The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2

by Krishna Udayasankar

  At length, Partha turned to her. ‘Uttara, this is Abhimanyu, my son. Abhimanyu, this is Princess Uttara, daughter of Chief Virat of Matsya. She is one of the bravest people I’ve met in all my life.’

  Uttara acknowledged him with a polite bow. She turned to Govinda, the one she felt most comfortable addressing, and said, ‘You should get that arm looked at, and soon. Come, Upaplavya is not too far a ride away. We can be there by early evening.’

  ‘Is that an invitation?’ Abhimanyu called out. ‘If it is, it’s not much…’

  Uttara twisted around to look at him. ‘Would you like to wait here in the desert while I send someone along with a group of dancing girls?’

  Govinda cut in. ‘We’d be delighted to follow you, Princess. Please lead the way.’

  Uttara nodded, and went about fixing the harness and reins on the surviving horse. She thought she could feel Abhimanyu’s eyes on her for a long time.

  30

  DHARMA YUDHISTHIR WAS, BY HIS OWN BRUTALLY HONEST reckoning, a man of considerable intellect. As such, it was not unusual for him to condense events around him into singular questions of philosophical or moral importance, which then allowed him to make his decisions. He was, therefore, not in the least discomfited by the news of all that was transpiring around them, nor the fact that it was his cousin, Syoddhan, who was behind the events.

  He received the news that Syoddhan rode under the elephant banner of Emperor Hastin with a knowing smile. What he had not expected, however, was the enemy ranks also flying flags with symbols of a golden altar and a white umbrella, for those belonged to Kripa and Bhisma, respectively. Alongside theirs was another flag with the symbol of a flame – a sign that Dron, acharya to the Kuru clan, no longer felt the need to hide his origins. That his teachers and Grandsire Bhisma had taken up Syoddhan’s cause was the final sign Dharma needed to understand fully the many things Vidur had told him a year ago. The insight made him feel lighter than he had in a long time. He thought yet again of the man he loved and respected as a father and sent him silent thanks. Vidur had been insistent that Matsya was the answer to all the questions of morality Dharma had struggled with. By the time he, Chief Virat and a few of the others had ridden ahead to the capital, Dharma had made up his mind.

  When rulers forgo what is right,

  Know that evil shall delight…

  My fault was not that I played dice, but that I lost at it. My duty was not only to protect, but also to guard. I failed at it then, but not anymore. He had his brothers; they were all he needed. It was time to act.

  With this conviction, Dharma turned his attention to the missive that awaited them at Upaplavya: Uttara and Brihannala had challenged the Kaurava leaders to single combat. Syoddhan’s army had retreated. Virat had insisted on riding out again to meet his daughter and her companion at once, but Sudeshna, urged gently on by Panchali, had prevailed on her husband to wait and to ensure that the armies were refitted before being deployed again in case the enemy should decide to return. Still, nothing could dull the anticipation with which Virat took his seat in the assembly, and went about giving the appropriate orders.

  Dharma saw the situation as destiny providing him with an opportunity, one that he would be a coward to ignore. Virat was beholden to him and his brothers in more ways than one. This was a gamble he could not lose. And then, with the military might of Matsya at his disposal… He found his chain of thought broken as Virat began speaking. ‘Kanka, Vallabha…and you too, Granthika, Tantripala and…Brihannala, is it not – the one who is not here yet? Never mind. Tell me, what can I give you to show you my gratitude? Ask, and it shall be yours.’

  Dharma thought, once more, of Vidur. He said, ‘Give us that which is ours by right, Chief. Give us Matsya.’

  Virat laughed. ‘What do you mean, Kanka? I’m not a man without honour to disavow those who have served me well, and it is true that I might owe Vallabha my life. But Matsya belongs to the people, to these brave soldiers who fought for it, and the thousands who have stood behind them.’

  ‘What is your right to lead them, Virat? For mine is the same right.’

  ‘Silence!’ Virat thundered. A moment of silence ensued, followed by the sharp scrape of metal against metal as Bhim, Nakul and Sadev drew their swords. In response, Sankha, Bhuminjaya and Swetha too reached for theirs. Alert to the danger to their chief, Virat’s personal guards quickly surrounded their charge.

