‘Aryavarta looked the other way, when I was treated with such impunity. Husbands, fathers, brothers, friends, and sons – some have many protectors, but I had none,’ Panchali admitted. ‘I didn’t even have you, Govinda… I don’t have you, for you won’t admit you care. How can you honestly claim equanimity when your blind dispassion keeps you from doing what you were meant to do as a simple human being? As a fellow human being, as your friend, and as one whom you respect as an individual, don’t I deserve at least a touch of indignation on your part? Doesn’t the basic compassion that makes us human inspire you to anger, not because of who I am, but because of who you are? Is this the empire you dreamt of, for which you treated me so callously? Fourfold and many times more did I deserve your protection; but even you weren’t there when I needed you. You weren’t there when I needed you the most. What am I to you, Govinda? Nothing at all?’
Govinda stared at her, his expression inscrutable. Specks of a strong sun had reddened Panchali’s bronze cheeks. Her eyes were deep pools of mystery that could turn into fire or a benevolent twinkle. He saw her as the earth, as life itself, full of compassion and bounty. She was all that was good, alive, and beautiful. Creation, the spirit of nature, existence, all that he loved, every creature, every leaf and blade of grass, every drop of water, every atom, endless potential, the reason for reason. He reached out to the vastness of the Universe around him, drawing in its energy, finding meaning and succour. Time, since the beginning of existence, flashed through his mind as a single thought. He could hear his own heart beating, feel it as the source of the life that coursed through him, and it amazed him how that one tiny sensation could engulf all his senses. Closing his eyes, he let himself revel in the sensation as it coloured the Universe, becoming one with a myriad other emotions. He lived through aeons, he saw universes come into being and shrink into nothingness, stars that existed just for moments, and moments that lasted forever. He lived as every being, every sentient creature through all of eternity, feeling all their hopes and fears, their despair and euphoria. Familiar and unfamiliar faces were all his own as he expanded, filling everything there was and everything that could ever be.
Taking Panchali’s face gently in his large hands, Govinda looked into her eyes, willing her to understand his newfound clarity. His voice was hoarse as he told her, ‘I am you, just as you are me. I am the primordial being and you flow through my body, course through my veins as the life-force that gives meaning to the manifested and the material. I am Existence, and you are the Earth. Together we are life and death, creation and destruction, we are the cosmos. We are complete. No one can understand the difference between us, for one has no meaning without the other, but together we are meaning and nothingness both. We are all there is.’
Panchali felt complete. It was all that mattered.
24
DHARMA FELT A SHIVER RUN DOWN HIS SPINE AS HE WATCHED the exchange between Panchali and Govinda, undoubtedly private even though it took place in the middle of a throng. An indescribable emotion told hold of him. Slowly, he let himself notice what he had seen many times, but always ignored – the warmth in Panchali’s eyes, her unspoken words and the omnipresent affection, well-restrained by the bounds of propriety. The silence in her suffering tugged at him, even as its uncharacteristic presence in her nature filled him with doubt. He had always respected her as a woman of good conscience, but as he studied her now, it seemed to him she had acquired a quality that was undeniably Govinda’s. She had become one with something larger, her heart opening wide to embrace as much of humanity as she could.
The silent change in Panchali had its impact on Govinda too. Squaring his shoulders, he completely ignored Dharma’s presence as he called out, ‘Shikandin! Dhrstyadymn! Rally your men. We attack, five days hence. We take back Indr-prastha and then deal with Syoddhan and his friends at Hastina. If we send word now, we should have reinforcements from Dwaraka. Samva can lead them here.’
Dhrstyadymn snarled in delight, as Shikandin responded with grim anticipation. A reluctant Bhim, however, pointed out, ‘Govinda, Syoddhan has appointed Asvattama as Regent of Indr-prastha. Do you really think we can win it back from him?’
‘We will win back this empire. We will win it back from Yama himself if we have to,’ Govinda declared. He turned to look at Dharma for the first time since he had arrived, his eyes holding a disdain that was completely absent from his voice. ‘Before long, Dharma Yudhisthir will be Emperor, once again.’
‘He’s right,’ Sadev added, ‘there are men in the armies of Indrprastha still loyal to us. We should rally them first. Also whatever personal forces we have are deployed outside and not under Asvattama’s control. We can do this. We can win everything back.’
