The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2

by Krishna Udayasankar

  ‘Yes, Govinda?’

  Still on his knees, eyes gazing at the stone floor, Govinda said, ‘There is one place they can hide. It’s probably the most dangerous place in all of Aryavarta for them, but that ironically might be what makes it safe. No one will think of looking for them there. Please, for Panchali’s sake, not mine, get word to Dharma…even Dhaumya… Please…’

  Balabadra considered the request. ‘I can speak to Vidur. That’s all. Will that do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you want me to tell him? Where should Dharma and the others go?’

  ‘Home. Vidur will understand.Tell him to take them home.’

  10

  THERE WAS NOTHING ABOVE THEM BUT THE BLINDING, BLAZING sun, shining down with a vengeance on the dry, hard stone path under Dharma’s feet. Once, he had heard, these lands – the land of his ancestors, of the great queen Satya – had been the heart of a great empire, verdant beyond measure and prosperous beyond envy. Now they lay barren and ignored by all but the most desperate of people, who sought refuge here. And in the aftermath of Jayadrath’s attack that was exactly what Dharma and his brothers had been – desperate. Dhaumya had seen the event as an unambiguous sign that Syoddhan had finally tired of their being alive, which meant they were now in great danger. It had been a worried Vidur who had sought them out and counselled them on their only option. Dharma had eventually agreed, with a reluctant obedience, to go into hiding to the one place that was part of Aryavarta, yet not. Matsya.

  The rest of Aryavarta considered Matsya a lawless land, for the rules it followed were its own. Even during the imperial campaign, Dharma’s armies had not set foot in Matsya, nor had its people bothered with the events around them. The nation acknowledged no emperor and paid no tribute, but traded the precious gemstones found within its harsh earth with foreign nations through Trigarta – the north-western neighbour that was both its greatest enemy and biggest ally. Matsya depended on Trigarta for access to the outside world, just as Trigarta depended on Matsya for the levies it paid for such access. For the rest, Matsya relied on itself. Its people were as hardy as the dry scrub desert that surrounded them. Equally robust and even more impressive were the huge herds of resilient cows that survived in the harshness of the desert, providing sustenance and wealth to the many nomadic tribes that wandered the lands beyond its capital, Upaplavya. Matsya was rich, yet it was poor. Matsya had nothing, yet it was everything that Dharma needed it to be at this point in time – the perfect hiding place.

  Matsya had once been the seat of emperors, the imperial capital of Aryavarta, till the Wrights of old and its leaders had turned the land into a desert. In the aftermath of Matsya’s fall, the Firstborn had finally stepped forward to cleanse Aryavarta of the Firewrights, and the Great Scourge had followed. Dharma was filled with pride at the outcome. His ancestress, Satya, had played an important part in that cleansing. Her womb had borne Krishna Dwaipayana, the greatest Vyasa of all time, the man who had finally rid the realm of Firewrights. And for its transgressions Matsya still paid the price, serving as an example to all Aryavarta, its isolation reminding them that the Divine Order was its own keeper. Today the nation existed only in name. It was the Virat Confederacy, named after the man who was now its Chief – a city-state formed around an oasis set in the middle of a harsh, impassable desert that served to both isolate and protect. Matsya was an island of uncivilized brutes amidst Aryavarta’s great nobility.

  At that thought, Dharma felt emptied of all pride. No matter how dramatic the story of Matsya and its princess, it did not make him feel any better about why he was here. Vidur had explained to him at length.’ My son, only ashes can hide a spark. We’ve always looked down on Matsya, called its people uncouth and ignoble. Where better to hide the Emperor and his family?’

  ‘But is that justified?’ he had asked. ‘Matsya is what it is; they place no faith in the precepts of righteousness and Divine Order that guide all of Aryavarta. Isn’t that why the Firstborn have never sanctified its rulers – who remain merely chiefs and never become kings?’

