In this chaotic mix stood the Apara homes. Brick-laid, mud-plastered and often painstakingly painted with turmeric and vermillion, these humble homes made up with character what they lacked in luxury. They stood cheerfully side-by-side, white rangoli on their doorsteps, daring the chaos of the road outside to cross their thresholds. And that’s what I liked about Apara – this random mass of homes and humanity buzzed with an energy and vigour that was infectious. Far away from the pristine flower-lined avenues of Purba, here throbbed the very heart of the realm. Simple mud-plastered walls came alive with weird and wonderful graffiti of gods and demons, often underlined with some ribald political humour. Tumble-down taverns with disreputable clientele were patronized by some of the best poets and artists of the day. The courtesan-dancers of this quarter were known as much for their carnal creativity as for their knowledge of the Mandakranta metre. (The joke was that you couldn’t become a poet of any consequence unless you learnt your rhetoric and prosody in the arms of an Apara courtesan.) The streets pulsated with enterprise and exhaustion as people begged and bought, stole and saved, cheated and created, fought and forgave, made love and occasionally murdered each other. It was a world far away from the flowery order of Purba but it was a world that wore no masks to hide its scars.
It was Harisena who introduced me to it. He had spent his childhood on these mud-spattered streets before his father Druvabhuti gained distinction, first on the battle field and later in court, as the maha danda nayaka (police chief). And he never forgot where he came from. Neither did others, of course. It’s not easy to cross over from Apara to Purba without raising some hackles in court hierarchy. And Harisena’s father, despite his change in fortunes or perhaps because of it, had raised many.
This was one of the reasons none of my half-brothers liked Harisena very much, dismissing Druvabhuti as a parvenu and his son as a bazaar boy. In fact, when Bhasma and Jivita tried to poison father’s mind against him – suggesting that Harisena was exposing me to the worst rough necks in the kingdom and initiating me into the pleasures of opium-laced Roman wine – the rest of my half-brothers heartily backed the two of them up.
Not all the allegations were untrue, of course. Whenever we found the palace air too difficult to breathe, Harisena and I would slip away, incognito, for a night of Apara revelry which ended with both of us seeking refuge at his favourite dancer Ragini’s bordello. Only one man knew what we were up to – the city magistrate, Devdutt. It was important to keep him in the loop if we were to get into a scrape in Apara, but he was Druvabhuti’s man through and through and could therefore be trusted.
More than our romps, what I enjoyed was the freedom that my anonymity offered during such excursions. Very few people on the streets or in the run-down public places that we went to had any connections in court. This meant, shorn of my finery, I could slip into another skin quite easily. As crown prince I did not have too many public duties and my face was therefore less likely to be recognized.
There were, of course, other reasons I found these outings interesting. For one, it gave me a good idea of what people were talking about outside the echo chamber that was the court. For another, the Akhara wrestling rings here attracted the vilest, most desperate and the bravest young men in the empire, and were Harisena’s favourite hunting grounds for both foot soldiers and spies. Which is why I intended to continue these nocturnal visits even after becoming emperor, though less frequently and under more elaborate disguise perhaps.
I suggested a night out just days after our return to Pataliputra. Our spies had, so far, not come up with anything more on Byagra. And with Ganapati safely ensconced in the palace, the Naga threat was effectively under control. And yet, I felt a nagging unease in my bones. Something was not quite adding up.
‘Why must you assume peace is invariably only an interlude?’ asked mother, for once at variance with me.
Datta, uncharacteristically voluble, said tartly, ‘He thinks it’s the lull before a storm. He thinks he needs a digvijay to awe Jamvudweep into submission.’
Mother turned her keen gaze on me. ‘Kacha, what folly is this? Don’t look for trouble when there isn’t any.’
I glanced towards Harisena who held my gaze and shook his head almost imperceptibly. He wasn’t going to open his mouth and wade into what he thought was a family discussion. I wished he did though, but I also knew it would earn a sharp put down from mother. I had to do this on my own.
‘Byagra is plotting something,’ I said. ‘My instincts tell me so. I am only gathering intelligence right now. Once I know more, I will take him on. If something has to be done, I will do it.’
