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Authors: Krishna Udayasankar
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but something pleasant, familiar almost. He grinned, recognizing the personstanding right behind him without having to look. For once, he had been caught by surprise.
‘Panchali,’ he said, and turned around. The young woman acknowledged him with a nod and a smile. She raised a finger to her
lips, indicating to him to remain quiet.
Govinda heard the soldiers as they followed his trail into the thicket. Panchali nodded a signal, and on the silent count
of three the two of them moved, Govinda throwing himself onto the path with his sword drawn and Panchali disappearing into
the thicket behind her. It took them little time to fall upon the unwary soldiers, from opposite directions. One of the soldiers
stepped forward to engage Govinda, while the other two teamed up against Panchali, whom they judged to be the weaker quarry.
Govinda finished off his opponent with cold efficiency and made to help her, but found that it was unnecessary. Both the soldiers
lay dead. Panchali, for her part, was breathing hard from the exertion but was otherwise unhurt.
Govinda studied the attractive woman, a smile dancing at the edge of his lips. She was dressed in the androgynous attire typical
of the central kingdoms – a pleated antariya, like the men wore, and a wide band of leather branded with intricate patterns
covering her bust and midriff, fastened at the back with silken strings. Her upper garment was a long robe that went over
her left shoulder in gathers and fell till her knees in front and at the back, almost like a long tunic. Her dark skin set
off the thick cord of gold around her neck and she wore delicate gold rings in her ears as well as a thick amulet on her upper
arm. Instead of bangles she sported leather gauntlets, her only concession to fashion being that the gauntlets were trimmed
with gold studs and the leather matched her vest in colour. Over her right shoulder was a baldric-like device that strapped
a quiver of arrows and her scabbard to her back. Panchali returned her sword to its sheath with practised ease. Her warrior’s
attire and her lack of elaborate coiffure or clothing served to enhance her fiery beauty.
Panchali was not tall, barely coming up to Govinda’s shoulders, but carried herself with grace and confidence. Her piercing
black-browneyes were housed in large, rounded lids fringed by thick, luxurious lashes and her face was sculpted yet soft, with full,
rosebud lips that were now curved in a smile. Save for the dark kohl that lined her eyes and extended outwards from the edge
of her lids in intricate patterns, and the small designs drawn on her chin and arms in fragrant sandalwood paste, her skin
bore no embellishment. Long, jet-black hair had been pulled into a thick fuss-free braid that hung down her back, falling
below her waist.
Central Aryavarta was much more conservative than the northern or western kingdoms, and it was unusual, though not unheard
of, for a woman to join or lead soldiers in battle. Govinda knew, though, that as far as Panchali was concerned the issue
was not personal. She found the status of women to be one of the many ways in which society had failed and drew on its personal
relevance as inspiration to fight for a greater cause. Yet, as she would often admit to Govinda, her defiance was flawed.
She was an elite product of their elite society, talking of others’ travails while she dressed in fine silks and slept with
a full stomach. It was this self-realization that inspired her brothers to take her with them on their adventures, despite
their father, King Dhrupad’s, constant protests.
‘Govinda?’ her voice was a pleasant intrusion on his reverie.
He quietly met her gaze.
Eyes flashing bright, Panchali laughed and said, ‘My, my! How a great warrior like you can get into such trouble was beyond
me! Now I know …’
‘Well, Princess,’ Govinda bantered, ‘I’m a simple gwala boy, a cattle-herder, and know nothing
‘Panchali,’ he said, and turned around. The young woman acknowledged him with a nod and a smile. She raised a finger to her
lips, indicating to him to remain quiet.
Govinda heard the soldiers as they followed his trail into the thicket. Panchali nodded a signal, and on the silent count
of three the two of them moved, Govinda throwing himself onto the path with his sword drawn and Panchali disappearing into
the thicket behind her. It took them little time to fall upon the unwary soldiers, from opposite directions. One of the soldiers
stepped forward to engage Govinda, while the other two teamed up against Panchali, whom they judged to be the weaker quarry.
Govinda finished off his opponent with cold efficiency and made to help her, but found that it was unnecessary. Both the soldiers
lay dead. Panchali, for her part, was breathing hard from the exertion but was otherwise unhurt.
Govinda studied the attractive woman, a smile dancing at the edge of his lips. She was dressed in the androgynous attire typical
of the central kingdoms – a pleated antariya, like the men wore, and a wide band of leather branded with intricate patterns
covering her bust and midriff, fastened at the back with silken strings. Her upper garment was a long robe that went over
her left shoulder in gathers and fell till her knees in front and at the back, almost like a long tunic. Her dark skin set
off the thick cord of gold around her neck and she wore delicate gold rings in her ears as well as a thick amulet on her upper
arm. Instead of bangles she sported leather gauntlets, her only concession to fashion being that the gauntlets were trimmed
with gold studs and the leather matched her vest in colour. Over her right shoulder was a baldric-like device that strapped
a quiver of arrows and her scabbard to her back. Panchali returned her sword to its sheath with practised ease. Her warrior’s
attire and her lack of elaborate coiffure or clothing served to enhance her fiery beauty.
Panchali was not tall, barely coming up to Govinda’s shoulders, but carried herself with grace and confidence. Her piercing
black-browneyes were housed in large, rounded lids fringed by thick, luxurious lashes and her face was sculpted yet soft, with full,
rosebud lips that were now curved in a smile. Save for the dark kohl that lined her eyes and extended outwards from the edge
of her lids in intricate patterns, and the small designs drawn on her chin and arms in fragrant sandalwood paste, her skin
bore no embellishment. Long, jet-black hair had been pulled into a thick fuss-free braid that hung down her back, falling
below her waist.
Central Aryavarta was much more conservative than the northern or western kingdoms, and it was unusual, though not unheard
of, for a woman to join or lead soldiers in battle. Govinda knew, though, that as far as Panchali was concerned the issue
was not personal. She found the status of women to be one of the many ways in which society had failed and drew on its personal
relevance as inspiration to fight for a greater cause. Yet, as she would often admit to Govinda, her defiance was flawed.
She was an elite product of their elite society, talking of others’ travails while she dressed in fine silks and slept with
a full stomach. It was this self-realization that inspired her brothers to take her with them on their adventures, despite
their father, King Dhrupad’s, constant protests.
‘Govinda?’ her voice was a pleasant intrusion on his reverie.
He quietly met her gaze.
Eyes flashing bright, Panchali laughed and said, ‘My, my! How a great warrior like you can get into such trouble was beyond
me! Now I know …’
‘Well, Princess,’ Govinda bantered, ‘I’m a simple gwala boy, a cattle-herder, and know nothing
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