by Rahul Mitra
The wedding procession was to start from here, at the beginning of the second prahar, but the enclosure had already started filling up with eager and expectant guests. A number of them stood around in small groups, clutching their welcome drinks while others circulated from one group to another, seeking out interesting company and catching up with old friends. Everyone talked at once and an atmosphere of light hearted joyousness pervaded the entire company for Ajeet was liked by many in Pataliputra. All of his colleagues, as well as old friends from his gurukul were present, as were the wrestlers from his akhara. These last made quite a sight as they stood together: an entire group of burly men with bent noses and cauliflower ears, looking slightly uncomfortable in formal wedding attire.
Navinda, in the assumed role of elder brother of the groom, rushed about welcoming the guests and looking after the arrangements. Acharya Vishwa arrived and was greeted with a huge burst of applause. Former students stepped forward to touch his feet, as nobles, merchants, and officials lined up to exchange a few words. Meanwhile, a rumour was going around that the new Dandayan of Magadha, Indukalpa himself, would grace the occasion. Many believed that it could not be true, for they knew that Indukalpa, being from the King’s family always made it a point to dissociate himself from common gatherings.
At that point, Vijayendra arrived with his wife and confirmed that indeed, ‘prabhu ji’ would not be coming as he had been held up by an important matter of State. He was, then, immediately dispatched by Navinda to go and find the groom, for the appointed hour was at hand, and the assembly was getting restless.
At last the groom came down, accompanied by his younger brother. Wearing the red marriage cord of wool on his wrists, he ascended the elephant. Everyone lined up and after much blowing of conch shells and beating of drums, the procession finally got on its way.
It was a sight to impress the gods themselves. The groom appeared like Indra, the King of the Devas, as he rode upon the richly caparisoned elephant. Wearing a crisp new yellow cotton dhoti, with his hair tied up in a fashionable top knot, and a khadga tied at the waist, he was the very picture of health and manliness. A servant sitting behind him, held a parasol over his head.
Flanking the elephant on both sides were Navinda and Aditya, each astride the most handsome and spirited horses. Aditya rode Ashvaghosha, while Navinda rode a well-muscled glossy jet-black Javapacamana, one of the highest-regarded breeds of horse in ancient India. In front of them, was the bridegroom’s party, some of whom danced in absolute abandon to the music provided by drummers and trumpeters who played as they walked along.
Others crowded the sides of this merry procession and walked along, clapping and laughing. More and more people joined the dancers, and the atmosphere became more and more wild. At one point, everyone turned on the wrestlers and asked them to dance. This they did with such clumsiness and lack of grace that the entire party was in splits.
Thus laughing, dancing, and singing, the procession lazily made its way down the lane that ran in front of the bridegroom’s house. The leading elements of the baraat slowly turned the corner and as they came into the adjacent alley, they ran straight into a party of soldiers advancing from the opposite direction.
In a swirl of dust and shouted orders, almost twenty or twenty-five soldiers on horseback suddenly descended upon them. The musicians, who were leading the procession, stopped playing and the baraat came to an abrupt halt. A strange silence prevailed, broken only by the clanging of the soldiers’ weapons, and the anxious murmuring of the baraatis. Meanwhile, those at the rear of the procession, who had still not turned, were left wondering as to what had happened.
As more and more people started pushing their way forward, they found a company of soldiers engaged in heated discussion with some youngsters from the bridal party. Acharya Vishwa who had come forward, now hurried over to meet them.
“Chandrasena, is everything all right?” asked Vishwa. He seemed to know the official who was leading the party.
“Pranaam Acharya,” said Chandrasena
“You have my blessings Chandrasena, but why are you blocking our way?”
“Acharya, I regret to inform you, but we have arrest orders for Shreeman Ajeet Vikram.”
Cries of dismay and disbelief were heard from the guests: Ajeet Vikram arrested? The news spread rapidly from ear to ear. Someone informed Navinda and he immediately stepped forward.
