care about? Not the Firewrights nor the Firstborn, not kingdoms and titles. But I do care about Aryavarta, its people, and I care about you. I’ve done what was necessary, Panchali, and I won’t apologize for it. This empire, your empire, is Aryavarta’s greatest hope.’
‘My empire!’ Panchali sarcastically exclaimed. ‘Hah! Don’t you get it? I let you make me Empress because I was the only one I trusted to resist you, to stand up to you. For years, I’ve waited for this moment, waited to stop pretending that I’m just your puppet and tell you that it’s all over. I won’t let you use me to lord over Aryavarta. Neither is your plaything, Govinda. You’ve wanted us both, but you’ll have neither.’
‘I …’ Govinda hesitated, finding himself at an unusual loss for words. He then chuckled resignedly and said. ‘Is that what you really think of me?’
‘Then tell me what to think. Tell me the truth, at least now.’
Govinda drew in a long, wholesome breath, cherishing the moment of anticipation, the allure of freedom and the imminent relief of finally sharing his deepest secret, though both of them already knew the truth. At last, he said the words he had longed to say to her for years.
‘Panchali, I am a Firewright.’
34
A FIREWRIGHT …
Panchali did not know what hit her harder – the obviousness of his statement in retrospect, the fact that she had remained wilfully blind to it all these years, or the simple respite of having it out in the open, finally.
At last, she found her voice. ‘How? Who? I mean …’ she stuttered. Govinda understood. ‘Many years ago, before I left Mathura. Ghora Angirasa. He was my teacher.’
Pancali was aghast. ‘And you killed him?’
‘His death shall lie heavy on my head, I admit. And yes, his blood shall forever stain my hands. But not so much my conscience. I brought Ghora Angirasa back to Aryavarta, hoping to upse
t the uneasy balance we had got ourselves into. I set off this mad chain of events that has led us to this. Did I kill him? No, but the distinction is perhaps irrelevant for I watched, wilfully helpless, as Ghora Angirasa stabbed himself with his own knife …’
‘What …?’ Panchali felt the beginnings of a slightly terrified awe as she looked up at Govinda. The difference, she knew, between murder and sacrifice was simple legitimacy. But what man can have the courage to make such a terrible decision, and yet sleep with a clear conscience?
Govinda seemed to anticipate her silent question. He said, ‘Of the many things Ghora taught me, the most important has perhaps been to look beyond myself, to be one with something larger. Perhaps it was the cowherd in me, but that idea came to define my life – to the extent that allegiance and affection both are nothing but illusions. What is real is that larger Oneness, the meaning of meaning …’
‘Admirable sentiments. But they still don’t justify your actions, no, your heinous actions. Ghora is but one victim of your trail of violence, Govinda. To use your own dramatic phrase, the Firewrights’ blood has been on your hands, yes, but for a long time now. You destroyed them! You had them all hunted down like animals!’
Govinda remained unprovoked. His gaze fixed earnestly on Pancali, he continued in a calm tone, ‘The Firewrights were failing, decaying, condemned by their obsession with secrecy, their own power and politics. The kings of the realm both feared and revered them, while the Firstborn despised them. Parashara – Dwaipayana’s father – had sanctioned a scourge, something that would destroy every last one of the Wrights unless they made themselves useful and relevant once again, became willing to teach and share, and to be the inventors and scholars they were meant to be. I could see that, but none of them would agree with me. Except, of course, for Ghora. He saw what needed to be done and we both did it. The point was never to destroy the Wrights. We – Ghora and I – just wanted to weaken them enough, so that they had to reach out and rely on others.
‘Which is precisely what has happened. Torn apart and thrown into disarray, the Wrights hid in the forests, passing their metal craft on to the Nagas. Some sought refuge at Dwaraka, bringing with them their art and architecture. The Bhargavas, who had already shared their knowledge of weapons and warfare with the likes of Bhisma, willingly, eagerly, began to train anyone who showed interest and merit – Arya or not. Men like Ghora, and even Devala Asita, travelled far from these lands, learning and teaching. The Wrights were destroyed, not as a scientific order, but as a fanatic group of secretive power-mongers. And because we did what we did the Wrights remain in spirit, their knowledge lives on surviving even the terrible war that the Firstborn, together with the kings of Aryavarta, have waged against them.’
With surprising vehemence, Govinda declared, ‘I don’t want to be Emperor, Pancali. I don’t want First Honour, or any damned nonsense that goes with it. Power drives politics and I want so badly to remain free of it, to remain part of the objective larger Oneness. Always, always, I’ve tried to do what was right, what was in the interests of the greatest number, what was for the greater good of all. And that’s what your empire is – it’s a chance for us, the people of Aryavarta – not just its elite rulers – to find peace. It’s a chance for reason to prevail. I …’ he faltered, but only for an instant. Panchali clenched her jaws in a bid to remain silent.
‘All that I have done in these past years is to continue the task Ghora and I began, together. Think about it,’ he urged, ‘Kandava, Kashi … Look at the pattern! What happened thirty years ago with the Wrights happened again, this time with those who’d learnt from them. By forcing the Nagas out of Kandava, their iron craft is now out in the open. They’ve truly become part of Aryavarta, part of the lives of the people, not just the kings! As have the medics of Kashi, who’ve been forced to wander Aryavarta ever since I burned down their city. Every time it looked like the Wrights were coming together to hoard their knowledge, form their secret order once more, I broke them apart.’