  ‘And the chiefs of Matsya accept this practice. Does that not mean they accept our larger notions of righteousness? Besides, the rulers of Matsya were once emperors of Aryavarta. Those now in power relegated themselves to being simple chieftains because they hold the throne in trust for those who actually have the right to rule. Or such is the story, for times have changed, and the true heirs are no longer welcome in Matysa. And that, my son, is why it is the perfect hiding place for you. But under no circumstance must anyone know who you are. That would be most dangerous. You see…’

  By the time Vidur had finished with his explanation, Dharma had not known what to say or do. ‘Trust me,’ Vidur had reassured him yet again, ‘it’s the best place for you to hide yourselves in the guise of commoners.’

  Now, as they neared the unprotected borders of the desert, Dharma realized that they were not the only ones crossing the barren lands in search of refuge. They fell in as part of the long, straight line of people trudging along an unseen trail. Women, men, entire families, ostracized because they did not fit into Aryavarta’s conception of Divine Order and hierarchy and so thrown out of the realm, now sought refuge in the one place that would still have them, that still found use for them, no matter what their faults.

  As the six of them mingled with the other refugees, becoming yet another indistinct, grime-streaked, forlorn huddle in that mass, Dharma prayed for the strength to accept what fate had brought him. The shame of their situation hit him all the more when, walking next to him, Panchali said, ‘What sort of an empire could turn its backs on so many people – on the elderly and on children? Perhaps it was an empire worth losing.’

  Dharma was about to reprimand her when Sadev, who was a few steps behind them, gently said, ‘Let it go, Panchali. We have enough problems of our own. We’re still in great danger, more so than we have been all these years.’

  He was right. No sooner had they entered Upaplavya, the main settlement of the Matsya nation, than they attracted attention. Despite their unkempt appearance, the guard on duty, who was responsible for admitting refugees into the city and guiding them on where to go next, jested with his fellow soldiers and other passers-by: ‘Five men and a woman… If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were that mockery of an emperor, Dharma Yudhisthir, and his brothers. And that would make this lovely lady here wife to you all, I suppose?’ He punctuated the implications of the statement with a hand on Panchali’s arm, which she swatted away.

  The action prompted a hiss of disapproval, which provoked Bhim to lunge forward aggressively. The soldier’s companions drew their weapons, and Nakul and Sadev too stepped forward. A horrified Dharma looked from them to the soldiers, unable to find the words he needed to intervene and settle tempers. He turned to look at Panchali only to realize that she had stiffened, and was holding her breath. Bhim, too, noticed and he stepped in front of her protectively. Panchali did not protest, but gave Bhim a glance of gratitude.

  A crowd was beginning to gather at the sign of trouble, and just when Dharma had helplessly resigned himself to the terrible consequences of being recognized, Partha stepped forward. ‘Are you calling me a man?’ he challenged the guard in voice unlike his own, though not completely lacking the deep tone of his gender. ‘You must be blind, calling this skinny thing lovely when I am standing right here in front of you!’

  The brothers exchanged looks as the crowd around them broke out in guffaws, and the situation turned in an instant from tense to light-hearted. The soldier grinned and said, ‘You? Well, then, why is…err…a lady such as yourself dressed like a man?’

  Partha said, ‘For my own safety, of course! Hai! With men like you around, is a pretty young woman safe? I won’t sleep in peace till I am in the care of a household and well-employed!’

  The guard laughed again. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. You are safe among us. As for employment, make your way to the palace kitchens. Take this skinny frien
d of yours with you. They can always do with more eunuchs and serving women in Queen Sudeshna’s rooms.’

  Flashing the guards a brilliant smile, Partha took Panchali’s hand in his and began walking away with an alluring sway of his hips.

  ‘And you?’ the soldier’s attention turned to Dharma, as Bhim stepped back to let Panchali pass. ‘What is your trade?’

  ‘I’m a scholar,’ Dharma proudly declared. ‘A learned man and wise counsellor. I once served in the imperial palace at Indr-prastha.’

  ‘Palace. Follow the eunuch. Tell the chief attendant that I sent you. He said our chief needed a jester or entertainer. Tell you what – you get yourself the position, I’ll buy you a drink. The chief attendant will owe me for finding him the right man… Move on, and now let’s get to this hot-tempered fellow here and see what use he will be.’ The soldier turned to Bhim.

