to the throne as the elder son and then be given the crown once his brother no longer wanted it.
The sleeping child stirred, bringing Syoddhan out of his reverie. He looked down at the boy with affection, pondering the hackneyed line about outgrowing childhood innocence. We are all creatures who have once been divine and will, one day, become one with the divine. Our tainted humanity is but the present, and it shall pass. And that’s why some things have to be protected, have to be fought for. He closed his eyes again, trying hard to use the tranquillity of the moment to think things through. A medley of images flitted across his mind, drowning out the many tensions that lay coiled within. He was alone now, with nothing but his own thoughts.
Ever since Dharma’s coronation as Emperor… Syoddhan stopped himself short. It was not, he grimly reminded himself, a day to be remembered as a joyful occasion. On the contrary, it was the day his dearest friend Shisupala had died, no, the day he had been murdered by none other than Govinda Shauri . Shisupala had very nearly made public Govinda’s terrible secret. From the destruction of the forests of Kandava and Ghora Angirasa’s death to the long-ago obliteration of the Firewrights near Mathura, which had set a young Govinda on his path to power – all of it was nothing but a carefully orchestrated farce to deflect attention from the truth: Govinda Shauri was a Firewright, and one who had no qualms about using their knowledge to his gain. After all, which man possessed the will to destroy a source of power when it could be harnessed instead?
And for that ambition, Shisupala paid with his life. Memories of that day would never leave him, Syoddhan knew. He had managed to keep his temper in check for the duration of Dharma’s coronation to the imperial throne, but hardly had the proceedings concluded than he had set out to find Govinda and exact his vengeance. He had not, however, expected to find Asvattama barring his way.
‘You’ll regret it,’ Asvattama had cautioned. ‘You do this now, you pave the way for Dharma’s downfall and the empire’s with it. Whatever complaint you have against Govinda, don’t make your cousin, your blood, pay for it.’
‘My cousin?’ Syoddhan had spat out. ‘What about my friend? What about Shisupala?’
‘What about duty and honour and glory? Much as you may hate Govinda and what he has done, killing him now will only serve to destroy confidence in Dharma’s empire. Let it go, Syoddhan, for now, at least.’
By then his close friends and advisors had clustered around him, adding their voices to Asvattama’s.
‘He’s right, Prince,’ Sanjaya had said. ‘Think about what will happen if news of Govinda’s death comes back to this hall. Things will descend into chaos, at least half the monarchs in here will get slaughtered, and where will that leave Aryavarta? Bereft of our kings what will happen to the people?’
‘Do you counsel me to abandon my duty to avenge my friend? A scholar and a Suta telling a warrior of the Kurus to turn from a fight?’
‘No,’ Asvattama had said. ‘I am telling you to follow a higher duty. It surprises me that the Suta here understands such a noble thing. Looks like there is still hope for him…’
Asvattama’s characteristic snideness had restored sanity to the occasion. Syoddhan had agreed, but reluctantly and not without a sense of guilt that continued to haunt him still. He sighed, grappling with his emotions as he tried to assuage his conscience. But no matter how he looked at it, what Govinda had done to his dear friend was wrong. He could never completely let it go.
With that thought, he stood up carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping child in his arms and signalled for an attendant to take the boy from him.
Syoddhan strode down the marble-floored corridor with its gold-trimmed pillars and the omnipresent elephant motif – the mark of his great ancestor, King Hastin, the