The Aryavarta Chronicles Kaurava: Book 2 by Krishna Udayasankar Read Free Book Online Page A

sitting on the throne of the Kurus and eventually on the imperial throne – Govinda’s sister, Subadra, was Partha’s wife, and their son Abhimanyu had been declared as the heir to Dharma’s throne well before Govinda had set out to consolidate Dharma’s kingdom for him. It had been so easy to assume that Govinda had acted in his nephew’s interests and, indeed, he often claimed that he loved Abhimanyu as his own son, a bond that Dharma had been happy to encourage. Now, the Emperor could not help but wonder if there was another explanation for all that had happened.
    He dismissed the thought. It was best, he reasoned, that as Emperor he remain ignorant of certain things. He could not be held responsible for what he did not know. He was Dharma, the just and virtuous. It would remain that way. And he would continue to believe in Govinda’s best intentions and, in turn, owe everything to Govinda. His empire, his throne and even his wife, Panchali. The last thought brought to his mind another memory that he longed to forget.
    Two days after the coronation, as they had lain in bed still covered in the sheen of their lovemaking, Dharma had asked Panchali what she felt like now that she was the ruler of an empire. Panchali’s answer had held neither awe nor romance. ‘The Emperor is powerless, yet susceptible to blame,’ she had said, ‘and the empire is stable but weak.’
    He knew she was absolutely right. Theirs was an empire of consensus, held together partly by the threat of force and mostly through diplomacy. He, as Emperor, was nothing more than an uncontroversial individual, the kind who neither enjoyed great support nor suffered acute enmity. The many nations of Aryavarta, the Emperor’s vassals as they nominally were, found this to be an expedient arrangement. For the most part, their affairs were their own, but their problems were the Emperor’s. Every niggling impediment could be referred to the Emperor and easily resolved at some cost to the imperial treasury, while every failure could now be blamed on him. Most of the kingdoms found their tribute a reasonable price to pay for such immeasurable conveniences. They found it to be an acceptable arrangement, so acceptable, in fact, that it had taken just about a hundred days for the new empire to become their way of life.
    Uncontroversial, unremarkable, acceptable – the epithets in honour of mediocrity were endless. And Dharma was just that – a harmless, powerless, mediocre ruler whom no one took seriously. He had tried not to give in to the maddening thought, but within weeks of his coronation it had consumed him completely. The memory of Panchali’s dispassionate assessment had made him want to take his own life simply to enjoy the anxiety and concern she would have displayed at losing him. Or perhaps, he noted, she would have been apathetic, the way she responded to most things these days. Panchali was no longer the fiery, outspoken woman she had once been. She had turned into a calculating diplomat. Silently, efficiently, she ran the empire. She took no credit for the things that went right, and ensured that her name was never mentioned anywhere by always acting through Dharma and his brothers, and the host of trusted diplomats who were her link to the outside world. Even in the presence of their closest companions, Panchali kept up the pretence of being nothing more than Dharma’s intermediary, merely conveying the Emperor’s orders and never giving her own. No matter what it looked like, though, he knew the truth as did many others associated with the royal court. Everything, from financing the armies, granting titles and collecting taxes to redistributing vassaldoms, setting up various industries and judging disputes, was in Panchali’s care. Courtiers, courtesans, spies – they all served her with a loyalty he had not anticipated.
    ‘You were raised to rule, Dharma,’ she had once told him. ‘You believe that loyalty, respect and obedience