  ‘But…’ Dharma began to protest at what he considered a demeaning assignation, but the crowd behind him was swelling and the soldier merely pushed him through.

  Over the course of a painful year Dharma, or Kanka as he was known, had managed, with a shrewd display of political acumen and emotional reticence, to rise from the position of being an entertainer to one of Chief Virat’s advisors. Despite his new found status, the Chief often called on Dharma to fulfil the original duty to which he had been appointed to play dice with the ruler. To Dharma, it was like sheer mockery, not only to be reduced to such a task but also because Virat hardly played as a monarch ought to. He was only too happy if Dharma won the game, provided it had been played with skill on both sides.

  Dharma did not know what tormented him more about Matsya – the heathen absence of hierarchy, or the fact that he and his companions were a part of it. He learnt to deal with his discomfort in the only way he could. He ignored it. He ignored Nakul and Sadev, who had taken the names of Granthika and Tantripala, clad like servants in short, dirty antariyas, rubbing down horses and tending to cows. He tried not to notice how their fair skin had been scorched dark by the sun, their cracked lips and the soles of their feet that were always blistered and bleeding. He ignored Bhim, now known as Vallabha, bruised all over from wrestling man and beast alike for Chief Virat’s pleasure and perpetually soot-stained from cooking in the palace’s dreary kitchens. He ignored Partha, who was still pretending to be a eunuch named Brihannala and doing a fine job of it. And there was Panchali, now Malini the handmaiden.

  Dharma felt crippling anguish every time he saw her, though it was not because he regretted Panchali’s suffering. He understood her loneliness – the result of her assumed identity – but there was little that could be done about it in the initial months. She had little reason and hardly any occasion to meet Nakul and Sadev. Indeed, in the first couple of months of their stay in Matsya, she had seen none of the five brothers save for Partha and, on occasion, Bhim. Even Dharma had been unapproachable in his earlier function of a courtier and entertainer, but as he grew to become Virat’s advisor it became less suspicious for the two of them to be seen in conversation.

  Even so, Dharma found that he no longer enjoyed Panchali’s company as he once used to. Her refusal to see the truth about their situation made him feel more distant from her than ever before. He believed that pain was a sign of penitence, of sacrifice, of adherence to the purest morality – provided one accepted the pain, bent down to the greater forces that wove one’s life into a tapestry of sorrow, and understood that it was a part of the Divine Order. He knew that Panchali believed that her pain was undeserved, a sentiment he found completely self-centred. He could not fathom how anyone could fault the forces of destiny and insist on one’s own innocence. Nothing happened that was not part of something greater and it made sense that each individual merely suffered the consequences of their actions. That, and the fact that he alone carried the burden of Vidur’s words, the great irony of what could be and what was.

  As a result, he was not taken aback in the least when Sadev’s proclamation came true and trouble finally did find them.

  11

  ‘WHO IS THAT MAN?’ IT WAS A QUESTION OF NO REAL SIGNIFICANCE, mere curiosity, in fact.

  Panchali was using the excuse of admiring the horses on the exercise grounds to speak to Granthika and Tantripala for the first time in the many months since they had all come to Matsya.

  Nakul-Granthika said, ‘That is the General.’

  ‘The General?’

  ‘His name is Keechak, but no one calls him that. He’s the head of Matsya’s armies and also Queen Sudeshna’s brother. Of course, if you hear the rumours going around you’d think he’s the ruler of all Matsya. He was away these past months, though I’m not sure where.’

  ‘You have to admire his discipline,’ Sadev-Tantripala, added. ‘Hardly half a day off the travel trail, and he is at his post checking on the war horses.’

  The two brothers snapped to attention as the General approached. Panchali bowed, her face carefully set into the unsmiling yet not unfriendly ambivalence that gave the impression of aloofness without being offensive, and stepped away from the horses. Keechak gave her a curious look and a small smile before falling into conversation with Granthika and Tantripala about the horses and other livestock. Panchali discreetly slipped away, and thought no more about the encounter till Queen Sudeshna sent for her the same evening.

  Panchali entered the room to find Sudeshna in conversation with the General. She felt a little wary at running into him again, so soon, but reasoned that it was not unusual given that he was the queen’s brother.

