Chanakya's Chant Page 12

  Thirty minutes later the seven policemen and the coroner were joined by a police boat to search for the unidentified man's clothes and belongings along the stretch of the riverbank. A few hours later they located the bloody sleeveless dark blue vest of an Oxford Eight. Near it was the distinctive blue-bladed oar of the OUBC covered in bloody gore. It had been used to smash the victim's face into mush. The dark blue vest located on the riverbank had an identifying label stitched on at the back. It bore the name ‘Geoffrey’.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  About 2300 years ago

  Draped in a dark blanket and wearing a blue turban, the man could have been mistaken for any of the thousands of citizenry walking on the streets of Takshila. His gold amulets would have conveyed the air of a merchant, but his twirled moustache and long hair gave him the appearance of a warrior. It was late evening. By his calculation it was ten muhurtas into the night, day and night each being fifteen muhurtas long. He walked purposefully but not briskly. He did not wish to attract attention to himself at this late hour. Within his vision lay her house—Jalakrida. The name was derived from jala—or water, and krida—or pleasure. This house was a pleasure palace with a swimming pool reserved for wealthy and influential men. It was owned by one of the most famous ganikas—courtesans—in all of Takshila. Her name was Mainika.

  The blanket-draped stranger reached Jalakrida and after ascertaining that there was no one watching, went up to the door and knocked—one, one-two, one-two, one—a pattern recognised by the lady of the establishment. The door half-opened and she led him directly into her bedchamber. Once in, she locked the door from inside. But this was certainly not a nocturnal rendezvous to explore the pleasures of Mainika's secret garden. The man remained standing and whispered, ‘I have news.’

  ‘How much more stress do I need to take?’ she caustically asked.

  ‘Bear with me for just a couple of days. The army of Gandhar, disguised as cattle herders, keeps attacking Kaikey's border farms. They loot cattle and grain and we do nothing. Well, we have finally decided to do something!’

  ‘But when? And what is it that you want me to do?’ asked Mainika.

  ‘In this winter month of Magha, during the third day of Bakula—the waning fortnight of the moon—the forces of Kaikey shall attack Gandhar. You must make sure that the commander-in-chief of Gandhar is with you on that day.’

  ‘He's utterly captivated by the pleasures that I provide. He's here every night to bathe in the warm waters. But how do I keep him here for the entire duration of the attack? My skills lie in teasing a man to the very highest peak of bliss, but I can't keep him here with me after the moment of ecstasy has passed!’ she argued.

  ‘It's absolutely essential that the commander-in-chief must not be in a position to direct Gandhar forces when we attack—we need to elicit shock and awe. Do whatever is necessary. If you have cannabis incense, use it!’ he snapped.

  ‘But—uh… why are we doing this? Can't the politicians talk to one another and resolve the dispute amicably?’ asked Mainika.

  ‘Gandharraj, the aged king of Gandhar, wants to have good neighbourly relations with Paurus, our lord and master of Kaikey, but Gandharraj's brash and headstrong prince—Ambhi—is intent on destroying his neighbour even if it means getting into bed with the Macedonians! In these circumstances, attack is the best form of defence,’ argued the Kaikey intelligence operative.

  ‘But Ambhi is studying in Takshila University. How can he possibly influence state policy?’ asked the bewildered courtesan.

  ‘He has been expelled from the university owing to his misbehaviour. The university authorities hushed up the matter and Gandharraj has requested that the prince's tutoring continue at the palace itself. The arrogant and foolish youth now wants to depose his own father and take control of Gandhar with the help of Alexander's bastards—’

  ‘Sshh,’ she hissed, ‘this may be the house of a ganika, but we do not use foul language within the precincts of my sacred love nest!’

  ‘A thousand apologies, dear Mainika. I forgot that in our ancient scriptures, Mainika was the most beautiful of the celestial apsaras, sent by Lord Indra to break the severe penance undertaken by Sage Vishwamitra,’ he joked.

  ‘Don't forget that Vishwamitra's penance was indeed broken and his lust awakened when he saw Mainika swimming in a lake near his hermitage, which is precisely what you want me to do with the commander-in-chief!’ she retorted.

  ‘The only difference being that you have your own lake!’ he quipped as he slipped away into the wintry darkness of Takshila's streets.

