A Mauryan Adventure

by Subhadra Sen Gupta

  Madhura’s mother shook her head, ‘I need your help Rajen, my son. I’m very worried about Kartik.’

  ‘Worried about Kartik?’ Rajen ushered them inside and laid down two wooden seats for them to sit. ‘Why? Is he ill?’

  ‘No, he went out last evening saying he’d be back at night and he hasn’t come back. Rajen, do you know where Kartik goes when he is in Ujjaini?’ Ganga’s face was lined with worry. ‘Who are his friends here?’

  Rajen frowned, ‘I know he sells to many of the traders here, but I’m his biggest customer. Maybe he’s busy buying goods to take back to Pataliputra. He wouldn’t like to take his carts back empty.’

  ‘What would he buy?’

  ‘A few times he has taken our wooden toys and carvings of gods and goddesses; sometimes he buys spices that come here from the south. That day he said he was planning to buy some silver jewellery since the craftsmen of our market are famous for their work . . .’ Suddenly Rajen got up. ‘You two wait here. I’ll go and ask at the other shops if they have heard of Kartik,’ and he hurried out.

  As they waited for Rajen to return, Madhura wandered around the shop feeling restless and anxious. She went and stood at the door and saw Rajen walking past the other shops; at some of them he stopped and spoke to the shopkeeper. Soon he was back, looking a bit breathless.

  ‘I’m sorry but no one has met him in the last few days.’ He sat down and wiped his face with the end of his uttariya. ‘Where could he have gone? I didn’t even know he was still in Ujjaini. I thought he’d have gone back by now.’

  Madhura, who was still standing by the door, saw a palanquin being put down before a shop by two carriers. A well-dressed woman stepped out and as the shopkeeper bowed low, she swept past him and went inside. Madhura stood still; that woman had made her think of something. She turned to her mother, ‘Amma, what about Kamalika?’

  Ganga’s eyes brightened, ‘Oh, I had forgotten about her! Tilaka said Kamalika lives in Ujjaini.’

  Rajen turned to stare at her, ‘Kamalika the singer?’

  ‘Yes! Bhai knows her. Do you think he went to meet her?’

  ‘Kartik knows her?’ Rajen gave them a disbelieving look. ‘I can’t believe it! She is the most famous singer of the city and the richest men attend her concerts. They pay in hundreds of silver panas to hear her sing. People like me or Kartik won’t even be allowed to enter her mansion. Are you sure it is Kamalika the singer?’

  Madhura’s mother said quickly, ‘Kartik supplies the finest cottons and silks to her, those special silks that are brought by traders from another land. They come to Pataliputra after crossing the Himalayan mountains.’

  ‘Ah! Of course!’ Rajen nodded.

  ‘Do you know where this Kamalika lives?’ Ganga leaned forward anxiously. ‘Can you take us there?’

  ‘My Lady, I can’t leave the shop,’ Rajen gave an apologetic shrug, ‘unless you are willing to wait until I close at night.’

  ‘No, no . . . just give us directions.’

  Rajen told them that Kamalika’s mansion was in the locality where all the rich people lived and it was a short walk away. They left after thanking him, and Rajen stood at his shop watching them walk away, promising to visit them at the caravanserai soon. As they went past the palace, Madhura looked at the soldiers at the gate and asked, ‘Amma, why don’t we go to the prince and ask for his help?’

  ‘Let us try Kamalika first. She is one of Kartik’s informants and may know where he went yesterday. Kartik did mention that he planned to meet her. It would be very difficult to get to Prince Kunal. You saw what we faced at the palace that day. The soldiers and that chamberlain will ask a lot of questions, and I have no medallion or any order signed by the prince to show them.’

  By now they were walking along a quiet street with large houses on both sides hidden behind high hedges and walls. The rich and powerful families of Ujjaini lived here—the noblemen, high officials and merchants. They asked for directions from a vendor, who sat by the street selling fruits, and he pointed to Kamalika’s house. It was a pretty house with cream walls, and the window shutters and doors were painted a bright red. Colourful curtains floated at the windows and the garden was full of flowers. They entered an open driveway and knocked at the door.

  A maid opened the door and asked, ‘Who do you want to see?’

  ‘Call your mistress, Kamalika, immediately!’ Ganga said.

  ‘My Lady does not meet . . .’ the maid began.

  ‘Tell her I’m Kartik’s mother,’ Ganga said urgently. The moment the maid heard Kartik’s name she opened the door and waved them into a corridor.

