The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2

by Krishna Udayasankar

  ‘Are you out of your mind, Sanjaya?’ Dwaipayana snapped, a little harsher than he had intended to. His heart raced as he studied Sanjaya’s face and the pang of disappointment that crossed it, and he could not help but wonder whether someday the courtier might discover the horrible secret that he hid away in his heart. And if that were to happen, would Sanjaya have the strength and the loyalty to preserve such a terrible secret? For if Suka ever found out…Dwaipayana looked at Suka, who returned the gaze with even certitude. He knew it would destroy his son if he ever found out who his father really was. And that brought him back to Sanjaya. What choice do I have but to trust him, Dwaipayana silently admitted. My hold over Aryavarta weakens. The Firstborn’s hold weakens. We need Sanjaya.

  ‘Can I rely on you to act in the interests of Aryavarta, Sanjaya? It is not enough if Syoddhan rules in Dharma’s stead. You must counsel him towards peace. You must use your political craft to set things right. The realm cannot be compromised. Divine Order cannot be forgotten.’

  ‘I shall do as you command, Acharya.’

  ‘And what about…the tiger that I failed to tame? What about Govinda Shauri?’

  ‘He is of no consequence. At best, he is already dead. At worst, he soon will be – either by his own hand, or that of one of his kinsmen. It’s been just days since he has returned to Dwaraka, and already the Council has asked that he step down as Commander. Without Govinda at the helm of affairs, the Yadus will inevitably regress to the infighting and squabbling that has been their lot. They don’t matter to us anymore.’

  ‘All right, then. Go with my blessings. Varuna protect you, my son. Aryavarta is now in your hands.’

  Sanjaya bowed, glancing at Suka as he did so. His heart nearly quailed at what he saw. Like a simple-minded child whose broken toy had just been mended, Suka was smiling.

  26

  THE SECRET KEEPER WATCHED THE SCENE UNFOLDING IN THE heart of the hermitage with well-veiled satisfaction. For a moment, personal affection reared its head and he wished that things had not come to this. The lapse lasted for just a fraction of an instant before trained rationality took over. He had had to do what he had done. Govinda knew that as well as he did.

  Your greatest strength is also your biggest weakness.

  The Secret Keeper remembered the day Ghora Angirasa had told him that. Govinda had been by his side. It had been a long time ago, and felt longer still. He had been young then, and full of optimism, too much so to believe that Govinda could ever become weak. But it had happened. Finally, the man had broken under the great burden of them all: guilt. Panchali’s refusal to come with him, her confession that in her great need it was his name she had called out – it had destroyed him in a way no one had expected. The same dispassion, the detachment that had once made Govinda the most efficient and strategic thinker in all of Aryavarta, had left him bereft. Govinda had not, and could not contemplate a world where sacrifice was in vain. He had given up everything for a cause, but when the cause itself was lost he had nothing left to hold on to. Nothing in his world made sense once that rule had been broken.

  Nothing except pain.

  ‘Do you want to leave Aryavarta?’ the Secret Keeper had asked Govinda soon after he had returned from Kamakya to Dwaraka. Or rather, he had asked the man who had once been Govinda, for the shadow that had stood in front of him was a vacant corpse, a shrivelled soul.

  ‘Do you want me to?’ Govinda had said, at length.

  ‘No. I think it’s best you stay here, where the rest of Aryavarta can see you, so they know that you are...’

  ‘That I am...?’

  It had hurt the Secret Keeper to say the next words. ‘They must see that you are harmless, Govinda, that you have been conquered and tamed and are no longer a threat to any of them.’

  At that, Govinda had laughed, cold, mocking, bitter. He had said, ‘Bring them here and tell them to spit in my face. I deserve it. I deserve that and more.’

  ‘I would, if it served any purpose. All I need now is for you to let the Council try you as a Firewright and sentence you as they will.’

  ‘To death?’

  ‘No, not death. You need to stay here, alive, a symbol of the Firewrights’ complete defeat. Only then can I fulfil the ultimate task that was left to me, Govinda. Forgive me, my friend, but even the affection I hold for you cannot get in the way of that.’

