He would need to play this game meticulously. ‘Seleucus!’ he called out to his trusted general.
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Seleucus, walking up briskly to Alexander, ignoring the aide who had been buffing his armour.
‘Can you look like me?’ asked Alexander in all earnestness.
‘No one can look like you, O lord, you're divine!’ exclaimed Seleucus laying on a thick layer of buttery praise. He knew it had worked when Alexander smiled at him. Flattery will get you everywhere, thought Seleucus.
‘No, no. I mean from a distance. Suppose we leave the royal tent in place, leave the bulk of the infantry along with it, leave the royal pavilion untouched and have someone who looks like me parading every once in a while wearing my royal robes. Would it be enough to convince the other side that we've not moved?’ asked the ingenious tactician. Seleucus smiled. He knew what Alexander was thinking. It was the classic pincer move that he was famous for—leave the enemy open to attack on both flanks.
‘Better than me, would be Phillipos. He has more of your build, my lord. As I see it, we should be able to convince Paurus's lookouts that we've not moved. The more critical question is, what then? How do we cross the Jhelum and where?’ asked Seleucus, knowing fully well that his boss already knew the answer.
‘Remember those rafts we used to build the pontoon bridge across the Indus? What if we cut them into pieces, carry them quietly to a spot some miles upstream and reassemble them there? We could then use the rafts to cross,’ explained Alexander.
‘Chopping up and putting together rafts for forty thousand men and three thousand horses? That's impossible!’ spluttered Seleucus incredulously. His men were already complaining that they were wet and weary.
‘Ah! You and I shall take the entire cavalry of three thousand but only ten thousand of the infantry. The vast remainder will stay right here with Phillipos. Once we have crossed the river with our secret forces, we shall attack Paurus from the rear,’ explained Alexander triumphantly.
‘But he may turn around and attack us with his full might,’ argued Seleucus. ‘We'll be vastly outnumbered, my lord. He has hundreds of elephants,’ he said nervously.
‘That's the moment for Phillipos to cross, my friend!’ reasoned Alexander.
‘Either way Paurus would be compelled to fight on two fronts,’ rationalised Seleucus as the full import of his master's strategy sunk in.
‘We're being attacked,’ yelled the vanguard of Kaikey's massive army. Like an echo, the message was relayed through a series of shouts until it reached the ears of the towering Paurus. His name was derived from Purushottam—Supreme Being— and he looked nothing less than that. Standing over six-and-a-half feet in height, the king had a radiant glow on his face that was accentuated by his curled and oiled moustache, in the typical fashion of Rajput warriors. He wore his military armour and regalia as though it were an intrinsic part of his royal personage. His muscles rippled with every move that he made, his chest puffed out with muscular pride. His fair skin was wet from the rains but each droplet clung to his frame as though it were in love with his body, refusing to let go of the physical contact. His jet-black hair hung down to his shoulders and was held in place by a ruby-encrusted helmet that covered half his face. He was the mighty Paurus. Having subdued the hill kingdoms of Kashmir, Mallayrajya, Kuluta, and Sindh, he was rightly entitled to the title of Parvateshwar—Conqueror of the Mountains.
‘How can that be?’ Paurus asked his prime minister, Indradutt. ‘Hadn't your lookouts told us that Alexander's army continues to remain stationed across the Jhelum right before our very eyes?’
‘Yes, my lord. In fact, Abhaya's spies also chatted with the local farmers who told them that Alexander had surveyed the river yesterday and had blurted out that the river was just too deep and wide to think of an immediate crossing,’ answered Indradutt.
‘O Indradutt, my trusted advisor. We've been tricked by that crafty devil. Tell the charioteers and archers to swing around and teach Alexander a lesson that he will never forget!’ thundered Paurus, as monsoon rains continued to lash down on him. Indradutt nodded and went over to convey the message to the commander-in-chief who was in utter panic. His chariots were slipping in the smooth clayey soil and they had already lost several of them. The archers’ two-metre highbows—monstrous weapons that could shoot spears instead of arrows—needed firm ground on which to be anchored and in this weather firm ground was an impossibility.