  ‘Malini, come,’ Sudeshna beckoned her closer and gestured to the usual seat Malini was accustomed to take. Panchali glanced at it and then at the General, wondering if it would be appropriate for her to sit in his presence. Sudeshna noticed and laughed. She turned to Keechak and said, ‘She has been here for ages now, but still isn’t used to the way things are done.’

  The General laughed. Then he stood up. ‘A person’s worth is not judged by their station, Malini. But if it makes you more comfortable, please remaining standing. I take it you like horses? Do you ride well?’

  The abrupt change in the line of conversation caught Panchali off guard, but she managed to answer that and the rest of Keechak’s questions in a matter-of-fact way. After a while the General excused himself, saying he had a task to attend to.

  ‘Sit, Malini,’ Sudeshna commanded. This time, Panchali complied. Sudeshna said, ‘My brother likes you, Malini. He would like to see you again. May I arrange it?’

  Panchali was astonished at the nature of the request, as well as the mild way in which it was conveyed. She declined in equally polite terms. ‘Forgive me, Mahamatra. But I fear it would be inappropriate. Please excuse my inability to agree to this suggestion.’

  Sudeshna was taken aback by the response but said nothing, letting Panchali go without any show of rancour.

  As Panchali discovered in the women’s quarters in the next few days, her refusal had come as a shock to most. The General was disgusting neither in form nor in behaviour, and a different woman in a different situation would have not been averse to the attentions of a man who was as powerful as he was pleasant. But Panchali was not such a woman, and she persisted in her objections, no matter how many times Keechak or his sister presented his case. Soon, it became common knowledge that the war-hardened General was, simply put, besotted with Malini the handmaiden.

  The General’s proclaimed interest served one advantage. It quelled the rumours that filled the palace about the passionate desire Malini and Vallabha the cook, who had come into service at the same time, had for each other. It also put an end to Queen Sudeshna’s comments in the privacy of the women’s chambers, where she often teased Panchali with bawdy descriptions of the rumoured mutual seductions – gossip that only brought Panchali dislike from her fellow handmaidens, many of whom openly professed their attraction for Vallabha.

  Keechak’s confessed attraction also helped to deflect interest from Bhim-Vallabha’s rising pop
ularity with Chief Virat and the soldiers of Matsya. Over the months, Bhim had progressed from being a mere wrestler and martial sportsman, to training many of Matsya’s captains in advance fighting techniques. In Keechak’s absence, particularly, Virat had come to rely heavily on Bhim – a development, which Dharma had been happy to encourage in his position as counsellor. Upon the General’s return, Bhim had astutely avoided attracting attention by relegating himself to his kitchen duties alone. The rumour that Vallabha was no longer in Malini’s favour – if so he had ever been – served to let him resume his training duties and avoid offending Keechak.

  Barring these advantages, the General’s undiminished interest in Panchali was, to her, an inconvenience. As his persistence and proclaimed passion moved rapidly towards a dangerous situation, Panchali confessed her fears to Partha.

  ‘Be patient, Panchali,’ Partha-Brihannala advised. ‘We are safer than we have been in all these years. Dharma’s influence, Bhim’s strength…all these have made Matsya a comfortable, if not amiable home for us.’

  ‘And you wish me to add my body to that list?’ Panchali retorted.

  ‘You’re not the only one making sacrifices here, Panchali. Look at me! Neither man, nor woman…’

  ‘But still a human being! Which is more than what I feel like. I can’t Partha. Besides, there won’t be much favour left if the General forces himself on me and satisfies his wishes. And if I give in to him willingly, there won’t be any safety left us either. Rumours will spread beyond Matsya, and Syoddhan will find us. Is that what you want?’

  Faced with the dilemma, Partha alternately considered asking Bhim and approaching Dharma for advice. Panchali understood his vacillation. There was a part of Partha that still looked obediently to his eldest brother for instructions and advice. Another part of him knew it would be futile to bring the problem to Dharma’s attention.

  Finally, Panchali directly approached Dharma. Dharma said, ‘He’s made it obvious that he likes you, but has the General sent for you? I mean…has he ordered you to his bed?’