‘So that you alone were powerful,’ Panchali could finally take no more. ‘You wanted to …’
Govinda interrupted, ‘My intention was not to cast them down or to take their place. All I’ve ever dreamt of, ever longed for, is an empire of peace built on both the knowledge of the Wrights and the scriptures of the Firstborn. Built in a way that they’re equal and inseparable. For that I needed you – and I needed you to understand who the Wrights truly were and what they were capable of …’
‘So you let Asvattama send me to Utkochaka?’ Panchali demanded, incredulous. ‘You sent me to Devala, even though you knew what he was, what he was capable of?’
‘Yes and no. I wasn’t quite sure Devala had crawled back out from whichever rock it was he had been hiding under. But you helped me bring him out …’
‘And Dwaipayana?’
‘Dwaipayana’s battle is with the Wrights, not with their knowledge. He has never had any problem letting those he trusts, or controls, use Firewright weaponry, as long as it is in what he considers the best interest of the Firstborn. And such is his attitude towards me. As far as he is concerned, I am a Wright-trained man, yes, but one who has served the purposes of the Firstborn well. The utility of my actions have far outweighed the burden of my identity. He has what he wants. His offspring rule all of Aryavarta. With the Wrights gone in name, at last the Firstborn can breathe a sigh of relief. But for that to happen, for the many, many things that have led us to this point to happen, the idea that the Firewright order no longer exists was an important one. Which is why, again, Ghora had to die and what better place to do so than the Vyasa’s own hermitage? As for me – I’ve been rather useful to Dwaipayana, haven’t I? I’ve pretty much destroyed the Wrights for him, not to mention built his grandson’s empire! As long as I keep my nose out of Aryavarta’s affairs henceforth, he probably won’t care. Or he might just decide to finish me off, who knows? Doesn’t matter really,’ Govinda cheerfully concluded.
‘And once you’re gone?’ Panchali challenged. ‘What’s to stop your precious empire from falling to pieces?’
‘Trade, my dear!’
Govinda’s eyes came alight with a hidden fire. ‘As the Firstborn set up their hierarchies, their structured divisions of society based on duty and destiny, it will lead to specialization – those charged with the duty of farming become better farmers, those with the duty of trade become better traders. And knowledge grows – scientific knowledge. And then, as people start coming to terms with the huge distances, they’ll learn to write and read, and keep accounts and records. You think power and might lies only in armies and brute force? Prosperity can be power too. If we truly achieve our potential, we become more valuable to foreign rulers as we are – they gain nothing from conquering us and by leaving us as an independent empire they can benefit from trading with us.’
‘But …’
‘Panchali, I’ve done what I had to. I know you think of me as an arrogant, ambitious, even bloodthirsty man. For that matter, most of Aryavarta has that opinion of me, and there are few who don’t see me as honourless scum. But this isn’t about just you and me, it’s about Aryavarta. This is how it must be. It’s for the greater good. Honour, nobility … being Arya has no meaning without Aryavarta, not just as a realm but as an ideal to stand up for.’
Panchali tried to make sense of what she had just been told, but facts, thoughts and emotions all collided into each other in a disgusting and surreal way, like maggots devouring a tree. She felt her anger dissolve and in its place a cold understanding took root. But she no longer understood whether she had been correct or not, only that she had to do the right thing.
‘Who else knows?’ she asked, suddenly feeling very small and tired.
Govinda replied, ‘For a fact? Balabadra. Yuyudhana, Shikandin. Of course, Dwaipayana suspects as much. Devala, Dhaumya … I assume Bhisma also knows that I was once Ghora Angirasa’s student. They also know I’ve worked hard to bring down the Wrights. Devala’s al
l that’s left of the old school and Shikandin will hunt him down, sooner than later. And then there’s Asvattama – like me, he too struggles with his loyalties. That’s all.’ With a soft chuckle, he added, ‘What does that make me, then, I wonder?’
‘The last Firewright? Isn’t that what you wanted?’
‘Not really,’ Govinda shook his head. ‘Let me tell you this much, Panchali, though perhaps it’s not a piece of information meant for the Empress of Aryavarta. The order of Firewrights lives on. There remains a Secret Keeper.’
Panchali’s response oozed sarcasm, ‘Indeed! No guessing who that is, I suppose? Or does another of your figureheads fill that role, while you yank at the strings? No, I think this particular title you do want for yourself. Otherwise, you’ll remain a traitor won’t you, an outcast from the order. But that’s what you’ve always been, and still are … A man without an identity, because he can remain true to nothing. Not to clan and kingdom, nor to order and allegiance.’
Govinda remained impassive. ‘Now you’ll accuse me of another ambition, will you? I suppose I should deny it, but it doesn’t matter. Or perhaps, I will deny it and state categorically that I am not the Secret Keeper, if only to say that the one who is Secret Keeper is certainly a much better man than I. As for me … What I am is and always was plain for all to see. I can’t change that, just as I can’t change what I know.’
‘No, but you can choose what you do with it.’
‘I already have.’
Panchali sighed. Govinda, she realized, found life in the tiny moment between two heartbeats, the potent silence between breathing in and breathing out. He hung on to that instant that was neither death nor life, and it fuelled his equanimity, his detachment and dispassion. He would know neither pleasure nor pain, neither desire nor satiation. In the very same moment, that instant between two heartbeats, Panchali lived many lifetimes, felt many passions. She saw Time as it was born, and as it died. She watched innumerable universes in infinite existences, in which the same story played itself out over and over again. Battles were fought, won and lost, between celestials and demons, and demons that became celestial and then fell from lofty heights, to begin the incessant, inevitable climb to divinity again.
Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) Page 48