Kaikey's elephants were their biggest strength. Desperate to relieve the rear that was bearing the brunt of the attack, Paurus commanded that the elephants be called into action. As the giant pachyderms lumbered towards the terrified Macedonian forces, they were suddenly attacked by axes and spears hurled by horrendous catapults. As the hatchets and lances began to meet their mark, the tuskers went wild and, in the ensuing stampede, trampled Kaikey's own battalions. Just when things couldn't possibly get worse, news came in that the attack from the rear had been carried out by only a small contingent of Alexander's troops and that the remaining troops commanded by Phillipos were now crossing the Jhelum and attacking the front.
The valiant Paurus seated on the howdah of his elephant towards the centre of the battlefield then received devastating news. Both his sons had been killed, one defending the tail and the other the head of Kaikey's army. With nothing left to lose, Paurus asked his mahout to charge towards Alexander so that he could put a spear through the invader's heart. It was the opportunity that Alexander had been waiting for. He ordered his phalanx to move and surround Paurus and his personal battalion. The mayhem that followed was pure butchery. Rivulets of blood flowed down the banks to meet the mighty Jhelum as thousands of Kaikey's soldiers were massacred.
Having pulled out a javelin piercing his right shoulder, the brave Paurus, now weak from loss of blood, staggered off his elephant and was instantly surrounded by Alexander's men who took him captive. The magnificent and proud warrior had lost none of his dignity as he was brought before Alexander who was flanked by Ambhi. ‘How shall I treat you, O Paurus,’ asked a bloody Alexander with the swagger of a victor. Ambhi smiled smugly—this was going to be fun.
‘Treat me, O Alexander, as befits a king!’ replied Paurus as he stood in chains before his subjugator, defeated but not dispirited, wounded but not vanquished, chained but no less proud.
The stately answer brought a smile to Alexander's face. ‘For my own sake, I would do that, O Paurus,’ said Alexander, and the smile disappeared from Ambhi's face. ‘Ask for any boon and it shall be yours,’ said Alexander grandly and Paurus replied, ‘All that I want is included in that request.’
Alexander was not immune to acts of bravery, chivalry and stateliness. He walked up to Paurus, embraced him, and said, ‘From this day on, you're my friend, my ally. I give you back your kingdom and your lands. Make peace with Ambhi and rule in my name!’
The tearful Paurus threw away the last vestiges of his reserve and made peace with Alexander and Ambhi.
Chanakya was sitting with Chandragupta on the floor of his hut eating poha—flattened and roasted rice. ‘What have we achieved, wise teacher?’ asked Chandragupta, baffled by the sudden turn of events.
‘Everything that we wanted,’ said the Brahmin taking a handful of poha from the leaf.
Outside the hut, there were sounds of men going through their mid-morning drill. The official supervising them was calling them a bunch of sissies for not running fast enough, jumping high enough, hitting hard enough or throwing far enough. He pushed them harder each day. He wanted a small but extremely effective and overwhelmingly powerful force—one that would be able to capitalise on strength, speed, flexibility and surprise.
Ignoring the harsh and sometimes unholy language being used by the drill sergeant outside, Chanakya calmly continued. ‘Alexander defeated Paurus. Paurus lost twenty-three thousand troops. He's now a mere vassal of Alexander. We could never have achieved that by ourselves,’ reasoned Chanakya.
‘But we've cre
ated a stronger Alexander,’ exclaimed Chandragupta, popping some more of the spicy rice mixture into his eager mouth.
‘Exactly the opposite, dear Chandragupta. Alexander's men were tired and weary even before the battle with Paurus began. The Jhelum victory came at a very high price. Our undercover operatives tell us that Alexander's men are refusing to march further. The world could not stop Alexander's advance but a single battle with the courageous but foolish Paurus has halted him in his tracks!’ laughed Chanakya.
‘I continue to have reservations about what we did. We should have fought for what was right!’
‘Chandragupta, my son, a battle is never about who's right. It's mostly about who's left!’
‘So what happens now, acharya?’
