The rest of the morning was spent in negotiating the rates and barters for the weapons as the fat man and Sushem kept speaking for a long time. But Tissa could never forget the parting words as the fat man started to leave.
‘What if you would have hit me fatally, Buddhist?” Sushem asked him. “What then?”
Kanakdatta had laughed and said, “Then you would have not bought my bows.”
Tissa’s heart kept beating fast as the fat man took their leave and left. It beat even faster when the fat man looked specifically at him and waved goodbye. It kept beating fast as Sushem made him go back to the caravan and the whole entourage started moving back.
It only subsided when he finally caught sight of Taxila, his home, from the top of the mountains. He finally let out a sigh of relief.
Radhagupta
City of Patliputra, 272 BC
It had been said that the great city of Patliputra had changed after the coronation of the great leader, Chandragupta, “The Maharaja of Magadha, leader of all the Aryas and Samrat Chakravartin of the whole of Bharathvarsha”. However the truth was that the city still looked the same way it had when the Nandas ruled. However what had changed was what the city stood for.
Earlier it was the symbol of the all-encompassing power of the Nandas, their unquestionable authority and their utmost tyrannical ways. It used to invoke fear, and despair. Now it inspired respect and faith in the good in the world. It stood for the fact that the Gods are just and a great leader like Chandragupta would always be sent to destroy the evil Rajas that the Nandas had been.
Patliputra, already, was the largest city ever. It had come a long way from the mighty fortress Raja Ajatshatru had built years ago to now being a proper big city. People flocked to it by fourfold every day. There were traders who would come in hope of selling their wares, artisans who would come in hope of selling their crafts to the nobles of the city, peasants who would come in hope of joining the army, and common thieves who would come in hope of a good score.
The city was built in the shape of a twisted rectangle, almost like a parallelogram along the banks of the holy river, Ganga. Most of the city was built with wooden structures, buildings and palaces which rose to several stories and were surrounded by parks and ponds. There were nullahs that drained water from each street into a large moat surrounding the area around the palace and acted as defense as well as sewage disposal. Around the moat was the mighty wooden wall of the city, strengthened by iron trusses, running in almost three layers.
Along the walls were gates and towers. The gates were so numerous that it was said that Patliputra could be entered from every side, except from above and below. There were almost a dozen towers between two gates. It was an extremely well-defended area. And outside of it, towards the east, there was a slightly curved hill called the East Hill.
The city had changed after the ascent of each Raja, as the new ruler built his own buildings and palaces. And so the palaces had become bigger and better. The roads had widened. Drainage system had improved. However the ‘East Hill’ had never changed. Slums still ran along the hill as they had almost forever. All along its surroundings, there were the sewers and moats which carried domestic waste from the palace and the noble city quarters.
Samrat Chandragupta had preserved the old palace of the Nandas, but he had not been so kind with their gardens. The once vast and beautiful gardens of the Nandas had been utterly neglected as the Samrat campaigned in the west.
When back in the city, he had had one look at them and declared that they were no less than a forest to be cut down, and used for the welfare of the people. Men of the city had been diligent enough in cutting them down and settling on them, building new houses. The gardens had long been symbols of the disparity between the common people and the Nanda rulers. Everybody in Patliputra had hated those gardens, and Samrat Chandragupta had successfully used that anger to develop the city.
Still he had done nothing for East Hill, nor had his son, Bindusar, the second Samrat Chakravartin and leader of all the Aryas.
There was a reason for the utter neglect of the Rajas of Patliputra towards the hill. And that was that most of its populace had been non-Aryas.
Flocking to the city in search of opportunity and chance which they were not sure to get anywhere else, these non-Aryas had remained settled on East Hill. Some worked in the palaces as slaves, some as laborers in the nearby fields, though most worked as laborers for craftsmen.
As he walked along the crowded alleys of the hill, the air filled with the stench of everything from feces to cow dung to rotting flesh of dead animals, he felt at home.
