The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2

by Krishna Udayasankar

  ‘Shikandin!’ Dhrstyadymn ran to where his brother lay still. He placed his head on the warrior’s heart, but he could neither feel nor hear a beat. ‘Shikandin! No!’ He shook his brother, thumped his chest and tried his best to revive him, but it was of no use.

  Soon, dawn brought the forest around them alive in a melody of sound and activity but still Shikandin did not stir. As the sun forced its way through the canopy, Dhrstyadymn could hold on no longer. He felt himself fall over his brother’s torso. The last thing he remembered was the stinging in his eyes as the tears broke through.

  18

  DHRSTYADYMN OPENED HIS EYES TO FIND HIMSELF IN A BOWER in the forest. Sunlight and shadow fell in dappled patterns of green and gold, and the musical hum of honeybees filled the air. Yet, it was a gentle, familiar, touch that sent life and joy coursing back through him.

  ‘Shikandin!’ He sat up at once, the action causing a sharp pain to pierce through his abdomen.

  ‘Easy…’ Shikandin cautioned, helping his brother up into a sitting position. He looked tired and worn, but otherwise unhurt.

  ‘How…? Where are we?’

  ‘We are, politically speaking, in the Kashi kingdom, but these forests are…well, they are like our Eastern Forests: a world unto its own. As for the how – I carried you here. I was stunned by the explosion, but have a faint recollection of you dancing on my chest before you fell over me. Still it appears you managed to revive me with that battering, so I shall not complain about it. Especially since you look like you’ve tried to mate with a crocodile.’

  Dhrstyadymn looked down at the profusion of cuts on his body, most of them already cleaned and bound. He knew he should not have survived, but was glad that he had. Slowly, as he began to take stock of himself and his surroundings, he noticed that his wounds had been treated with a green unguent that had an unfamiliar smell. He also noticed two lithe, dark men sitting on their haunches, preparing what he supposed was the same unguent by chewing certain berries in their mouth to a paste-like consistency and then spitting out the paste into a bowl made of woven leaves. Dhrstyadymn let out a sullen curse at which the men looked up, waved their greetings and resumed their chewing.

  Shikandin laughed. ‘It’s a mighty useful healing salve, brother. Saliva activates the healing power of the leaves – even crushing them won’t have the same effect. And if you’re feeling well enough to notice these things, I’d say the medicine has served its purpose. So I suppose you can return the favour and tell me how it is you came to be at the forge last night.’

  ‘Asvattama sent me.’

  ‘Asvattama? That is a surprise. But…’

  Dhrstyadymn continued, ‘He said, “Shikandin is one of the strongest men I know, but even the strength of the greatest man can fail if he loses hope. Your brother needs you; he needs you to believe that he is not a traitor to his people.” The rest of that conversation was in his usual, insolent style, so I won’t bother with it, if you don’t mind. But this seemed important. It…it stayed in my head.’

  Shikandin smiled, deep wrinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes as he did so. ‘Some things never change. Asvattama always loved to prove that he was the most intelligent man of the three of us.’

  ‘Three of you?’

  ‘He, Govinda and me. Asvattama was forever berating me as impulsive and reckless. Govinda was more like him back then – he was a serious man in many ways, though to see him now…’ Shikandin trailed off as the irony of the statement struck him. ‘Anyway, if those were Asvattama’s words, then he was doing more than telling you where to find me. He was sending me a message: even the strength of the greatest man can fail if he loses hope. And just as I needed you to give me hope, brother, Govinda now needs us to find his own strength.’

  ‘Govinda? But why…?’

  ‘Yes indeed. Why?’ Shikandin frowned. ‘It can only mean one of two things. Either Aryavarta is in great peril, and Asvattama believes Govinda can help. Or…’

  ‘Or…’

  Shikandin took a deep breath and let it out. ‘Or Panchali is in trouble.’

  Dhrstyadymn’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Asvattama also said something about you…and your friends…being in danger. You don’t suppose he meant..?’ He nodded towards the two swarthy men, who politely ignored the brothers’ conversation.

  Shikandin did not answer the question. Instead, all he said was, ‘Come on, it’s time to go.’ With that, he got up and signalled to the two men to break camp. He set about putting his own things together.

