The Prince of Patliputra

by Shreyas Bhave

  “Oh I see!” She joked. “I saved your life, and now you’re looking for an opportunity to save mine.”

  “No, seriously.” Asoka said, “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” He was still holding her palm. Now he felt her pull away.

  “I’ll think about this overnight.” She said, freeing her hand. “You better leave tomorrow morning, for what more harm can one more night make?”

  “Does it mean what I think it means?” Asoka asked with a sly smile upon his face.

  “No it doesn’t,” Devi said, smiling. “Now get the hell out of my hut, now that you’re alright again.”

  “Then who shall I sleep with?” Asoka asked, in mock despair.

  “You can sleep with Pushyamitra for all I care!” Devi said, laughing.

  Asoka looked at her. She looked so beautiful while laughing. A small dimple in her cheek. Her crystal white teeth!

  “So you’ll come with us?”

  “I said I’ll think about it.”

  “Frankly there are other women too, in my army. On kitchen duty. I promise that you won’t be bored.”

  “Asoka..” Devi said, stopping him, “I said I’ll think about it.”

  He stared at her. It was the first time she had said his name.

  “Now go, let me do my work.” She picked up the basket of leaves and rose. Asoka stood up and placed his unbandaged hand on her shoulder. He could feel her body tense up as his hand moved towards her neck.

  “What are you doing?” She said loudly.

  “I just want what is mine!” Asoka smiled as his hand caressed the skin of her neck.

  “You are a preposterous….” She was about to shout when she realized what he was doing. His hands held the thread that dangled around her neck and he flicked the ring out of the layers of her clothing. “Shall I?” He asked, with a smile that was both mischievous and courteous at the same time.

  She nodded, holding the basket with both of her hands, so he curled the thread around his fingers, careful not to hurt her and broke it, freeing the ring.

  “I surely could have held on to it for a while longer,” Devi said, as he slipped the ring back into his finger.

  “But I couldn’t stay away from it.” He chuckled. “Apparently the ring is very valuable.”

  “And may I ask why?” Her eyes had widened with interest.

  “Maybe, because it has been to many amazing places!” Asoka said with a grin as he stared where the broken thread still dangled over the edge of her choli, disappearing between the contours of her shapely breasts. He expected her to shy away, but she simply smiled and held the basket up to block his view. “I must go now.” She said, looking into his eyes, not even a shade of red on her cheeks.

  Asoka nodded as she started walking away. He stood there, watching her go, from behind. His eyes caressed the soft curves of her buttocks as they bounced up and down inside her tight saree as she walked. He stared at her exposed milky white back from between the layers of the cloth, and the long braid which dangled almost down to her long legs.

  ‘You don’t have time for this now.’ He told himself, when she had disappeared amongst the tents. ‘You are on a mission. Concentrate on it.’

  Maybe later …

  Radhagupta

  Patliputra, 271 BC

  The evening sky looked beautiful and colorful from atop Kautilya’s brothel on East Hill. If the setting sun could have been seen, it would have added to the beauty of the spectacle. But alas the mighty palace of Patliputra stood in the middle, looking dark against the setting sun. The hills outside the city too merged with it, in their black forms. If one stood however, one could see the slums below upon which light still fell.

  Radhagupta walked up to Chanakya who was sitting on his double-wheeled chair at the very edge of the roof. Only a small wall separated him from the edge. Chanakya was not looking at the palace in front of the setting sun.

  “Sometimes I wonder how long I shall live,” Chanakya said, as Radhagupta sat on the wall beside him, with his back to the sun.

  “That depends on how old you are,” Radhagupta said. “I never asked.”

  “And I’d never tell because I stopped counting ages ago.” Chanakya said, turning to face Radhagupta. “Age is just a number. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It can mean different things to different men.” Radhagupta said.

  “Why such animosity towards the sun, child?” Chanakya asked.

  “It’s nothing.” Radhagupta said. “I just don’t like looking at the slums.”

