Read Online The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 by Krishna Udayasankar - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Krishna Udayasankar
Ads: Link
going to leave us all anyway.’
‘Yes. He had to. Your husband may find it convenient to live in denial, but it won’t be too long before those who don’t start putting one and one together and realize that Govinda is a Firewright. And because of his own actions they won’t stop to ask whether he is any different from the power-mongers of old.’
‘He doesn’t have to do anything, Dhaumya. Govinda Shauri never did anything he didn’t want to. He believes in choices, not compulsions, so let’s say it as it really is. Govinda chose to leave.’
‘Because he thinks it’s best this way.’
‘He presumes too much.’
Dhaumya sighed and turned his palms upwards in a gesture of submission. ‘For what it’s worth, he has asked me to watch over you on his behalf. I shall try to fulfil that duty as best as I can.’ He placed a hand on her head in blessing and continued, ‘Jatavedas, the refulgent Agni, shall light your way, Empress. Be strong.’
With that, he walked away.
Panchali turned back to the view before her. A city that was silent, even lonely; a small, fragile whiteness against the mighty earthiness that was Aryavarta. She felt the confusion that had long cloaked her grow into a strange melancholy, turning finally into sheer despondence. There was, however, something familiar about the feeling. Govinda had made her his puppet, using her to weave his web of politics over Aryavarta. From the day he had turned down her affections, citing political imperative, to the day he crowned her Empress and left her behind he had always been one step ahead of her. It was important, he had told her, for the Vyasa and everyone who knew or suspected him to be a Firewright to believe that he was no longer a part of the empire’s affairs. And for that he would leave everything – and everyone – behind.
Panchali tried to turn her mind to the promised glorious future of the empire – her empire. But reason failed her and the attempt proved futile. All she was aware of was an excruciating pain at the thought that Govinda would not return.
7
‘NO! STOP! PLEASE…!’
Syoddhan, the crown prince of Western Kuru, lay on the cool marble floor, his hair and clothes dishevelled, begging for mercy and reprieve. It would have been a cause for worry if he did not occasionally break out into laughter as he wilfully lost the wrestling match. The bout finally ended with Syoddhan reaching out and pulling his five-year-old nephew, his sister Dussala’s son, to his chest. His own son Lakshmana was nearly sixteen and far too old for such juvenile pleasures, and when the blissfully exhausted child rested his head on his uncle’s broad chest and fell asleep, Syoddhan lay back on the floor, enjoying the pleasant weight of his nephew’s little body on his own, one hand gently patting the boy as he slept.
The bustle and murmur on the other side of the doorway told him that everyone had taken their places and the visitor they had gathered to meet had arrived. He decided to let them all wait. He wanted a few more precious, blissful fragments of peace and affection before reality intruded. Without quite realizing it, he was already frowning, as he ran his mind over what lay ahead.
Syoddhan had never shown much ambition, even though his father had tried desperately to inculcate the quality in him. His brothers, however, oozed the quality. It was just as well that he was the eldest, Syoddhan noted. He was forty-six years old but still a prince, while his father remained king of Kuru. Few others, his brothers included, would have been as patient as he had been. Dhritarastra, Syoddhan remembered, had once used the argument that his remaining king was the only way to keep the Kuru throne from passing to Dharma. The excuse was no longer valid, but Dhritarastra still held on. For his part, Syoddhan did not mind. His father’s childishness inspired only pity in him, not anger. He knew how much it had hurt the blind king to be denied his right
‘Yes. He had to. Your husband may find it convenient to live in denial, but it won’t be too long before those who don’t start putting one and one together and realize that Govinda is a Firewright. And because of his own actions they won’t stop to ask whether he is any different from the power-mongers of old.’
‘He doesn’t have to do anything, Dhaumya. Govinda Shauri never did anything he didn’t want to. He believes in choices, not compulsions, so let’s say it as it really is. Govinda chose to leave.’
‘Because he thinks it’s best this way.’
‘He presumes too much.’
Dhaumya sighed and turned his palms upwards in a gesture of submission. ‘For what it’s worth, he has asked me to watch over you on his behalf. I shall try to fulfil that duty as best as I can.’ He placed a hand on her head in blessing and continued, ‘Jatavedas, the refulgent Agni, shall light your way, Empress. Be strong.’
With that, he walked away.
Panchali turned back to the view before her. A city that was silent, even lonely; a small, fragile whiteness against the mighty earthiness that was Aryavarta. She felt the confusion that had long cloaked her grow into a strange melancholy, turning finally into sheer despondence. There was, however, something familiar about the feeling. Govinda had made her his puppet, using her to weave his web of politics over Aryavarta. From the day he had turned down her affections, citing political imperative, to the day he crowned her Empress and left her behind he had always been one step ahead of her. It was important, he had told her, for the Vyasa and everyone who knew or suspected him to be a Firewright to believe that he was no longer a part of the empire’s affairs. And for that he would leave everything – and everyone – behind.
Panchali tried to turn her mind to the promised glorious future of the empire – her empire. But reason failed her and the attempt proved futile. All she was aware of was an excruciating pain at the thought that Govinda would not return.
7
‘NO! STOP! PLEASE…!’
Syoddhan, the crown prince of Western Kuru, lay on the cool marble floor, his hair and clothes dishevelled, begging for mercy and reprieve. It would have been a cause for worry if he did not occasionally break out into laughter as he wilfully lost the wrestling match. The bout finally ended with Syoddhan reaching out and pulling his five-year-old nephew, his sister Dussala’s son, to his chest. His own son Lakshmana was nearly sixteen and far too old for such juvenile pleasures, and when the blissfully exhausted child rested his head on his uncle’s broad chest and fell asleep, Syoddhan lay back on the floor, enjoying the pleasant weight of his nephew’s little body on his own, one hand gently patting the boy as he slept.
The bustle and murmur on the other side of the doorway told him that everyone had taken their places and the visitor they had gathered to meet had arrived. He decided to let them all wait. He wanted a few more precious, blissful fragments of peace and affection before reality intruded. Without quite realizing it, he was already frowning, as he ran his mind over what lay ahead.
Syoddhan had never shown much ambition, even though his father had tried desperately to inculcate the quality in him. His brothers, however, oozed the quality. It was just as well that he was the eldest, Syoddhan noted. He was forty-six years old but still a prince, while his father remained king of Kuru. Few others, his brothers included, would have been as patient as he had been. Dhritarastra, Syoddhan remembered, had once used the argument that his remaining king was the only way to keep the Kuru throne from passing to Dharma. The excuse was no longer valid, but Dhritarastra still held on. For his part, Syoddhan did not mind. His father’s childishness inspired only pity in him, not anger. He knew how much it had hurt the blind king to be denied his right
Similar Books