“Do you have any idea what you are saying? You are talking about the future Kotwal of Pataliputra.”
“Shreeman, please let us do our duty peacefully. He has been charged with a very serious crime.”
“But you must be mistaken Shreeman, this is impossible! What is the crime you are charging him with?”
Surrounded by a crowd and bombarded with questions, the official Chandrasena was getting increasingly flustered. In the narrow lane, the two parties were at an impasse. The young men—friends and colleagues of Ajeet—solidly blocked the way forward. Many of them were simply confused and dumbstruck.
At this point, Ajeet came forward.
“Shreeman, I am Ajeet Vikram. It is my marriage today. What is this about?”
“Ajeet Vikram, you are under arrest. You have been charged with disturbing communal harmony, desecrating a place of worship and murder,” said Chandrasena.
“You must be crazy,” shouted someone from the crowd.
Chandrasena motioned towards his soldiers, pointing at Ajeet.
As the soldiers stepped forward to grab him, a number of Ajeet’s friends formed a circle around him. Navinda glowered down at Chandrasena and roughly pushed him back.
“Perhaps there is some confusion, officer. I ask you to consider this well, for if there is a mistake here, there will be hell to pay later.”
Chandrasena flushed a deep red.
“Oho! Threats against an officer of the King? This is treason. Soldiers, arrest this man!”
He drew out his sword and placed it on Navinda’s neck. The soldiers’ hands were on the hilts of their swords.
Ajeet stepped forward. “No, wait. Take me officer. I am sure there is a mistake, but there is no need to arrest others.”
“This man needs to be taught some respect. Arrest them both!”
Ajeet gave himself up. Navinda too was calm, but he glowered at Chandrasena as the soldiers dragged him away. As they were leading the two, Aditya jumped in front of the soldiers. The young boy begged and pleaded and cried so piteously that the entire assembly was moved to tears. Even Chandrasena softened a little.
“Listen son, there’s no use pleading with me. I am under orders, I can’t do anything. But if your brother is innocent as you say, then he will surely be set at liberty, so don’t worry.Acharya Vishwa took a hold of Aditya and comforted him.
Ajeet’s and Navinda’s hands were tied and they were roughly pushed into a covered carriage. Two soldiers got in after them. The door was locked from the outside and the procession headed back towards Pataliputra.
Somebody please take care of this kid.”
The Dandayana
Indukalpa sank back against the thick cushions and closed his eyes. Thick peals of laughter bubbled up inside him and a warm glow of achievement enveloped his entire body. He was finally in the Amatya Parishad. This was the one building from which all power and privilege in the kingdom emanated and he, Indukalpa, was now a part of it.
He deserved it! After all, he was related to the royal family and had served the King loyally for over fifteen years inspite of being shunted from one department to another. Only after developing differences with the previous dandayana, had the King finally recognized his loyalty and intelligence. Indukalpa shuddered involuntarily as his thoughts went back to his previous life—all those years spent working with people of little intelligence and inferior breeding. Finally, he was in his rightful place, in the company of men he belonged with.
A small, whinnying giggle escaped his lips and Indukalpa immediately clamped a hand over his mouth. No, this would
not do. Such behaviour simply did not suit the gravitas of his new status. He now assumed a stern expression and looked down the length of his nose at the wall opposite him. Yes, what he needed was an expression that would at once convey the loftiness of his position, strike fear into the hearts of evil doers, and at the same time, make him appear impassive and inscrutable when listening to arguments between different parties. His expression—it would be the very crux on which his entire performance as Dandayana or Chief Magistrate of Magadha depended.
He screwed up his eyes to a point and then shook his head. Nope, too terrifying! He assumed a hang-dog expression. Not this one either! He probably looked sleepy.
An unpleasant thought now intruded into his mind and he frowned. Those damned bhikshaam dehi jokers! The rabble had been protesting incessantly over the last few days. Bhante Vrishni—that conniving snake, that spineless worm, had been giving speeches in monasteries across Magadha alleging conspiracies, cover-ups, and discrimination against Buddhists by the forces of the State. He had even dared to send a letter of complaint to the King. Indukalpa’s blood boiled as he thought of those good-for-nothing beggars.