  Govinda had said nothing more. The Secret Keeper had sat with him in silence for a while, before leaving him to his misery. The scholar’s own path lay towards the future, and he had no time for regret or repentance. True, men like Govinda came once in millennia, but the Secret Keeper was a practical man. He would make do with the resources he now had in hand: Sanjaya.

  The Secret Keeper did not completely understand why Sanjaya acted as he did, but that did not make it difficult to predict what he would do next. Using Devala’s power, Sanjaya would support Syoddhan’s rise, a rise that would be built on Govinda and Dharma’s downfall. It was not the most desired outcome, but the Secret Keeper had planned for it nevertheless. Govinda’s empire had depended on peace and commerce to bring about prosperity and, with it, the resurgence of the Firewrights. Syoddhan’s empire would be one of equal prosperity and resurgence, but be built on strife and mutual distrust as the various nations of Aryavarta fought to outdo each other. But it was the only way forward.

  The Secret Keeper felt age hit him anew as he remembered that once Ghora Angirasa, too, had made such a choice and failed. But then, there had been Govinda. Now, there was no one.

  We are on our own. Govinda is a spent force. His time is over. With a sigh, the scholar turned his attention to the four-year-old acolyte tugging at his robe with all the endearing impatience of childhood. The future is what matters. One man for an empire. That is a very, very good trade…even if that man is Govinda Shauri.

  Part II

  1

  SYODDHAN KAURAVYA OPENED HIS EYES AND STARED INTO THE darkness. Twelve years as Aryavarta’s virtual ruler had done little to dim his trained instinct. He slept uneasily on most nights, that was if he slept at all. His dreams were nightmares of wakefulness, memories of a day twelve years ago that still came to him, heavy with silent accusation. The day he had rightfully won this empire from Dharma Yudhisthir in a travesty of a dice game. The day Panchali had been dragged into the assembly hall of Hastina…

  He dismissed the thought and strained his ears in the darkness, trying to decipher what had woken him. All he could hear was his wife’s even, content breathing, and feel the warmth of her cheek as she slept with her head on his chest. He smiled at her in the dimness and, with a light touch, smoothed back her dishevelled hair – the result of their slow, passionate lovemaking, a ritual celebration of the deep bond they had shared over the years. It was an affection he had come to cherish, for it had nearly been lost.

  After the dice game, as Dharma and his companions had left Hastina as exiles, Dussasan and Vasusena had made their departure as difficult as possible, following them to the city limits, shouting abuses and jeers. Syoddhan, however, had left the assembly hall and directly made his way to his quarters. He wanted to make sure that his wife, Bhanumati, heard the news of what had transpired from him, first.

  Bhanumati had been aghast. She had sat rigid with denial while he had sobbed quietly, his head on her lap, like an errant boy. ‘What if it had been me?’ she had asked. He had not known what answer to give but had realized that things would never be the same again between them. And so he had set about trying to make things all right the only way he had known how: by being a good ruler to the people of Aryavarta.

  It had not been an easy task, but slowly the realm’s prosperity had grown, healing even the destruction from the war in the west, till people from nations far and near said that Syoddhan’s rule was no less than the golden age promised by Dharma Yudhisthir. Just as, over time, Bhanumati had healed and grown to love him once again. As had the people of Aryavarta – all but those who ought to have loved him the m
ost. It was the price Syoddhan had paid for Aryavarta’s prosperity. The stronger and more affluent the nations grew, the more they began to distrust and fear their neighbours, and the more their rulers prepared for war. None was more eager for battle than his own brothers, and none more apathetic to that fact than his advisors – Grandsire Bhisma and the acharyas Dron and Kripa. Yet, their advice for him in the face of the nations’ aggressive weaponization was far from ambiguous.

  ‘Fight fire with fire,’ Bhisma had said, with obvious reference to the use of Wright weaponry. Dron had remained impassive as the Grandsire had continued, ‘What the others have, you must have too, and more. It is what once made the Kuru kingdom the greatest nation in all Aryavarta, even up to my father’s time. Enough of politics. A warrior’s honour lies in battle. A nation’s peace lies in its strength. Be the strongest, Syoddhan. You shall never want for peace.’

