The Boy From Pataliputra

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The Boy From Pataliputra Page 11

by Rahul Mitra


  Messengers were now dispatched back as the contents of the carts were established. There was quite a store of Persian coins, and a large quantity of silver, along with various personal items of the King. But Darius was nowhere to be found. Alexander was beside himself with rage, and was arguing with Hephaeston and Cleitus. Darius had once again, given them the slip.

  The soldiers milled about, collecting booty from the carts. Demetrios now excused himself. He had done his duty. The sun was high in the heavens, and he remembered that he hadn’t had a drop of water since last evening. They must find a village or a well nearby, or the heat of the day would probably roast them alive, he thought to himself, as he slowly led his horse off the road. He headed towards a small patch of greenery in the distance, reasoning that it must contain a water source nearby. It was a vast grove of cypress trees, and it was here, at the edge of the grove, that he saw the solitary mud-daubed wagon, abandoned by its team.

  Curious, he went up to have a look inside, and was shocked out of his wits. There, bound up in the golden chains that signified royalty, lay Darius, the Persian Shahenshah, the King of kings, dying by the side of a road. He had been stabbed by his own men.

  Wild with happiness, Demetrios dashed off to find Alexander.

  ***

  The grounds outside the fortress were packed with men. A multitude of heads dotted the surrounding mounds and hillocks, and there was not a helmet, a shield, or a sarissa to be seen. Every conceivable vantage point was taken. There were men up on trees, while still others peered down from the ramparts of the fort. A relaxed, celebratory mood prevailed, and good-humoured banter flew easily among the assembled men.

  For the last three days, the Greek army was camped at Hecatompylos, or ‘the city of a hundred gates’. They were mourning the death of Alexander’s brother-in-law, Alexander of Epirus, but the mood was far from sombre. Their campaign of revenge against Persia was over. Darius was dead and his empire conquered. There were rumours that most of them would soon be returning home, covered in gold and glory. Indeed, a large number of Greek allied soldiers had been let go just a few weeks earlier, with their agreed-upon wages, plus a handsome cash payout, and all the booty and souvenirs they could carry. Many of them had re-enlisted as private adventurers lured by the prospect of a bonus that would be three times what the voluntary retirees had received. The camp was brimming with fresh contingents of just-arrived Macedonians, as well as regiments newly raised from the tribes of Asia. It was a happy, confident army that was assembled there.

  Everyone’s eyes were glued to the gigantic doorway of the main citadel. They were waiting for their beloved King Alexander. A light breeze blew through the shrubs dotting the land, as the men talked and cheered.

  Presently, the roar of a thousand voices arose from inside the fort, and as more and more euphoric cries took up the refrain, it swelled like an unstoppable tidal wave of sound that reverberated across the surrounding hillocks. The doors of the inner citadel had opened, and Alexander could be seen coming out, accompanied by his bodyguards and officers. He was wearing his ram’s horn helmet and white scale armour that stood out against the glossy black coat of his favourite horse, the massive stallion Bucephalus. The white plumes on his helmet fluttered in the wind, as the horse trotted through the crowds, powerfully and fluidly moving towards the small platform that had been set up at the base of the fortress.

  Wave after wave of cheering broke out, even as Alexander ascended the platform and appealed to the soldiers to stop. Necks craned to view the King, for the world conqueror was a very short man. He took off his helmet and his curly blonde hair fell in rings over his face. His face was as usual, tilted upwards at an angle, and he grinned widely, as he waited for the applause to die down.

  The men quietened down, and Alexander began.

  “Can there be anyone more blessed by the gods than me, who has been given the chance to lead this invincible army?” Immediately, he had to stop, for the men were shouting his name.

  “I ask you, can there be anyone more blessed than me who got the chance to lead such mighty and fearless men?” he paused. “By the gods, there cannot be a luckier man than me. I lead YOU who have repeatedly defeated armies that were ten times larger; YOU, whose courage overcame all odds every single time; YOU, whose sarissas have destroyed the hordes of barbarians who charged against us.