  Dhrstyadymn tried to stand up, but felt his head spin.

  ‘Sthuna!’ Shikandin called to one of the men for help.

  Immediately, Sthuna was at Dhrstyadymn’s side, holding him up. With his other hand he pulled out a container, which he opened to reveal a dry powder inside. ‘Ashwagandha,’ Sthuna explained, in an accent that Dhrstyadymn found new but not incomprehensible. ‘It will make you immune to the pain. Your heart will beat faster and you will find some energy. It won’t last long and you will feel like a skinned snake later, but for now…’

  ‘Thank you.’ Dhrstyadymn took the proffered container and poured the contents down his throat in one go. Sthuna passed him a skin of water right after, which he gratefully consumed. To his surprise, Dhrstyadymn found a fiery heat coursing through his body. He could stand, no, walk even, and his head felt much clearer than it had. The pain from his wounds, too, seemed dimmer.

  ‘No wonder people think these forest-dwellers are magicians. Imagine how useful that little box of magic dust would be after a long night with a concubine,’ Shikandin teased, falling in next to his brother as they began making their way through the forest.

  Dhrstyadymn said, ‘Who are these people?’

  ‘They are the native inhabitants of these forests. People we pretend don’t exist anymore. In many ways, they don’t. Most of them have given up their old lives to become one more body in the teeming mass of commoners that we call our subjects. Others remain here, living reclusive lives. Our soldiers are often ordered to hunt them down as troublemakers and thieves…or magicians.’

  ‘Magicians? You mean these people are Firewrights?’

  Shikandin laughed. ‘What is a Firewright, Dhrstyadymn?’ He waited, letting his brother ponder over the question. Eventually, he said, ‘It took me a long time to understand. Fire is more than an object, it is an element. The first Firewrights were ordinary people – probably children of the earth like these forest dwellers. Look what has become of them now. Look what has become of us all.’

  Dhrstyadymn’s head ached with the many questions that he had, but Shikandin was in no mood to continue the discussion. The four trudged on in silence for the rest of the day.

  A smile lit up Shikandin’s face as a dim outline of huts was seen on the far side of a gurgling stream. It disappeared as Sthuna let out a pained yell.

  Before Dhrstyadymn could react, his three companions ran forward, splashing through the stream towards the village. He followed as fast as he could, feeling glad that his strength had returned, but the sight that greeted him made him bend over and retch. Ahead, stood the village, quiet in the smoky haze that hung over it. Right at its entrance, set on stakes a foot high from the ground, were over thirty severed heads.

  After what felt like a long time, Shikandin drew his sword. ‘Sthuna, go round the village and make sure it’s clear. Give the signal.’

  Sthuna appeared not to have heard and stood, rigid. His other companion was already on his knees, throwing up and crying at the same time.

  Shikandin reached out. ‘Sthuna…Sthuna? Did you hear me?’

  Finally, Sthuna stirred. Pulling out a short spear from the array of weapons on his back, he set off around the perimeter of the settlement, his tread cautious, as though he were hunting a wild creature.

  Shikandin took a deep breath and began walking towards the gate, and the severed heads. He stopped when he was closer and took a count under his breath. ‘None of the children are here,’ he
noted, with relief. ‘But…we have six women missing.’

  ‘Over here,’ Dhrstyadymn said, from between the first cluster of huts. ‘The women…are here…’

  Shikandin walked to his side with the heavy tread of one who knew what to expect. The women lay dead, their bloodied bodies and naked forms leaving no doubt as to what had happened to them. Shikandin picked up one of their discarded robes from nearby, tore it in two, and covered up two of them. For three of the others, he pulled off and used his upper robe. As he walked over to the last woman, Dhrstyadymn held out his uttariya. Shikandin took it, and dropped to his knees next to the dead woman. He wrapped the robe around her with a tenderness that Dhrstyadymn had never seen in his brother and kissed her dirt-stained forehead.

  By the time Sthuna returned, having finished his rounds of the area around the village, Shikandin and Dhrstyadymn had begun digging a large grave.

  ‘The children?’ Sthuna asked, a quiver in his voice.

  Dhrstyadymn nodded to a still-smouldering hut.

  Sthuna took a few steps towards it but as the smell of burnt flesh hit him, he stopped, not daring to go any closer. He turned to Shikandin. ‘Did you…?’

