Raja Utamacharya looked very old. His white beard ran down to his waist. His arms were frail and hung weakly to his side. He kept looking at them, with no hint of understanding in his eyes.
“You must have been in receipt of a letter from Patliputra,” Asoka said, “bearing the royal seal.”
“Why don’t you come a little closer, son?” Raja Utamacharya asked, gazing at the ceiling. “My old eyes can’t see very well in the dark.”
“It’s not dark,” Asoka whispered and looked at Kanaka by his side. He saw him standing with his arm resting on a pillar and smiling in a very mysterious way. Asoka got to his feet and walked a few steps forward.
“If you have read the letter, Raja,” he said, “you will understand why I have come here.”
“Why don’t you come even closer, son?” Raja Utamacharya said. “I can’t hear very well either.”
Asoka shrugged and turned to his side. He could see that Kanaka was on the verge of laughter.
“I want the army of Vidishanagri to fight against the rebels of Avanti,” Asoka said loudly, moving nearer the Raja. “The letter asked you to give me command of your army. The command of the army of Vidisha!”
“Still nothing!” Utamacharya muttered, shaking his head, and pointing at his ears. “But I can see a little bit of you now.”
“Oh cut it out!” Kanaka said, now laughing loudly. “Don’t you see, Asoka? The Raja is deaf. And almost blind!”
Asoka looked at Utamacharya, whose face was still completely blank.
“Look at this,” Kanaka said as he walked to the throne and bent down. “May you rot in hell you dim-witted, deaf monkey,” he said, as he bowed down.
Utamacharya smiled as he raised his palms in blessings. “May you live long.”
“What in Shiva’s name!” Asoka gasped. “If this is the Raja, then how is the city run?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“Come, I’ll show you,” Kanaka said, walking out.
“The Raja lost his hearing years ago,” Kanaka said, as they walked out of the palace. “Now he has almost lost his sight too. Soon he will be no better than a vegetable. Like he is any good now, anyway!”
“But then who runs the city?” Asoka asked, as they walked away from the palace.
“The city, like all the other cities, runs itself,” Kanaka said, patting him on the back.
“But still,” Asoka said. “There must be a man in charge to dispense with the orders. A man who takes care of the law of the land. A man to carry out orders received from Patliputra. A man who collects and regulates taxes. A man who delivers the Samrat’s justice.”
“Unfortunately, the Raja has no heirs either,” Kanka continued. “His wives too are now old, past any child-bearing age. And there is no chance of the Raja putting his seed into any new woman, looking at the condition he is in.”
“So who rules the city?” Asoka asked once again.
“There is a man,” Kanka said.
“Who?”
“My boss,” Kanaka said. “He is the higher authority I spoke of.”
“You have a boss?” Asoka asked, surprised. “I thought you were a merchant.”
“Indeed I am,” Kanaka said. “And I do have a boss.”
“So who is this boss of yours?”
“We are going to see him.” Kanaka said.
The building was even greater in size than the palace and grand in scope, though not as amply decorated. At its sides, Asoka could see wooden structures. It was still under construction, being expanded more.
At its gates was a huge crowd of many men trying to gain entry. Guards were at the entrance, letting only one man pass at a time.
“This is the headquarters of the merchant’s guild,” Kanaka said, as he showed it to Asoka.
“It certainly looks like it,” Asoka said, looking at the noisy crowd, which was trying to move fast, but the guards weren’t letting them. Men were shouting. Some were shouting expletives. Asoka could see laborers arrive with jute bags and place them by the side of the building.
Kanaka gestured to the guards at the door, and they let them pass. More people tried to get in behind them, but the guards held them, blocking the way with their spears.
“What do they do in here?” Asoka asked, looking at the vast crowd.
“This crowd is of all the merchants in the city,” Kanaka said. “The guild decides the rates of various commodities, and the merchants must know them or they will run the risk of running into a loss.”
“The guild decides the rates?” Asoka asked. “I thought the rates are decided by the farmers and artisans who sell their wares to the merchants.”
“Yes, that used to happen.” Kanaka said. “Not anymore. That, we have realized, is an inefficient way of trading.”
“Oh.” Asoka said, spellbound. “And what is your way then?”
“The guild buys goods in bulk from those who create them,” Kanaka explained, as they walked along a long corridor. “That way, the guild can buy goods at a much lower price than what individual traders would buy at. Next the guild sells these goods to all the interested merchants in the city, who in turn sell them to the interested buyers, further along the chain.”
“And where does your guild get all the funds to buy these goods in bulk?” Asoka asked.
A smile crept up on Kanaka’s lips. “That, my friend, is a secret.” He said. “Though you will figure that out soon enough.”
“I’m impressed. “ Asoka said. “Your guild must make great profits, owing to these less cost prices.”
“Indeed.” Kanaka smiled. “Though don’t be impressed just yet. You have not seen everything.”
He led Asoka to a vast chamber which looked like a throne room itself, without a throne.
A man was sitting on one end with a group of men around him.
“Behold his Lordship, the man who runs this city,” Kanaka whispered in Asoka’s ears.