  The tyrant Darius himself is now dead. No longer will a Persian emperor dare to meddle in the affairs of the Greek states. No longer will a Xerxes be able to touch the pillar of democracy and learning, known as Athens. Do you ever wonder how you could win repeatedly against these innumerable hordes thrown against you? You won; we won because the gods themselves favour our cause. You have repeatedly beaten bigger foes, because you fought for truth and justice, while the hordes of Darius were merely slaves, fighting unwillingly for a master they despised.

  The generations to come, will envy you and wish they had been born in this time, for it is you—you men—who have rid the world of tyranny and evil forever. It is you men who have brought freedom and learning to Persia. Who in this world can stand before you? O free men of Greece, who can withstand your might?”

  Again, the audience erupted into thunderous rapture. A man had who had broken through the cordon of soldiers, could be seen running towards the platform on which Alexander stood. Even as his bodyguards stiffened, Alexander now leaned down and clasped the hands of this common soldier. The men went wild all over again. This was why they loved him.

  “O free men of Greece, none has the stomach to stand against you! The entire world is there for your taking. To the east lies Indika and beyond it, the great wide ocean. You have the unique opportunity to conquer the entire world and travel to the ends of the earth. Only the god Heracles—my ancestor has ever conquered Indika. Now that you have humbled the tyranny of Persia, even the gods look upon you to spread the light of freedom and culture to the barbarians of the east.”

  The noise died down and a low murmur began among the crowds, as the men digested this new turn of events. Alexander paused for a bit before continuing.

  “No Greek before you, has ever come this far. Never before in the history of the world, has such a feat been accomplished. Indika lies weak and divided. Indika, with its innumerable treasures of gold and silver, promises to cover you in wealth and eternal glory. It is there for the taking and I ask you today, will not my soldiers come with their King to do what has never been done before?”

  There was a long pause and then, like the swell on the sea, came the answering roar of the crowd, “Lead us; lead us O’ Alexander lead us wherever you will!”

  sword and sliced the old man’s head off.

  The Labourers

  In Persia, Alexander was making extravagant promises of changing the world, while back in Takshashila, Aditya’s world had already changed. Again!

  With the arrival at their destination, the compact known as the caravan came to an end, and the party split up. Utter strangers, who had shared the perils and hardships of the journey, now swore oaths of eternal friendship and parted ways with promises of keeping in touch.

  Where were the nights he had spent lying awake, dreaming of revenge? Where were the days, spent marching from dawn to dusk? Whither the arguments with Rishabha, or the countless delightful conversations with Devika? Like water held in one’s hand, time had slipped away unnoticed, and a new phase of life had begun.

  Everyone carried on with their own lives. Devika and her father Brihadratha simply disappeared. Aditya’s friend Drishta, the unlucky trader, had finally made a handsome profit and left almost immediately for Bharukaccha, looking for opportunities to invest his new-found wealth. Pandi and Shilajeet started taking sword-fighting lessons for the nobles of Takshashila, as they waited for the next caravan to be organized. The men whiled away their time in the taverns and whorehouses, and took on whatever work came their way.

  Only Aditya was at a loose end. He had been promised two hundred panas, as well as
a job on arrival, but on reaching Takshashila, he found that Navinda’s cousin Mahinda was away, travelling on business. With nothing else to fall back on, Aditya decided to throw in his lot with his friend Rishabha, and the two of them moved into an abandoned, broken-down hut by the side of a vast rubbish heap outside the walls of the city. With only twenty panas between the two of them, and no prospect of getting a good job, the two friends soon found themselves confronting the twin demons of hunger and poverty.

  ***

  It was mid-day—the sun was directly overhead and Takshashila’s grains market was pulsating with life and activity. The narrow lanes of this section of the city were filled with mud and grime. Ox-carts and donkeys, laden with sacks of grain, jostled for space, and a lively commotion filled the air. Pedestrians gingerly picked their way through this chaos, as huge bandicoots dodged around their feet. An excruciating sultriness hung in the air.

