Balabadra set about examining his brother’s wounds as he finally answered the pending question.
‘How I got here is a simple thing, Abhimanyu. There is more than one rowboat available in Dwaraka, and you are not the only one who knows how to be surreptitious with its use. The point is why I am here.’
Abhimanyu nodded. ‘I know. Philista told us…him.’
‘Yes. It has begun. The militarization of Aryavarta, the race to develop and use terrible weapons. And much else will soon begin too: bloodshed, intrigue, death and destruction.’
Govinda’s strained voice added, ‘It… It all began long ago, and goes as expected. The question now is how it will end. Syoddhan is set to attack Matsya. I don’t have much time.’
Balabadra turned to him. ‘You want to go there…to Matsya?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that which you find there… Do you mean to take it or destroy it?’
Govinda smiled, a shadow of his former self but with at least a spark showing through after years. ‘What…what is it you think I will find there?’
‘Weapons? Firewright weapons. That is what Syoddhan seeks. That is what everyone would look for in Matsya.’
‘No, Agraja.’ Govinda willed strength and clarity back into his speech. ‘You see, I thought that I had more time, that Syoddhan would not turn towards Matsya as yet. And so that is where I sent Panchali. I have let her suffer the consequences of my decisions enough. Now…how soon can I ride?’
Balabadra’s shock was obvious. He blinked, as though coming out of a trance and said, ‘Yuyudhana is waiting on shore with our horses.’
‘Will you come with me?’
‘Yes, Govinda. I have let you suffer the consequences of your decisions enough. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see the great desert of Matsya for myself. Call it a childhood ambition, if you will. And before you say anything about the Council, this once let me worry about it.’
Govinda said nothing, but threw himself flat in the boat and remained there in a half-dazed state for the rest of the journey to land.
21
‘THIS IS MADNESS!’
Bhim ignored Dharma, still in his ministerial attire as would befit his guise as Kanka, and set about tightening the straps around his armour, looking all the while at the desert plain before him, now the site of a soon-to-be battle. Chief Virat’s massive forces had been divided into four, one part under his command, and the others under Sankha, Swetha and Bhuminjaya, Virat’s three sons. Chief Virat himself had, on Bhim’s advice, remained at their temporary command tent. Dharma took the Chief’s position as an indication of cowardice, though Bhim knew otherwise. Whatever the chief may have lacked in military acumen, neither he nor his kinsmen were short of courage.
‘I don’t see why I need to be here either. Especially if I can’t fight,’ Dharma grumbled.
Bhim sighed, irritated, and said, ‘You’re here as Virat’s envoy and overseer in this war. It is not uncommon for chieftains and emperors to send others out to do their dirty work while they stay in their palaces. You know that from personal experience.’
‘I stayed at Indr-prastha because I had to! Someone had to maintain government and hold the empire together as it was being built. I would have traded places with you in an instant if I could, Bhim.’
‘But you couldn’t. Just as you can’t now.’
‘Exactly! Virat is just being a coward. This is not even a war; it’s just a battle. Look…look at Susarman’s forces – they are one-fifth the size of Matsya’s army. And with you as its General… Oh well, let’s finish this and get back to the city. Have you appointed Nakul and Sadev to key positions?’
‘I have,’ Bhim nodded, ‘as best as I could, given they are meant to be groundskeepers. But they know what needs to be done. They’ll make sure that each of the divisions they are part of swings out from the main army and flanks the enemy from either side. Still, it all seems too easy. Why would Susarman attack now? He knows Matsya’s strength.’
Dharma said, ‘Because he thinks the General is dead…? I mean, the former General.’ He laughed, hollow. ‘I still cannot get over that, you know. Keechak, the mighty, mysteriously dead in his own land. How many men do you know who can choke…no…crush a man to death like that? If I didn’t know better I’d say it was you who did it, Bhim.’
‘Are you saying it, Agraja?’
‘No, not at all… I just meant…’
‘Whatever you may have meant, if the General’s death is truly the reason why Susarman has attacked, and that too with such a small force, it’s all the more reason to suspect a trap.’