‘Panchala’s armies are already on high alert,’ Dhrstyadymn said. ‘That should be enough for now, but let’s send messages to the east and to Dwaraka as well, if you have men to spare at this time.’
Shikandin affirmed, ‘For all we know, there won’t be any need to fight. I suspect if Dharma steps up to reclaim his throne, it won’t be denied him. We need to get him to Indr-prastha, from where he can send a call rallying the vassals. As Govinda said, Dharma will be Emperor once again, and soon.’
‘No, he won’t,’ a tired voice interjected. Before any of them could retort, Dharma stepped forward, his eyes on Panchali as he spoke. She stepped aside to let him come face to face with Govinda. In a lower, but determined voice, Dharma repeated, ‘No, he won’t. I won’t, Govinda. I won’t ignore what has happened. My empire was meant to be lost. The gods wished it so. It was an empire of unrighteousness and darkness, built on treachery, blood and the work of heathens. It is best that it remains lost, and I…I shall fade into nothingness for my mistakes. We – Panchali and my brothers – we shall remain in exile and seek forgiveness for our sins through penance.’
Govinda said nothing, but the others stared, incredulous, even as Yuyudhana voiced their common thought. ‘You are out of your mind!’
‘Mind your words, Yuyudhana!’ Dharma snapped.
‘Why? You’re not an emperor, and you don’t want to be one. You won’t even fight for your honour, to claim what is rightfully yours!’
For a short while it looked as though Dharma would retort, but then, with a deep sigh, he took a step back. ‘You’re right,’ he finally admitted. ‘It’s wrong of me to take offence. It’s wrong of any of us to take offence,’ he said, gesturing to his brothers and Panchali. In a tone that made it clear he would brook no argument, he added, ‘I thank you all for coming to our help in these difficult times. But I must ask you to return to your homes. It is not for me to comment on whom you owe your allegiance to now, but I hope that together you all will build the glorious, pious and righteous realm that I had dreamt of. Please, for the love you hold for me, for the allegiance you once owed me as your Emperor, whether I have deserved it or not, I ask you to return to your homes. My reign is over. The empire stands but the Emperor has fallen. This is the end.’
Dhrstyadmn sprang forward, equally ready with word and sword, but Shikandin placed an unyielding hand on his chest and forced him back. A confused Yuyudhana looked from the two men to Govinda and then reluctantly began walking away. It served as a sign of sorts to all the other assembled, for slowly, with mumbled words of commiseration, even discontent, they began to disperse.
Balabadra stepped forward to place a hand on Govinda’s shoulder. ‘Come,’ he added, for emphasis.
Govinda nodded, but did not move. He looked directly at Dharma. ‘Why?’
It required an obvious act of will for Dharma to restrain his rage. His voice quivered with the effort to not shout or even lunge at Govinda, as he seemed about to do. But the impulse passed and Dharma met Govinda’s piercing gaze with recrimination. ‘Do you really dare ask me that question, Govinda? Don’t you know? Don’t you know that of all that has been wrong with my reign, my empire – why, my very life,’ he spat through gritted teeth, ‘there is no greater stain than the one y
ou’ve left on it? It is you that the kings of Aryavarta wanted to destroy, not me, though I deserve no better for having trusted you!’
Yuyudhana responded by drawing his sword from his scabbard. The ring echoed through the glade as many others gripped their weapons, some to stand by Yuyudhana, and others against.
‘Please…’ Dharma looked around, appealing for peace. He turned back to Govinda and said, ‘You have done much for me, Govinda, and I have loved you as a friend, a brother even. But I cannot, and will not, let it be said that Dharma Yudhisthir the righteous, Dharma the just, the heir of Dwaipayana in the house of the Kurus rose to might on the wings of the Firewrights. I thank the gods for taking away from me what I should have refused in the first place. At least they leave me with my honour.’
