She paused, waiting for Govinda to speak, but he remained silent. Philista continued, ‘I…my people have been promised a favourable alliance with the new Emperor – Syoddhan of the Kauravas. All I have to do in return is to…’
‘Kill me?’ Govinda grit his teeth against the pain, trying to find the strength to speak clearly. ‘I knew it was to happen, sooner or later. But, I’m curious: did they specify how badly torn up I must be?’
‘That is…personal. Though not in the way you think. I need to know, Govinda. The last astra-weapon Agniveshya created, when he was in hiding after the Scourge, I need to know where it is.’
‘And how much will Syoddhan pay you for that?’
‘I said it was personal. By which I meant it is for my country, my people. Each kingdom in Aryavarta is now bent upon outdoing the other. Can you imagine what would happen if they all came together – if this Syoddhan really does hold the empire together? What about the rest of the world, Govinda? We wouldn’t want to trade with such an empire; we would fear it, and would defend our land against it. Now tell me where this last weapon is…this Naga-astra…’
‘And you think torture will make me talk?’
Philista said, ‘I should have known it wouldn’t, but my benefactors insisted. I know that the only thing that matters to you is cold reason. And cold reason says you should tell me the secret. You know why? Because it is your fault that the entire world is in danger now. Can you imagine the horror if all the nations of the world went to war with each other? Isn’t that terrible prospect what made you and Ghora Angirasa want to break the Firewright order as it was? Well, you should have done a better task of it. You should have done a better task of building your peaceful, glorious new empire, and then none of us would be in this position. This is your fault, Govinda, and this is your last chance to save the world. Tell me. Where is the Naga-astra hidden? What is it?’
‘Syoddhan is far from a bad man, Philista. He is capable of bringing peace and glory to Aryavarta, and beyond. If my death is what it will take for him to do so, it is not a bad trade, at all.’
‘Aah yes…one for a family, a family for a village, a village for a nation, a nation for an empire… That is how the saying goes, no? I hope you are right, Govinda. That your blood, and that of the Matsya nation, is enough.’
‘Matsya?’ Govinda’s voice shook, just a little.
Philista did not miss it. ‘Sentimental? I believe that was home to the Firewrights once, was it not? Now that its protector, General Keechak, is dead, perhaps it can be home to them again. Are you still willing to die, Govinda? Are you still willing to trust Syoddhan?’
Govinda did not answer with words, but Philista could see him transform, shrink into something smaller than the pathetic creature he had already been reduced to. For the first time in all the years that she had known Govinda Shauri, she saw his eyes brim and overflow, his tears mingling with blood to stain the dark skin of his cheeks. She gasped, and it took her every bit of self-restraint to not go to him, to not comfort him now that she saw how utterly broken he was.
Biting her lip to keep herself from breaking down, Philista said, ‘It’s not too late, Govinda. Help me. Tell me about the Naga-astra, and we of Elis and the other Yavana lands can stop Syoddhan before it’s too late.’
‘No.’
‘You trust him still?’
‘Yes.’
Philista looked disappointed. ‘Why?’
‘Because I make the last sacrifice I have left to make. He better be worth it.’
Philista stared at Govinda, trying to read his lifeless eyes. At length, she turned to the sole mercenary with her – a tall, lanky fellow with the lower half of his face shrouded in the typical style of his profession. ‘Kill him,’ she ordered the man, adding, ‘Do it quickly. He’s already been through enough pain.’ With one last look at Govinda, Philista left.
Govinda let his head hang heavy. A quiet sob escaped him as he realized this was not over yet, that his body and mind both had much left to pay for. The mercenary’s voice, surprisingly gentle, intruded on his misery. ‘Quickly? Is that how you really want it?’
Govinda shook his head. ‘Make it hurt. Make it last. I deserve it. Please…’ He let himself hit the wooden floor with a thud, the world spinning around him. As his will to hold on faded, Govinda began slipping into darkness, an endless darkness that would offer no peace. A voice sounded, dull and in the distance. It took him a while to figure out that it was the mercenary speaking.
