I’m just a tiny speck against the vast universe, she told herself, but this speck is as complete and perfect as the universe itself, so why do I need to long for more? I’m just a drop in the ocean of existence, who can do little more than pray to the One who rests on its waves, in his dream – sleep that’s neither life nor death.
‘Narayana …’ she suddenly whispered, giving in to the numbness that settled over her.
Panchali knew she had yielded, accepted what Govinda was capable of. She did not have the strength to pretend to herself that he made exceptions. He did not. Everyone, everything was an illusion to him, illusions that had no hold over him. But she had to make her choice, decide what she would believe in.
The words flowed out of her in an unstoppable stream. ‘Are you truly so innocent, Govinda? Or have you deluded everyone for so long that you’ve starting believing that you do the right and honourable thing? Like the gods that rule us, you judge us all in your benevolence. But it isn’t so. Do you really think that it’s all over, that the world will merrily follow the path you’ve laid out? That your plan will work?’
Govinda shrugged. ‘Why not?’
‘Because you assume that men are guided by reason alone.’
‘That’s not correct. There’s nothing rational about wanting power. I don’t deny emotion.’
‘Let me rephrase that. You believe that people are capable of seeing the most objective means to achieve their ends – ends which may be driven by emotion. Do you agree?’
‘I do. And where’s the problem with that?’
‘You underestimate human nature and scorn the essence of humanity. There’s a part of us that worships passion, not reason, no matter what pathetic mistakes it drives us to or how much pain it causes us. Whatever the end result you may have intended, your means destroy the core of what makes us special. If we followed you, we’d be forced to surrender every sense of compassion that we’re capable of feeling. No matter what you say you believe in, you will only destroy us. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let it happen!’
Panchali forced herself to calm down and placed a hand on Govinda’s cheek. Standing on tiptoe she whispered in his ear, a soft murmur of intimate but taunting secrets. ‘You think I don’t understand? The fact is, you don’t understand! You can’t understand, not as long as you remain devoid of the simplest human emotions. You can never belong to anyone, not even yourself. You’ll forsake love rather than forsake dispassion or, perhaps, you already have …’
With a sad smile, she finished, ‘You love, but you don’t know what it is to love. You so desperately fight to save Aryavarta, but you don’t know what it is you’re trying to save, what you’re really fighting for, do you? Emperor, but not; Secret Keeper, but not–You do all that you do and then claim to have done nothing at all, you hide behind explanations of reason and social evolution and all those words you throw around to deny your presence here and in this moment, so that you can continue to believe that you’re some evolved, elevated being who is above us all. Truly, I pity you …’
Govinda said nothing. He pushed his wet hair back and watched as Panchali flicked off with her slender fingers the drop of water that had landed on her cheek, admiring her perfectly oval nails, which had been henna-reddened for the coronation.
Panchali studied him, no longer angry. ‘Go away, Govinda,’ she said at last, her voice flat and dull. ‘Go away, or else we’ll all become soulless monsters like you. I’ll pray for you. I’ll pray that someday you find something that moves you to the very core of your being. Then you’ll understand what I’ve done and why. For now, go. And, on my honour, as long as I am Empress, don’t ever, ever come back!’
Govinda smiled to himself. Much as he wanted to pretend that this was the angry rant of a heartbroken, scorned woman, he knew it was far too rational for that. It was far too accurate for that. In her heart, Panchali knew he was right. She also knew he had to leave, throwing her aside once again. This was her way of lashing out, of perhaps trying to salvage some last modicum of hope from her otherwise shattered soul.
Worst of all, Govinda had no regrets. He had dealt with Panchali exactly as he dealt with himself; he had been ruthless with her and treated her as little more than an idea, an instrument, and the means to a greater end. But her eyes, dark and innocent, haunted his dreams and pored deep into his soul. They had always seen the things he hid from the rest of the world. Well, almost always.
He watched Panchali intently, drinking in his fill of her, wanting to feel the warmth, the honest affection for one last time before he left her and his beloved Aryavarta behind. He yearned for one last smile to hold in memory along with the smell of lotuses, the sense of her that filled his very being. For a fleeting moment he wanted to stay, and for an even smaller instant he wished things could be just a little bit otherwise. Most of all, he longed to take her in his arms and whisper the words of affection he had held back for so many years, to make one last confession before bidding her farewell.
