by Rahul Mitra
The entire party was held up as one of the factors was waiting for some goods to arrive from Tamraliptika. The goods arrived after a wait of twelve days. Finally, they were ready to depart.
***
Dawn had not yet broken over Pataliputra, and a thick curtain of mist shrouded everything in white. Outside the city walls, orange needle points of light pierced through the haze, dotting the open grounds next to the river. These were the campfires of merchants and farmers who had arrived overnight and were waiting to get into the city to sell their wares. Passing them by, the group of horse riders turned right, riding along the ghats in the direction of the old Pataligrama docks.
Their company consisted of some of the richest merchants of Pataliputra and their officers, representatives, and servants. No one had suspected the ragged-looking shudra boy who accompanied them, and they had been let through, as soon as the main gates were thrown open.
They rode along the ghats in complete silence, till at last the noise and activity ahead, indicated that they had reached their destination. The smell of the river was now accompanied by the sounds of water lapping against boats; there was the creaking of timber, and the loud shouts and curses that accompanied orders being given and goods being loaded. The entire party dismounted; servants tied the horses against the fencing, and everyone made their way inside.
At the docks, indistinct outlines of people stood huddled together in the cold and fog. Some were clearly family groups, giving last minute advice or talking in excited voices. Like the many ghats dotting Pataliputra, the sides of the dock were built of rock. From here, a number of wooden quays extended outwards, like outstretched fingers of land protruding into the waters.
It was Aditya’s first time here. Curiosity got the better of him, and he drifted off towards the shoreline. The ghostly shape of a huge ship, sitting at anchor beside the first quay, loomed up through the fog. It was floating low in the water, weighed down with fresh cargo. Porters carried goods up and down the gangplank, which groaned and creaked under their feet as shouts and instructions rained down on them from the ship. Meanwhile, a fat, waddling man standing on the quay was calling out ferocious swear words and colourful oaths, up towards the ship, from where a number of heads peered down. Back on the dock, Navinda was surrounded by a number of the caravaneers. One of them was explaining how the goods had been allocated between the four different ships, and how the loading of the last ship had gone on throughout the night.
“. . . but five of the students still haven’t turned up,” he concluded with an air of seriousness. He was a young man with remarkably smooth skin and a grave, dignified expression on his face. His name was Katyayana and he was the ‘supercargo’—the man in charge of all the goods belonging to the caravan.
The fat, waddling man who had been shouting obscenities on quay number one, now joined the group. He was red-faced and sweating, inspite of the chill in the air.
“Come on, Arya, there is still time to change your mind,” he boomed at Navinda. “Come on board. Everything is better on the river.”
Navinda went over to hug him. “Not today, Capada. But you must be very happy, eh?”
“Yup, we’re finally leaving,” he said, and then a cloud passed over his face and he scratched his beard, “just as soon as this dratted fog lifts, though.”
This was Capada—captain of the first ship, and leader of the caravan, for the riverine portion of their journey.
By and by, the sun rose in the east, and like a clingy lover reluctant to leave, the fog slowly dissolved. Capada gave the orders and these were shouted out by men up and down the docks. The travellers and merchants walked up the gangplank, and stood crowding along the sides of their ships. The missing students had all turned up at the last moment, and a number of emotional scenes were being played out at the docks. Some of the mothers were crying, while the young men they hugged, looked embarrassed, wanting to get away at the earliest. This caused immense amusement among the hardened sailors already on the boats. There were catcalls and jeers, and one comedian in particular, reduced everyone to laughter with his imitation of a popular dialogue from the Pataliputra theatre.
Navinda was having a last-minute conversation with Aditya
“There are fifty panas here. Be careful with them. When you get to Takshashila, my cousin Mahinda will give you the two hundred panas that Acharya Vishwa gave you. I have sent a message for him with Pandi, and it’s about your employment, so be sure to go along with Pandi, to visit him the very moment you get to Takshashila, understood?”
“And be careful with the money. If you have any problems, talk to Pandi. He will help.”
Aditya suddenly shivered and hugged himself. It was a completely new world. His brother’s words came back to him, echoing in his thoughts.
“Arre, what will become of you? What will you do in life?”
As long as his brother was alive, no one could touch him. He had lived like a king—his brother had indulged his every whim, and now the one person who had loved him so deeply and supported him in everything, was dead. Executed like a common criminal. His entire life had been turned upside down—he had no home, no family, and no friends to call his own. He was all alone and adrift in the world.
A thick gob of self-pity rose up inside him and stuck in his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes, and stood poised at the edge of his eyelashes. Yet, they refused to fall. Some vestigial pride still remained and it prevented him from breaking down in front of the others. Instead, he hugged Navinda tight“Remember this day, Aditya. This is the day that your childhood ends. From now on, you are no longer a boy, but a man and remember: a man never blames others for his situation or circumstances. The road may be long and dangerous, there may be storms, or rain, or sun outside, but the one in the saddle will always be you. That’s what it means to be a man—that you are now in charge of your own life.”