‘You think too much, Bhim.’
‘Someone needs to,’ Bhim said. He muttered a prayer under his breath before calling out the orders to advance.
The battle did not last long. Trigarta’s army was no match for the larger and better-prepared Matsya forces. No doubt, Matsya’s soldiers were well trained and brave, but for the first time Bhim saw the true value of Matsya’s forges and the skills of its craftspeople. The endless supply of arrows – lightweight and deadly, and fine enough for a man to hold a stack of a hundred in his fist – was the first indication of the superiority of the Matsya army. Their armours, their carriages – all their equipment was sturdier and more effective.
Panchali had explained to him what she understood as Govinda’s plan. As the General had demonstrated to her, isolation had forced the people of Matsya to extend their abilities with metal-crafting into directions beyond the needs of warfare and armament. When news came in of Susarman’s impending attack, and Matysa’s soldiers began their preparations, Bhim saw pieces of iron and metal being transported for a week to the border and assembled in less than half a day to form catapults and ballast that would have taken even a herd of elephants much longer to transport in their finished form. He saw wounded men healing faster with the metallic splints used by medics, many of the soldiers even returning to battle – so light were the braces on their limbs. Bhim noticed how fine needles were used to close open wounds with precision, leaving little chance of them getting infected. Water, the most essential and scarce resource for soldiers in the harsh desert lands, was pulled out of the deepest aquifers under the sandy earth by using a system of metallic pipes with bellow-like devices of leather attached to them. Wick-lamps lighting the army camp were housed in shuttered containers that ensured the flame would go out if tilted, thus protecting the camp from accidental fires.
Many of these smaller devices had been obvious to Bhim even during the course of his life as a cook in the kitchens of Virat’s palace, but to see them come together, particularly with the benefit of knowing how these inventions had taken place, was truly remarkable. Unambiguously absent, however, were weapons made of Wright-metal, or any devices that suggested Firewright astra-weapons. It was then that Bhim fully understood. Govinda had shown the world that it did not take a powerful, secretive order to drive humanity forward to discovery and invention. Bhim only hoped the Dharma would see it too.
Another thing niggled at his mind. Despite the odds, the weakening Trigarta army had fought with a will that had only affirmed Bhim’s suspicions. ‘You don’t suppose this was just a distraction? That Susarman has more forces?’ he asked Dharma as the two men walked towards the command tent. Both of them were fresh off the battlefield and eager to give Chief Virat news of their victory.
‘And what would they attack?’ Dharma countered. He was enjoying the taste of victory in open battle after many years and was not willing to let the thought of further fighting mar the moment.
‘The city. If they took Upaplavya…’
‘Don’t be silly. Chief Virat’s scouts would have reported troop movement. The only tract that remains unwatched, and with good reason, is the old riverbed to the south. There isn’t a drop of water in those parts. You couldn’t get a man through there alive, not to mention an army.’
‘I suppose you’re right. I suppose we should be grateful that it was so easy…’ No s
ooner were the words out of Bhim’s mouth than he regretted them. Ahead, the Chief’s tent stood in disarray, a pale Sankha standing in the middle of it all. ‘They’ve taken him,’ he said. ‘They’ve taken the Chief.’
‘What!’ Dharma looked horrified.
Before Sankha could respond, his youngest brother Bhuminjaya came running into the tattered shelter. ‘Susarman sends a message. He’s holding our father hostage. He says he is willing to trade.’
‘Trade?’ Sankha said. ‘Trade for what?’
‘Matsya. They want our surrender, and they will let Father live.’
‘If you weren’t my brother, Bhuminjaya, you’d be dead for even bringing those terms to me!’
‘Peace!’ Bhim intervened.
‘Stay out of this, Vallabha! What does a cook know of honour and war? We will die before we surrender. And if the first to fall is my father, so be it.’
‘Sankha,’ Bhim raised a calming hand. ‘The reality of war is that it is not always honourable, and far from absolute. There are other alternatives to surrender or death. Listen to me…’
‘What alternative can you offer me, Vallabha?’