Asoka watched as the man on the chair spoke with the group of men.
“He is Hardeo,” Kanaka said, “the leader of the merchant’s guild, and my boss.”
“So he is the one who forced you to sell weapons to the rebels?” Asoka asked.
“Precisely.” Kanaka whispered. They were now very near the group of people, and Asoka could hear them talk.
“I know the crop has not been good this year,” Hardeo was speaking, “but that does not mean that the rate of grain must be raised. You traders have already made a bunch of money last year, when the grain supply was ample. It is time to dig into those savings to cut this year’s losses.”
“But Guildmaster,” the group pleaded, “it will be a tremendous loss to our side.”
“I don’t care.” Hardeo said. “A constant fluctuation in the price of goods lowers the guild’s image. It also lowers our exports.”
Then he caught sight of Kanaka. “Off you go now,” he told the group. “My decision is final, and binding.”
The group of people trod away from the room whispering amongst themselves, as Hardeo turned to Kanaka.
“Kanakdatta, my dear boy,” he said. “My most profitable merchant! Who is this one who you bring with you and has the looks of a royal disposition?”
Asoka realized that Hardeo was looking at him. He bowed to introduce himself, but Kanaka did that part.
“This one is the famed Prince Asoka,” Kanaka said, pushing him forward, “who was supposed to be here last week.”
Chanakya
Bharat, 50 years earlier
I was moving east, one day at a time. Sometimes on horseback, sometimes on foot. My pace was quite fast, but then, I did have a long way to go. I had crossed the Beas river long ago and had now entered the vast Nanda Rajya. I was somewhere in a village in the Kuru region, when people brought news of Alexander’s victory on the banks of the Jhelum.
Men in the village enthusiastically discussed it that night. They sat under a huge banyan tree in the village. The elders sat on a mound erected around the tree, while the others sat around
it in circles. The aerial roots of the tree floated over their heads.
I stood in a corner, listening.
“Sikander should march right upto here and liberate us.” The elders said.
“Why do you say so?” I asked.
“You will not understand,” they told me, “for you do not live here.”
I shrugged. I rode to another village the next day. There, I spent the night in a dharmashala. I told my fellow residents there what my mission was about.
“To bring help from the Nandas?” They laughed at me. “Impossible!
“Why?” I asked them.
The headman of this village is a Nanda too!” They said. “Ask him to help his own village first.”
“Doesn’t he?” I asked.
“Not at all!” They told me. “Rather he spends all his time finding of new ways to exploit us.”
“How does he exploit you?”
“He raises taxes, he abuses our daughters, and his henchmen usurp money and cattle from us.”
“This is bad.” I said. “I shall complain about this too to Maharaja Dhanananda when I meet with him.”
“The Maharaja is a Nanda too.” They laughed. There was a screen of self-mockery and sarcasm in their laughter.
Another morning, another village. I spoke of my mission.
“The headman of this village is a Nanda.” The villagers told me.
“The headman of the last village was a Nanda too!” I remembered.
They laughed at my ignorance. “There are a thousand Nandas. One in every village, and yet one Maharaja amongst all.”
“How did this happen?” I asked them.
They laughed at me, and dispersed. No one wanted to speak ill of the Nandas. Or rather no one dared.
Finally, I found an old blind man in the inn willing to tell the tale.
“These lands were once several kingdoms, ruled by good if not wonderful Rajas.” The old man told me.
“That much, I know.” I said.
“The Nandas captured everything.” The old man said. “First, they captured Patliputra. Then they captured Magadha. Then they captured the kingdom of Kuru. Then the kingdom of Panchal. Avanti, Vidisha, Chhedi, Kosal, Mathura, Kashi. The Nandas conquered everything.”
“I know this too.” I said.
“The Nandas put one of their own in every village they conquered.” The old man said. “Then these men had sons. Do you know how fast the Nandas breed?”
“This I did not know.” I said.
When he was leaving, the old man began to shout. “Wait, don’t you want to know how I lost my eyes?”
I did not answer.
“I stood up to an evil Nanda.” The old man shouted. “He raped my daughter; I stood up to him and asked for justice.”
Tears started flowing out of the old man’s dead eyes. I could feel horror descend over myself, as I understood.
Another day, Another village.
I came upon a few thugs, beating a farmer in a field. Several men watched from afar, yet no one tried to go ahead and help the man being beaten.
“What did the poor man do?” I asked them.
“He could not grow enough crops to pay the taxes.” They told me. “So the Nanda henchmen are beating him.”
I watched the thugs beating the frail, old man to a pulp.
“They will also take his farm and house from him afterwards,” the onlookers said, “But they must also beat him first.”
“This is cruel,” I said with rage, “Why don’t you stand up to them?”
They laughed at me, “You can try. We definitely don’t want to get beaten too.”
I didn’t try either.
Another day, another village.
I saw a merchant crying, sitting by a tree.
“Why do you cry?” I asked him.
“Men took all my goods.” He said, amidst sobs. “I was taking them to the town to sell them and earn some money. There was a trade fare there. I would have earned quite a lot. But it’s no use now. All my goods are gone. Now, how am I going to feed my wife and two kids?”
