by Rahul Mitra
One of the prisoners was almost near-fainting and was held up under the arms by the two burly soldiers flanking him. The other man walked with a straight back and stared rightahead with a face made of stone. His hair was in disarray, and his lips and face appeared bruised.
The group marched down the path, which had been cleared through the middle of the crowd. A double line of soldiers stood on either side, holding back the crowd. People surged against this cordon, eager to see the condemned men from up close. Some of them cursed and spat at the men, for it was believed that they had tortured and murdered many Buddhist monks.
The doomed men shrank from this outpouring of rage and hatred. The man who was near-fainting started sobbing loudly and then suddenly finding strength from somewhere, he dug his heels into the ground, resisting with all his might, even as he was relentlessly forced forward by soldiers on either side. The other man had a bewildered look on his face, and even though he kept his head upright, his knees seemed to be giving way, for he was walking in a nervous and jerky manner.
As people surged and pushed against the cordon, one man who stood head and shoulders above the crowd could be seen forcing his way through, trying to keep pace with the soldiers, as they marched towards the scaffold. He fought his way to the front and could be seen crying out, waving his arms, trying to get the attention of one of the prisoners. However, the one whose attention he was trying to attract, had his eyes fixed straight ahead. He was insensible to the scene unfolding around him.
In desperation, the giant called out a name. “Aditya!” he bellowed. The convict snapped out of his reverie and looked towards the giant who cried out, “The rascal is safe. He is safe.”
His statement got lost among the countless voices, which were cursing and jeering but the man condemned to die understood what was being conveyed. He nodded and the giant, who was crying tears of helpless rage, was once again swallowed up by the crowds. The condemned man now walked towards his death with firm, resolute steps, his eyes fixed on the skies above.
In the last few moments of his life, Ajeet Vikram prayed to the gods for the safety of his younger brother and a just, humane society for his beloved Magadha.
***
Indukalpa was at the pyaau when he heard the commotion. Angry shouts merged with the squawking of chickens and the sounds of a galloping horse coming from one of the adjacent alleys. “Hmmmph . . . some hooligan showing off,” he muttered to himself, as he bent down to drink his second mouthful of water. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a horse come tearing out of one of the side lanes, careen onto the road, and charge straight towards him. Someone shouted and cursed at the rider, a line of sombre Buddhist monks immediately scattered, and the man serving him water jumped off the platform in a panic.
The Dandayana of Pataliputra now straightened up to see who the culprit was. He’d have him arrested and skinned alive, he thought to himself. He would have him impaled outside the gates of Pataliputra. He would break every bone in his body. He would . . . he would . . . Indukalpa looked around—where the hell were the guards when you needed them?
His thoughts were rudely cut short by the silhouette looming up over him. Something hit him hard on the crown of his head and it felt as if his brain had been shaken about inside. White flashes went off in front of his eyes, as he backpedalled furiously, trying to create some space between himself and the attacker.
Instinctively, his hands went to his head, and he could feel something warm, wet, and sticky—the smell of blood overwhelmed his senses and for a moment, Indukalpa felt light-headed. But he was all right, he hadn’t fainted.
As his vision slowly returned to normal, he saw that his assailant was now wheeling the horse around for another attack. Immediately, his hands reached for the khadga strapped to his back, but he couldn’t get it out in time. This time, as another blow landed on his upturned arm, he saw who was attacking him. It was that pesky little kid, Ajeet’s younger brother. His blade was bent almost double and there was a look of dismay on the kid’s face. In a flash, Indukalpa realized what had happened. The kid’s sword must have been of cheap, poor quality manufacture, and he had escaped the first blow.
Side-stepping the next blow, he leaped forward, snatched the blade out of the boy’s hands, and threw it into the dust. Whipping out his own khadga, he slashed the boy’s face. The kid fell back against his horse and was almost toppling over as Indukalpa debated what to do next. It took him only an instant to make up his mind. The boy was an offender of the State and a rebel. By attacking the Dandayana of Magadha, he had attacked Magadha itself. Justice must be delivered, he thought as he raised the sword for the final coup de grâce.