  “You should look at them proudly,” Chanakya said, “See how far you’ve come.”

  “They rather remind me of how far down I can go,” Radhagupta said.

  “You are in a melancholy mood today,” Chanakya said.

  “I’ve been pondering our actions, Arya,” Radhagupta said, folding his arms.

  “What have you been wondering?”

  “Here we are, plotting to put our man on the throne,” Radhagupta said. “And here am I, wondering if all of this will change anything at all, or not.”

  “Change what?” Chanakya asked.

  “All this!” Radhagupta turned to face the slums at last. They were numerous, all along the walls of the city. All along the edges of the hill. Wherever he looked, he could see the slums. Smoke emanating from them.

  Chanakya began to laugh. “You want to uplift the downtrodden, common people?” He said, sarcastically.

  “I lived there.” Radhagupta said staunchly. “I got a chance, I got out. Not everyone gets those chances.”

  “Those who deserve to get out, do.” Chanakya said. He took the long tube of the hookah pot kept nearby and sucked at it, letting out a large puff of smoke, just like the slums.

  “No.” Radhagupta said. “I got out because the Samrat is lustful, and my sister was beautiful.”

  “Still, you made gold of that opportunity.” Chanakya said. “And you fail to attribute generosity to the Samrat too. He moved your family after all.”

  “She was hardly fifteen.” Radhagupta said, staring at the slums. “I don’t even know how the Samrat saw her. All I remember are soldiers at our door, and them taking her away. First we were afraid that something would happen to her, that she’d be…”

  “Raped?” Chanakya finished the sentence, and took another puff. “Frankly son, do you think she went willingly into the arms of the old and frail Bindusar?”

  “I try to avoid thinking about all of that.” Radhagupta said, turning away from the slums and looking back. The sun had set, and darkness had started to fall. “I sometimes wonder how life would have been, if that had not happened. It terrifies me.”

  “I was still in the city when that happened.” Chanakya said. “I ignored Bindusar’s new girl. She was just his new toy, I told myself. But soon he was pestering me, ordering me to arrange a wedding.”

  “Guards came back the day after they took her,” Radhagupta said, “me and my mother had spent the whole night awake, worrying about what had happened. In the morning, they came and told us to pack our belongings.”

  “You must have thought you were being thrown out of the city,” Chanakya said, smoking the opium.

  “We were very afraid.” Radhagupta said. “I was sixteen then. Too small.”

  “Chandragupta was sixteen when it all happened,” Chanakya suddenly said.

  “What?” Radhagupta paused, confused at the sudden outbreak.

  “Nothing.” Chanakya said. “Seeing you reminisce about the past has made me remember the old days too. Or maybe it’s the opium.”

  “The guards took us to the city and took us to our new quarters.” Radhagupta said. “But they said we’d never see her, my sister.”

  “Well look at how things have changed,” Chanakya said.

  “Then there was the wedding,” Radhagupta said. “Mother and I weren’t invited to it. We saw it like all the common people of the city saw it, from afar, standing on the railings of the palace walls.”


  “She made the Samrat quite happy,” Chanakya said, “for there was a child soon after.”

  “And in that happiness, the Samrat must have agreed to take her brother, me, in the court.” Radhagupta said. “Me, a nobody, with no noble family, with no recommendations, in the court. Very generous indeed.”

  “And then you ruined me, “Chanakya said, taking in the last of the opium vapors and letting the pipe drop to the ground. “For I was exiled before the child was born.”

  “How old are you, Arya?” Radhagupta asked, coming back to his senses.

  “I was sixty, when the child Vittasoka was born,” Chanakya sighed.

  “Not many people live this long,” Radhagupta said.

  “Not many people are like me.” Chanakya said. “Though I am restricted to this chair now, my limbs are too weak.”

  “Who made this chair for you?” Radhagupta asked.

  “The Ancient Brahminical Order has great resources at their disposal,” Chanakya muttered, “and nothing but love for its old master.”

  “But you are now not associated with the Order, right?” Radhagupta asked.