  ‘Father!’ Uttara’s voice rang out from the doorway, Partha and Panchali by her side. Sankha ran to pull her away, even as Nakul shifted his position, anticipating an attack. In the middle of it all stood Dharma, unperturbed and unshaken. In fact, he looked all the more majestic for not drawing his weapon.

  ‘Chief Virat,’ he began. ‘Do you know who I am? I am your kinsman.’

  ‘Kinsman? Hah! I don’t care who you are, Kanka,’ Virat replied, pushing past his guards to come face to face with Dharma.

  ‘Oh, but you must! I am Dharma Yudhisthir Kauravya, the true Emperor of Aryavarta. The one who stood by your brave daughter, the one whose presence caused Syoddhan to retreat from battle – he is my brother Partha Savyasachin. My other brothers, Bhim Vikrodara, and Nakul and Sadev Madriputra, you already know as men in your employ, and the handmaiden Malini is Panchali, daughter of Dhrupad. Most importantly, I am descended from Satya, Queen of the Kurus, whom many believe to be a woman of Matsya. But both you and I know that she was more than that. She was Crown Princess of Matsya, was she not, Virat? It is only when she left these lands to live in hiding as a fisherman’s daughter that her brother – your great-grandfather – became Chief to hold the throne in trust for its true heirs. By all law and all morality, your throne is mine.’

  Virat stared at him, incredulous. Then, slowly, he raised his hand and laid a single, resounding slap on Dharma’s cheek. A silence hung over them all.

  It was Sankha who stirred first. He turned to Swetha and said, ‘Arrest them. The woman too.’

  ‘No!’ Uttara protested.

  ‘This is outrageous!’ Bhim growled.

  Bhuminjaya and Swetha both came forward, exchanging confused looks. ‘Arrest them all right now,’ Sankha insisted.

  Sadev said, ‘But why? What is our crime?’

  Sankha glared through bloodshot eyes. ‘Your brother’s crime, firstly, is that he is a fool! Have you never wondered why even Bhisma of the Kurus never dared step into these lands – though he is the only one of that line who might have survived, for he is not of Satya’s blood. If you truly consider yourself my kin, on account of Satya, then wouldn’t your cousin Syoddhan be my kin, too? And he just went running from our borders, did he not? Yes, Satya was from Matsya. That is well known. But do you know why she left these lands? Because she was a traitor, she betrayed those whom you and your family have spent years hunting down. You see, Dharma Yudhisthir, your ancestress Satya was trained as a Firewright by the man who loved her, and whom she eventually betrayed. Generations later, Matsya still pays the price, we stand alone and forsaken. Finally, we shall have our vengeance and the barren earth of our motherland, the parched course of the river, shall slake its thirst with your blood.’

  ‘But…’ Dharma had no words, merely the vague thought that he wished Sankha would kill him right there, right then. He did not know whether to feel shame at the tainted, Firewright blood that ran in him, or to rejoice that his ancestress had dared bring those heathens down. Yet, at the same time, questions stirred in him, all the more for his recent experiences. Had Vidur not known? Had Dwaipayana not known? But the answers came to him even as the questions formed in his mind. No…of course, they knew. That is why Dwaipayana had chosen him and not Syoddhan to become Emperor. Protect the good, guard the evil.

  Bhuminjaya’s touch on his arm drew him out of his introspection. The prince still remained hesitant and respectful. ‘Come, Kanka.’

  ‘Sankha, please…’ Uttara interjected.

  ‘Vathu, Uttara!’

  ‘My lord, Chief Virat…’ Dharma
felt a searing pain as he heard the voice, far worse than what his body or honour had endured when Virat had struck him or Sankha had ordered him arrested. The speaker’s next words, however, stirred a whirlwind of emotions: shock, confusion, joy and sadness, and others sensations that he could not identify. ‘You owe that man your greatest allegiance, Sankha. Because truly this throne is Dharma Yudhisthir’s. In him survives the true legacy of Matsya, and the secret of the Firewrights.’

  31

  GOVINDA FELT BLOOD RUSH TO HIS HEAD, RISING WITH THE HEAT of fury, self-loathing and rage. Guilt and recrimination followed as he realized he had betrayed the one secret that had allowed him to weave his web of intrigue over Aryavarta, the one secret that Ghora Angirasa, once Secret Keeper, had left in his possession. The secret had bought him his legitimacy, his influence with the Firstborn despite the burden of his own origin and allegiance; it was the one thing that had kept him even remotely useful to Dwaipayana and, so, alive. It had been the one thing he had left to trade. But it had taken just one glance to dismiss all reason and do what he had to do.