‘Let me bring your father back alive. Then we will unleash more death on those cowards in Trigarta.’
‘And how are we to do this?’ Sankha said.
Dharma sounded even less convinced than Virat’s son. ‘Yes, how? Don’t be foolish, Vallabha!’
Bhim met Dharma’s gaze, understanding full well the folly that Dharma spoke of. If he were seen and recognized by Susarman, not as Vallabha of Matsya but as Bhim Vikrodara of Kuru, it would invite great danger upon them all. Especially Panchali. But that did not change what had to be done. That did not change what was right. Turning to Sankha, Bhim said, ‘I have a plan. I will need the help of Granthika and Tantripala – two of your groundsmen whom I personally trust. I will also need a scout who knows this region like he does his lover’s eyes.’
Sankha nodded at Bhuminjaya, who left to see to the arrangements. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ he said, turning back to Bhim.
Dharma muttered under his breath, ‘I hope so too, Prince. I hope so too.’
22
PANCHALI BURST INTO THE ROOM WITH A LITTLE MORE FERVOUR than Malini the handmaiden was wont to show. ‘Have you heard?’ she began, her eyes on Partha, but fell silent as she noticed the young woman with him. ‘I beg your pardon, Princess,’ she immediately added, though she shared more than a congenial relationship with Uttara, Chief Virat’s only daughter.
The young woman was about nineteen or so, but she stood taller than Panchali. Her fair skin had turned an alluring golden brown under the desert sun and her brown hair had been stained a few shades lighter. Her features were as hard as the stone of the land but in her own way the princess was rather beautiful. Influenced in her growing years in equal measure by her soft-hearted father and her tough maternal uncle, the dead General, Uttara reminded Panchali in many ways of herself when she had been that young. Yet, the girl was different, far bolder and far more responsible than Panchali had ever been at that age, and way more outspoken.
In the past year, the two women had built a relationship that bordered on friendship, though Panchali had been careful never to overstep her bounds as Malini, the handmaiden. She also had this inexplicable feeling that there was an assailable, even mysterious, quality about Uttara, and so kept an eye on her – more out of concern for the younger woman than curiosity – while maintaining a distance. Rumour among the handmaidens was that Uttara went out of her rooms at night to meet with a secret lover. Panchali did not think that was the case, but she would also not put it past Uttara to sneak out, if only to wander her beloved city by night, making sure that all was well.
‘It’s all right, Malini. Don’t go,’ Uttara said, waving her in. ‘And yes, we’ve already heard. A great army, led by Syoddhan Kauravya, self-proclaimed ruler of Aryavarta, is set to attack us. They are at the south-west pass and have sent a message asking for our surrender. In the absence of my father and brothers, the decision as to what should be done falls, unexpectedly, to me. What do you think I should do, Malini?’
‘Princess, it is hardly my position to offer advice on this. But since you ask, I think we should stall for time. Our forces would have surely overcome Trigarta’s army by now.’
‘They are three days’ ride away, at the least. Victorious or not, they are not here to help us. The herds are a priority.’
‘All this for a herd of cows?’ Partha-Brihannala blurted out, earning himself a harsh look from Uttara. ‘Well, I mean, they’re important but…’
‘But it’s brilliant! Don’t you see?’ Panchali said. ‘Trigarta’s attack was a diversion so that Syoddhan and his men could achieve their true purpose, which is…’
Uttara chuckled. ‘Which is what, Malini? The annexation of Matsya? Control over our forges, our foundries? Is that why Syoddhan sent you here? To kill my uncle and…oh, don’t look so shocked. I was there, that night in the dancing hall. I saw the two of you, and Vallabha too. I heard everything.’
Partha began to offer a flustered explanation, but Panchali remained calm. She said, ‘In that case, why didn’t you intervene? You could have raised the alarm, even done it in time to save him. Or at least you could have had us arrested.’