“Why don’t you complain to the soldiers?” I asked. “They can surely find the men who looted you and bring your goods back.”
Even amidst his sobs, the merchant began to laugh, “My friend, it was the soldiers themselves who took my goods away.”
I was speechless. I had nothing to say. I comforted the merchant and moved on.
Another day, another village. Few men approached me and my horse.
“This is a very fine horse.” The leader of them said. “I’ll take it from you.”
“I need it for transport.” I said. “I am not selling it.”
The men laughed. “Who’s talking about buying your horse?” Their leader said, once he had finished laughing. “I am talking about taking your horse.”
I bit my lip and understood. I got down from the horse, looking at the men’s numbers and sizes. I offered no resistance at all, still they manhandled me.
The leader pushed me to the ground as he took the horse. I fell amidst the dust and my face hurt.
“Nanda.” The leader said. “I am a Nanda. Remember the name.”
Then they walked away with the horse, leaving me lying there in the dust.
They had disgraced me as well as insulted me. I lay in the dust, looking at them walk away.
“Two.” I said to myself.
Raja Porus
Paurava, 50 years ago
“Why should I marry Ambhi’s daughter?” Porus asked.
He and Alexander were sitting on the roof of his palace in the capital.
They were now sitting on armchairs, Alexander eating out of a bunch of grapes, with other fruits kept on plates. Slaves stood around them, waiting to serve.
“The son from such a marriage will have a claim on your kingdom, as well as Ambhi’s,” Alexander said, tossing a grape in his own mouth.
“I already have sons.” Porus said. “And as per our tradition, the throne passes to the eldest son.”
“Then don’t follow the tradition,” Alexander said, spitting out the seed of the grape. “What profit is there in being a Raja if he too must have to follow all the traditions?”
“Ambhi will never agree,” Porus said.
“Oh, damn him, he will agree as soon as I remind him of my spies in his city,” Alexander said, laughing.
“You want this youngest child to inherit both the kingdoms?” Porus asked. “The kingdoms of Taxila and Paurava!”
“Yes, and that shall simplify matters,” Alexander said, raising the cup of wine to his lips. “Dealing with a single Raja is easier than dealing with two. Furthermore, I shall groom this child for command. He shall fight in my army from his childhood. I shall infuse in him a mixture of both your ways and my Greek culture.”
“Will such an infusion of cultures work?” Porus asked.
“Of course it will.” Alexander said. “I have already done things of this kind in Persia, and I shall continue to do so further.”
“You think of things quite in the long term,” Porus said.
“I have set out to conquer the world forever.” Alexander said. “Not only for me.”
Porus couldn’t help but admire this Greek conqueror.
“I’ve never asked you this.” He said to Alexander. “But how old are you?”
“I shall turn twenty three years a year from now,” Alexander said, sucking at a fig. “I hope I’ll be able to spend my birthday on the banks of the Ganges river.”
Porus was taken aback. Alexander was half his age. Yet he looked older. And quite mature too. So capable!
“You look older.” he said.
“Of course I do,” Alexander said. “This long campaign has aged me. But every price is negligible when the prize is so big.”
“And what is the prize?” Porus asked.
“The dominion of the whole wide world,” Alexander said, slamming his cup down on the table.
“I wish my sons were like
you,” Porus said.
“I wish my father was like you,” Alexander joked. “A little more height and a stronger body wouldn’t have done me any harm.”
“You don’t know how disheartening it is to know that none of your sons is capable enough to inherit the throne from you.” Porus said, with melancholy.
“No, I do not know that,” Alexander said. “But I do know how it feels to know that your father’s throne is too less powerful for you to inherit.”
“Your father, what was he like?” Porus asked.
“He was a good man.’ Alexander said. “But he could have been much better. When I was young, he told me to seek out a bigger kingdom for myself, because his was too small.”
“Those are mighty words,” Porus said.
“Sad that I didn’t see eye to eye with him in the end,’ Alexander said.
“What happened?” Porus asked.
“He married another woman.” Alexander said. “My mother was from a different kingdom. Nobles called me half-Macedonian. They wanted my father to marry a Macedonian woman, and give birth to a full Macedonian.”
“So he did that?” Porus asked.
“Yes he did.” Alexander said. “He married another woman. A good, noble, Macedonian woman. It is during the wedding party that I stood up to him. He was so drunk, he tried to stand back up to face me, and fell down, losing his balance.”
“What did you do then?”
“I stood up and said to the nobles, here is the king who is dreaming of crossing from Greece to Anatolia, and he cannot even walk from one spot to another.”
“I now see where your hatred towards traditions comes from,” Porus said.
“I fled soon after, with my mother,” Alexander said, his eyes somewhere else. “I thought my father would chase me and punish me, in all his fury, but he never did.”
“What did he do then?” Porus asked.
“Well, nothing,” Alexander said. Porus could see tears flowing down Alexander’s cheek. “He died soon after. We never met after that wedding night. Sometimes I think I would have liked to apologize to him, for what I said, but I got no chance.”
The Prince of Patliputra Page 13