But his single moment of hesitation proved to be too much. In that one instant, the horse inexplicably bolted. The boy held on for dear life as horse and rider turned into the lane in front and vanished before anyone could catch them.
***
“How the hell did he do it?” growled Acharya Vishwa. His raspy voice echoed in the darkness.
“We have no idea, Acharya. I hadn’t even told him about Ajeet’s execution. We don’t even know how he planned this; even the sword he used, was stolen from some villager’s hut,” said Navinda. He shuddered, “That’s how the idiot escaped. It was a countrAcharya growled again and turned towards the third person in the room—a young adolescent boy who was sitting in the shadows, huddled up against the wall on the far side. It was late at night and there was only one small lamp burning inside the closed room. From where he was sitting, Acharya could barely make out the curled-up silhouette and the pinched features of the teenager. He shook his head in disbelief.
“How could he have planned everything himself? Who told him about Indukalpa?”
Navinda sighed.
“I told him, Acharya. I wanted to reassure him. When Ajeet got back from his hearing, he told me that Indukalpa had assured him his freedom, and I believed him. So, when I got out, I passed this on to Aditya. But Indukalpa was lying all along, and he intended to execute Ajeet right from the start.”
“What do you mean?”
“Acharya, Ajeet also told me that it was Indukalpa himself who had ordered that the monastery wall be demolished. Ajeet was only carrying out his orders.”
“What?”
“Yes, and the monastery itself was illegal; it was being built on some Gahapati’s land. It was Indukalpa who ordered the use of force in which the monk Sushena died.” said Navinda.
“You mean all these demonstrations, the protests, the speeches by Vrishni—”
“Yes, all of that was for nothing. It was just an illegal wall. And the man who ordered the demolition, the man who knew everything about the case was the one who condemned Ajeet to death.”
The Acharya sank back against the wall behind him. His head drooped to his chest and he appeared to be meditating. Finally, he spoke in a very low voice.
“What is happening to our country, Navinda?”
“The politics of division Acharya, and Ajeet got entrapped in it.”
For a few moments, there was complete silence in the room, broken only by the steady chirping of crickets all around the house. Finally, Acharya turned towards the young boy sitting in the corner.
“You should have talked to us, son. You’re too young to play such games; it was a stupid thing to do.”
“He’s very weak, Acharya. Indukalpa slashed his face, and he’s lost a lot of blood.”
The Acharya picked up the lamp to inspect the young boy. The yellow glare now illuminated the thin, pallid form of Aditya. His eyes were rimmed with red and they glittered feverishly in the light. Above the right eye, a mass of green, sticky paste covered his temple and extended to his head.
“He’s very pale. Have you given him milk and turmeric?”
“Yes, Acharya, I have posted two men here to take care of him. They’re completely trustworthy. The groom and his helpers, who usually live here, have been shifted out.”
There was something bothering
Acharya about this whole story. He finally came out with it, “So how did you find him after the attack?”
“We just got lucky. After the attack, the horse took him straight to Ajeet’s house. I had posted my men there to keep a lookout for him, and they spirited him away.”
“Hmm . . . but he’s gotten himself into big trouble now. Even this place is not safe for him, Navinda. You can’t hide him here forever.”
Navinda nodded and was just about to say something when there was a knock on the door. He motioned to Acharya, who moved towards the furthest corner, camouflaging himself in the darkness.
As soon as Navinda opened the door, a figure wrapped in a shawl burst in from the shadows. He took off the mantle to reveal a dagger clasped in his right hand. His face could not be clearly seen in the dim light, but he was a short, wide man with a thick beard. There was a khadga hanging by his waist.
“Pandi!” announced Navinda. A hint of a smile carried in his voice. He stepped forward to embrace this man but immediately recoiled, as a strong whiff seemed to catch in his nostrils.