‘Alexander will turn back. He'll leave Bharat soon. He'll probably designate Seleucus as governor in charge of the conquered territories. That's when we'll make our move,’ said Chanakya.
From outside sounds of hundreds of batons crashing against one another accentuated Chanakya's words. Silambam—bamboo staff combat—was on. The trainer had studied ancient martial arts from all over Bharat and had incorporated these into the exercises of his men.
‘We're lucky to have him with us,’ commented Chandragupta as he heard the sounds of bamboo shafts being thrashed against each other.
‘As long as he remains away from the arms of Mainika, we should be fine,’ commented Chanakya with a roguish grin on his face.
‘I'll never understand how you managed to convince Ambhi's commander-in-chief to become our trainer!’ burst out Chandragupta.
‘He had no choice but to join us. He was having a siesta in his harlot's bedroom while Takshila was being taken over by Kaikey's forces. He couldn't expect to be welcomed back by Gandharraj or Ambhi. They would have had his head impaled on a spike and paraded for his folly! I offered him an alternative.’
‘Hah! He didn't have an alternative!’
‘True. Always remember that a conjurer will offer you alternatives to choose from but you always end up picking the one that he wants you to!’
‘I don't understand. You talk in riddles sometimes, acharya!’ complained Chandragupta.
‘Who is Mainika? How did she acquire the jalakrida for the commander's aquatic delights? How did Abhaya, the intelligence operative of Indradutt, get a whiff of this news and decide to use it to Kaikey's advantage?’ asked the crafty teacher quietly.
Chandragupta bowed down before his guru and touched his feet. He knew that he was in the presence of the ultimate master—not of the martial arts that were being taught outside but of the craft that was taught inside.
‘Protect me, O wise guru, for I have sinned,’ pleaded Ambhi as he prostrated himself before Chanakya. ‘Rise, O King of Gandhar. I'm not aware of any sin committed by you. You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I am omniscient and omnipresent!’ joked Chanakya. The young king rose and straightened himself. With hands still folded in a gesture of obeisance, he said, ‘I should never have extended my hand of friendship to Alexander. All that I gained was the wrath of my own people. Even the defeat of Paurus was no victory because Alexander made Paurus his satrap instead of handing over his kingdom to me.’
‘Gandhar is big enough for the ambitions of Ambhi, isn't it?’ asked Chanakya slyly, eyes twinkling.
‘Yes, but it rankles me. Paurus and I are now equals before Alexander. We're both his vassals. The title that I gained without spilling my people's blood is the same title that Paurus obtained after allowing thousands of his people to be slaughtered. Yet, history will record him as the hero and Ambhi as the coward!’ said a forlorn Ambhi.
Chanakya put on his best false smile and asked, ‘And what can Chanakya do for you, O King?’
‘I need your wise counsel, acharya. I need you by my side. I'm aware that my former commander-in-chief is helping train your anti-Macedonian forces. I do not mind that. I know that you're training Chandragupta to be king of Magadha. I do not have any objection to that either. I simply need your guidance and wise counsel so that I can make Gandhar economically and politically strong and resilient,’ pleaded Ambhi.
‘And what would that involve?’ asked Chanakya cautiously.
‘I would like you to be my rajguru—royal advisor—and would like you to reside next to my palace. I've built a marvellous official residence for the rajguru. I want you and your disciples to move in there. No expense will be spared and you'll be well looked after. Grace this house with your august presence, O acharya. It will give me the advantage of meeting you whenever I need your wise counsel!’ urged Ambhi.
‘O King, I'm but a poor Brahmin. Of what use are palaces and mansions to me? I'll be uncomfortable in such lavish surroundings!’ commented the man wrily, knowing full well that maintaining his poverty cost him an arm and a leg. Tears in his eyes, Ambhi prostrated himself once again before Chanakya and pleaded, ‘Please, acharya, do not let me wander through the political jungle all by myself. Please be my guide. I shall not leave until you agree!’
‘Very well, O Ambhi. You're indeed persuasive. I accept, but on one condition,’ said Chanakya.