His cousin, the King, wanted him to prosecute Ajeet who had been named in the complaint. Indukalpa, who knew the facts of the case, wisely decided to keep quiet. After all, it had been his first meeting with the King in his official capacity, and he didn’t want to raise a dissenting note. Lucky for him, that his role had not been exposed, else he might have found himself in disfavour right at the start of his tenure. In any case, no harm was done. He knew the truth and he was the law. His decision would be final, and of course, he would decide in favour of Ajeet. That damned rabble would be crushed!
He did feel a twinge of regret at having given the orders to arrest Ajeet on the day of his wedding, but it was all in the name of duty. Let no one say Indukalpa played favourites. The law was impartial and the new Dandayana would deliver justice, should it be even against his own family members. He hoped someone had noticed his impartiality.
As he thought of all this, his hands ran lovingly over the throne he now sat on, the throne from which he would deliver justice, swift and unforgiving, to all the commoners of Magadha. His chest puffed up with pride. He rang the small handbell and a soldier appeared. Indukalpa ordered him to make sure that the prisoner Ajeet was kept in the gaol reserved for high-born inmates, before his case was called up. The soldier saluted obsequiously and retreated. Indukalpa was left alone with his thoughts.
Once again, a giggle escaped him and once again, he covered his mouth. After all, nothing should spoil the majesty of his position.
***
The soldier came in with a bundle of materials. They were sheets of cloth on which messages had been inscribed with the black juice of the tamala tree. The first one was Bhante Vrishni’s complaint to the King. In his capacity as the chief abbot of the most important monastery in Magadha, the Bhante alleged intolerance and high-handedness by the agents of the Magadha Government and appealed to His Majesty for protection and justice. The letter specifically charged Ajeet as the perpetrator, and demanded punishment. Attached to the complaint were a number of testimonials which pointed out the saintly character and advanced age of the monk Sushena, who had been ruthlessly beaten to death by soldiers under orders from Ajeet. Another message from a senior monk alleged that the Bhante Satyajit had been very upset with the incident, and was about to complain against officer Ajeet Vikram, before he mysteriously expired.
“Those unscrupulous bastards!” Rage simmered through Indukalpa as he went through the extremely inflammatory language used. If they hadn’t come from the King himself, Indukalpa would have torn up those letters. He well knew the facts of the case—that the vihara was illegal and those damned robbers in saffron robes had been resisting the officers of the King. “Serves them right that the old man died!” he thought to himself.
In any case, he was the Chief Magistrate and he would see to it that this case was dismissed. However, he needed to go through the motions now, in order to keep everyone happy.
The soldiers now came in with the arrested man and Indukalpa assumed his best expression of judicial severity. He already knew the facts and the outcome of the case, but due process had to be followed. Besides, the soldiers were there. He dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
“So . . .” he cleared his throat and gave Ajeet a serious, inscrutable look. He liked inducing confusion and wanted to be asked before he would start saying what he wanted to say.
“Shreeman?” Instead of feeling sorry for himself, the prisoner was suddenly struck with concern for his former boss who was looking positively constipated.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten caught up in?” boomed Indukalpa, cutting into Ajeet’s thoughts.
“Uh . . . I don’t even know what I am charged with, Shreeman!”
“My boy, what you have here is a damned conspiracy. Those vile Buddhists have complained that you ordered the demolition of a monastery and that you specifically ordered a monk to be beaten to death . . . you do know of the demonstrations that have been taking place, don’t you?”
“I do Shreeman, but you know what happened. The—”
“Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it!”
“But Shreeman, I don’t . . .”
Indukalpa waved his hand energetically, as if dismissing a trivial matter.