Something in those words got through to him and soundlessly, he picked up his cloth bag and made his way up the gangplank of his first ship. There, standing on the deck, he looked back for the last time upon the city of his birth. His eyes swept across the entire place, desperately trying to commit each and every detail to memory. Back on the docks, he could see Navinda talking to Pandi.
“I am handing him to you, Pandi. Get him safe to Takshashila, even at the cost of your own life.”
“It will be done Shreeman, even if I have to give up my life.”
“And make a man of him. Do whatever you think is right, but turn him into a man that his brother would have been proud of. His brother was my best friend.”
Navinda’s voice trembled, and Pandi hesitated, sensing the weight and feeling, with which those words were spoken.
Finally, he said, “I promise Shreeman, it will be done.”
Meanwhile, Capada gave orders to lift anchor, and the men shouted out final warnings for those still lingering on the shore. The last of the stragglers jostled their way up the gangplank, and everyone crowded around the sides of the ship to wave off their family and friends. A number of last-minute messages were shouted out from the docks, and these covered matters both serious and mundane.
“Remember, keep the gud in a cool and dry place, don’t keep it in the sun,” advised a doting sister.
“Don’t forget son, send us a letter as soon as you reach Takshashila. I will wait for it,” a mother called out.
Finally, with a number of loud hurrahs and much waving from both sides, the first ship lifted anchor, men pushed it off the quay and then with oars lowered, it set off. One by one, the other three vessels followed, gliding smoothly onto the water.
***
The next day was warm and sunny. The immense blue skies were punctuated in places by white, fluffy clouds that floated lazily by like so many puffs of smoke. It was about noon, and the sun radiated warmth and affection for the earth and its creatures, its rays coating the surface of the water like silver foil. On both sides of the river stretched green unending forests, trees that
seemed to be slowly moving away from the ships.
Aditya stood alone by the stern, lost in his own thoughts. Nearby, stood Capada, who was handling the rudder, a large oar that jutted out from the stern and gave direction to the ship. He was in his element, giving a running commentary about the surrounding countryside, when someone came over and put his hand on Aditya’s shoulder.
It was the first time Aditya had seen Pandi from up close, and the effect was unsettling. The man was almost impossibly broad and more muscular than Aditya remembered. Calloused scar tissue disfigured his face, running from his left eyelid to his lips, and his eyes seemed to gleam eerily.
‘Enjoying yourself boy? This old man troubling you?”
“Old man yourself, you son of a coal miner!” retorted Capada.
“Hahaha, see he’s the captain of the caravan as long as we’re on the river. Got it? And how does he use that privilege? By forcing you to listen to his boring stories!”
“But it wasn’t boring. He was . . .” said Aditya.
“Aha! There! There! You see, you rotten pumpkin,” Capada butted in.
“Well now, that’s a relief, isn’t it?” Pandi turned to Aditya, “And now after some on-board entertainment, would Your Lordship care for some learning activities?”
Aditya nodded in affirmation.
“Do you know who Tivara is?”
“No.”
“You see that man on the right hand side, holding an oar?” Pandi pointed towards the hull, the middle part of the ship. This was where the ships flared out to almost 12 feet in width, and had ten rows of oars fitted to each side. On both sides, next to the oars, were benches on which the rowers sat; two men pulling together on each of the huge, heavy oars. In between these rows of benches, was a path, which was dominated by a solid-looking pole holding up the mast.
A big, hefty man was looking back towards them from one of the benches, and he waved to them. “There he is, Tivara. You see?”
“Yes.”
“Good, now go down there and join him. He will teach you how to handle the oars.”
“What?” Instant terror surged through Aditya’s veins. How could he do something so degrading? The hull was dirty and smelly. Only the lowest class of shudras and slaves attached to the ships worked the oars. What would everyone think of him if he went in there? It was one thing to go hunting with chandals when the power and prestige of his brother and family was attached to him. But to work with shudras in front of an entire company of strangers? He would be humiliated.
His mind raced furiously to come up with a suitable excuse to get out of it.
“But, Pandi . . .” he said, and winced, for his arm was immediately caught in a bone-crushing grip, as he was dragged to one side, away from earshot of Capada and the others.
“Never, ever call me by my name. I ain’t your playmate son!” said Pandi. There was an edge to his voice that Aditya didn’t care for. He struggled against Pandi’s pincer-like grip, for it was hurting him.
“Please Shreeman . . .”
Pandi let him go and Aditya caught his breath.
“Shreeman, I am a pure blood Kshatriya. How can I go in there?” panted Aditya
“I don’t give a fuck what you are—on this caravan you are my slave! Understand boy? So jump to it.”
Aditya looked again towards the hull and shuddered. He decided to bluff it.
“I won’t. You cannot torture me like this, I will tell Navinda bhaiyya. This is not what he told me . . .”
“You fool—”
That was all that Pandi said. In one swift movement, he bent down, and with a small pull on Aditya’s feet, sent him tumbling over the side of the ship.
The water was cold and hard, and it hit him like concrete. Aditya had fallen on his stomach, plunged into the murky depths, and now he came up gasping for air. The side of the ship loomed up beside him and he could see Pandi’s head peering over, looking at him with an inscrutable expression. A number of shouts went out from aboard the ship as people waved wildly and more heads appeared over the side.
