Revenge of the Chandalas

by Sandeep Nayyar

  A few moments later the musicians started the program. After carefully tuning their instruments, they all synched into a melodious tune. Vaishali entered the stage from the left. Her feet were throbbing effortlessly on the rhythm of the music.

  The whole theatre erupted in excitement and a wave of thunderous clapping greeted the dancer. Neel and Dhananjay too joined their hands and clapped. Vaishali was an astonishing beauty. She had a dusky complexion, but that duskiness gave her features amazing angular contrasts. She was tall and slender. Her beautiful face had two locks of curly hair dangling on each side. Shining white pearls were threaded in the locks making them look like two vines of Jasmine. She wore a red pearl necklace; large golden earrings; and a small nose pin that shone like a pole star.

  Vaishali's dance matched the rhythmic music played by the musicians. Her dance mudras and skilful depiction of various dance postures showed her deep understanding and grasp of classical music. She perfectly combined her artistry with her divine beauty.

  Suddenly, she paused for a moment and looked at Neel and Dhananjay in an unusual dilemma. She continued to dance afterwards but from time to time, her gaze kept falling on the two guests.

  Neel noticed this and said to Dhananjay, “Seems like we are looking too attractive to ignore. See how she keeps looking at us.”

  “Maybe we look like two clowns your Highness,” replied Dhananjay and both laughed.

  Neel suddenly realized that people sitting around were gesturing as if they were watching a harlot's dance and not a classical performance. Their lustful gapes at the movements of Vaishali's curves made him think, 'So this is the real character of this society. They can't differentiate between a classical performer and a harlot,'

  Finally, Vaishali's performance ended. Amidst the clapping and praises, there were some usual cheesy comments. A lot of people got up and approached Vaishali with various kinds of gifts for her. She accepted the gifts with a pleasant consistent smile on her face. Neel stood up to congratulate Vaishali on how well she performed. Her dance had relaxed him immensely and he was feeling lively again. Both walked up to the stage. Neel went near Vaishali and said, “You were really very good. You moved our souls with your dance.”

  “Who are you, if I may ask? I need to talk to you,” said Vaishali looking at Neel with an unusually surprised look.

  Neel found it strange that Vaishali didn't respond to the words of praise. Maybe that's not how they praise people here in South Kosala. He smiled at Vaishali and replied, “Sure, tell me what you want to talk about.”

  “Not here. Meet me at the back garden. It's quiet there.”

  Dhananjay pinched Neel's elbow and pointed with his head and said, “Go ahead, have a quiet chat.”

  Neel glanced back at Dhananjay while making his move towards the back garden. Vaishali showed her displeasure on that comment of Dhananjay by staring at him for a moment and then walked out of the hallway. Neel followed her.

  As soon as they reached the garden, Vaishali turned around to face Neel. He asked, “So?”

  “Please excuse my behaviour but I strongly feel I have seen you somewhere. Your face looks very familiar.”

  “This is an old trick madam. If you want to be familiar just say so.”

  “Please try to understand. I am not joking. I feel I know you.”

  “You are simply mistaken. We are students from Takshkhand. We have never been to this part of the world before,” Neel felt the need to tighten his guard and be more careful.

  “So why have you come here then?”

  “For research and studies.”

  “Brahmins?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don't look like one, though.”

  “Well, you can't tell by simply looking at a man's face whether he is a Brahmin or a Shudra.”

  “That's right but your whole countenance and personality does not signify you are a Brahmin.”

  “My grandfather, who was a Brahmin, married a Nishada woman. As Takshkhand society is very liberal and broad-minded, their alliance was accepted,” Neel tried to make up a story to convince Vaishali. He realised how one lie required many more to hide it. Neel saw how the mention of the word 'Nishada' aroused a fresh wave of scepticism on Vaishali's face.