  Business was in full flow. Carts were being loaded at a number of places and goods were being exchanged between godowns. Dirty-looking labourers, their gaunt bodies bent almost double under the weight of the sacks on their backs, side-stepped and staggered through the crowds with their cries of ‘Coming through! Coming through!”

  A skinny young porter, his face caked in grime, stumbled upon a stone and staggered onto the path of a young merchant and his fashionably-dressed wife, almost crashing into them.

  The lady shrieked and drew back in disgust. The very thought of having to brush against this smelly, dirty, ghoul revolted her. Dirt and chaff covered his entire body, sweat dripped off his forehead, and his legs were caked in mud.

  “You trash! How dare you? Move! Move! Out of the way!” the gentleman jumped upon the porter and struck him again and again with a stout stick that he carried.

  The young boy, for the porter was actually still a teenager, staggered backwards under the blows. The supple muscles of his arms were stretched taut, as he somehow controlled the weight on his back and prevented it from falling over.

  It was Aditya.

  He felt like throwing the bag down and beating this man with his own stick. His eyes burnt with rage, but the young lady’s disgusted expression crushed his spirit. Besides, he had been carrying these back-breaking loads all day long, his legs were trembling under him, and he simply wanted to collapse.

  In a daze, he mumbled his apologies, and was summarily pushed out of the way.

  ***

  Poverty not only physically debases a man, but also crushes his spirit by stripping away at his dignity. Aditya could go to sleep hungry, but could not swallow the humiliation he felt when something upset his sense of self-respect. He jealously guarded his honour and for this reason, consistently refused offers of money from Pandi. He did not want charity and had simply disappeared when Pandi started getting too insistent.

  However, this did not protect him from the million petty humiliations he had to face everyday. The look of disgust on that lady’s face stayed with him for days. Later, back in their broken-down hut, Aditya recounted his experience to Rishabha, who reasoned it out with him.

  “We are not humans to them, Aditya. We are animals. They brush past us everyday, but they don’t see us. They need us for their services, but otherwise, we are only an eyesore to them, befouling the air with our slums, disturbing their delicate constitutions with our smelly, unwashed bodies. I suspect that if all the poor of this city vapourized tomorrow, the rich would be happy,” said Rishabha.

  “I just need one good break, Rishabha and I will show these . . .” Aditya ground his teeth in frustration.

  “I am not talking about you and me, Aditya. I am talking about the system. Today or tomorrow, this system has to go. No society can be strong as long as parts of its population are kept in poverty and backwardness. It’s a chain, and the chain will only be as powerful as its weakest link. Either the system changes, or such a society will inevitably be subjugated by other stronger societies, where everyone is united because each one is treated fairly,” said Rishabha.

  “Oh . . . enough of your nonsense! God, is this man a genius or an idiot? Our bellies are empty and he talks of changing society,” Aditya shuddered in mock indignation.

  “What did you say? Say it to my face, you scoundrel!”

  The two of them talked late into the night, for it is difficult to sleep on an empty stomach. Not knowing Gandhar, the only jobs they could get were those of daily wage labourers, and that meant going to sleep hungry.

  ***

  A few days later, when Aditya and Rishabha returned home, they found a visitor waiting for them. It was Pandi. How he had found their hut, they did not know, but he had somehow tracked them down. He pounced upon them the moment they got there.

  “What the hell have you chicklets been up to? Playing at being grown-ups, are we? I told you to meet me Aditya, Why did you disappear? What are you trying to prove?”

  He regarded their tattered clothes and dirty faces with suspicion.

  “What about you, Rishabha? I thought you were going to join the university—what is all this about?”

  Rishabha hung his head in shame. The truth was, he dared not approach the acharyas looking like a tramp, and was waiting to save up so he could present himself properly.

  “And you, Aditya? Why didn’t you at least let me know what you were doing? Don’t you want to learn the khadga?”