  As Bhuminjaya and Swetha had advanced, following Sankha’s command, Panchali had remained where she was, summoning courage to stand firm. But, for just an instant, she had turned to glance back, not quite seeing him. Her eyes had held, again, the look of a trapped, desperate animal, one that longed to live even as it was being led to slaughter. He had seen it in the eyes of a young girl, whom he had promised to protect, only to fail time and again.

  In that moment Govinda knew he would do whatever it took to to shelter Panchali from any further suffering. He did not care any more for half-truths and conspiracies, for politics or honour. And, he admitted, a deep, angry part of him longed for Dharma to know the truth, the complete truth, and to see if that could finally pierce through his insufferable self-righteousness.

  Govinda turned to Virat and said, ‘Dharma Yudhisthir, great-grandson of Queen Satya of the Kurus and once Crown Princess of Matsya… Nothing happens in isolation. Satya’s story is part of a larger, inevitable change. Even as the Firewrights grew unfettered in power and arrogance, within their own order there rose rebels – men and women who believed that fire is the light of knowledge and that it ought not to be tamed by a few. Ghora was one of those. He was the one who trained Satya, though she was an outsider – just as he later trained me, and many others.

  ‘Satya saw, as Ghora did, that the order had to be destroyed for the sake of all Aryavarta. And so, when the Firewrights failed to harness the waters of the Saraswati and turned all of Matsya into a desert, she set into motion a plan. I cannot say whether she intended vengeance on the order or not… But she did intend their downfall. She agreed to let her father send her away to live with Chief Dasha, but by that time she and Ghora had already begun to spur on the only power capable of bringing down the Firewrights: the Firstborn. You all know how the story goes after that. Satya kept the birth of her son, Dwaipayana, a secret till such time as Dwaipayana became surrogate father to her grandchildren, the Kuru princes. That was not without reason, for by her actions she had inextricably bound the fate of the Firstborn and the Firewrights – not the old, entrenched ones she wanted to destroy, but the rebels who would gladly disappear into obscurity if they could leave their craft and knowledge as a legacy for all Aryavarta.’

  Govinda paused, aware that his audience hung on to his every word. After all, he was for the first time telling a tale that many had heard in bits and pieces, never in its entirety. He was also aware that with each word he spoke he was revealing Aryavarta’s greatest secret, tearing apart the immaculate plan that Ghora had set into motion with his own death.

  All this for a woman? The memory of a voice reared its head in his mind.

  All this, because it is right, Govinda answered.

  Out loud he continued, ‘But we failed. I failed. Where there should have been no order of Firewrights in this empire, we now have two. The Secret Keeper…’ He looked up as gasps filled the air. ‘Yes, there is a Secret Keeper – Ghora Angirasa’s successor. I serve him… Virat, I once asked you to trust me, because there was something that I knew and you did not. This is that secret. Ghora Angirasa left it in my keeping as he died, and my knowledge of it was the reason Dwaipayana and the Firstborn have wanted me dead, but never exposed me as a Firewright. But now, I have put my faith in you. You must choose, Chief. Are we traitors? Or are we rebels, a few who stand for what is right against the might of many? Isn’t that what your nation is? An island of equality and hope within the moral desert that is Aryavarta? Do you not understand?’

  ‘Enough!’ Sankha stepped forward, drawing his sword. ‘Your lies and trickery won’t work on us, rebel! What happened to this land was punishment for Satya’s treachery. But since you feel so strongly for her cause, you can be the first to die for it.’

  But before he could raise his weapon, Chief Virat was on his feet. ‘No, Sankha, wait! If it is him…if he has come back, then…then there is hope. Govinda? Govinda Shauri, is it really you? I thought you had forsaken us…’

  Govinda opened his arms in a gesture of peace. ‘I had, Chief. I nearly had. But don’t lose faith in your fellow men and women just yet.’

  As though punctuating Govinda’s words, the rest of his companions entered, the group dominating even the large hall. Balabadra and Yuyudhana were faces Virat and his sons recognized, though Shikandin and Dhrstyadymn were new to them. Abhimanyu, looking less youthful now and more sombre, stood behind them. Govinda looked around at them, their presence bringing a smile to his face. He said, his characteristic mischief returning to his voice, ‘I hope we are not unwelcome, Chief?’