“Don’t bother about all that, my boy. Let me handle it.” He noted the confusion on Ajeet’s face, put on his most paternalistic expression, and continued, “It’s nothing. I’ll order your release and the soldiers will let you go as soon as the scribe writes down the official records.”
Just then the soldier stationed at the door, came in with additional documents. It was a letter from the King himself. Indukalpa opened it with an imperious gesture, and as he proceeded to read it, his face darkened. It was an order, which stated that His Majesty would not tolerate violence against minorities in his kingdom. The grievances of the monks had to be addressed, and a public example needed to be made. The King hoped It was as if a thunderbolt had fallen upon him. In no uncertain terms, the letter was directing him to sacrifice someone to the Buddhist lobby. The Dandayana broke into a cold sweat as he stared at the letter with terrified eyes. It was he, who had given the orders for the wall to be broken and for force to be used against the monks. If his name was exposed, he would definitely lose his position, if not more. He knew his cousin, the King, was a bloody tyrant.
“What is it Shreeman? Are you okay? Should I call someone?” Ajeet started looking towards the door.
“Stop! It’s not you who gives orders around here, it’s me. Maintain formality.”
He studied Ajeet carefully.
“Ajeet, did you tell anyone about Gahapati Arunasva’s case?”
“No, Shreeman.”
“Hmm, okay. That’s good! You should never discuss matters of governance with others.”
“I never do.”
“Great, great.”
Indukalpa looked again at the letter. The King was ordering him to punish the convict as an example to everyone, and an open show of support for the Buddhists. Who was he to argue? How could he ignore the King’s orders? It was his dharma to follow the King and uphold his rule. Indukalpa sighed. This was beyond him. If any injustice was being done, it was on account of the King and for the greater good of the kingdom.
“So am I free to go?” asked Ajeet.
“Of course! Don’t worry. I will give the orders, and as soon as the scribe records it, you will be set free. Indeed, I am sorry for the inconvenience.”
He clapped his hands and the soldier entered the hall.
“Take him back to gaol and await further orders.”
“Yes, Your Honour.”
“Bye bye Ajeet. Don’t worry. The scribe has not come in today, but I will arrange everything quickly.”
With a profound sense of relief, Ajeet let himself be taken back and locked up in gaol a
gain. Navinda, who had no charge against him, was still waiting there for his case to be heard.
that Indukalpa would do what was required.
The Condemned Man
On the thirteenth day of Uttarphalguni, the Dandayana of Pataliputra stood on the terrace of the Amatya Parishad and looked down over the massive square known as the Nyaya Vatika. From this vantage point, the whole place looked like a vast sea of heads that bobbed up and down, filling every inch of available space. Men and women crowded together, fathers carried their children on their shoulders, and the lively chatter of a thousand voices filled the air.
The square was shaped like an extended rectangle, with the royal gardens flanking the two longer sides; the King’s palace on one end and the Amatya Parishad at the other. Near the vicinity of the palace, an elevated wooden platform had been set up for the executions. At one corner of this platform, sat the chandal. A man of massive proportions, he was discussing something with his assistants, while two acrobats and a midget performed for the entertainment of the crowds. The midget tried to match the feats of the acrobats and raised howls of laughter from those assembled.
In the crowds, was a large group of saffron-robed Buddhist monks, who raised slogans from time to time. Their cries merged with the jeers and banter of the mob to create undulating waves of sound that rose up to the rooftop of the Amatya Parishad building, where a motley group of ministers, officials, and soldiers had now joined the Dandayana in his vigil.
As they looked down, an unspoken message seemed to ripple through the crowds below. All noise ceased, heads turned, and necks craned out as expectant faces looked on in anticipation. The tall, imposing doors of the Amatya Parishad had just been thrown open.
Out marched a party of impressive looking soldiers, each of them attired in the distinctive turban and armoured cuirass of the King’s bodyguards. Behind them, came the two condemned men. Their hands were bound tightly behind them, and they were flanked on each side by troopers. Even more guards brought up the rear of this sombre procession.