“Uggh . . . I see you stopped at the madhushala on the way,” Navinda observed.
“Social obligation, Arya . . . I was coming straight here, but I ran into a friend,” said the new arrival. “But,” he declared, “I am perfectly in my senses.”
“Of course you are, but you won’t change will you? Come, sit down.” Navinda indicated the place he had just vacated, “You can fight all the brigands and the bandits in the world, Pandi, but who will save you from the madhushala?”
The stranger stepped into the light, revealing a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man with matted hair, a thick bushy beard, and a scar that curved from one eyelid to the lip. He looked around curiously at the shadowy figures near the wall, but Navinda made no effort to introduce them.
“Saved? I say drown me in a madhushala, Shreeman! Shiva-Shiva-Shiva . . . saved?” said Pandi, and shuddered incredulously at the thought.
“So how are the roads now?” asked Navinda.
“Not too good, Arya. Trouble is brewing in Bharatvarsha. There is a rumour that the Assakas are raising an army to attack the Avanti janapada this summer. But the main problem is that Magadha itself has become highly unsafe. The rebels are getting bolder and the army is afraid to challenge them—they stay locked up inside their forts, and the roads are at the mercy of the bandits.”
“Did you face any problems?”
“Aah . . . you know,” and he grinned again, “to tell you the truth, we were lucky. A big caravan was looted about ten days after we passed through Dandakaranya, but we made it through.”
Navinda now addressed the Acharya. “That is why, inspite of his habits, there is no one I trust more than Pandi to keep my caravans safe.” Then, squeezing Pandi’s arm he turned towards him, “I have another special job for you this time, my friend.”
“My men are ready, Arya. Most of them are already in Pataliputra and we are just waiting for your command. When will the caravan start?”
“Still some time, Pandi, about ten to fifteen days. My cargo’s ready but some of the other parties are still getting their goods together. Anyway, I have called you here for another reason.”
“Yes Shreeman?”
“There is a special cargo I will entrust to you. No one must know about it and you must guard it with your life, you understand?”
Pandi nodded and Navinda gestured to Aditya, to step forward. Placing his hands on Aditya’s shoulders he continued, “This is your cargo. I am putting him in your care. He will be your helper on this caravan and you need to get him to my cousin’s house in Takshashila. I am putting him in your care.”
Pandi studied the young, sickly figure carefully. His eyes lingered over Aditya’s wound, but he held his counsel and nodded silently. “His name is Aditya, and there is nothing more that anyone needs to know about him. No one has to know who he is, or where he came from. Got it?”
“Yes, Arya.”
“He is your relative, he will be your assistant and he will work for his passage. I will give you fifty gold panas, if you get him safely to Takshashila, and teach him a few things.”
Pandi’s eyes gleamed in the dim light.
“And I also want you to teach him martial arts. He is excellent with horses, but I expect you to teach him about the real world.”
“I’ll teach him everything I know,” said Pandi, looking curiously at Aditya again.
“Good then. Once the date is decided, I’ll let you know. Are you still staying near Anant Kuan?”
“Yes, Shreeman. Just ask for me at the madhushala there, and I will find you.”
“Good,” nodded Navinda.
The interview was over, and after the usual formalities, Pandi excused himself, and immediately made his way to the nearest watering hole to celebrate the unexpected windfall. Acharya Vishwa emerged from the shadows.
“So you’re sending him to Takshashila?”
“Yes, Acharya. No one will suspect a low-caste worker in a caravan. Once he gets to Takshashila, he will work for my cousin Mahinda. He can also try for an admission into the University at Takshashila, if so inclined.”
Acharya’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Are you sure that mercenary can protect him?”
“Yes Acharya, I have worked with him for nine years. He’s tough as nails and way more intelligent than he looks,” said Navinda and then turned towards Aditya. “You are a hunted man Aditya, and right now, Pandi is really the only one who can protect you. But you must obey his every word, for you are his apprentice in the caravan. Understood?”