‘For what? A known enemy is far better than an unknown one. If you were indeed Syoddhan’s spies, you would at least work to protect his interests. The moment Keechak was dead Vallabha was more important to Matsya than ever before. I am not a fool to have him arrested and condemned! Besides, ever since I’ve been old enough to understand the situation, I’ve known that Keechak was going to be our doom. His ideas of bloody revolution and the rise of Matsya were fascinating to hear, but they wouldn’t do a thing for my people. Salvaged pride lasts for only a generation. My people need more. They need a future. Surrendering to Syoddhan might just give us the chance to become a part of Aryavarta once again. That is how it begins, with peace and trade and the sharing of knowledge. And that is why I have decided’ – she turned to Partha, a cold haughtiness in her eyes – ‘Brihannala! Have a rider take the message to Syoddhan. We will agree, in principle, to surrender provided we are able to negotiate the terms of peace.’
‘You cannot!’ Panchali sprang forward. ‘Uttara, I don’t know what political game you think you are playing, but this is not such a simple matter.’
‘How dare you talk to me that way, Malini!’
‘I dare to speak how I like, Uttara,’ Panchali said. Softening her tone, she said, ‘I dare speak, not because of who you are, or who I was or am. I dare because I must. The truth is bigger than you or me. This story is bigger than you or me… My name is not Malini. I am Panchali Draupadi, once Empress of Aryavarta. The person you know as Vallabha is Bhim Vikrodara and Brihannala is Partha Savyasachin. Both are brothers to Dharma Yudhisthir of Kuru.’
To Panchali’s surprise, as well as Partha’s, Uttara shrugged, unconcerned, and remarked, ‘Brihannala. I always wondered about that name: big reed. Rather egotistic a euphemism for a eunuch, don’t you think? But then, all of Aryavarta knows what a Kaurava thinks of women. As for you, Panchali, forgive me if I don’t fall on my knees and grovel before you. I have no interest in the legitimacy of your claim to the empire any more than I have in Syoddhan’s.’
Partha looked distinctly uncomfortable. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but could find nothing to say. Panchali said, ‘It’s best you leave us to talk this over, Partha.’ He nodded and with a glance at Uttara exited the room, this time without the customary sway of Brihannala’s hips. Panchali waited till he was gone and took a seat. She gestured for Uttara to follow suit.
The subtle gestures, the assertion of dominance, were not lost on the younger woman. She sat, but did so with condescension.
Panchali said, ‘You’d make the perfect puppet, Uttara. You’re so easy to manipulate and predictable in your thinking. I could make you do exactly what I want you to, while you r
emain convinced that you act of your own free will. I’ve learnt that from the masters of masters, the best politician Aryavarta has ever seen, and I won’t hesitate to do what I have to.’
‘So why don’t you?’ Uttara said. ‘Why do you argue with me, instead of manipulating me as you claim you can so easily do?’
‘What makes you think I’m not? What makes you think every word I’ve just said was not meant to achieve my ends?’
Uttara muttered under her breath as she saw the riddle.
‘Well, I am not manipulating you,’ Panchali said. ‘I have no way to convince you of that except to say that Matsya is as much home to me as it is to you, and that I would never wish it harm. Matsya is the future; it is hope. I did not want Keechak dead, Uttara. But I did what I had to… All I asked him for was the chance to explain. It is all I ask you for too.’
‘Or else what? You’ll kill me too?’
Panchali shook her head and then, rising, went down on her knees before the seated Uttara. ‘I was once a princess, an empress, but I learnt the hard way that position, power and status mean nothing in a world where being just a person has no value. Please, trust me. Do not surrender to Syoddhan. If you do, there will be nothing left of Matsya but its forges, and the people will be merely slaves who work in them.’
Uttara stared at Panchali for a while. Then she reached down and helped her up. ‘Don’t,’ Uttara said. ‘It doesn’t feel right. Not because of who you are, but it just doesn’t feel right. Oh, Malini. You act like you’re the only woman with a brain and a conscience. I admit, you’re different, but whatever gave you the right to presume you are unique? I don’t think I’m anything like you, but I do find it offensive that you think you alone can lay claim to being capable of complex thought.’
The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 Page 32