  “Not anymore.”Chanakya said. “Though soon I will have to be when this new game of thrones begins.”

  Radhagupta turned to look at the slums again. It was dark now, and he couldn’t see them in the darkness. The palace was lit however, at various places, with fire.

  “Don’t waste one single tear over the common people, son,” Chanakya said. “Whoever we put on the throne, it is the common people after all who rule.”

  “Rule how?” Radhagupta asked.

  “By the power of the mob.” Chanakya said.

  “The mob has no power.” Radhagupta laughed. “It is the powerful nobles who have real power.”

  “You are quite mistaken, son.” Chanakya said. “You must realize that it is the people after all who constitute a kingdom. Like a barren cow, a kingdom without people yields nothing. There can be a Rajya without a Raja, but there never can be a Raja without a Rajya. The whole power of a Raja depends on his people. His position is solely dependent on the will of his people. I have seen the mob toppling powerful nobles more than once in my life. Though it seems that it is the nobles who rule, it is actually the people who do. It has always been so.”

  “How?” Radhagupta asked.

  “The nobles have ruled because the common men have let them,” Chanakya said. “Though the age of the Mahajanpadas is way behind us now, it was changed by the people itself.”

  “The way of the Mahajanpadas was always the better way to govern.” Radhagupta said. “In those days, people elected a Raja amongst themselves. Men competed with each other for that post. The post of the Raja was a job, not a title.”

  “Yes,” Chanakya said loudly, “the post of the Raja has always been a job, and not a title. And that is exactly why this system of the Mahajanpadas was changed.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Radhagupta said, sitting down.

  “When a Raja would die in those days,” Chanakya said, “chaos would ensue. Several contenders would come ahead to compete for the post. Each of them would try to sway the city their way. Wonder who will benefit from the situation?”

  “The enemies,” Radhagupta muttered.

  “Exactly!” Chanakya said. “There have been several cases of the enemies attacking another Mahajanpada and defeating it due to the chaos of elections. There have also been cases when one of the contenders of the election promised a neighboring Raja land in return of military help to get elected.”

  “I see.” Radhagupta said.

  “Therefore gradually people began to realize that this system, though it looked fair, wasn’t very practical. What was required was that the post of the Raja be passed on from one contender to another, without this sort of competition that breeds chaos.”

  “And so came the law of the Rajya being passed on to the eldest son?” Radhagupta asked.

  “Think of it. “ Chanakya said. “The Raja is ruling, and it is his duty to prepare his eldest son for the post he has to hold in the future. Because it is known from childhood that he is going to be a Raja, he can be trained from an early age to obtain the skills necessary for a Raja. When he shall ascend the throne, he too shall do the same with his son. What possibly can go wrong in this?”

  “And yet here we are!” Radhagupta exclaimed.

  “That’s because of a reason.” Chanakya said. “Because of the way power is shared amongst men. Think of what you mean when you say the word power. A power of a Raja or the power of a noble stems from the army that stands behind him. An army is nothing but a mob of armed men. Think from the perspective of a soldier in the army. He is a simple peasant, but takes up weapons and dons armor when his overlord calls for him. Now why should he follow his overlord in a quest that may end up in him losing his life? It is because the wars his lord is going to lead him to give him the opportunity to loot booty, which if looted in a normal scenario, would have caused him punishment. This desire for looting booty stems from the fact that he wants a better livelihood. But what is a better livelihood? The peasant has, by observation of nobles, created an ideal which he is trying to achieve. At this point, one can ask the question why the peasants don’t band together to bring the nobles down, taking their place through sheer strength of numbers. The answer to this question is that such type of a rebellion again requires a leader, which must come from the peasants themselves. But obviously there won’t be just one contender for this post. There will be several, which will again lead to chaos. The kings and nobles rule because the common people let them. The kings depend on the peasants for food and the peasants depend upon the kings for protection. The standing army is faithful to the Raja because the Raja lets them enjoy a specific position in return for their services. The whole system is perfect, except for the fact that the Raja can’t train his son to be a better Raja, because most of the time, the Raja is himself not an epitome of the ideal.”