  ‘I’ll get My Lady . . .’ and she ran inside. Soon they heard the tinkle of anklets and a young woman came running from the back of the house.

  ‘You are Kartik’s mother?’ she asked breathlessly. And then she grabbed Ganga’s hand and was dragging her inside, ‘Come quickly!’

  ‘Kartik is here?’ Madhura was running with them.

  ‘Yes! I wanted to call you but I didn’t know where you were staying.’ By then they had run down the corridor and entered a room at the end. ‘Oh, My Lady! I was so scared. I don’t know what to do!’

  Madhura and her mother stood still in shock. Kartik lay on a bed, his eyes closed and his face very pale; there was a bandage tied across his head and there were big patches of blood on it. His clothes were torn and there were scratches on his face and arms. Even as they ran towards him, calling his name, he did not open his eyes.

  ‘Oh Shiva, what has happened to him?’ Ganga asked Kamalika. ‘Is he unconscious?’

  ‘I found him at my door like this last night.’ Kamalika’s voice shook, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Oh Ma! There was so much blood, his face was covered with it . . .’ Then she whispered, ‘Is he dead?’

  By then Ganga was leaning over Kartik. She checked his pulse, then laid her head against his chest and said, ‘He’s breathing.’ And then she snapped out orders, ‘Get me a bowl of warm water, some soft cotton cloth, a bunch of tulsi leaves and grind some turmeric into a fine powder.’

  The maid and Kamalika rushed out and were soon back with all the things. Ganga crushed the tulsi leaves into the water, dipped the cloth in it and used it to clean up the wound on Kartik’s head. Then she made a paste of turmeric, covered the wound with it and tied a fresh, clean bandage.

  ‘Kartik’s father was a soldier and he often came back with wounds. So I know what to do,’ Ganga explained. Then she and Kamalika wiped Kartik’s face and changed his bloody clothes. Ganga asked for some incense sticks. She let the smoke from the sticks drift across Karik’s face and suddenly he sneezed, opened his eyes for a moment and then closed them again.

  ‘Oh Devi, he’s alive!’ Kamalika exclaimed.

  ‘Of course he’s alive, you silly girl!’ Ganga sounded a bit irritated. ‘Don’t you know how to check his pulse?’ Kamalika gave an apologetic shake of her head. Ganga touched Kartik’s forehead. ‘His body is hot; he has fever. Get me a bowl of cold water,’ she said. And she sat by Kartik’s head, putting a pad of cloth dipped in water on his forehead.

  After a while Kartik opened his eyes and said in a faint, shaky voice, ‘Amma? How did you get here?’

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Oh my head! It aches . . .’

  By then Kamalika and Madhura were bending over him, bursting with questions.

  ‘Who hit you, Bhai?’

  ‘Did you meet that spy last night?’

  ‘Was there a fight?’

  ‘Stop!’ said Ganga firmly. ‘Kartik will not talk now. Let him get well first.’

  ‘But Amma . . .’ Kartik was struggling to get up, ‘I have to . . .’ and he was firmly pushed back into bed.

  ‘Quiet!’ Madhura had never heard her mother sound so angry. ‘You will stay here and wait for Tilaka to come back; he will decide what to do next. If you try to leave, I’ll lock you in this room!’

  ‘But I have . . . important news for the prince . . .�
�� Kartik tried to plead, but he was too ill and fell back exhausted.

  ‘We will listen to you when you recover.’ Ganga turned to Kamalika, ‘He has to eat something. Make a bowl of boiled vegetables with dal and some soft rice with lemon . . .’

  ‘Yes, My Lady!’ And the most famous singer of Ujjaini ran to the kitchen to cook lunch for Kartik.

  Finally Kartik lay back with a smile, stopped arguing and said with a relieved sigh, ‘Whatever you say, Amma . . .’ After a small meal Kartik fell asleep again but now his face was not so pale, the wound on his head was no longer bleeding and he was breathing easily.

  Madhura sat in a corner, watching him sleep, and thought, ‘I don’t want to know anything. Who hit Kartik or who stole the money from the treasury. All I want is for Kartik to get well and us going home. I hate all this spying business!’ Then she smiled to herself. There was a time when she had thought being a soldier or a spy was so adventurous, but not any more. People got hurt, innocent people like the monk Sudhira and now Kartik, and they could even die.