  While they were engaged in their conversation, a man came running from behind and snatched Neel's leather pouch tucked in his waist. The man grabbed the pouch and went past running. Neel drew a hidden dagger from under his clothing aimed at him and threw it at the man's right leg. The dagger flew and pierced the man's right calf. He struggled to run even a few feet and fell on the ground. As soon as he fell on the ground, he pulled out the dagger from his calf, got on his feet and ran again. By this time Neel had pounced upon him and held him from his waist. The man tried to attack Neel with the blood-soiled dagger. Neel grabbed his wrist and twisted it. The dagger fell and the man moaned in pain. Neel snatched his pouch bag and turned towards Vaishali and said, “So your state has thieves too?”

  “Mostly thieves, actually.”

  “Seems like you are not too fond of your state. What do you suggest we do with him? Hand over to the guards?”

  “Leave him, let him go. Guards will only thrash him and break his bones for their pleasure.”

  “But shouldn't a thief be punished?”

  “When there are bigger thieves roaming around free, why punish a petty one?”

  Neel let the thief go. He apologised with joined hands and limped away.

  “So, you keep a dagger and your aim is also perfect. I was right in my suspicion. You are not a Brahmin after all. You can't be,” said Vaishali.

  “You are doubting us for no reason. We are in an unknown country. You just saw what happened. We have to be armed to defend ourselves.”

  Suddenly, Vaishali almost jumped in the air. Her eyes flashed with a newfound insight.

  “Ah yes, I remember who you are now... I remember perfectly. You are Neel, the king of Mekal, aren't you?”

  Chapter 15

  Two days had gone by since Gunjan's bandages were removed. He felt completely recovered now. He wondered why he didn't meet Shatvari during all this while. She also didn't pay a visit to him. That surprised him. How come she didn't bother to even ask about his health? Shatvari's warm embrace flashed in his memory. It was an emotion he had never felt before. Shastri ji was right in telling him that life can't be fully understood in books only. Some things must be experienced. Suddenly he thought how inappropriate it would be to think about Shatvari with such feelings. Shatvari is also his guru. A pang of remorse struck him. Were there any unfounded rumours in the village regarding this? Did she go through the taunts of the villagers because of him? Maybe that's why she didn't come to meet him. His heart felt heavier. He thought to go to Aditi. She was the only one who could tell him what happened.

  Gunjan stalled his cart in front of Aditi's house. Aditi's father Vishwamohan was also a Brahmin, but neither was he a scholar of the status of Shastri ji, nor did he garner such respect from the villagers. Although Shatvari and Aditi were fast friends, Shastri ji never really considered Pandit Vishwamohan of his stature. Not that he disregarded him as a person, but he didn't agree with Pt. Vishwamohan's understanding of the holy texts and his interpretations of the scriptures. Pt. Vishwamohan was one of those clerics who defined religion in a very conservative manner. Shastri ji strongly defied this conservatism. Pt. Vishwamohan's financial position was poor. Society hadn't gone down to the level where it could lend ears to a narrow-minded cleric. He barely had any clients. His small two-room house was a simple and modest affair with bare walls and fading paint work.

  Gunjan knocked on the door and waited. Aditi opened the door and seemed delighted to find a healthy Gunjan standing in front of her.

  “Gunjan, you look very fine now, I hope you have recovered fully?” asked Aditi looking surprisingly happy.

  “Just a result of all the blessings of you people.”

  “Is Gunjan being sarcastic? I didn't go t
o see him while he was recovering,” wondered Aditi.

  “I went to visit my grandmother in the adjoining village, that's why I couldn't come to see you.”

  “It's okay, I am sure you would have prayed for my wellness,” replied Gunjan and asked, “How is Shatvari?”

  Aditi's face lit up with a mischief and her black eyes shone teasingly.

  “Shatvari! She's dying!”

  “What are you saying?” asked Gunjan unable to hide his shock, “I am sure you are messing around with me again, please tell me honestly.”

  “You are a simple fool, Gunjan. Did you not die on someone, ever?”