Smiling, Govinda told himself it did not matter anymore. It had all happened exactly as he had planned, and that was enough. To be understood was a luxury he ought not to desire. Rudra, give me strength, he prayed silently. Out loud he said, ‘Goodbye, Panchali. Rule well.’
And then he was gone.
35
THE LONE RIDER MADE FOR A SAD, FORLORN FIGURE AS HE STOOD silhouetted against the sun, looking down at the city – except for the private, satisfied smirk that spread across his face.
Of course, he had much to smile about. He stood with Indr-prastha, why, with all of Aryavarta at his feet, in more ways than one. Soon, the entire land would pay for what they had done to him, his family and his order. For what they had done to the Firewrights.
His plan, he mused, had been well thought out and immaculately executed. Dwaipayana would now relinquish control and truly distance himself from the affairs of the empire, ensconced in his illusion of righteousness and security. By the time the old, self-absorbed scholar could think to act it would be too late.
The man allowed himself an uncharacteristic chuckle. It still did not fail to amaze him how easily men were blinded by their beliefs and by their ambition. It had been unexpectedly simple to manipulate that impassioned muhira Devala to his purposes. In the aftermath of Ghora’s death, the young Firewright had fancied himself the logical successor to the mantle of the Secret Keeper – in future if not in the present. Moreover, the ambitious idiot had assumed that he alone had any legitimate claim to the Firewrights’ legacy. With his newfound sense of responsibility and power it had taken little to goad Devala and he had been only too eager to openly defy Govinda and his imperial ambitions. As for the fool – that cowherd – he too had surely aspired to the role of Secret Keeper, to the position, if not the title. But it had not been too difficult to make sure that Govinda had been left with no choice but to reveal his own secrets and who he truly was.
And then it had been just as easy to stir Shisupala into action at the coronation, to make him speak up and place seeds of doubt in the minds of all those kings. They would not forget his questions in a hurry. They would not forget that Shisupala had died for asking those questions. In any case, the rider noted with a sneer, he would make sure that they did not forget. The kings of Aryavarta would soon rise against this mockery of an empire, and their wrath would bring down not just Emperor Dharma but also the hypocritical Firstborn order.
What would they feel, he pleasantly mulled for a short while. Rage that the Vyasa had betrayed them? Shame that the Firstborn had failed? Or just sheer horror that this, a supposed empire of righteousness, had been built on the might of the Firewrights they had condemned? How would Dharma react?
The speculation brought the man much satisfaction. For all his self-recrimination and denial, Dharma would have no choice but to embrace those who were truly the fount of his power. As would all the other rulers of Aryavarta. Soon, it would be the Firstborn who were declared heathen outlaws and hunted down like a
nimals throughout the kingdoms, while the Firewrights took the glory that was theirs by right.
The rider let the rays of the setting sun bathe him in their glow, drinking in their golden touch. He threw his head back, as a rare gasp of joy escaped him and he revelled in his hard-won contentment. A part of him humbly suggested that it was not smugness – no, this satisfaction had come at too high a price for that. For all that he had found easy, there had been many trials, much pain that he had endured. He had kept these terrible secrets buried deep inside for so many years, from the world, even from Dwaipayana Vyasa. Sometimes, he recalled, he had forced himself to forget the truth, lest he somehow say or do something to reveal what he knew. To reveal who he really was. The hardest part had been to watch and keep his silence as the last remaining dregs of the Firewrights had been systematically destroyed, one by one. So many times, he had reminded himself that it was necessary, that this was the only way. Sacrifice was inevitable.
In any case, it was done, and his selflessness would soon have its reward. Somewhere in the larger tide of events that would sweep across Aryavarta, was his own, personal revenge. The man who had brought the Firewrights to this, the traitor who had betrayed his own, would be destroyed. Before the end, Govinda would watch his beloved city fall, his people die, and his loved ones scream in agony. Or, perhaps, it would be immensely more pleasurable to keep him alive and make him suffer the same fate as those he had betrayed. Blinded and maimed like Agniveshya, or tortured for his secrets and knowledge like the old Agnivarna. The possibilities were endless.