‘I knew this warrior once…’ the man said, ‘a tough, no-nonsense fighter he was. He taught me that reason was the ultimate weapon, the most powerful of all forces. He told me that the one who walked the path of reason could never lose. Of course, that warrior is an old man now…maybe he was an idiot. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe that lady – Philista – speaks truly. Fear distorts reason. Fear rules us all. Even you.’
Govinda knew the man was right. Fear did rule him, and it had happened because he had let go of reason. Till that day in Kamakya, he had let reason guide him, he had made every sacrifice that had been needed of him, including…Panchali. By letting her be a symbol for life itself, by letting her mean that much to him, he had turned his ultimate sacrifice into his ultimate mistake. At the admission, the part of Govinda’s mind that had been trained into rational methodicity flared in a last, defiant thought. He knew that the mercenary ought not to be speaking to him, certainly not in his own tongue and in such familiar words. Perhaps there was no mercenary other than his own guilt, the final, oppressive sense of failure.
There is no need for guilt, Govinda told himself. Sacrifice is the meaning of all things. For the sake of all that exists, the Primordial Being sacrificed himself. From him came all existence, this world we perceive through reason. Sacrifice is everything.
The words sounded in his memory, in a child’s voice: But why, Govinda? What the Primordial Being did is all very well, but why? Now that is a question!
Govinda heard himself speak before he realized what he was doing. ‘He was not wrong,’ he spat out with vehemence. ‘Your warrior…he was not wrong. Fear does distort reason, but we fight fear. And we fight it not with duty or reason, but with compassion. Compassion is what sets humanity apart from the gods – that we are capable of such benevolence as even the Creator could not show. We were created, not by an act of reason but by an act of love. And to know that is to know the reason of it all. And so we fight because we must. Even when there is nothing left to fight for, we fight for what is right.’
At those words, the mercenary pulled off his shroud, revealing fair skin and a chiselled face. His eyes were dark and large, and filled with once-familiar warmth.
‘You?’ Govinda wondered for an instant if he were hallucinating, for the man before him looked so much like he once had, not just for his features, but for the light in his heart. But the vision smiled and he saw a glimpse of something more. It stoked the last of his strength, and he pulled himself up to his knees.
Abhimanyu Karshni held out his hand to help Govinda stand up. He said, ‘Prove that old warrior right, then. Let’s get you out of here.’
20
ABHIMANYU KARSHNI WAS NOT A MAN TO HOLD EXTREME DISLIKES. Yet the one thing that irked him no end was when people told him, as they often did, that he bore a strong resemblance to his younger maternal uncle, Govinda Shauri. In his childhood he had seen it as a compliment. Now it was a whispered caution shared by people mostly with his mother or with his uncle Balabadra. His reason to dislike it, however, was the same as what had made it a compliment so many years ago: In his mind, Govinda Shauri was incomparable.
When Dharma and the others had gone into exile, Balabadra had brought Abhimanyu and Subadra back with him to Dwaraka. Perhaps it was silent anger against Partha that fuelled them all, but Balabadra and Pradymna had trained the young Abhimanyu with a vengeance, determined to make him better than his father in every craft. Better and braver. Yet, paternal affection, the one thing that Abhimanyu
truly longed for, was denied him. He had grown up addressing Govinda as ‘father’ simply because his cousins and companions – Pradymna and Samva – called him that. Since then no one, not even his blood parent, had been quite able to replace him.
Not that Abhimanyu ever had the chance to let Govinda know – the Council was adamant that the young warrior be kept far from his errant uncle’s influence and, in any case, Govinda had no desire to see his nephew. ‘I cannot!’ he had declared, barely days into his seclusion. ‘It would be more than I deserve. He is as much hers as he is mine. Tell him never to come here again!’
Abhimanyu, who had been waiting in an adjoining room, had overhead and misconstrued. He had rushed to Subadra. ‘Who am I?’ he had asked, far too distraught to see how the question insulted and pained her. ‘Why am I called Karshni?’