  Chanakya introduced his newest protégé to his students, Sinharan, Mehir and Sharangrao. ‘This is Chandragupta. He's the son of Senapati Maurya and I have brought him with me so that he may be tutored in the subjects of kingship—combat, warfare, politics, economics, languages, mathematics and the sciences. Sinharan, I need you to be his best friend.’

  ‘It shall be done, acharya,’ said Sinharan as he put his arm around the young Chandragupta. ‘In the past few years, the acharya has been training me in the very same subjects, Chandragupta. My father is the governor of Mallayrajya and we too face the Macedonian threat. With my help, you will absorb what the acharya has to teach you at twice the pace,’ he bantered, trying to make the new boy, who was quite obviously missing his parents, feel at home.

  Sinharan continued. ‘This is my friend Mehir. He's from Persia. I've been learning Persian—cusswords mostly—from him! When Ambhi, the crown prince of Gandhar, was a student here, he was always curious about what we were saying about him, little realising that a string of the choicest Persian expletives was being let loose! And this is Sharangrao—be careful about what you say in his presence. He has the memory of an elephant!’

  The trip from Magadha, at the eastern tip of Bharat, to Gandhar, along its northwest frontiers, had been tiring but efficiently completed. They had managed the journey in about six months. Unlike on his previous journey, this time Chanakya had the advantage of fresh horses and an entourage of attendants. Some of the treasure had been left with Senapati Maurya to raise an army that would eventually help overthrow Dhanananda and keep external aggression at bay. ‘The senapati will not double-cross me,’ thought the game theory-inspired Brahmin. ‘After all, I have his son with me, and that son is the future king of Magadha and, possibly, the emperor of a united Bharat.’

  Chanakya and Chandragupta had brought back with them a significant amount of gold. This would be used to raise a student force that could assist in repelling the Macedonians at the doorstep of Gandhar. During the long and arduous journey they had been under constant threat from gangs of thugs and thieves. Had it not been for the presence of a large contingent of specially trained men sent along by Senapati Maurya, they would never have been able to return to Takshila safely and with treasure chest intact.

  ‘Let's understand the dynamics at play here. Gandhar is a powerful kingdom, but the king is old and weak. His son, Ambhi, is impatient and ambitious. Time will prove me right but I'm sure that he'll sleep with the enemy—Alexander—to usurp the throne. Attacking Gandhar at this moment would be foolish because you'll precipitate matters and push him into the arms of the Macedonians,’ cautioned Chanakya to his friend Indradutt, the prime minister of Kaikey.

  They were seated on a thick jute rug by the banks of the Indus. Indradutt's wife had provided them with fruits, yoghurt and a few savouries for their little picnic. Their horses were tethered to a tree close by. Meetings between Indradutt and Chanakya necessarily had to remain secret lest Ambhi accuse Chanakya of conspiring with the enemy.

  Indradutt knew that what Chanakya was saying made sense. There was no point in weakening the hinges of a gate when the enemy was standing just outside. But he also knew that his own king, Paurus, was an old-world honour-guts-and-glory kind of guy. He saw himself as a knight in shining armour who would teach the rascal Ambhi a lesson that he would never forget.

  ‘I agree with you, Vishnu’—he was one of the
few people who still had the liberty of calling him by his birth name, Vishnugupta—‘but Ambhi has provoked the situation through perpetual border skirmishes. Sending military men dressed as cattle herders and looting livestock has made the whole of Kaikey very angry. Maharaj Paurus has been pushed into a corner. If he doesn't act against Gandhar, he fears that his own people may call him a coward,’ explained Indradutt, biting into an apple absentmindedly.

  ‘Very often, one does not need to act, but simply give the impression that one is acting. Let Paurus make a speech against Gandhar. Let him cut off diplomatic ties with Takshila. Let him send a strongly-worded note of caution. In short, let him act as though he's acting without really acting!’ said Chanakya, tossing a pebble into the mighty river.

  Indradutt sighed. He knew that the clever fox was, as usual, on the mark. It would be better to let Gandhar keep the Macedonians out rather than pushing Ambhi into their arms. Gandhar would, quite unnecessarily, become the fortress from the safety of which the Macedonian soldiers would fight Kaikey. ‘I shall speak to Paurus about the implications, Vishnu, but don't hold your breath. I know my king better than he knows himself!’