“Radhagupta!” A man called out to him from the side. Radhagupta looked at him. It was the butcher calling out to him from his shop. Swarms of flies buzzed around the shop and the hung pieces of meat
“Calling me at least a Councilor would be nice,” Radhagupta shouted back at him.
“I have known you since you were a child, boy!” The butcher laughed. ‘I would call you by your name even if you were to become the Prime Minister.”
Radhagupta smiled. It was this that he loved about East hill. He had always felt suffocated in the rest of the city. Too much cleanliness, too much uptightness! East Hill was home. His family had been one of the very few Arya families that had lived there. Coming to the city from the outskirts and settling on East Hill because land was ample and cheaper there. But that was to change. Soon it had become so crowded, that its streets were even narrower than those in the city.
Radhagupta walked up to the butcher’s shop to say hello. “It’s been so long since I last saw you.” he said.
“Yes, you never even visited after leaving this place, boy.” The butcher said, cutting the pieces of meat in front of him.
Radhagupta remembered. The Arya families had been quick to move from the hill to the city at the first opportunity available. But his family had been on the hill for a while. That was why, he knew much of the men on the Hill. With no man in the family to fend for them, it had been a brunt on the shoulders of his mother, to provide for him and his sister.
Food was priority. Location was secondary, and when they had finally managed to get a quarter in the city, Radhagupta had felt strangely sad leaving a place he was so familiar with. But the East Hill wasn’t going anywhere. It had stayed just as it always had.
“My work as Master of Coin for the Samrat keeps me busy.” He said.
“Master of coin, huh?” The butcher wondered. “What do you do exactly?”
“I allocate money from the treasury for the various projects of the Samrat.” Radhagupta said. It felt good talking to an old acquaintance.
‘Really?” The butcher’s voice was gruff as always. “Why don’t you do something for our East Hill then?”
Radhagupta sighed. The hill! He had seen three Rajas, one of them Samrat, and yet nothing had changed.
“I only do what the Samrat tells me to.” He said.
“Ah.” The butcher laughed. “That explains it then.”
Radhagupta took the man’s leave and turned. His work as the Steward of the Samrat really kept him busy, and he didn’t have much time to do what he had come here for.
As he stepped over a wide sewer canal, he blocked his nose with his hands to avoid taking in the foul smell. Why was he here?
The hill was also the back entrance to the biggest and costliest whorehouse in Patliputra. Locals called it Kautilya’s brothel, for the old man who ran it was called Kautilya. The brothel serviced mainly the nobles in the city, sometimes even the Samrat. It was a big establishment, with even guards of its own. And that was where Radhagupta was headed.
He stepped in front of the only door to a big wall, at least ten foot tall, which ran along a whole alley. He knocked on the door. A small lookout window opened, and a guard’s face popped out.
“Minister Radhagupta, here to see Arya Kautilya,” Radhagupta said.
The guard nodded. Then he looked to his side and announced it loudly, “Minister Radhag
upta is here to see Arya Kautilya.”
The door propped opened with a loud sound and two more guards emerged and bowed to him. They led him along a dark narrow corridor. As he walked along it slowly, the stench of the hill died down and he could smell perfumed air.
The next set of doors opened to a huge hall, with marble flooring and large pillars. Its walls were adorned with glass lamps, the costliest. The pillars were decorated with ornate linings. It was a vast contrast from where he had walked in.
“Minister Radhagupta comes here for meeting one person only.” A female voice said.
Radhagupta looked ahead. It was the Madame of the brothel, a middle-aged woman with a big bosom that her dress had been carefully chosen to expose. She joined her hands to greet him.
“Like always,” Radhagupta smiled.
“Perhaps Minister Radhagupta should take the time to meet some of my girls too.” She said, pointing to all the beautiful women around them. “Or people will start to say queer things about him.”
“But then they must speak queer things about your master too,” Radhagupta said and smiled.