Aditya treaded water, and as he gathered his wits, he realized that the ship was moving on. It shot past him and now he had to avoid the ships coming up behind him. He swam out to the side. He had half a mind to just strike out towards the shore on the near side but Capada had just been telling him those were uninhabited jungles, full of all manner of wild beasts. He had no weapons and no money, and he had been cast off in the middle of the river.
ly, as he waited for the tears to subside.
Rebirth
“Help! Help!”
He was bobbing up and down in the water, waving his arms like windmills, but the ships would not stop. The first three had already passed him by, and now the last one was almost level with him. Faces peered down over the ship’s side and almost irresistibly, his eyes were drawn to a pretty young girl who stood among the crowd, her features animated by fear and urgency. There were loud shouts and gesticulations from everyone; the girl herself was pointing towards him and desperately tugging on the arms of an old man standing next to her, but no one did anything to save him.
The last of the ships and the girl on it, passed him by almost in slow motion, as he looked on with a suspended sense of bewilderment. He couldn’t believe it. They were leaving him to drown in the middle of a river!
Blind terror seized him. Frantically, he thrashed out after the retreating ships, swimming against the current, his arms and legs working like pistons as he desperately tried to catch up. Yet, the ships were steadily pulling further and further away. He was almost on the point of giving up, when inexplicably, the ships started slowing down. With the last of his remaining strength, he willed himself to a final burst of effort. His lungs were burning and his breath came in short, loud gasps.
As he slowly caught up with them, he saw that the ships had entirely stopped rowing and were drifting with the wind. He swam to the side of one of the ships and pleaded for help. He had already decided that he would plead guilty, he would say sorry; he would do whatever was necessary, but he would not let his life be extinguished so pointlessly.
No one came to his aid.
The last of his strength finally gave way. Inadvertently, he swallowed a huge gulp of water and slowly started sinking. Then with the desperate strength of a drowning man, he struggled to the surface, uttered another terrified cry, and felt himself slowly going under. Water passed over his head, the world became a liquid blue . . .
He came to with a loud, spluttering cough. Pandi, dripping with water and wet hair plastered to his skull, was scowling down at him. Above him, framing a blue patch of sky was a blurry semi-circle of heads.
Everyone looked on with the utmost curiosity. Small groups formed all across the four ships as people speculated on what had happened. Pandi had just thrown his slave into the water and then rescued him. Everyone agreed that Aditya was a lucky man, for if Pandi had wished it, he could just as well have left him to die.
Meanwhile, Pandi helped his ‘slave’ Aditya to his feet and exchanged a few words with him in private.
“On this caravan, you are my servant. Never talk back to me and never raise your voice. You will listen to everything I say or next time, I will not be so kind.”
Aditya burned with humiliation, but followed him quietly to the bench on which Tivara sat.
***
He was put on rowing duty everyday, sitting on the hard bench next to his rowing mate. His rowing mate Tivara was a huge man with big, calloused hands, and he patiently explained the basics to Aditya. He showed him how to grip the oar, and how to lean back and use his entire upper body when pulling on it. He taught Aditya how to slice the oar into the water at a particular angle, so as to reduce resistance and most importantly, he taught Aditya how to pace himself and coordinate his efforts with others, so as to conserve his energy and last longer.
One day followed another in quick succession, with Aditya rowing from dawn to dusk on most days. Sometimes, all the rower
s would sing together, strange and bawdy songs that he had never heard before. The singing would energize them and they would row in pace to the rhythm. Inspite of himself, Aditya would feel drawn to the atmosphere of shared work and gaiety, but he never joined in the singing.
At such times, if his eyes caught those of one of the merchants or free men, he would feel ashamed. The humiliation of being looked down upon, burnt inside him. Soon, he found that he disliked interacting with anyone but the shudras, for he could not stand it when one of the soldiers or merchants talked down to him. He had never understood this unjust system of caste earlier, but neither had he ever given any thought to it. Now, for the first time in his life, he realized how inhuman and degrading this system was—a social structure that generation after generation, automatically relegated such a huge chunk of humanity to an inferior status. His entire soul rebelled against this treatment, and he withdrew further into himself.
During the nights when he was alone, he would feel his brother’s presence and almost hear his voice nearby.
“Arre, what will become of you?”
“By the gods, I’ll sell Ashvaghosha tomorrow itself, I swear it.”
“Have you eaten?”
No matter what the situation, his brother had always seemed to believe that it could be solved with a good meal. Remembering these quirks would make him smile and his heart would fill up with sadness and self-pity, till it almost felt like it would burst. During those long, endless nights, he would also think about Indukalpa, the man behind his brother’s death. The fantasy of revenge was a constant companion.
***
The mellow sunshine on his back and shoulders, as he pulled and heaved at the oars. Water dripping off the oars as they lifted for the next stroke, glistening in the red light of the dying sun. Herons skimming across the water surface of the water near the banks, swooping in and coming up again, with live fish flapping in their claws. Bent over on all fours, his knees rubbed raw, as he scrubbed the deck from bow to stern. Lying down totally exhausted at night, his back and shoulders so sore, that he was forced to sleep on his stomach.