Aditya shook his head, “I will not go.”
“I don’t think you understand, son. It’s not your choice anymore. You aren’t safe anywhere in Magadha. You have to get out immediately.”
Aditya was quiet. “What about Ashvaghosha?” he finally asked. There was a tone of desperation in his voice.
“Confiscated. The house, the horse, all your family property; it has all been taken over by the King.”
Aditya’s face fell.
“Aditya, this is not the time to worry about horses, or things like that. Your life itself is in danger, and ours as well, if you are caught. So don’t worry and just do as I say; I’ll get you out of here alive. And if you get to Takshashila successfully, then I promise you, I will try to buy Ashvaghosha the moment they announce an auction of the property, and I will send him to you. Do you understand?”
Aditya nodded.
“But you will have to earn your keep and you will have to buy him from me. Will you do that?”
“Yes,” said Aditya solemnly as Navinda patted him on the back.
The Acharya now came forward. He had a small pouch in his hands.
“Look here son, everyone in the akhara contributed according to their means for you. Of course, this was before you acted stupidly, attacking a minister.”
Acharya handed him the cloth bag. From inside, came the clink of gold coins. Navinda gesticulated, and Aditya bent down to touch Acharya’s feet.
Acharya took him by the shoulders, “There are about two hundred gold panas in there; keep them safe. From now on, you are alone. None of us can help you, but if you use it wisely, this money could be the only real friend you have in the world.
Acharya now took Aditya’s face in his hands.
“I know you want revenge, but this is not the time, son. You are not strong enough. First take care of yourself, become something in your own right, and then when you have the power and strength, you will also get your revenge, if the gods will it so. Till then, be patient—watch and learn, keep your mouth shut, and your eyes and ears open. You’ll do that, won’t you now?”
Aditya nodded.
“I know you will, son. Life is long and I hope that we will meet again. The gods be with you till then.”
With that, Acharya Vishwa and Navinda stepped outside the hut to converse in private.
“This kid is as stubborn as Ajeet used to be, but unlike h
im, he is way more cunning. Mark my words—either the world will break him, or he will end up moulding the world.” With that, Acharya was on his way.
Aditya could not sleep that night. He tossed and turned, as images of Indukalpa, Ajeet, and Ashvaghosha haunted him. In the background, Acharya Vishwa’s words resounded, “Patience . . . watch and learn, watch and learn, watch and learn.”
y made piece—very poor quality steel.”
ADITYA
Last Day of Childhood
Navinda’s caravan was part of a well-established, periodic phenomenon that involved a large number of people. During the winters and early spring, numerous convoys would set off from Magadha, for during this season, the weather was mild, long distances could be covered easily, and return journeys completed before the onset of the monsoons. Huge amounts of men and materials would move up the Uttarapatha towards Takshashila and further on to Kapisa, Pushkalavati, and even Bahlika. Still others made their way south from Pataliputra, travelling along the Dakshinapatha, which extended up till the cities of Amaravati and Suvarnagiri in the far south.
Over time, this regular human exchange had given rise to its own peculiar lore of stories, customs, and even a language which was a hybrid of many different Prakrits. All of this commerce was extremely profitable, as well as risky. Caravans were often attacked and plundered. It was for this reason that they were usually sponsored by the merchants’ guilds of particular cities, and consisted of many different parties, banded together for greater protection.
The expedition currently being organized, had also been sponsored by the Pataliputra merchants’ guild, though it was Navinda, who had made all the arrangements. Five different factors had signed on for the caravan, and the entire party consisted of over a hundred and fifty people, including individual traders, students, representatives of the big merchants, shudras and servants, as well as Pandi and his group of twenty-five mercenaries. There was also a party of thirty pilgrims headed towards Mathura. They, along with individual traders, had paid the guild a fee to be allowed to join the group. Still others had sold their services and manpower to the caravan, in return for being allowed to carry their goods, and to sell them in Takshashila.