  ‘There is nothing exciting about war. It takes lives, like that of my Baba,’ thought Madhura. She wished Kartik would just be a trader and give up the spying work. ‘Amma and I will have to talk to him,’ she thought. ‘Spying is stupid.’

  Very, very slowly Kartik began to recover in the next few days. He began to eat properly; first he sat up in bed and then stood up and took a few wobbly steps around the room while leaning on Madhura’s shoulders. Finally, after three days he walked slowly to the veranda and sat on a bed, soaking in the sun. As Madhura covered his legs with a warm shawl, he smiled at her, ‘You are a good nurse, Madhu.’

  ‘I have become a nurse and Kamalika has become a cook,’ Madhura laughed.

  ‘A cook?’ he gave a startled laugh. ‘Kamal never cooks!’

  ‘She does for you. Amma has been teaching her.’

  ‘Oh my! Her rich patrons will be very surprised to hear that!’

  ‘Hear what?’ Kamalika wandered out of the kitchen carrying a basket of vegetables and as she chopped the spinach and cabbage, Madhura began to grind mustard seeds in a mortar and pestle.

  ‘That you cook!’ Kartik grinned at her. ‘So that fish curry yesterday . . .’

  Kamal gave a small, satisfied smile, ‘I made it.’

  ‘It was delicious!’

  ‘Oh my, the great Kartik actually praising me!’ Kamalika gave a flirtatious smile. ‘I’m so thrilled.’

  As they laughed, Madhura thought, ‘Oh, it is so good to hear Bhai laugh.’ Then looking at Kamalika, she wondered how beautiful she was. She had golden skin, huge, dark eyes fringed by thick eyelashes, a narrow, high nose, curved lips, and when she smiled two dimples appeared around her mouth. And now this famous singer sat wearing a faded antariya, busy shelling peas. Madhura smiled at the way Kartik looked at her, in this dazzled, happy way.

  Suddenly Kartik raised his head. ‘Horses . . .’ he announced; the others had heard them too and a few minutes later there was a loud knock on the door. There was also the sound of marching feet and then Tilaka came hurrying in.

  ‘Kartik, why are you staying here?’ he started, and stopped when he saw Kartik sitting there, wrapped up in a shawl, his head bandaged. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was attacked after I met Ranaka; luckily he was not with me. I somehow managed to get here. Then my mother and Madhura found Kamalika and they have been taking care of me.’

  ‘You still do not look well.’ Tilaka looked closely at Kartik’s face and then checked the wound on his head. ‘This looks bad. I have come with soldiers and now I’ll do what is required,’ said Tilaka and hurried out. Madhura followed and heard him order a dozen horsemen waiting outside to go to the palace barracks; with a clatter the soldiers rode away.

  Tilaka came back and said, ‘Tell me what happened.’

  Finally, sitting in the sunny courtyard of Kamalika’s mansion they all heard what had happened to Kartik that night.

  Late that evening when he came back to the caravanserai, he found Ranaka waiting for him at the gate. He was the spy who lived in disguise in the Shaka kingdom. Ranaka had faced a very difficult journey across the border and so Kartik took him to a nearby food shop where the spy gave him his report. By the time they finished eating, it was dark and Ranaka was not familiar with the roads of Ujjaini, so Kartik decided to walk with him to the inn where he was staying.

  ‘This inn is near Kamal’s house,’ Kartik said. ‘Right from the food shop I had a feeling that we were being watched and I did not want anyone to catch Ranaka. He had brought me some very important information, and after hearing his news I knew he could be attacked. I had to make sure he got away safely. So if we were being followed, I did not want them to find out where he was staying.’

  ‘He had news about the traitor?’ Tilaka asked.

  ‘Yes. As we were walking towards the inn, the roads were very quiet and I heard footsteps behind us. So at a dark corner I made Ranaka hide behind a wall and kept walking. The footsteps followed me. After a while they must have realized I was alone, so they came and surrounded me. There were two men who tried to force me into a chariot, and as I fought back one of them hit me. I managed to run and enter Kamal’s house and luckily her maid opened the door. After that I fainted.’

  ‘What did Ranaka tell you?’

  ‘The Shaka king has bribed someone in Prince Kunala’s palace. This traitor stole the money which is now being used to build a rebel army here in Ujjaini. The Shakas will attack when the king comes to Vidisha from Pataliputra for the opening of the stupa; at the same time the traitor and his men will try to kill the king.’

