Govinda (The Aryavarta Chronicles) by Krishna Udayasankar Page A
Authors: Krishna Udayasankar
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banquet brought Shikandin out of his solemn thoughts. He recognized the
voice as Dhrystydymn’s and smiled.
The sins of the father shall lie heavy on the son … Better me, than my siblings
. Turning around, he headed directly for the quarters that had been assigned to the Yadus. He found Govinda in the middle
of pulling on a borrowed tunic. Govinda paused and gave him a questioning look.
’The usual,’ Shikandin replied. ‘Don’t bother getting all dressed up. We’d better get going while the banquet is still on
and no one notices. One of my spies just sent word …’ he remained cryptic, knowing that there were many hidden ears listening,
even within the royal palace.
Govinda nodded and followed Shikandin out of the room. Soon the two men were riding into the night. Behind them, the celebrations
continued.
10
PANCHALI HAD REFUSED TO ATTEND THE BANQUET. SHE SAT ALONE in her room, dazed, and thankful that no one was around to notice. Ever since the news of her wedding had been broken to
her, she had been overcome by a sense of foreboding. She felt angry, desperate and, as she ultimately admitted to herself,
terrified.
Govinda had greeted her father’s announcement that she was to be married with the diplomatically expected degree of enthusiasm,
but nothing more. He had displayed no emotion at all, not even surprise. Worse still, he had taken the news that she would
be married away to whoever won the tournament without a stir. She had been made a prize, an object, a
thing
, and it had not seemed to bother him in the least. That had hit her hard.
All these years Govinda had been privy to her deepest secrets and passions, the anger she felt against the world around them,
her joys and sorrows, hopes and dreams. She was brutally honest with him, always. He, on the other hand, had many secrets,
secrets she often never knew he had. Their differences, their similarities made little sense by themselves, but it all came
together when they were together. They were two halves of a whole – equal yet opposites, similar yet complements. They had
never spoken about their relationship, or put a name to what they shared. It was sometimes perfect, sometimes imperfect, but
far from mundane and normal. Or was it?
Watching him as her father had made the announcement, Panchali had no longer been sure of what to say, or if she ought to
say anything at all. She had cut short her ineffectual protests and meekly assented. Somehow, in that single moment, her usually
fiery will lost some of its effulgence. She had often been accused of trying to emulate her brothers, of assuming an air of
masculinity – something she had vehemently denied. But now she wondered if the emotions had been borrowed, after all.
Panchali cringed as raucous laughter blasted into the night from the banquet hall. With some effort, she willed herself to
be patient, to wait for the festivities to end. At last, when the bustle of activity slowed down and then stopped as everyone
retired for the night, she made her way through the silent corridors of the palace, to Dhrstyadymn’s room. She waved aside
the guards on duty at his door and knocked on it. Knowing her brother well, she kept knocking till she heard sounds of movement
and wakefulness from inside.
The door opened, and one of her mother’s many lovely personal attendants stepped out. The sairandhari looked back and smiled
at Dhrstyadymn before disappearing down the dark corridor.
‘Well, come in then,’ Dhrstyadymn invited his sister in.
Panchali stepped in and seated herself on a cushioned bench next to a window overlooking the balcony. Her brother moved around,
lighting up a few of the brass lamps that hung suspended from the ceiling. That done, he sat down next to her and studied
her for a while.
‘This had better be important, Panchali. I was having a rather good time.’ He tried to feign irritation but his tone gave
him away.
Panchali remained
voice as Dhrystydymn’s and smiled.
The sins of the father shall lie heavy on the son … Better me, than my siblings
. Turning around, he headed directly for the quarters that had been assigned to the Yadus. He found Govinda in the middle
of pulling on a borrowed tunic. Govinda paused and gave him a questioning look.
’The usual,’ Shikandin replied. ‘Don’t bother getting all dressed up. We’d better get going while the banquet is still on
and no one notices. One of my spies just sent word …’ he remained cryptic, knowing that there were many hidden ears listening,
even within the royal palace.
Govinda nodded and followed Shikandin out of the room. Soon the two men were riding into the night. Behind them, the celebrations
continued.
10
PANCHALI HAD REFUSED TO ATTEND THE BANQUET. SHE SAT ALONE in her room, dazed, and thankful that no one was around to notice. Ever since the news of her wedding had been broken to
her, she had been overcome by a sense of foreboding. She felt angry, desperate and, as she ultimately admitted to herself,
terrified.
Govinda had greeted her father’s announcement that she was to be married with the diplomatically expected degree of enthusiasm,
but nothing more. He had displayed no emotion at all, not even surprise. Worse still, he had taken the news that she would
be married away to whoever won the tournament without a stir. She had been made a prize, an object, a
thing
, and it had not seemed to bother him in the least. That had hit her hard.
All these years Govinda had been privy to her deepest secrets and passions, the anger she felt against the world around them,
her joys and sorrows, hopes and dreams. She was brutally honest with him, always. He, on the other hand, had many secrets,
secrets she often never knew he had. Their differences, their similarities made little sense by themselves, but it all came
together when they were together. They were two halves of a whole – equal yet opposites, similar yet complements. They had
never spoken about their relationship, or put a name to what they shared. It was sometimes perfect, sometimes imperfect, but
far from mundane and normal. Or was it?
Watching him as her father had made the announcement, Panchali had no longer been sure of what to say, or if she ought to
say anything at all. She had cut short her ineffectual protests and meekly assented. Somehow, in that single moment, her usually
fiery will lost some of its effulgence. She had often been accused of trying to emulate her brothers, of assuming an air of
masculinity – something she had vehemently denied. But now she wondered if the emotions had been borrowed, after all.
Panchali cringed as raucous laughter blasted into the night from the banquet hall. With some effort, she willed herself to
be patient, to wait for the festivities to end. At last, when the bustle of activity slowed down and then stopped as everyone
retired for the night, she made her way through the silent corridors of the palace, to Dhrstyadymn’s room. She waved aside
the guards on duty at his door and knocked on it. Knowing her brother well, she kept knocking till she heard sounds of movement
and wakefulness from inside.
The door opened, and one of her mother’s many lovely personal attendants stepped out. The sairandhari looked back and smiled
at Dhrstyadymn before disappearing down the dark corridor.
‘Well, come in then,’ Dhrstyadymn invited his sister in.
Panchali stepped in and seated herself on a cushioned bench next to a window overlooking the balcony. Her brother moved around,
lighting up a few of the brass lamps that hung suspended from the ceiling. That done, he sat down next to her and studied
her for a while.
‘This had better be important, Panchali. I was having a rather good time.’ He tried to feign irritation but his tone gave
him away.
Panchali remained
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