The fury in Govinda’s eyes had subsided. He considered the statement with a neutral expression, as though Dharma had asked him if he thought it was likely to rain. ‘You speak to me of honour, Dharma? Then it shall be so: I swear that mountains may break, the skies fall, the earth shatter, or even the oceans run dry, but what I say now shall bear true. Upon my honour, I’ll change Aryavarta as you know it. I promise you all, the world will remember Panchali, her valour and her dignity; that she dared to hold the gods, and you honourable kings and queens of these lands accountable when no one else did. Those who have hurt her, who have failed her, shall pay. The bones of men will mingle with dust and their blood will fill the core of this earth such that it tells her story for millennia to come. And Panchali will, once again, be a queen over all kings!’
‘You will change nothing,’ said Dharma, defiant. ‘You can change nothing. Leave now, Govinda. Leave before I spit on the ground where you stand.’ His voice cracked as he added, ‘And if I had even a tenth of the authority that I once wielded, not as Emperor but as the least of the loyal vassals who served the interests of the realm and respected all about our way of life that is just and divine, I would have ordered you to be arrested this instant. As it stands, I am lord of nothing but my own self and can give no orders. But there are others, even among those you count as your own people, your own friends, who will not be as tolerant.’ As a sense of doom hit him with finality, Dharma finally hissed out the words he had tried to hold back, even though it burnt at his very conscience. ‘You have no place here, Firewright. Leave. Leave us to our destiny.’
‘Destiny? Hah!’ Rage, hatred, joy, desire – all fused into one sense of being alive till Govinda exuded a raw, terrifying energy. Yet, for all his fiery authority, he wrapped his arms around Panchali in a tender, protective embrace. ‘There is no destiny but what we make of it. Come, Panchali. Come with me. Enough is enough!’
Panchali shook her head. ‘No, Govinda.’
Govinda dismissed her refusal as petulance and smiled. ‘Come.’
She shook her head again. ‘You don’t understand. I said that you weren’t there when I needed you the most. Do you not understand? The world will already tell my story for millennia to come. It is up to you what they will say.’
And with those simple words, it was over. Govinda understood, and the weight of comprehension crushed him. He had let Panchali down before, but she had always been his sacrifice. This time, it was apathy, betrayal, failure, folly…a senseless sacrifice, an offering made in vain. He had no words to convey the unbearable grief that took him, twisting him beyond redemption into a lifeless creature that he had never known he could become.
At last, Govinda Shauri realized what force it was that had ended the dice game, stopped Dussasan mid-act and brought the entire assembly of Hastina to a stunned silence. It was the very same force that had stained Dharma’s conscience, shattered his pride, and reduced an Empress to exile. In her moment of excruciating agony, when she had lost sight of all hope and meaning, Panchali had let just one word fall from her lips…
Govinda.
25
THOUGH HE DID NOT SHOW IT, SANJAYA GAVALGANI WAS A HAPPY man. If an omnipresent observer had even suggested as much, Sanjaya would have denied it, because he preferred to think of himself as far too disciplined to indulge in personal pleasures while there remained important tasks to be completed. Or, as in this case, two important tasks that were connected in mutual fulfilment, like the fragile balance of a jeweller’s fine scales. One by one, he reminded himself as he came into the former Vyasa’s presence. One by one.
Diminished. That was the word that came to mind when he saw Dwaipayana. Sanjaya knew well that conflicting emotions – guilt, rage, pain, self-recrimination – had left the old scholar in this state. Yet, above all, ruled a poignant regret mingled with pride. Dharma Yudhisthir, the man on whom Dwaipayana had pinned all his hopes, had failed. Yet, Dharma Yudhisthir, Dwaipayana’s beloved grandson and moral heir, had succeeded. He had done that which Dwaipayana himself had been unable to: He had spurned the might of the Firewrights, cast aside the tainted empire that Govinda Shauri had built for him, on sheer principle. Sanjaya knew that this one act alone was enough to compel Dwaipayana to forgive Dharma his every transgression and excess and hold him up as the beacon of morality. It was the only way the former Vyasa – or Veda Vyasa, the compiler of the great books of knowledge, as Suka had now taken to calling him – could maintain his own moral integrity in the face of all that had happened. As far as Sanjaya was concerned, Dwaipayana’s situation was entirely to his benefit. Now, more than ever, the Veda Vyasa was under his control. Now, more than ever, Dwaipayana would rely on Sanjaya to keep his biggest secret safe.