  Partly convinced, partly concerned, Syoddhan had complied. It had not only changed the face of Aryavarta, but had also elevated him above the rest. Strife, when it came, was in clusters and pockets, for his overwhelming strength and influence was enough to maintain a kind of peace. Domestic boundaries and borders were sometimes adjusted, entire territories sometimes acquired. But the empire remained as it was, a huge pond that subsumed a stray ripple.

  In truth, the situation made Syoddhan fearful. He knew the limits of his influence and power, as well as the fact that the empire itself was not a creature of loyalty. It was then, and only then, that Syoddhan envied Dharma. More specifically, he envied Dharma his brothers. Among his own, Syoddhan felt alone. His brothers seemed strangers, creatures that he could no longer recognize or understand. It had taken him a while to see what the unstated tension between them was. He had created a bigger, stronger empire, which his brothers could not dream of taking over in a single stroke – of war, dice, or otherwise – as he had done with Dharma Yudhisthir.

  From the news that came in about the recent exiles, Bhim, Partha, Sadev and Nakul had taken to their lives as forest dwellers, without demur. Five, forged into unshakeable oneness. That is what had helped build the empire. That was Dharma’s greatest strength, and it is my biggest weakness.

  Once, in a fit of frustration, Syoddhan had confessed to Bhanumati, ‘Perhaps Dharma was a better Emperor.’

  Her response had been vehement, ‘He was not! And certainly not a better man. You would never stake your wife at dice, nor watch while she was molested.’

  He said nothing, but flinched at the memory of Panchali’s terror in Hastina’s assembly hall and the fact that he had been a mute witness. When he looked at his wife, Bhanumati’s eyes had finally held forgiveness. At length she had said, ‘You are a better Emperor, no doubt. But Dharma Yudhisthir had Govinda Shauri.’

  Govinda Shauri. It was a name Syoddhan hardly heard any more. Yet, it was a name he remembered often, and with mixed emotions. He wondered what it was that had made Panchali call out Govinda’s name in her moment of utmost helplessness and greatest need. Had it been a token of surrender? A plea for help? Or a final whisper of affection with what he imagined must have felt like her dying breath?

  And what sort of a man was Govinda Shauri, who had sought no vengeance? He had simply faded away, leaving Panchali behind to live as a commoner, a woman of no importance, in the forests of Kamakya. But that had not been without cause or consequence, Syoddhan noted. As soon as the puppet falls, so does the puppeteer. And so, the further Dharma had receded into the oblivion of exile, the more Govinda descended into infamy, while he, Syoddhan, had gained legitimacy and support over all of Aryavarta.

  It had worked well. Syoddhan had seen at once that to leave Dharma alone in anonymous seclusion was useful at many levels, but Dussasan, who had made the most of his new-found fame as the Emperor-in-fact’s brother and soon acquired an air of superiority and assumed the title of second-in-command, had not understood the reasoning. Vasusena and Shakuni had prevailed on the younger prince to be patient, though he remained reluctantly so.

  The fault, Syoddhan knew, was his own. He had, over the years, freely shared his criticisms and complaints against Dharma, but never his reasons for them. It had served only to breed in his brothers unfettered hostility and hatred for the sons of Pandu. In the past decade the hatred had become his own, serving as vindication and validation both. He threw himself heart and soul into running the empire the way he believed Dharma ought to have run it and into becoming the man he believed an emperor ought to be. But nothing he did, and no amount of rationalization or probing, had helped him answer the question that had haunted him for most of his adult life. He just could not fathom what sort of a man, really, was Govinda Shauri.

  Weary with the futility of his introspection, Syoddhan gently shifted his wife off him and turned, curling uncharacteristically into a foetal position, as he would never have done but for the privacy of darkness. The action saved his life.