  Aditya avoided Pandi’s eyes. In every way, he was an adult now, an equal of every other worker in the caravan and yet, he could not shake off the hold that Pandi had over him. Was it fear of the man who had once chucked him into water, or was it respect for the teacher who had taught him so much? All he knew deep within was that he could never say ‘no’ to Pandi, not to his face. That was the reason he had disappeared. He could never explain to Pandi that he felt humiliated with his constant ‘givin“If you don’t use the khadga regularly, it rusts. Now where have you two been working?” Pandi asked. It was obvious from their torn clothes that they were working as manual labourers.

  “At the grains market, Shreeman,” said Aditya.

  Pandi could scarcely believe himself. The same kid, who had once refused to go and work as a rower, was now voluntarily working as a daily-wage labourer. Who would have believed it?

  He stared at their tattered clothes and the broken-down hut they were living in. A hint of a smile played on his lips, and there was both bemusement as well as respect in his tone when he spoke next.

  “Okay, it’s getting late now, and I need to eat. You two are sharing a meal with me. Come on,” he said.

  Aditya’s face betrayed his embarrassment and confusion, but Pandi was having none of it. He broke into a wide smile, as he strode up to them and held them both by their arms, dragging them along.

  “Oh, you idiots! Come with me, I am your guru and you dare not refuse me anything,” he said.

  They made their way to a tavern where Pandi treated them lavishly. Over dinner, he gave Aditya the news that Mahinda had arrived back in Takshashila, and they were to go and meet him the next day.

  ***

  The very next day, Aditya found himself in possession of both a job, as well as a sum of two hundred panas.

  The first thing he did with the money, was to buy a new set of gentlemen’s clothes, which Rishabha then wore for his interview with Acharya Shalya. Life, that ever-changing tragicomedy, now came full circle and within a short span of one week, their circumstances had completely changed. Aditya got a full-time job and Rishabha made it into Acharya Shalya’s gurukul. He also bagged the part-time job that he had hoped for.

  With money coming in, the two friends now needed a place to stay inside the city. They finally settled in the eastern part of the city, the heart-and-soul of Takshashila. Here, amidst the narrow, winding lanes, unplanned houses crowding in on each other, chaotic markets, temples, and overcrowded taverns, lived that vast conglomeration of humanity that made Takshashila what it was. It was a uniquely cosmopolitan place with the Ashvakas from Kapisa, rubbing s
houlders with young Dravida students, and monks from far away Cina.

  One of the most overpopulated and colourful localities in this part of the city was the area known simply as the students’ quarter. This was where most of the young students studying in Takshashila University lived, for rents were cheap and many services easily available. The very air in this part of the city was full of the energy and enthusiasm of youth. Passionate arguments concerning the future of the nation were carried out at food stalls, a million different dreams of youthful ambition were conjured up inside cramped rooms, and the poets dreamt their impossible dreams in the taverns and whorehouses that dotted this part of the city. A host of luminaries had walked through these lanes and some of the brightest minds of their generation still lived here. A kautuhalshala, the most reputed one in Takshashila, played host to heated debates and arguments that piqued the curiosity of students and laymen alike.

  It was here that Aditya and Rishabha found their home, in a large double-storied building made of burnt brick. It had twenty rooms in total, all of them occupied by students.

  g’, and that was why he had disappeared.

  Radha

  It was early evening and business in Takshashila’s merchants’ quarter was coming to a close. The frenetic pace of the day had slackened, faces were relaxed, and the parna and food stalls were crowded with eager, expectant customers. Traditionally, this was the time of day when traders visited each other’s offices and godowns, sat down over snacks and drinks, and exchanged leads and gossip.

  It was at this time, when the crush of people in the lanes outside had eased up, that a gaudily-decked carriage, adorned with garlands of various flowers, made its way down cobbler’s street and stopped right in front of Ekahastin’s dry fruit shop. A rather striking-looking individual emerged from the vehicle, and strode into the alleyway opposite the establishment.

 

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