‘So where’s the digvijay coming from?’ asked mother.
I looked at Datta, knowing this tidbit of my dream shared with her must have therefore leaked from her. She quickly looked away.
‘It’s something I have been thinking about,’ I said. I saw Harisena look up, startled. Even he had no idea about any of this.
‘Kacha, you are now emperor. You don’t have the luxury of daydreaming,’ said mother.
‘They are not day dreams,’ I shot back. ‘The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that the only way I can keep our so-called allies in check is through a spectacular show of might. I have to prove to them that my sword arm is something to be feared and respected. Once done, it will act as a deterrent for the entire length of my reign.’
Mother remained silent. I saw the blood drain from Datta’s face while Harisena looked surprised. Finally, it was he who spoke. ‘But Majesty, taking the Garuda Dhwaja across Aryavarta will leave the capital open to both invasion and insurrection. Can we afford such a risk?’
‘I will not do anything to endanger Pataliputra,’ I replied. ‘But this campaign is now a necessity. It’s no longer a question of “if”. It’s a question of “when”.’
I lay back on familiar blue silk bolsters, now discoloured with usage, and kept an ear out for the conversation going on in the room. Harisena and I were back at Ragini’s somewhat tawdry boudoir, thankfully dimly lit by a solitary lamp which meant large swathes of the room were in complete darkness. I remained motionless on the couch – smothered by Ragini’s limbs entwined through mine, and the old quilt that conveniently covered both her modesty and my identity – and listened. Sitting on the ground nearby, Harisena was conducting an-almost whispered interrogation of one of his informants.
‘And you say there are many of them?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ replied the wiry young man who sat cross-legged on the ground. ‘They are all atavic tribesmen. Some are selling honey; others animal fur. Some are buying beads and cowrie shells in exchange for fishing hooks and flint arrow heads.’
Harisena remained silent for a while. Then he pressed on, ‘Are they all from Maha Kantar?’
‘No. They are from different atavic tribes.’
‘And have they been in fights or any such things?’
‘No. They keep to themselves. They do ask a lot of questions but that’s not unusual among trades people.’
More silence followed. Then, Harisena once again asked, ‘Are there any merchants or mendicants from anywhere else roaming the streets?’
‘Only Maha Kosala. They are here to sell their famed sweet meats.’
‘Is that out of the ordinary?’
‘No, not really. They come every year but there are more of them than usual this time.’
‘How many of them are in the capital right now?’
‘I am not sure but my guess is at least eighty.’
There was silence for a minute or two following this. And then the sound of shuffling feet as the young man walked out, meaning Harisena had dismissed him.
‘You can come out from under the covers now,’ I heard Harisena’s voice call out. ‘Unless you’d rather continue.’
I threw the quilt away and got up, laughing. Ragini, still as luscious in her fourth decade as she was when we first met her, stretched like a cat, smiling at both of us. ‘You boys o
bviously want to talk,’ she drawled. ‘Shall I send in some Asava rum?’
Harisena grinned at her. ‘You are a complete marvel.’
‘Aren’t I just?’ She winked, lazily draping the quilt to cover her still deliciously curvy nakedness. ‘Don’t worry, I will make sure you two are undisturbed.’
Harisena peeped out after she left and then softly closed the door. We sat down on the couch and looked at each other. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’
‘There’s something afoot,’ I replied. ‘I was suspicious before. Now I am certain.’
‘But Kosala too? Or should we dismiss that little nugget?’
‘We dismiss nothing,’ I replied. ‘If Kosala’s traders are crowding here at the same time that Byagra’s men are roaming around selling honey, they are both to be suspected. And the conspiracy is far bigger than I’d thought.’
‘I can send my men to both Maha Kosala and Maha Kantar,’ said Harisena. ‘You know … to find out a bit more.’
I nodded. ‘Yes. And maybe you can get magistrate Devdutt to arrest one of these atavic honey sellers on some trumped up charge, and try and interrogate him. See if he sings. Though as a foot soldier he may not know too much. But still it could throw up something.’