His mother had not flinched. ‘You are born of my womb and the seed of Partha Savyasachin the Kaurava. My husband. Yet, your soul, Abhimanyu, was forged by the will of the two who stood over me as you came into this world – your uncle, Govinda and your mother in the eyes of law, Panchali. And so, you are Karshni, for the father who sired you is sometimes called Krishna, the dark one. But in my heart, you are Karshni, because the light in you comes from Krishna, the dark-skinned cowherd, and Krishna, the brave princess of Panchala.’ At that, Abhimanyu had thrown himself into her lap and cried his heart out for a while before abruptly standing up and walking away. Subadra had let him go with a knowing smile. Her son was no longer a child.
And so Abhimanyu had waited, watched and learned as much as he could in the many years since. He saw how Aryavarta was changing, and with it his own nation. Politics, trade, negotiation, diplomacy and even war: he observed it all with curious eyes and a keen mind. He also watched as Govinda Shauri sunk deeper into the depths of despair and as, one by one, all those who loved him lost faith in him. In the recesses of his mind, Abhimanyu fought his own private war. The more people lost hope in Govinda, the brighter he let his faith for his uncle burn in his own heart. And now he finally knew it had not been in vain.
Govinda was shivering from head to toe, partly on account of his nakedness, and partly from fever. Abhimanyu suspected that his uncle’s whiplash wounds were already starting to fester.
‘Right…’ he began, but before he could say anything more, he realized Govinda was already hobbling over to the corner where his clothes and his sword had been unceremoniously thrown. The soles of Govinda’s feet left bloody stains on the floor. He tried to get dressed and hissed in pain as his lower robe touched the torn skin on his thighs. He let the material drop from his hands before falling to the ground again, unable to move.
Abhimanyu reached a decision. ‘Wait here…’ he said and slipped out of the door, though he did not bolt it from the outside. There was no one in the narrow passageway – after all, the prisoner was hardly a threat in his current condition, and that too with a mercenary on guard. Wrapping his robe over his face once again, Abhimanyu cautiously made his way up a set of stairs to the deck.
The ship was of a different shape and construction than the ones used by the Yadus, but growing up in a bustling port like Dwaraka, Abhimanyu knew his way around all seacraft well enough. Govinda had been kept just one level below deck, so all Abhimanyu had to do was to get him out of the room, down the passageway, up the stairs and on to the deck. Then he had to signal to the small boat waiting just out of sight of the ship’s lights, wait for it to draw up alongside and help Govinda down into it – all of it while avoiding detection. Yet, as he had observed even while planning this daring rescue, the situation was not without benefit. Being anchored in Dwaraka’s waters, and that too claiming to be unseaworthy, the ship could hardly afford to show undue strength in the form of armed guards or regular patrolling beyond the usual nightly checks. Most of its sailing and trading crew were already on shore, as might be expected, and only a few men remained on board ship. Of course, that still left Philista and her mercenaries, barring the one Abhimanyu had subdued and was now impersonating.
They have no cause for suspicion. Success lies in audacity, he reminded himself, echoing Pradymna’s oft-used words.
Drawing in a deep breath, Abhimanyu let out a seagull-like cry and repeated it twice in quick succession. The sound itself was not unusual though the pattern was, but not enough to raise an alarm. The men in the waiting rowboat, however, knew it for the signal it was and would soon draw up alongside the ship.
Feeling a little light-headed at how easy it was, Abhimanyu made his way back down the stairs and into the passageway at a light run. He realized at once that he had rejoiced too soon. One of the other mercenaries stood at the door and was just about to open it, but turned at Abhimanyu’s approach and went for his dagger. Abhimanyu was in no doubt that his deception had been found out. He responded by drawing his sword – the mercenary’s serrated long-blade that he had appropriated. The weapon was heavy and its unfamiliarity placed him at a disadvantage. He swatted aside the mercenary’s dagger with the blade, but lost his balance in the move. By the time he had recovered, the mercenary had drawn his own long-blade and now came at him with a vengeance.
The fight was short and bloody, particularly since Abhimanyu was wary of alerting others on the ship. He dropped down to one knee, swift and unexpected, and slashed at the mercenary’s abdomen. The serrated blade cut deep, pulling out flesh and entrails as he whipped it out and around to face the attacker he sensed advancing behind him. The second attacker was closer than he had estimated, leaving him with no choice but to chop through his leg. The man cried out, but Abhimanyu cut his scream short by rising to a squatting position and lopping off his head. The man was dead before all three pieces of his body hit the wooden floor.