  Gunjan somehow understood Aditi's prank.

  “We unfortunate poor Shudras are killed by poverty, we barely have time to die on anybody,” replied Gunjan with a much sombre face, “But what are you hiding? Why don't you tell me what has happened?”

  “Shatvari has fallen in love with Damodar. She is going to marry him soon.”

  Gunjan felt uncomfortable upon hearing those words. He felt disappointed. But soon regained his senses to ask why he should feel this way. Shatvari was not his love interest. He had decided never to be amorous with her. There was no possible relation between them apart from that of a guru and a disciple. She was an educated beautiful Brahmin girl and he was a mere Shudra cartman. Damodar was the right match for her. The news should have delighted him.

  “This is good news; a very good news in fact,” said Gunjan trying hard to look happy.

  “Rubbish! You have lost one passenger now. The princess now has her own horse cab to go around in.”

  Aditi's mischievousness couldn't deter Gunjan from thinking about Shatvari and Damodar. He was trying hard to feel happy about the news but failed.

  “Okay then, I should take my leave. If you meet Shatvari, please tell her to invite me to the wedding,” said Gunjan with a heavy heart.

  “Don't worry, she is your guru. She won't go anywhere without taking her fees.”

  Gunjan didn't reply. He walked back slowly to his cart and moved away. On the way, he kept thinking about what he could give to Shatvari in return.

  “Shatvari? How come you are here?” asked Gunjan bemused on finding Shatvari standing at his doorstep.

  “I think you misunderstood me, Gunjan. I wanted to come to see you. But what happened that day bothered me. I do care about society and what people might say. They don't care. I worry about you. I will go away from this village once I am married but you have to stay here and earn your living.”

  “You are getting married?”

  “Yes, with Damodar. Who told you?”

  “You didn't, but, yes, congratulations!”

  “That's why I came. Are you not happy with the news?”

  “If you are happy, then I am happy too.”

  “Gunjan, I won't be able to teach you music after the marriage. You understand I will have new responsibilities.”

  “So, with you, I will also lose my music.”

  “Why do you think so? You have learnt much, you have enough skills to even teach others now.”

  Gunjan didn't reply and kept looking down. A wave of disappointment was clearly evident on his face.

  “Gunjan, have you heard of guru dakshina that I can ask from you? It's a time-honoured tradition of disciples repaying their gurus. What will you give?” Shatvari tried to lighten the air with this question.

  “Ask whatever you want. I have nothing much to offer anyway, as you know.”

  “You have so much to offer Gunjan. Promise me this that you will never leave music. You will revere it as a divine gift and become an accomplished singer and musician. You will not confine your talent to yourself but also share it with others.”

  “You are asking for too much all at once. What if I fail to keep the promise?” Gunjan looked down again. His voice sunk to a whisper.

  “You'll have to bear your guru's curse then,” joked Shatvari.

  “One whose existence itself is his nemesis can't be cursed further.”

  Shatvari was perplexed to find such a change in Gunjan's behaviour. His newfound pessimism baffled her. She didn't realise why the news of her going away saddened him so much. He was the kind of person who lived happily within his means regardless of circumstances. He had no ambitions that kept him awake. Did she arouse any feelings in him that would remain unfulfilled if she left? Did he start to love her, and the news of her wedding made him sad? Shatvari glanced upon Gunjan's disappointed face and said, “Don't lose heart. You have no idea what you are capable of. You can give so much back to the world.”

  Shatvari for the first time felt an unknown uneasiness on parting ways with Gunjan. She left quickly.

  Gunjan kept looking at Shatvari's enticing gait. But this time it didn't arouse any amorous feelings in him. All he had was these words of Shatvari ringing in his ears.

  “You have no idea what you are capable of. You can give so much back to the world.”

  “Can giving to the world make you happy? Can you find happiness in others' happiness? Shastri ji says that we are all part of Brahma—the Supreme Self. If we are all part of one then surely, we all are no different. Where does the difference between me and others come from? All these differences and disparities are manmade. God made us all equal.”