Slowly, the man let out the breath he did not know he had been holding, forcing himself to relax and think calmly, to acknowledge the force of destiny that had brought him to this, to his rightful inheritance. It was time. The Firewrights would rise once again from the embers of their pyre, more potent, more powerful than ever. Soon, he would find the new Secret Keeper, the one Ghora Angirasa had left in his stead to rule not just the Firewrights but the entire empire. And then …
Sanjaya Gavalgani laughed softly at that thought. Aryavarta would never be the same again.
THE ARYAVARTA CHRONICLES
continue in
BOOK 2
FIREWRIGHT
Emperor Dharma Yudhisthir rules over the unified empire of Aryavarta – an empire that promises to surpass the glory and prosperity of his ancestors. An empire built for him by Govinda Shauri, with the blessings of the Firstborn and by the might of those whom everyone believes long gone – the Firewrights.
Now the Firewrights rise from the ashes of the past to find themselves divided – those faithful to the last Secret Keeper, who will sacrifice all to protect Govinda’s dream, and those who will stop at nothing to cast down the Firstborn and all that is of their making.
As a cruel war looms ahead, threatening to tear Aryavarta apart once again, brothers rise against each other. And a revelation is more urgent than ever: Who is the last Secret Keeper of the Firewrights, on whom all hopes now rest?
COMING SOON!
For more on The Aryavarta Chronicles log on to
www.aryavartachronicles.com
Standing on the Shoulders of Giants
A NOTE ON SOURCES AND METHODS
The Aryavarta Chronicles is the product of research and analysis, with the latter drawing on the former. A slew of work is out there – critical, unconventional, even controversial – that revolves around the world of the Mahabharata. Many are in regional and vernacular tongues, existing as folklore and tales that have never made it into print as a cohesive tome. The Chronicles rely on a mix of these scholarly and popular sources, on histories that tend towards established fact, as well as those based on socially constructed beliefs of what constitutes fact.
THE EVOLUTION OF AN EPIC
The Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute (BORI) version (also known as the Poona Critical Edition) of the Mahabharata, which remains the dominant source for most retellings and reinterpretations today, is estimated to have been prevalent around the fifth century ad, that is, the Gupta Age. That leaves a fair 3,000 odd years or so during which the story was told over and over, endlessly, forming a final ‘layered’ narrative filled with explanations and interpolations. The bard–narrator of the mainstream edition, Ugrashravas Sauti, states that he recites what he heard from the scholar Vaishampayana, who in turn is one of the five students who learns the epic from its original author, the Vyasa. Add to this the fact that the epic itself recorded its growth from 8,800 verses composed by Dwaipayana Vyasa to 24,000 verses, and then to the 100,000-verse version we have today. Somewhere along the line, the Harivamsa is added on, as an appendix. And there begins a journey – for history is not stagnant, nor is its narration.
UNRAVELLING THE EPIC
Bibliographically speaking, my study began with C. Rajagopalachari’s Mahabharata (Mumbai: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 2005). My main source, which forms the broad canvas of ‘canon’ Mahabharata, is the translated version by K.M. Ganguli (The Mahabharata of Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa, Volumes 1–12, Calcutta: P.C. Roy/Oriental Publishing Co., 1884–96; Republished, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1970) available online through www.sacred-texts.com. I read this in conjunction with J.A.B. Van Buiten’s three-volume translation which goes up to the Udyoga Parvan (Mahabharata, Volumes 1 to 3, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975–78); P. Lal’s lyrical transcreation of the epic (Mahabharata of Vyasa, New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House, 1986); and Ramesh Menon’s more contemporary retelling (The Mahabharata: A Modern Rendering, Volumes 1 and 2, Lincoln: iUniverse, 2006).