The guards led him up a wide staircase where a very old man was sitting on a chair, looking at him with a smile on his face.
When the guards were gone, Radhagupta bent down to touch the old man’s feet.
“Arya Chanakya.” He said as his hands touched the old man’s feet. The old man withdrew some inches.
The chair the old man was sitting on had wheels and it could move about, facilitating the old man’s movements.
“You should stop calling me by that name,” he told Radhagupta as they moved towards a room.
“It is a name that I have come to respect much,” Radhagupta said. “And that can’t be changed easily.”
They entered a room which looked like a study. A table was in the center, with rolls of parchment and cotton cloth on it. On the wall behind was a whole map of Bharat carved in wood. Chanakya gestured for him to sit beside the table as he took his own position in front of the map.
“When I changed my name and came here on East Hill,” Chanakya said, “I had a clear thought that no one would recognize me. All old men look the same. The same bald head, toothless mouth, weak frail arms. What distinguishes us are our names. And I had changed mine!”
“And yet you are no old man,” Radhagupta said. “No old man can run a brothel so successfully.”
“On the very contrary, my friend,” Chanakya said, “an old man is the perfect person to run a brothel. He has all the powers of a young man,” he pointed to his head, “and none of his failings.” He pointed to his groin.
Radhagupta laughed, as the servants arrived with trays and offered him drinks and food. They poured wine to him while Chanakya took only plain water for himself. When the servants were gone, Radhagupta sat up straight.
“I bring news,” he said, “the last of the Kashi doctors left today.”
“So Samrat Bindusar is incurably ill,” Chanakya muttered, taking a sip of his water. His toothless mouth looked horrid.
“Doctors have been called from all over the continent,” Radhagupta said. “They are coming from places as far as Lanka in the south to Gandhar in the west to Pala in the east. But as it is said, if a doctor from Kashi can’t cure a disease, then no one can.”
There was silence for some moments as Chanakya played with the goblet in his hands. Then he looked up. “The palace has managed to keep the Samrat’s declining health a secret most efficiently for quite a while. His death will come as a great shock to the whole city.”
“Not only to the city, but also to the whole realm,” Radhagupta said.
“It’s not too bad a thing though.” Chanakya said. “If you have read the Arthashastra, a sudden death of any Raja is a good thing. It does not give the vassals time enough to plot their independence. And before they are able to plot, a successor is in place as the new Raja. Long may his rule be!”
“But except that this time,” Radhagupta said, “the Samrat’s death shall come as a surprise to his successors also.”
Chanakya coughed and drank some more water. “The princes are all far away, I guess.”
“Almost all of them.” Radhagupta had not yet touched his wine. “But then the Samrat has so many princes, it is very easy to lose count.”
“He has one hundred princes to be exact.” Chanakya said. “And now there can’t be any more due to his ill health.”
“I am sure that you know where each and every of these one hundred princes are,” Radhagupta smiled
“One hears a lot of things in a brothel.” Chanakya said. “Quite a lot more while running one. That was why I took up this occupation in the first place.”
“This is a farce, after your previous occupation,” Radhagupta said and took a sip of his wine.
“I don’t see much difference in it though,” Chanakya smiled. “When I was Prime Minister, I ran men. Now I run the desires of men.”
“That’s a nice way to put it,” Radhagupta said.
“I have heard that Prince Sushem has been governing the province of Taxila for a long time.” Chanakya moved back, and looked at the city of Taxila on the wooden map on the wall behind him. The city was far to the northwest, almost at the corner where the map ended.
“For the past three years.” Radhagupta was a fast drinker. He filled his goblet again from the wooden cask kept in front of them. “He is the Maharaja of Taxila. And quite an efficient one I am told. As the eldest prince, he is the most favorable to be Samrat after his father.”
“I have heard that he has a rather bad reputation for not listening to ministers and doing his own thing,” Chanakya said.
“He has only one minister at Taxila.” Radhagupta said. “It is said that he governs everything himself, by an iron fist. Sometimes that causes problems though.”