  The moment of epiphany changed Gunjan's life. He decided to dedicate his life to others. One God and equality of all human beings would be the backbone of his philosophy. He would take his music to the world. He would confront the traditions of inequality based on caste, colour, and creed. Whatever he had endured in his life so far, he would not let others go through the same.

  Chapter 16

  Neel was taken aback to hear his name from Vaishali. How could she recognise him when they had never visited South Kosala before? Maybe there were Kosala's spies in Mekal.

  He came face -to-face with Vaishali and asked sternly, “Who are you exactly? How do you know the Mekal king Neel?”

  “First, please answer honestly. Are you the Mekal king, your Highness?” Vaishali's eyes got wet and tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks.

  Neel noticed the tears and wet eyes of Vaishali. He was not sure what to make of it, but he realized that Vaishali had a deep bond with Mekal.

  “Why don't you tell me what your relation to Mekal is? Who are you?”

  “Your Highness, I belong to a lowland village of Mekal. They captured our village, made us prisoners and brought us here. They abused my body and soul and forced me to become a Nagarvadhu,” tears continued to roll down from Vaishali's eyes. She was looking down and gently sobbing.

  Neel's face tensed after listening to Vaishali's plight. His arms flexed and fists clenched. He took a moment to reply to her. He said, “Vaishali you should not suffer any longer. I feel I am the culprit. As your king, it was my responsibility to protect you in the first place. I now promise you that I will not return from here without liberating you.”

  “It's not entirely your fault, your Highness. Please don't feel guilty about it. I always believed that you would come here someday to rescue us. Seeing you here has made me so happy, you won't believe,” Vaishali wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Her eyes reflected the joy of finding Neel and she started telling him the agonising tale of the past days.

  Neel changed the subject and asked Vaishali, “You have been here for some time now. Maybe you can help us.”

  “What kind of help, your Highness? It's not only my pleasure but also my duty to help you in every possible way.”

  “Vaishali, to defeat these Yaduvanshis, we must make a smart plan. We can't defeat them in a head-on battle as they have a very strong army. So, if we understand them and find their weakness, we can make a strategy to beat them.”

  “Sure, I can be of some help to you. I know a few things, but I am not sure how much they can help you.”

  “The fact is that we have been telling people that we have come here to research Aryan Civilization. This also serves our purpose of findi
ng more about this society and its nature. We can understand their inner contradictions and conflicts to make our plans.”

  “I understand now. I think I can introduce you to a person who might be of great help. His name is Krishnamurti. He is my guru here who taught me music, dance, culture and almost everything I know.”

  “Great! So, do we have to tell him our real identity?”

  “No. Just tell him what you have been telling others.”

  “Good, so when can you arrange the meeting?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  Neel agreed to meet Krishnamurti the next morning. He thanked Vaishali and walked out of the building with Dhananjay. They both slept that night in keen anticipation of the next morning.

  “Guru ji meet my friends Badrinath and Kedarnath,” said Vaishali to Guru Krishnamurti while greeting him respectfully. Turning around she added, “And he is my revered Guru ji Krishnamurti.”

  Both Neel and Dhananjay joined their hands to greet Krishnamurti.

  Vaishali added further, “Guru ji, Badrinath and Kedarnath have come from Taxila to understand the Aryan culture and its historical development. If you can spare some time to discuss the topic with them, it'll be of great help.”

  Krishnamurti was a tall man of fragile frame. He had a fair complexion and a long face with a wide forehead smeared with red tilak. His long, curly hair was neatly tied in a ponytail.

  “What kind of information can help your research? Please feel free to ask.” Krishnamurti told Neel and Dhananjay.

  “We are looking forward to understanding the present state of the Aryan society. It's social, political, economic, cultural and historical background as well. We are young students with limited knowledge and experience. Your insights will be hugely beneficial to us.” said Neel.