I have relied also on Pandit Ramachandrashastri Kinjawadekar’s version of the Harivamsa (Poona: Chitrashala Press, 1936), as translated by Desiraju Hanumanta Rao, A. Purushothaman and A. Harindranath (http://mahabharata-resources.org/harivamsa), and on M.N. Dutt’s version of the text (The Harivamsa, Calcutta: Elysium Press, 1897). H.H. Wilson’s Vishnu Purana (Calcutta: Punthi Pustak, 1961; original copyright 1840) was invaluable especially when it came to cross-checking genealogies and timelines, as was the Bhaktivedanta Book Trust International’s version of the Srimad Bhagavatam, available through the Bhaktivedanta Vedabase Network website (www.vedabase.net).
The subsequent analysis, such as it is, was not without method. D.D. Kosambi notes: ‘Against the hypothesis of “pure invention”, one must ask why the invention took these particular forms …’ (‘The Autochthonous Element in the Mahabharata’, 1964, Journal of the American Oriental Society, 84–1, pp. 31–44). This has been the dominant principle I have chosen to hold on to, focussing on the why.
Two stalwarts have influenced my approach to this issue. First, I have borrowed liberally from Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay’s deductive principles in his Krishnacharitra (trans. Alo Shome, New Delhi: Hindology Books, 2008). Chattopadhyay’s analysis is based on a categorical rejection of supernatural events, interpolations and ‘events that can be proved to be untrue in any other way’ (p. 27). A similar perspective is evident in K.M. Munshi’s series Krishnavatara (Volumes 1–7, Mumbai: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 1990). While Munshi admits to using his creativity freely in filling what may be gaps in the facts, he remains true to the notion that Krishna-Govinda was a man who eventually became a legend. In his view Govinda was not god, but a (near-perfect) man. I have gratefully followed his lead in beginning with the premise that this is the story of human beings, exemplary ones who are well-deserving of their consequent elevation to divine status. But it is not a story of gods.
Alf Hiltebeitel, a leading Mahabharata scholar, is one of those who speaks of a symbolism-rich Mahabharata; that is, the idea that many expressions in the Mahabharata cannot be literally interpreted (‘The Mahabharata and Hindu Eschatology’, 1972, History of Religions, 12–2, pp. 95–135). Hiltebeitel’s Rethinking the Mahabharata: A Reader’s Guide to the Education of the Dharma Kings (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2001) also deserves mention for fuelling many ideas; as does James L. Fitzgerald’s broad piece covering many topics on the Mahabharata, including the histo
rical evolution of the text itself (‘The Great Epic of India as Religious Rhetoric: A Fresh Look at the Mahabharata’, 1983, Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 51–4, pp. 611–630). Mary Carroll Smith’s analysis of the variation in meter, narrative structure, and the subtle moves from Vedic to Classical Sanskrit in the text as we have it today, to identify possible additions and interpolations (‘The Mahabharata’s Core’, 1975, Journal of the American Oriental Society, 95–3, pp. 479–482) was central to my reconstruction of the story.
Such a reconstruction also requires political, social and even psychological explanations. For this, I have drawn on ideas from many analytical and creative works, first among them being Irawati Karve’s Yuganta: End of an Epoch (Hyderabad: Disha Books/Orient Longman, 1991). Karwe is particularly notable for her critical approach to the question of Dharma Yudhisthir’s father. Buddhadeva Bose in his Mahabharater Katha/The Book of Yudhisthir (trans. Sujit Mukherjee, London: Sangam Books/Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 1986) attributes to Dharma Yudhisthir’s character the many frustrations and exasperations that I find likely, and though I am less inclined to glorify Dharma as the protagonist of the epic I cannot deny that I benefitted from reading Bose’s book.
Alf Hiltebeitel’s work on Panchali (The Cult of Draupadi: Volumes 1 and 2, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1988, 1991) and Pradip Bhattacharya’s essay on the Panchkanyas of lore (‘She Who Must Be Obeyed – Draupadi: The Ill-Fated One’, 2004, Manushi, 144–Sep/Oct, pp. 19–30) provides deeper insights into her compelling character and even the intricacies of her relationships. Panchali is symbolically and overtly equated to Sri – the consort of Vishnu in terms of the pantheon and the symbol of nature at a deeper level. This clearly places her as the heroine of a story which has Govinda for its hero; an idealized symmetry that is alluded to in Prathibha Ray’s Yajnaseni (trans. Pradip Bhattacharya, New Delhi: Rupa, 1995.)
Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) Page 49