‘And once we know more?’ asked Harisena. ‘Another battle or a digvijay?’
I smiled and clapped him on the back. ‘We shall see,’ I said.
9
Dreams of Digvijay
ANOTHER NIGHT, ANOTHER WAR council. I stretched out on the bolstered couch and took a deep gulp of the Roman sura wine; it’s salty tang brought a sudden flash of sea blue and a glint of emeralds and rubies on a sinewy arm. I frowned and focused. Harisena was speaking.
‘My intelligence network has come up with some startling information,’ he said. ‘It seems there has been some exchange of men and materials between Maha Kosala and Maha Kantar, and Byagra has been in close contact with his neighbour ever since His Late Majesty fell ill.’
‘Is that unusual?’ asked Druvabhuti. ‘They are neighbours, after all. And both are atavic kingdoms.’
‘It wouldn’t have been unusual under normal circumstances. But these aren’t, are they?’ asked Harisena archly.
‘This also needs to be seen in context,’ I said. ‘Both Byagra and Mahendra have been stockpiling arms and recruiting men. You do that when you are preparing for battle. There are no border skirmishes being reported anywhere in either Aryavarta or Dakshinapath. So what are they preparing for?’
‘But Majesty,’ said Brahma Deva, ‘both Maha Kosala and Maha Kantar are firmly in Dakshinapath. Is it necessary to go after them?’
‘It is,’ I said. ‘If we want them to get the message, once and for all.’
Now mother spoke up. ‘You don’t need a military expedition for that. You could send a diplomatic mission. Ratify the alliance your father forged. Threats and diplomacy usually work well as a deterrent. Don’t rush into battle when words can work just as well.’
‘Diplomacy worked well with father because he had already earned his reputation on the battle field; his adversaries knew what they were up against,’ I replied, slightly annoyed with this shield of opposition that kept popping up.
‘You have earned a formidable reputation after the Naga expedition, Majesty,’ said Brahma Deva. ‘There aren’t too many people in Jamvudweep who haven’t heard of that daring raid.’
‘But it does not seem to have convinced any of you. So why should my fellow rulers believe that?’ I replied.
‘But what about Pataliputra?’ said Datta, uncharacteristically candid in a war council. ‘If you march out towards Dakshinapath, you leave Magadh in danger of being invaded. Even if we send word to you, it will take you months to get back. Have you thought of that?’
‘I have,’ I snapped back. ‘I will leave Brahma Deva in charge of daily governance as before. Narasimha and his Lichchavi forces will back him up. Druvabhuti will be in charge of the imperial garrisons. I shall take half the forces and leave the rest to protect Magadh. And I will appoint Ananta Varman to be in charge of all the Naga regimes and reinforce him with more men.’
‘The Nagas will not like it, Majesty,’ said Druvabhuti.
‘The Nagas don’t matter any more. Their kingdoms are effectively part of the empire now. That treaty they signed makes them puppet vassals and they know it.’
Harisena nodded. Then he said, ‘Ganapati Naga wants to go back. He has been whining about missing his family and the evening arti in Mathura.’
I chuckled. ‘Then send him back. As long as Ananta Varman is stationed there, he will keep all three Naga kingdoms quiet.’
‘So we start with Kosala?’ asked Harisena.
‘Yes, I shall take on Kosala first and then Maha Kantar, both of which are just over a week’s hard ride from Pataliputra.’
‘And then?’ Datta persisted. ‘Once you go further down? Further away from us?’
‘If our expedition goes as planned, our victories in Kosala and Maha Kantar should secure my reputation,’ I replied. ‘That will be protection enough. Till I return.’
‘Can you not do this in bits and pieces?’ asked Brahma Deva. ‘A southern digvijay will keep you away from Magadh for at least a year, if not longer. Is it safe, Majesty?’
‘This is not just a digvijay,’ I said. ‘It is a strategic mission. I am sending out a message to all the sovereign rulers who have not yet bent their knee to me. Raise your arm against me and I will come and crush you – no matter how far from Magadh you may be. Accept my Garuda protection and you have nothing to fear.’