  God was pleased. In this particular instance, God was Macedonian, and his name was Alexander. He didn't look divine though. For one thing, he was a little too short to be God. His long, blond hair reaching down to his neck, his perfectly straight nose, prominent forehead, and noble protruding chin, however, more than compensated for his short stature. The celestial deity had raised a terrifying dust storm as his army ran over Syria, Egypt, Mesopotamia, Persia and Bactria. His mother, Olympias, on the night before the consummation of her marriage to King Philip of Macedonia, had dreamed that her womb had been struck by a thunderbolt. And the product of that mystical union between Olympias and Philip had produced a son who was no less than a thunderbolt.

  The thunderbolt then had his cousin executed, two Macedonian princes murdered, his general poisoned, and his stepmother and her daughter burned alive in order to ensure his accession to the throne. The thunderbolt had then taken forty-two thousand men on a long trek to defeat the no-less-magnificent Darius III of Persia who had been forced to offer his own daughter as war repatriation to Alexander before the omnipotent godling marched into Persepolis and declared himself shahenshah—the king of kings—having crucified all captured men of military age and having sold their women and children into slavery.

  The king of kings was copulating with his latest wife, Roxana, a stunning Uzbek princess, a change in diet from his usual menu of young men, when the thought of invading Bharat crossed his mind. He decided that Ambhi was the key.

  The thousands of horsemen galloping through the dusty fields was an awe-inspiring sight. The chaturangbala—the four-limbed army of Kaikey—was formidable, but this one-limbed monster was even more terrifying. In usual military combat, the four limbs of the army consisted of the infantry, cavalry, elephants and chariots. However, to capitalise on the elements of speed and surprise, Kaikey had decided to use only cavalry to pulverize Gandhar into submission.

  Inside the Jalakrida of Mainika, lay a comatose commander-in-chief. He had been delicately bathed, erotically massaged, and tenderly fed by the seductive Mainika. As he fell into a gentle and peaceful slumber, she lit the cannabis incense near the bed in her boudoir and left the room briskly, locking the door behind her. He would be out like an oil-starved lamp for several hours.

  The alarm had been sounded and Takshila's gate pulleys were being overworked to shut the monster barriers, but it was too late. Kaikey horsemen poured into Takshila, surrounded the local garrison, rode up to Gandharraj's palace and blocked ingress and egress. Gandhar's royal family sat in their gilded cage, prisoners of Kaikey's cavalry. Gandhar's commander-in-chief lay unconscious in the bedchamber of Gandhar's most expensive whore, as the citadel of Takshila capitulated to the sudden influx of hordes of ferocious riders.

  Inside the palace, the old king Gandharraj received a message. The prime minister of King Paurus, Indradutt, wished to pay his respects whenever Gandharraj was willing to spare his time. Spare his time! The bastard was being sarcastic. He had absolutely nothing to do with his time—his palace was under siege!

  ‘Bring the prime minister to the council hall. I shall meet him there shortly,’ said the weak and exhausted emperor to the messenger as he was helped to his feet by his attendants. O my imprudent son Ambhi, I had always warned you about your foolish incursions into Kaikey. The result is plain to see, thought the monarch as he allowed his servants to cover him with his silk stole and adorn him with his thirty-three-carat diamond-studded amulets in preparation for the meeting with the emissary of Paurus.

  Indradutt bowed down low before Gandharraj and began, ‘O Mighty Emperor, Lord and Master of the valley of Gandhar, Benefactor of Takshila, O Benevolent Father of the citizens of Gandhar, O Wise, Learned, Brave—’

  Gandharraj interrupted him mid-sentence. ‘It is kind of you to accord me this courtesy, Indradutt, but the truth is that you're the victor, and I the vanquished,’ said the greybeard motioning for his subjugator to sit down. Indradutt did not instal himself on the chair offered to him. Instead, as a gesture of respect towards the aged monarch, he sat down cross-legged on the floor next to his feet.

  ‘Why are you being so respectful to me?’ asked Gandharraj, ‘I am your prisoner and have been defeated in one fatal swoop.’