Appearing very much like a man who could not be cheered even by the hearty mountain air, Sanjaya walked up to the two men – one sitting on the threshold of the hut, the other standing next to him. Dwaipayana looked up from his mournful huddle as Sanjaya approached, but spoke no words of welcome. Next to him Suka looked alternately unconcerned and worried. It struck Sanjaya that if at all the younger scholar cared about the situation, it was for reasons far more trivial and selfish than any of them might have anticipated. All Suka wanted was to be left alone. Sanjaya relished the prospect of fulfilling that particular wish someday, quite literally. Right then, however, he had to deal with Dwaipayana.
After a brief, awkward silence, Sanjaya hung his head, looking shameful, and said, ‘I’ve failed you, Acharya. Forgive me.’
‘After all that I’ve lived for…’ Dwaipayana began in a tremulous voice, ‘…after everything that the Firstborn have struggled to do… One miserable dice game… A chain of events started by a single, stupid act… Look where it has brought us! Hai!’ Suka placed a comforting hand on his father’s shoulder, at which Dwaipayana forced himself to calm down. He turned back to Sanjaya, ‘Who can understand the workings of destiny, my boy?’ he said. ‘Don’t be so harsh on yourself.’
Sanjaya nodded, even as he observed the silent exchange of glances between father and son with interest. Not once had Suka shown Dwaipayana’s zeal, his commitment to the Firstborn order. He had been happy, even relieved, it was said, when his father had passed the title of Vyasa to the elder Markand. Such lack of ambition was something Sanjaya had never been able to understand or come to terms with. One day, he promised himself, he would spit in Suka’s face. He would spit in the faces of both the Vyasa’s heirs who had taken from him his rightful due. But this was, he knew, not the time for such ruminations. He had a task at hand, one that he could not compromise. ‘Acharya,’ he softly began, ‘I will keep my promise to you. I will see your blood, Queen Satya’s blood, rule Aryavarta. The glory of this line shall not fade.’
‘The glory of this line?’ Dwaipayana cried out, enraged. ‘Muhira! What glory do you speak of, Sanjaya? The glory of my two sons – the blind fool and his impotent brother? Or that of my grandsons – one a gambler, the other a malicious beast? For years I have kept the records of our times, preserved the history of Aryavarta, and now the history of my line, Queen Satya’s line, has been besmirched forever. If Dharma is held up as the noble, righteous king that I had expected him to be when I helped him become Emper
or, it makes Syoddhan an evil, greedy demon. And if history speaks of Syoddhan as the reasonable, honest man he is, it leaves Dharma as little more than a cheap gambler. What would you have me choose as my legacy? And if I make the wrong choice…then what? Sanjaya, my ultimate failure is not even that my grandsons behaved like common gamblers. My ultimate failure is that such events, such great events swept across the face of Aryavarta, and yet the Firstborn knew nothing, did nothing. Morality was lost and faith was broken and the Firstborn… They were good for nothing but a few words of prayer and blessing when all was done and broken! Did we not know or did we not care? We are broken!
‘Please…’ Sanjaya said, earnest, his eyes glimmering with tears of raw emotion. ‘Trust me to do what I must. Let me take care of this. Acharya, you’ve taught me much. The least I can do is repay you by putting those precepts to good use, as best I can.’
‘But how…? What can you do? What can anyone do?’
Sanjaya looked once again to Suka, hoping for words of support or reassurance to the weary Dwaipayana. The scholar, however, stood by his father, expressionless, as though he were nothing more than a serving boy waiting for orders. What kind of a man could remain so unambiguously apolitical? Fighting back instinctive disgust, Sanjaya reminded himself that Suka’s malleability was an advantage. He said, ‘These sordid affairs need not occupy you… or Suka here. There are things best not known to you. You’re both men of the gods, while I remain a man of the world. Do not ask me for details, but simply know that what is done is done for the greater good. You have my word. A Kaurava shall rule this empire, now and forever.’
Dwaipayana remained quiet, his eyes showing doubt. Sanjaya persisted, his voice low, even though he knew that the elder alone could understand his veiled words. ‘You’ve carried more than your fair share of earthly burdens, of terrible secrets. There is no reason why Suka, or anyone else, should inherit this load. Let me deal with this. Let me make the choices you are not in a position to make. There is yet another tiger that can be tamed to our use…Asita Devala, the prisoner…’
The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 Page 18