  ‘I did. About seven of the children are missing. Six boys and one girl. I think they must have gone to the forest to play or pick berries, and so have escaped. Kshtradharman and Uttamaujas are, I hope, among them. Their bodies are not here.’

  ‘And Guhyaka? My sister?’

  Shikandin merely pointed. Sthuna fell to his knees and began sobbing.

  ‘Sthuna, your daughter too,’ Shikandin said. He picked up one of figures he had wrapped in his robe, and carried her over to where Sthuna was sprawled on the ground and laid her in his lap. It was all Dhrstyadymn could do to not scream, as he realized the dead girl could hardly be twelve or thirteen years old.

  Unable to take it, he spat out, ‘Yabha! How…? What animals could do this?’

  Shikandin replied, ‘Human beings do it, Dhrstyadymn. You’ve seen battle, but you haven’t seen massacre. There is something about war that fuels rage and lust and fear and every dark emotion there is. The best of soldiers turn into demons, and even the most noble generals and commanders cannot stop them.’

  ‘This is not war!’

  ‘Isn’t it? It is as much war as what is fought on a battlefield. You…you don’t know what the Great Scourge was like, brother. What has happened here…it is a re-enactment of those hunts. I guess, Devala has finally had his revenge against me for all those Panchala raids I once led.’

  ‘You? You’d have never let this happen if you had been in command.’

  ‘You didn’t know me when I was younger. I’ve made my share of mistakes.’

  ‘And so? So we forgive that bastard Devala? And Vasusena? It was his men who did this, wasn’t it? They must have planned to attack exactly when you were out. I don’t understand, Shikandin; nothing makes sense any more. What world is this, where we say: “This is how men are, this is how kings are.” Hai, is there no hope?’

  ‘There is always hope,’ Shikandin said. He spoke a few words of consolation to Sthuna and finally got him to his feet. ‘Get your brother,’ he instructed. Sthuna went back to where the other man had collapsed outside the village, but returned alone. He held out a bloody knife to Shikandin.

  ‘He didn’t have the courage.’

  ‘Neither do I, Sthuna. But this doesn’t take courage. It takes… emptiness.’

  Together, the three men buried all the bodies in one grave. It was well past midnight by the time they finished.

  ‘What now?’ Dhrstyadymn asked, numb.

  In response, Shikandin and Sthuna exchanged glances and began walking into the forest. Dhrstyadymn followed in silence. The men came to stop at what appeared to Dhrstyadymn as a relic of sort – a large stone pillar that bore the marks of the elements and worship both.

  Sthuna broke into tears again at the foot of the pillar, while Shikandin stood resting his forehead against the stone.

  ‘What…who…what is this?’ Dhrstyadymn asked.

  ‘She is Amba. She is the spirit of all those who were burnt alive during the Great Scourge, the eternal spirit of the thousands of innocents whose sacrifice we remember and honour.’

  ‘But…’

  Shikandin shook his head. ‘Not now, brother. Now is not the time for stories.’ He wrapped his fingers through the white beads around his neck, placing metal and flesh against the stone. He then drew back and began taking off his armour. ‘Sthuna. Stay here. The children know to come back here once it’s safe. Take them to your mother’s tribe. Give my armour to my son, to Uttamaujas. Tell him to train hard, for the next time we meet, we shall avenge his mother’s death together. Tell him…tell him to take care of his little brother.’

  With that, he turned away and began walking back towards where they had tethered the horses. Dhrstyadymn refrained from asking any questions.

  Shikandin said, swinging into the saddle. ‘I’m heading to Dwaraka. You should go home.’

  ‘Shikandin, please. What’s the point? Look, I don’t care that Govinda is a Firewright – not after everything that I’ve seen and heard now – but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a broken man. In twelve years, we’ve not heard from him. Rather, we hear of him, of how all he cares about now is drink and women. Is that the Govinda we knew? And if the Govinda we knew still existed, would he have watched and waited all these years?’

  ‘We watched. We waited.’

  Dhrstyadymn shouted, ‘But he has lost all hope!’

  In response, Shikandin urged his horse forward.