Panting hard, Abhimanyu surveyed his handiwork, pleased with the results. It distracted him enough to not see the third man till it was too late. The man brought his twin-faced axe down hard, intending to sever Abhimanyu’s sword hand at the wrist. Abhimanyu dodged just in time, and the blow fell on the lower part of the blade. Still, the impact was enough to knock the weapon out of his hand and cause him to lose balance on the blood-slicked floor. He kicked out at the mercenary, first trying to land a direct blow on his kneecap and then, when that failed, to get him off-balance. But he was too far away. His only choice was to try and make a run for it.
The mercenary moved in, resolute, to the point that he merely kicked his companions’s severed limb out of the way. Abhimanyu tried to stand, but he was too slow. Just when it seemed there was no avoiding the heavy axe, the mercenary froze, arms raised to strike, mouth open in a silent scream. With a soft tear, the tip of a blade emerged through a blossoming wound in the man’s chest. Abhimanyu scrambled away as the man fell face down. In the narrow passageway, tired, mangled, yet with a defiant spark in his eyes, stood Govinda Shauri.
The single blow had taken all of Govinda’s strength. He swayed unsteadily as he pulled Nandaka out of the mercenary’s flesh, falling back as the blade came out clean. Abhimanyu caught him, and wasted no time in moving towards the stairway.
‘You’ll never make it to the shore in time. Our ships surround this one. We won’t even have to fight. One command from me and they will make it look like an accident…’
Abhimanyu turned to face Philista.
She gasped, visibly taken aback. For once, Abhimanyu’s resemblance to his uncle served him well. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.
Abhimanyu did not answer but just stood there, his chest heaving, his gaze defiant.
Philista looked from him to the insentient Govinda and then back again. This time, it was Abhimanyu who was astounded at the range of raw, honest emotions he saw on her face: jealousy, love, anger…and, finally, hope. He knew she would let them go.
He bent down to hoist the inert Govinda over one shoulder and had one foot on the first step of the stairway that led out to the deck and to safety, when he turned around to face the Yavana woman. ‘Come with us. You’ll be safe, I promise. If yo
u stay here, they’ll surely blame you for his escape… Come with me.’
‘I just tried to kill you both… Are you sure you’re not Govinda?’
Abhimanyu grinned. ‘I’m not sure I can explain it as well as he does, but it has something to do with the fact that we were all created not by an act of reason but by an act of love. And so…well, we should do what’s right…and, you know, be compassionate and all that.’
Philista laughed. She shook her head: his words had helped her reach a decision she had been struggling with. ‘No. My place is at home, in Elis. There are young women and men like you there. They are the future, and it is to them I must now look. Go. Take good care of him.’
Abhimanyu rushed up the stairs and on to the deck. He glanced over the ship’s side, weighing his next decision, when he heard indistinct sounds of activity. Gritting his teeth against the agony he knew Govinda would feel, he threw the wounded man overboard. He waited till he heard the splash, and the immediate sound of paddles that told him a waiting rowboat was headed towards Govinda. Then, tucking Nandaka tightly into his tunic, Abhimanyu jumped into the dark waters below.
Strong arms pulled both men out of the water and into the boat, even as the small vessel turned for shore. On board the Yavana ship, there was no activity. Philista had raised no alarm. Abhimanyu gave a sigh of relief, which turned into a gasp of surprise when he realized who his rescuer was.
‘Uncle…? What…what are you doing here?’ he addressed the burly outline that could only be Balabadra.
Balabadra did not reply. With grunt of effort he forced Govinda up into a seated position and poured a goblet’s worth of spiced wine down his throat. The drink made Govinda retch at once, and he came to his senses only to throw up over the side of the boat. By the time he was done, he was beginning to look more alert than he had in a long time, the sting of salt water in his wounds adding to the jolt of agony he felt in his arm.
The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 Page 31