  “Your thoughts,” Radhagupta said, “are very different from the Arthashastra.”

  “The Arthashastra has gotten outdated,” Chanakya said. “My thoughts stem from reason, and so they are more correct. The Arthashastra needs to be edited. For long, it has been only a book of laws and nothing more. I am converting it into a book of laws for the Raja, for merely putting a good Raja on the throne is not enough; he must also be shown a good way to rule.”

  “That’s what you are working on, aren’t you?” Radhagupta asked.

  “Yes.” Chanakya said. “This book will guide the rulers of the people in such a way that the whole society progresses. Alas, it is not yet complete. A thing with a scope as large as this requires time.”

  “It will be a great gift to the people.” Radhagupta said. “Equal to the Vedas and the Smritis itself.”

  “Time will tell my friend,” Chanakya said, “time will tell.”

  The Battle: Aftermath

  Hydpses, 50 years earlier

  Alexander was seated atop a wooden platform, which his men had hastily put up from the bamboos they had found in Raja Porus’ camp.

  The bamboos were rough, and hurt him, but so did his other wounds from the battle. Alexander did not care. They were in Porus’ battle camp, on the other side of the Hydpses River. The Indian side!

  Most of his soldiers were busy looting the camp for booty and weapons. Craterus and some men were huddled on one side, going over the counting of the dead. Coenus was nowhere to be seen. The prisoners were being brought up from the sides, for Alexander to judge.

  Suddenly his soldiers declared the arrival of Raja Ambhi.

  “Raja Ambhi returns from the battlefield with the prisoners he has taken.”

  Alexander gazed with interest at the short, armored Indian Raja who stepped ahead, and paid homage to him by sitting on one knee.

  “My Lord Sikander.” He said.

  Alexander frowned. He had heard that most of the Indians called him by that name, because they couldn’t pronounce his actua
l one. But then Raja Ambhi was supposed to be a king. He should have known better.

  “Raja Ambhi,” Alexander said in Persian, “you and your army have been of great help to us in this battle. Your arrival was timely and it helped us to cut off the retreat of our enemy.”

  “I am grateful,” Ambhi said, bowing. His Persian was broken and tattered, but Alexander understood what he said.

  Look at him! He calls himself king and yet bows before me. I had heard great things about this land of Bharath, but this too is no different for regions everywhere else. Full of rulers who would betray their own people in order to safeguard their own positions. Ambhi of Taxila is the first. Soon, more will come. Sometimes, I myself feel shameful for accepting their surrenders.

  “I hope you shall take me in your service, Conqueror,” Ambhi continued. “I shall bring for you the surrender of all Rajas, between here and the Beas river.”

  You fool! I have already secured the surrender of all of them by my victory here.

  “As part of this well-wishing,” Ambhi said, “I bring to you one of the prisoners I have taken today.”

  Alexander gestured by his hands to let the prisoner be brought.

  Soldiers pulled forward the chains by which a mountain of a man was bound, so tall that his head was at an equal level of Alexander who was sitting on the platform.

  Alexander sat up a little straighter as he watched the prisoner. This was the same man who had almost killed him in battle, and had killed Bucaphela. There was no mistaking the huge body, the plated armour, the bearded face.

  “Raja Puru of the Paurava kingdom,” Raja Ambhi declared.

  Raja Puru kept looking at Alexander with a straight gaze. All over his body, the wounds from the spears had begun to sting. His armor was bloodied. Some by his own blood, some by the blood of those he had killed. His sword had been taken away from him.

  Alexander looked a lot smaller than he had expected him to be. Porus had expected a big fighter. But here was a plain, average guy, whose gaze looked more comforting than intimidating. Puru did not bow.

  “Kneel before the conqueror,” Ambhi ordered, and tried to push him to his knees, but Ambhi was much too small to be of any effect.