  ‘Gandharraj, the kingdom of Kaikey has always held you in high regard. Our king, Paurus, has always spoken about you with affection and respect. He knows that you're wise, just and honest. The decision to attack your kingdom was a very difficult one, but we were left with little alternative. Your son, Ambhi, has been sending disguised militia and mercenaries to Kaikey to stir up trouble along the border areas. We tried our best to ignore minor skirmishes, but the unprovoked aggression remained undiminished,’ explained Indradutt to the tired and venerable sovereign.

  ‘I understand your predicament, Indradutt. I am willing to do everything that is within the realm of my earthly powers to rein in Ambhi, but he's foolhardy and reckless. Ask Paurus to forgive him, for me,’ pleaded Gandharraj.

  Indradutt hesitated before he spoke. ‘O sagacious King, please do not embarrass me. I'm your humble servant and my own master, Paurus, has been clear that his difficulties do not lie with you but with Ambhi. He's also worried that your son has been secretly negotiating a treaty with Alexander. If Gandhar allows Alexander passage to Bharat, then all our kingdoms shall be at risk,’ he said.

  ‘That's impossible! Even Ambhi knows that he does not have the authority to enter into an accord with anyone without my seal of approval,’ asserted Gandharraj, more hopeful than convinced.

  ‘How do I convince you of Ambhi's actions, maharaj?’ wondered Indradutt. Without waiting for an answer to the rhetorical question he shouted ‘Abhaya! Please come within.’

  Within moments the intelligence operative who had been having late night consultations with Mainika at her pleasure pool walked in. He folded his hands in a gesture of greeting to both men but remained silent as he stood awaiting further instructions from Indradutt.

  ‘Abhaya, have your men been following Crown Prince Ambhi?’ asked Indradutt, almost in courtroom fashion.

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ replied Abhaya.

  ‘And has the prince remained under your observation for all fifteen muhurtas of the day and all fifteen muhurtas of the night?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. He has never been out of our sight.’

  ‘Has the prince remained in Takshila for every single day of the last shuklapaksha?’

  ‘No, my lord. He went hunting and crossed over into Kamboja on the second day of shuklapaksha.’

  ‘When the prince crossed into Kamboja, did he camp there?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. He remained in his Kamboja camp for three days and three nights.’

  ‘Did any special guests drop in to meet the prince?’

  ‘Only one, my lord. Seleucus dropped in and spent a few hours
with him.’

  ‘Seleucus, the trusted general of Alexander?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. The Macedonian insignia on the horses seemed to indicate as much.’

  ‘And did your agent hear what was discussed?’

  ‘No. But Seleucus’ secretary did step out of the meeting tent to arrange for hot wax and the general's signet ring.’

  ‘So it would seem that this was certainly not a friendly hunting expedition, unless it's now fashionable to brand one's hunting trophies with wax seals,’ commented Indradutt caustically as he observed Gandharraj's worried expression. ‘Thank you, Abhaya, you may leave,’ said Indradutt.

  ‘Alas! What has my foolish son done? How shall I repair the damage, Indradutt?’ asked Gandharraj as Abhaya left.

  Indradutt had no words to offer. He knew that Chanakya had been right. Paurus had achieved absolutely nothing by attacking Gandhar except for propelling Ambhi into Alexander's arms.

  The figure was clad in loose black pyjamas and a black cotton vest. A black mask was tied around the lower half of his face, leaving only his head and eyes uncovered. A long jute rope was wound around his waist. His face and hands were coated in soot so that any exposed flesh would blend in with the dark night. To one side of his waist hung a small dagger and on the other side a well-polished bamboo tube resembling a flute. He was barefoot and his feet made no sound as he gently trod the cool and well-worn stone slabs along the palace corridor. Some minutes later, he stopped by a window, unwound the rope, tied it firmly to one of the pillars nearby, and threw the remaining cord outside. He grasped the rope firmly and began lowering himself to the window ledge that was a floor below. Having reached it, he swung inside, landed inside the unending passage, balanced himself and looked in the distance at the ornate door that led to the royal bedchamber.

  Two guards stood outside holding lances that crossed one another across the doorway. A row of pillars ran along the length of the hallway, which led to the door of the chamber and the guards outside it. The black figure skipped lightly towards his goal using the massive columns to hide himself from the vision of the guards. He measured his final steps carefully to satisfy himself that he was within shooting distance and knelt down behind one of the pillars. He unclasped the flute-like tube from his waist and sucked in a long deep breath.