  Dhrstyadymn threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘Wait! Wherever it is you want to go, I’m coming with you,’ he said as he swung on to his steed. Muttering to himself, he added, ‘Might as well mate with crocodiles together.’ Sullenly, he spurred his horse, the forced humour doing nothing to dispel the smell of blood and burning flesh from his mind.

  19

  ‘OUR PEOPLE CAN’T FIND ANYTHING WRONG WITH THE SHIP. BUT the sailors insist that there is a problem with the rudder, and that the ship lists and veers at the slightest cross-current. They are demanding that Govinda Shauri himself check the vessel, else they won’t pay us the port charges due to us for docking and maintenance.’ The attendant tried to put all the authority he commanded, which was not much, into his voice. Failing at the effort, he conceded, ‘Or so I was instructed to tell you. And to ensure that Commander… I mean… that is…Govinda…accompany these soldiers here…’ He trailed off, partly embarrassed at having used a designation that Govinda no longer carried, and partly at now having to address the man in question with undue familiarity.

  Balabadra did not care in the least for the messenger’s discomfort, certainly not after he had been woken up in the dead of night. ‘Surely,’ he argued, ‘the loss of a single ship’s charge is not worth the time of an emergency council meeting?’

  ‘It’s not just one ship. They refuse to pay for the whole fleet and also for the many times they have docked here this year. Commander Kritavarman says it may be best to indulge them. The Council agrees with him.’

  ‘Where is the ship now? In port?’

  ‘On the sea. Beyond the harbour. But one of the smaller sailboats can get us there.’

  Balabadra looked questioningly at Govinda, who nodded. It was not enough to convince him. ‘Be careful,’ he cautioned, in a low whisper. ‘I trust these soldiers, and I think the Council has not yet stooped so low as to harm you, but I still don’t like this middle-of-the-night affair or the fact that they went on to call a meeting without me. That I could not be found is the silliest excuse I’ve ever heard. Keep your eyes open, and your sword close.’

  If Govinda took note of the warning, he did not show it. Nor did he show the slightest suspicion when, on reaching the trading ship, he found no evidence of any defect or repair. Before he could comment on this, the Yadu soldiers escorting him were asked to return to shore and wait while he was taken below deck
s, ostensibly to meet the captain of the ship. He smiled the moment he was left alone in a small room. This would be his prison, but he gladly made it home, for he knew what it meant. If Syoddhan was coming after him, Panchali was, at least for the time-being, safe.

  With that reasoning warming his heart, Govinda stretched himself out on the small wooden bunk that was the only fitting in the room, save for the shuttered wick lamp of the cautious make that was typical on ships. He had hardly closed his eyes, when the door opened and four men came in. Mercenaries, Govinda noted, wondering what it the world had come to that men such as these could be found in plenty. He did not protest or resist, when they threw him onto the floor and stripped him, or when the relentless whipping began. Govinda grit his teeth against the pain for as long as he could, but when the lash, wet with his blood, hit raw, broken flesh, he screamed.

  Govinda waited for the burning sensation to drive him to unconsciousness or even death, but it did not. The whipping stopped, and he felt afloat in a sea of fire, his body in flames yet whole. He willed himself to let go, as though holding on to the idea of being alive was all that had kept him so, and now it was time, it was finally time, for the release he had been waiting for all these years. Reason told him that it was meant to be so. It was the only thing that gave meaning to everything, to believe what he had once stood for was not flawed, though he himself was; a creature one with the same frail, flawed humanity that he so loved.

  Blood flowed from a cut on his forehead to pool, hot and searing, in his eyes. Govinda tried to wipe it away but he could not move. Through the blurred haze he saw a familiar figure, her red hair framing her face in a soft glow.

  ‘Philista?’ he gasped as the sting of betrayal hit him, forcing him to focus beyond the physical pain.

  ‘I’m sorry, Govinda,’ she evenly replied. ‘But you have to understand that you ask for the impossible. Your ideas, your dreams – assume that we…people…always act rationally, and that there is nothing more rational than goodness. It is not so. I am not so. You made me believe and hope in the idea of greater good. Now that you have lost hope, though my mind still sees the power of your ideas, my heart fears for my people, my nation. I will not act towards the greater good, Govinda. Nor will anyone else. Fear distorts reason. Chaos is inevitable. I am sorry.’