‘But all of Aryavarta already bend their knee to you,’ said Datta. ‘Do you need Dakshinapath as well?’
‘I want all of Jamvudweep,’ I replied.
The intelligence from Kosala and Maha Kantar was convincing enough for Devdutt to interrogate some of the tribal tradesmen in the city. As I had suspected, they did not know much. But even those stray morsels were enough to give us an idea of what was cooking in our atavic neighbourhood. The plan had been to smuggle in enough irregulars into the capital dressed as tradesmen. Then, Byagra and Mahendra were to send in a combined force to take on Druvabhuti and the Lichchavis. It was a well-devised plan and the atavics used our three-month Naga campaign to smuggle in just under 200 men into the city. Their spies had informed them that Ganapati Naga was to keep us in Mathura till the start of the summer, so they were moving accordingly. Our sudden return upset their plans.
‘This proves Ganapati’s role in the conspiracy,’ said Brahma Deva.
‘So it does,’ I replied. ‘I have instructed Ananta Varman to keep him under house arrest until the atavic issue is sorted out. Meanwhile Ananta Varman can run the administration in my name till further orders.’
‘The Nagas won’t like this, Majesty,’ said Druvabhuti.
‘Neither do I. The difference is that the Nagas don’t have a choice. I do. If there’s even a murmur of resistance, Ananta Varman has my permission to crush it.’
Once again, I was greeted by an eloquent silence full of dissent. This constant parlay was beginning to wear me out. I looked out and saw the setting sun cast an orange glow over the river. Always mighty, the Ganga now looked magical, its waters rippling like molten gold, reflecting the palette of a dying day splashed across the sky above. Inside, the shadows grew longer, the fast fading light slowly hiding the faces of those around me. Familiar faces. Friendly faces. How well they hid what they felt on the inside.
Mother and Datta had made their apprehensions clear but the others hid behind a non-committal silence. Harisena, forever cautious with his words, was drumming rhythmically with his fingers. What was he thinking? I knew he loved a good, successful campaign as much as I did but he did not share my disdain for diplomacy. Did he share Datta’s apprehensions too? Brahma Deva, ascetic and inflexible, sat ramrod straight, his white beard outlining the rest of his face that was lost in darkness. He had served father well but how far can old bones carry the
weight of new ideas? Dhruvabhuti and Narasimha were completely engulfed in the shadows, just a dark smudge where a face should have been. Darkness could be so illuminating. It’s only then that people drop their borrowed faces. I suddenly missed father dearly. Did he have to fight this too? This stranglehold of prudence and precedence? Did it haunt his dreams? Chain him to a life less lived? As he became more the master of the realm, did he become less the master of his own destiny?
Later that evening, I walked into my bedchamber to confront my biggest weakness. I found Datta standing by the window, a tiny frame swallowed up by the folds of her sari. She looked distant, like she was withdrawing into herself. My heart lurched when I saw her, my tiny tailorbird trying so hard to fight the storm. Then she turned around to face me and the anger in her eyes hit me like whiplash.
‘I hope you are happy now,’ she whispered. ‘It’s my fault. I expected you to put us first, just this once.’
‘Us?’ I asked, not quite following.
‘Me and our unborn child,’ she replied.
I closed my eyes and felt only regret. ‘I didn’t know,’ I whispered.
‘Would it have made any difference if you did?’ she asked.
I did not reply. I couldn’t tell her the truth and she’d know if I lied. The campaign was now an urgent necessity. I could not have backed away even if I wanted to. Kosala and Maha Kantar needed to be put in place. I had no choice.
‘Didn’t think so,’ she murmured under her breath.
The silence sat between us, impenetrable; my dreams and her hopes permanently at war with one another.
Then she spoke. ‘Will you go as far as Kanchi? To meet her?’
I looked up startled. Today was my turn for surprises.
‘Harisena told me,’ she said.
‘Angai was a pawn in a diplomatic game,’ I replied. ‘Harisena should know better than to carry tales.’
She shook her head firmly, wrenching a few stray curls free from the elaborate coiffure they’d been subjected into. ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
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