‘And what's that?’ asked Ambhi looking up from his prostrated position awkwardly. ‘If the stars are not auspicious, you shall allow me to relinquish the position,’ stated the Brahmin. Ambhi acquiesced and requested the new rajguru to visit his official residence along with an architect so that his personal requirements could be met.
The villa built by Ambhi for Chanakya had bright and airy rooms, high ceilings, polished stone floors, thick hardwood beams, and lots of space. The house was built around a splendid courtyard and was located on the banks of a babbling brook. It had open gardens dotted with wild flowers and fruit trees that sent wafts of scented breeze through the doors and windows.
Chanakya was taking a tour of the premises along with Chandragupta, Sinharan, Mehir and Sharangrao. His disciples were frustrated. Why had their teacher allowed himself to be misled by the fanciful claims of that rogue Ambhi? How could he agree to ally himself with a scoundrel who had lent his very soul to Alexander? As they wandered from one room to the next, being guided by the architect, the disciples could not help wondering what they were doing there. For his part, Chanakya seemed a little too obsessed with the glamour of the mansion. He was actually running his hands over the wooden doors and windows and lying down on the floors to marvel at the excellent finish wrought by the stonemasons! Tour over, Chanakya thanked the architect profusely and announced that he would move in along with his disciples the next day. They mounted the royal chariots sent by Ambhi and set off for their ashram.
‘Acharya, what are you doing? We can't move in—’ began Chandragupta. Chanakya silenced him with a gesture requesting that they maintain silence until it was safe to discuss matters privately.
Back in the confines of Chanakya's simple hut, the ugly Brahmin spoke. ‘Sinharan. I need you to burn down that house tonight. But be careful, no one should know that it was you.’
‘But why—’ began Sinharan.
Chandragupta interrupted him. ‘Acharya, you obviously have a very good reason for what you want done. It shall be done. But please tell us why,’ he said.
‘Dear Chandragupta, I wasn't fooled by the false ingratiating tone of that snake Ambhi. The rogue thinks that he can destroy me! The fact is that he's uncomfortable having me sitting inside his kingdom with militia trained by his former commander-in-chief, and enough money-power to finance it!’ hissed Chanakya.
‘But why not simply refuse to be his rajguru? Don't shift residence. Why burn the place down?’ asked Mehir.
‘Because the place is booby-trapped. You thought that I was admiring the quality of the stonemasonry when I lay down on the floor? I was actually observing a row of ants carrying cooked rice through cracks in the floor. You assumed that I was feeling the smooth finish of the doors and windows, while I was busy studying the lacquer!’ laughed the Brahmin, mighty pleased with the confusion on their faces.
‘Need an explanation?’ he asked at length. Without waiting for an answer he launched into one. ‘If ants are observed carrying boiled rice through the floor cracks of an uninhabited house, it must mean that there is cooked food beneath the floor. Where there are provisions, there would be men. It was evident to me that the house had a concealed basement filled with troops. They're quietly awaiting our arrival and will strike when we're asleep. In one fell swoop Ambhi would have wiped us off the face of the earth!’
Chandragupta was bewildered. ‘But why were you so interested in the doors and windows?’ he asked.
His teacher replied, ‘They were lacquered. Seeing that his answer had not cleared their confusion, he continued, ‘Lac is a sticky secretion of a tiny insect. The female insect, globular in form, lives on twigs and young branches in cells of resin created from its excretions. Mostly one will find these insects in kusum trees. Collecting the twigs along with the living insects inside and extracting the secretions using hot water creates resin dye. The dye is called lac because lakhs—hundreds of thousands—of insects have to be gathered to produce just a single pound of the dye. When applied to doors and windows, lac provides a smooth finished look—something that you thought I was busy admiring! The problem with lac, however, is that it's highly inflammable. That house will go up in flames like a fireball if it were to accidentally ignite. Probably that was Ambhi's intent—to kill us using the soldiers in the concealed basement and then burn down the house attributing our deaths to an accident. Sinharan, that's why I want that house burned down with Ambhi's men packed inside it! Tonight!’
Chanakya's Chant Page 16