  Tilaka’s face was pale with worry, ‘Dear god, this is very serious! It’s much more serious than just a theft from the treasury.’

  ‘But trying to kill the king can’t be that easy? He is always surrounded by his guards,’ Kartik pondered aloud.

  ‘It will be easier at Vidisha. At the vihara the king plans to live like a monk during all the religious ceremonies. So he has ordered that there should not be too many soldiers around. Also, a vihara is a monastery, a place of peace and prayer, where soldiers cannot stay; it is against their rules. So they can only guard it from outside. If the killer is someone His Majesty trusts, like a minister or nobleman, he could get close to him inside the vihara. It would be easy to kill him.’

  They all sat stunned into silence. A plot to kill their beloved King Ashoka!

  ‘Who is the traitor?’ Ganga asked.

  ‘That is the problem!’ Kartik was now looking very worried. ‘Ranaka did not know.’ He turned to Tilaka, ‘We have to discover who he is before the king comes here. At the vihara the Prior said that the stupa will be ready in a month.’

  Tilaka got up, ‘I have to report to Prince Kunala and then send a messenger to Pataliputra immediately.’ Then he patted Kartik on the back, ‘Good work, Kartik!’

  Kartik struggled to get up, ‘I’m coming with you . . .’

  ‘No, you are not!’ Tilaka pushed him back to his bed. ‘This wound has not healed, so you’ll stay here and get well first. Leave this to me now.’ Then as Kartik opened his mouth to argue he snapped, ‘Quiet! This is an order, Kartik!’

  Kartik meekly replied, ‘Yes, sir.’ After Tilaka left, he said gloomily, ‘Things will happen now. Oh! I hate missing all the action.’

  ‘Then go!’ Kamalika said. ‘And then you can faint in front of the prince.’

  ‘Oh fine. I’ll stay here.’

  Madhura and her mother exchanged a smile. It was fun to have people order Kartik around and even win an argument with him.

  Kamalika was no longer holding any concerts, so the house was quiet for the next couple of days. The only guest was Tilaka, who came for dinner every night to tell them what was happening at the palace and the latest in their search for the traitor. The army had been alerted and Prince Kunala was ready to march to the border to meet any attack by the Shakas. Messengers on fast horses had gone to Pataliputra and
were expected to be back soon with the latest orders from the king.

  ‘If we don’t find the traitor soon,’ Kartik said, ‘we’ll have His Majesty himself riding into Ujjaini. He is an impatient man. So we have to hurry Tilaka!’

  Then on the third day Tilaka rushed in early, his face red with excitement, ‘Now I know who the traitor is!’

  ‘The chamberlain?’ Kartik guessed. ‘He could have stolen the treasury keys from Kunala’s room and got copies made.’

  Tilaka shook his head, ‘In the beginning I thought so too, and had men watching him, but it’s not him. It’s the army commander. A man called Mahadeva.’

  ‘But how could he break into the treasury?’ Kartik looked puzzled.

  ‘He did not! This batch of gold was sent from Pataliputra a month ago and it was Mahadeva and his men who guarded the treasury caravan from there to Ujjaini. The gold was stolen along the way and never reached here!’

  ‘Very clever!’ Kartik leaned forward eagerly. ‘How did you find this out?’

  ‘One of the soldiers in that battalion came and confessed. At that time he thought it was just a robbery. He did not know the plan was to kill the king. Once he heard that I was investigating an attempt on the king’s life, he came to me and told me everything. He got scared because he knew that the punishment for treason is death. Also, remember those torn palm leaves I took to Pataliputra? I have managed to crack the code; they are plans for building an army.’

  ‘Oh! How did you do that?’ Kartik asked eagerly.

  ‘It was a very clever code! At the first reading it seemed to be a simple poem about many kinds of flowers and about building a garden in Pataliputra. Then it said the garden will cost fifty thousand golden karshapanas and will need five thousand gardeners; that made us suspicious. Then we worked out that each flower was for a different kind of weapon, the gardeners were soldiers and the garden was of course the King’s palace!’

  ‘Very, very clever! So have you caught him?’

  ‘No. I have to find a way. I have few men and he lives in the army barracks surrounded by soldiers who are loyal to him. Most of these soldiers don’t know that their commander is a traitor, so if I go in to arrest him, Mahadeva could order them to fight and they will obey. I’m waiting for more men . . . If I could somehow get him alone . . .’