  Chief Virat laughed, the sound a boom that matched his bulk. The sound of her father laughing filled Uttara’s heart with joy, and she ran forward to embrace him. She whispered in his ears – apparently words of counsel from the thoughtful frown on Virat’s face. When she was done, he placed an affectionate hand on his daughter’s head as he turned back to the man before him. ‘Unwelcome? Govinda, you are a sight for sore eyes and a thirsty heart. Every day I have prayed that you would return, that the future that was promised us was not just a dream. Seeing you here today…’ Realizing the implications of the situation, Virat gestured to his sons to lower their weapons. ‘Dharma Yudhisthir…?’

  Govinda said, ‘Dharma Yudhisthir. Dwaipayana promised Satya that he would see her line on the Kuru throne. He kept his word to her, but at the same time he was determined to fulfil his duty as a Firstborn. And so he did all he could to hide the truth of his origins even as he brought the Firewrights down. But in doing so, he subsumed much of the Wright’s craft and knowledge into his own fold. In a few generations we would not have remembered the Firewrights, but their skills would remain.’

  Sankha said, ‘In a few generations…? That can’t happen anymore, can it? Not after what you’ve said and done right here. Unless you want to make us all part of your conspiracy? Wouldn’t that be sheer incompetence on your part?’

  ‘Absolutely, Prince. But I have no need for this particular secret anymore. You can send out heralds with proclamations for all I care.’

  ‘And why is that?’

  ‘Now that is a secret that I might have use for yet. Not a secret, really, but just a story for another time. What do you say, Chief?’

  Virat looked at Govinda and then again at Dharma, seeing him through new eyes. ‘Dharma Yudhisthir! I understand now why Govinda urged us to wait. He said that your empire would be Matsya’s chance to rise to its rightful place of respect among its neighbours. He insisted that our patience and sacrifice would light Aryavarta’s future. But we didn’t believe him. We thought him a traitor too….’

  Dharma frowned, but said nothing. The Chief did not notice. Instead he rested his hands on Govinda’s shoulders, and looked him up and down with unrestrained joy. ‘What now, Govinda?’

  ‘Now the true Emperor rules. We of Ghora Angirasa’s legacy stand by him and his empire. I see no better place for the Em
peror to return to claim what is rightfully his than here, where it all began. Unless, Dharma, you have any objections…?’

  Dharma finally brought himself to look at Govinda. Both men knew that the one objection he had raised, years ago at Kamakya, was no longer relevant. Dharma had thought himself tainted by Govinda’s association, but now he knew, everyone knew, that Syoddhan was as tainted as he was, as were those to whom they all turned for counsel and justice: the Firstborn, and Krishna Dwaipayana, the Veda Vyasa, not the least. He nodded.

  Govinda smiled. Silence was, Govinda knew, the closest to warmth Dharma could show in the circumstances, and it was enough. He stepped back and let Virat guide Dharma to the Chief’s seat of honour.

  To muted but respectful greetings, Dharma Yudhisthir sat on the throne of Matsya, the seat, heralds announced, of ancient emperors. His eyes remained on the man who had brought him this, his third crown. Govinda’s gaze, however, remained on Virat’s silent but disgruntled sons.

  ‘What was that?’ Shikandin pulled Panchali aside, making no effort to hide his amusement.

  ‘That, my dearest brother, is called politics. It so happens that I’ve had a lot of time on my hands these past years and I have spent much of it contemplating this rather consummate art.’

  ‘You’re good at it. I can’t imagine who else Dharma might have learnt from.’

  ‘You see it too?’

  ‘Yes. Dharma wants Matsya. He tolerates Govinda for he reasons that the ends justify the means, though he begrudges the fact that even now it has taken Govinda’s word to settle his affairs. No wonder Govinda wanted you to marry him. No matter what he does for Dharma he will always be the lesser man, because there is one thing that our esteemed Emperor has that Govinda can never have… You. Hai! The intrigue never ends. And so much so for Dharma’s moral stand.’

  ‘Ah, but morality is a subtle thing, as Dharma would say. Duty is constant. And Dharma Yudhisthir believes he is doing his duty.’ Panchali’s smiled faded as she thought of all that lay ahead, but she forced it back on to her face as Govinda approached them. She tried to give a name to the confused sensations that coursed through her.