  2

  SYODDHAN WAS OUT OF BED AS SOON AS HE HEARD THE DAGGER whiz past his ear, in the instant before it plunged into the soft pillow by his head. His eyes locked on the outline of the intruder and his hand reached out for the sword that always remained by his bed. But he need not have bothered. The assassin did not see the dark form creep up behind him, too silent to be a shadow, too fearsome to be a ghost. The killer got no chance to make even a sound as the sliver-like blade went right through his throat, severing his vocal cords, the blade precisely placed so as not to draw a hideous spurt of blood. Before he could crumple and hit the ground, the dark figure moved again, twisting the blade completely into the assassin’s torso to kill him instantly before easing the body down to the floor.

  ‘Who…’ Syoddhan began as he wrapped on his lower garment.

  His rescuer silenced him with a nod at the still-sleeping Bhanumati. Syoddhan realized that his wife was naked under the sheets, but the other man neither noticed nor cared. To Asvattama Bharadvaja, everything was an element on a battlefield – friend, foe, inconsequential victim and incidental bystander. Silently, Asvattama hoisted the dead man over his shoulder and made for the door. Syoddhan followed.

  ‘Who…?’ Syoddhan repeated once both men had stepped out into the room adjoining his bedchamber.

  In response, Asvattama pushed back the cowl covering the dead man’s face.

  ‘Him?’ Syoddhan was incredulous. ‘He’s always been loyal!’

  ‘To you or your brother?’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Do you really need me to answer that, Syoddhan?’

  ‘But…why? Why would my brother do this?’

  ‘Why not? There is rebellion in the east. One also hears rumours of invaders on the western frontier.’

  ‘One always hears rumours of invaders on the western frontier.’

  ‘True. But often a rumour is excuse enough. Your brother thinks your position is precarious.’

  ‘And you? Do you think it to be so?’

  ‘Yes, I do. You’ve done a rare thing, Syoddhan. You’ve given your vassals and their people enough to be happy about. Usually, it’s one or the other. Such success is bound to have its price. In this case, too, many people have become powerful, too soon.’

  ‘I am one of those people, am I not? My death would have suited many, you included. Is that why you let this assassin through? If you knew I was in danger, why didn’t you just have him arrested? Why did you wait till the last instant?’

  If Asvattama found the statement offensive, he gave no indication of it. Matter-of-fact, he said, ‘I wanted you to have irrefutable proof, Syoddhan. I’ve warned you before that not all of your brothers are to be trusted. Now, you know as well as I do who sent this assassin. As for making an arrest… I have the contingent of your royal guard waiting. I’ll personally escort the real criminal to…’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Syoddhan…’

  ‘He’s my brother. They all are. I cannot arrest them for treason, Asvattama. What would you have me do next, execute them all? I cannot do it!’r />
  ‘With all due respect, Your Highness, there is no room for fraternal affection in these matters. You brothers are divided in their loyalties. Some have ambitions too big to be constrained by their affections. Others have no ambition, but they lack courage. They will follow whoever takes the reins of power without dispute, whether it is you or one of their other brothers. You must act now. The man who sent this assassin cannot be ignored.’

  ‘Acharya, you have your orders,’ Sanjaya’s voice interrupted, artificially soft and sweet.

  Asvattama did not bother to turn around. ‘Stay out of this, Kshatta. A servant should know his place, and it certainly is not in the middle of a conversation between two monarchs.’

  ‘Servant I may be, and I am gladly one – but so are you. You stand here tonight in your capacity as Prince Syoddhan’s vassal and commander, and I as his minister and advisor. This conversation concerns me as much as it does you.’

  ‘Really? And what advice do you intend to give your liege-lord?’

  ‘Actually, Acharya, I was going to agree with you. Indeed, there is no room for fraternal affections in this situation. It is time Prince Syoddhan assumed the title that goes with his power and settled these affairs once and for all. It is the best way to quell dissent – both within this palace and outside it.’

  Syoddhan was astounded, but the feeling soon gave way to visible sadness. ‘You speak of dissent like I’m a tyrant or usurper, Sanjaya. By law, moral and convention, by any means we hold to in Aryavarta, Dharma Yudhisthir lost his empire to me. The former Vyasa, the current Vyasa, Grandsire Bhisma…why, Dharma himself admits that there is no questioning the legitimacy of my acquisition.’