“And I had thought all the Maurya princes were useless.” Chanakya laughed. “Whiling away their time in drunken debauchery and womanizing and wasting their father’s money.”
“You know about those who are not just drunkards.” Radhagupta said. “I can count them on my fingers. They are only three.”
“I don’t know, and frankly I don’t care.” Chanakya’s voice was raised now. “I have decided that I shall have nothing to do about the Mauryas at all.” He slammed the goblet on the table. The crockery shook.
“It’s very natural after how they’ve treated you,” Radhagupta said, taking a sip of his wine.
“First of all,” Chanakya said, “Bindusar never respected me. With Chandragupta, it was different. We were like a team. We rose up together with our backs to each other.” He closed his eyes, “But for Bindusar, I was always the old man his father always told him to obey, no questions asked. He never liked me, and I never liked him. He had everything his father did not have and yet could achieve nothing his father could.”
“Maybe you should drink some wine too,” Radhagupta said and refilled both of their goblets. “You say you don’t care about the Mauryas. But still here you are, running the biggest brothel in Patliputra and protecting the city from spies and treachery in your own way.”
“I could have been protecting the city far more efficiently, sitting by the Samrat’s side in the palace as his prime minister.” Chanakya took small sips of the wine. “But ever since his father’s death, Bindusar was waiting for one opportunity, just one opportunity to oust me. One single opportunity was all that he wanted. And my friend, it was you who provided that to him.”
Radhagupta looked down. “I was young and stupid! I felt like I was investigating something big. Uncovering a deep dark secret. I was new to the court. I wanted to make a mark.”
“And a mark you did make.” Chanakya said. “Both in the mind of the Samrat, and in the eye of this Chanakya.” His goblet was empty, and he slammed it on the table. It was the first time in a long time that Radhagupta had heard him say his own name.
“I apologize to you, Arya.” Radhagupta said. “And I have apolo
gized before. I was wrong, and I wronged you.”
“I don’t doubt the sincerity of your apology, boy.” Chanakya said. “But I hope that it is not guilt that makes you come visit this old man from time to time.”
“When I told the Samrat about my findings,” Radhagupta said, “he laughed long and loud in my face. Then he said to me Let us see what punishment is given in the Arthashastra for a killer of the queen empress. Then it hit me that the Samrat knew.”
Chanakya poured one more goblet of wine. “Bindusar always knew that it was an accident. He had been told about that ever since he had become of knowledgeable age.” He brought the goblet to his lips, “Nor had he any love for the mother who had died before he was born. He never met her. He even knew that it was my timely action that had saved him from the same fate as her.” Chanakya took a sip. “If it was anybody’s mistake, it was Chandragupta’s. He knew that I would add little quantities of poison to his wine, to make him immune. But he did not care to tell that to his pregnant wife who happened upon the wine in his bedroom and drank it. You know how these pregnant women are and how they have strange desires to eat and drink at the strangest places. Alas, there was a large dose of poison in that wine. By then, Chandragupta had become immune to quite a lot of it. I still remember that night.” Chanakya said as he finished another goblet of wine. “Chandragupta came to my chambers, running, shouting my name, carrying his wife in his arms. His dead wife actually! What was I to do? The chief alchemist who could devise an antidote lived far away in the city. It was impossible to call him immediately. Saving the child’s life was the best possible action. It was the heir to the throne after all. I could not have let it die. The queen’s life was secondary. It was the best possible action, and that is exactly what I did. I had the doctor sent for immediately. He cut open the queen’s abdomen and brought out the baby. I cut the infant’s umbilical cord. There was a spot of blue on the infant’s head, as if the poison had just touched him. Fortunately, he was a boy! With the circumstances that he was born in, I would’ve said that he and I were bound to be enemies by fate, had I believed in fate.” Chanakya’s face was horrid as he gulped down another goblet of wine.
The Prince of Patliputra Page 3