The Aryavarta Chronicles Kurukshetra: Book 3 Read Online Free PDF

Acharya Dron, Vasusena of Anga, Jayadrath…their choice of allegiance to Syoddhan was never in question. What remains to be tested, however, is the strength of their influence; particularly Bhisma’s influence over Dhrupad of Panchala.’
    ‘And your brother’s loyalty? Does that also remain to be tested?’
    ‘Balabadra? What about him?’
    ‘Perhaps it is despite him, rather than because of him,’ Vidur said, ‘but your Federation has made its choice. Dwaraka will stand by Syoddhan. Kritavarman arrived last night bearing the news. You must understand your brother’s decision, Govinda. He believes that your actions have condemned your people… He fears for them, as any good leader should.’
    ‘I understand,’ Govinda said, glancing at a resigned Daruka. ‘Dwaraka aligns with Syoddhan for more than one reason – in the least only because he is the more powerful one. Unfortunately, that is all the more reason why I act. We see the world in terms of power and legitimacy, might and action. Such a world is doomed by its own inevitable oppressiveness. It will decay… But I digress,’ he finished, with a shake of his head.
    Vidur took the opportunity to add, ‘Kritavarman is not alone. Yuyudhana is here too. I could tell his heart is not in the Council’s decision, but as the current Commander of Dwaraka’s armies I suppose he has no choice. Also…’
    ‘Also?’
    ‘Philista, your…friend.’
    Govinda gazed into the distance as he asked, ‘Is she dead yet?’
    ‘Yes. Govinda, I…’
    Govinda raised a hand, cutting Vidur off. ‘Then there is nothing more to be said about her. Come, they must be waiting for us.’

4
    A BARD HAD ONCE SAID OF HASTINA ’ S ASSEMBLY HALL THAT NONE could step into it without gasping in amazement, yet the true marvel lay in that no two people were ever amazed by the same thing. Indeed, it was claimed, there were so many things to look upon that one could hardly predict where the gaze would go: The great Elephant Throne that stood on a dais at the far end of the hall, the painted ceiling that, through high windows, took its colours from the changing sky outside, or the images of celestials, drawn to such lifelike proportions that it seemed Indra’s own assembly stared with awe at that of the Kurus. Jewel-bedecked seats, each of the one hundred thrones made for the Kuru princes included, gold-covered pillars with their ornamental statues, the bearing and might of the princes and warriors who occupied the space – the hall of the Kuru kings was breathtaking in its entirety, and over and over again in its details.
    Govinda’s eyes, however, rested on one thing alone: The pristine white marble floor.
    Here. Right here. Right where he stood. The stone that had been smeared with Panchali, Empress of Aryavarta’s blood when Dharma Yudhisthir had lost her as a stake at dice, and the entire assembly of noble Aryas had watched as Dussasan had dragged her in and made to strip her of the robe she wore. He imagined he saw the streaks of red where Panchali had lain, her menstrual blood staining flesh, cloth and the marble floor. What had she felt then, he wondered. Shame? No, though he knew that was what society, the system, demanded that she feel: ashamed at being exposed, ashamed of her womanhood. Indeed, that was why Dussasan had dragged her in that way, to dishonour her and thus, dishonour Dharma and his brothers, strip them of their masculinity.
    Despite the horror he felt, Govinda’s lips lifted in a private smile. Panchali, he knew, had felt everything but shame. Anger, defiance, possibly fear, but not shame. And now, standing here, he saw what she had seen: that like all else, she had been but a means to an end in a world that believed that as long as the ends remained justified so were the means. This fundamental principle, this irrevocable faith in the sanctity of the system, of Divine Order and its ultimate triumph had allowed numerous things to happen over the years: The