“Ah look at you.” Alexander sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Craterus, walking out of the pandal too with his hands on his ears. “Craterus.” He called out to him.
Craterus walked over to them. “Noisy affairs, these weddings.’
“Look at what your colleague is suggesting.” Alexander said. “He says the army wants to go back.”
Craterus looked at Coenus, and laughed. “Sure it wants to go back. But I’ll tell them that we won’t, and they’ll follow me.”
“Maybe not this time,” Coenus said.
“Is this true, Craterus?” Alexander asked. “Is the army losing their faith in me?”
“You have never been defeated, Basileus.” Craterus said, “so there is no reason for anybody to lose faith in you.”
“Maybe you’d want to turn back before that happens,” Coenus said.
“Silence.” Alexander shouted at him. “You have heard what Craterus said. That he can convince the army to still follow me. And you shall do the same. Now give me some time to lessen my headache. This discussion ends now.”
Then Alexander closed his eyes. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the gust of air passing by him. It felt so near his throat, like something had swooped by him fast. An arrow!
He opened his eyes. In front of him, Craterus was lying on the floor, an arrow through his neck.
“Duck, Basileus,” Coenus shouted as he himself ducked. Alexander ducked too. He turned to see from where the arrow had come.
“He’s dead,” Coenus exclaimed, feeling General Craterus’s chest. “He’s dead Basileus.”
Alexander was looking back, at where the arrows had come from. Far opposite them on the small hill amongst the trees, he could see two figures, holding long bows.
“We must move Basileus,” Coenus said, as he began moving back to the pandal.
Alexander lifted up General Craterus’s body and held it like a shield as as another arrow swooped towards him. The arrow pierced Craterus’s already dead body and more blood gushed out. It stained Alexander’s face.
“Faster, Basileus.”
Alexander had one last look at the two figures, as he entered the pandal, and then, his guards ran at him, surrounding him as he gently placed Craterus’s body on the floor.
Coenus’s words were echoing in his head.
These Aryas were indeed a persistent people.
Over the hill, Dileepa loosened his string as Chandragupta got up on his horse.
“I missed him by inches,” Dileepa said, regret in his voice.
“At least we got one Greek,” Chandragupta said. “Now get back on the horse. Our brothers will take care of the rest.”
Dileepa held up the big bow and got up on his horse.
“Let’s go.” Chandragupta said, and they sped away through the trees.
Alexander’s face was clenched with anger as he walked slowly towards the raised ceremonial platform inside the tent. He went straight to Raja Ambhi and held him by the collars.
“You did this!” Alexander shouted at his face, pointing at the dead body of Craterus which his soldiers were holding.
“I swear I did not, Conqueror,” Ambhi said, trying to free his neck from Alexander’s grip. “They must have been the rebels I told you about.”
“Do I look a fool to you?” Alexander shouted. “It is indeed you. You create fake rebels to convince me to send you back your army. But I won’t. I won’t give you your army back.” Then he let go of Ambhi and turned to Coenus.
“General Coenus,” he said loudly, “ask the men to prepare. The rest is over. We march east tomorrow.”
Coenus tried to say something, but there were sudden cries of “fire”!
Alexander looked at where the men were pointing. The corners of the pandal had caught flames, and they were spreading fast. At once, his soldiers ran to him and surrounded him.
Alexander looked back as everyone tried to get away from the fire. He felt a bout of heat on his face as he and his soldiers passed them by outside.
Back home, the oracles of Delphi would have called this an omen. But he would not. He would call it a mere hindrance. And now there would be no more delay. He was going to raise his army immediately. And he was going to go east!
Chanakya
Northwest, 50 years earlier
When I crossed the Beas River, everything seemed rather the same as it had been when I left. The river was still flowing at tremendous speed to the south, its frothy water passing me by. Only the cold in the air had turned into warmth as summer approached, and the snowy white peaks far away in the horizon were now brown again.
I spoke with people in every village as I crossed.
“How has life changed?” I asked. “Have Greek soldiers harassed you?”
“No, they have not.” The villagers said. “In fact, we haven’t seen any Greek soldiers at all yet.”
“What of the taxes?”
“No tax collector has yet come from the capital though two full moons have passed.”
“You look happy,” I said.
“Indeed we are,” the villagers said. “The rain was plentiful last year. The crops are beautiful in our farms.”
I went on. In another village, I spoke with the headman.
“A Greek envoy visited us.” The headman told him. “He said that we should not pay taxes to anyone but him. He threatened of dire consequences if we did.”
“So has he collected?” I asked.
“No not yet.” The headman said. “But he said he will come on the next full moon day.”
Before leaving, I went to the Vishnu temple in the village and sat in meditation. I soon noticed that there was no Pujari.
“Where is the Pujari?” I asked.
“All the Pujaris have been called to the capital.” The headman told him.
“What for?”
“We don’t know. They haven’t returned yet.”
I went on. Another night, another village. Closer close to home. There for the first time, I saw looks of terror upon the faces of the people.
“What happened?” I asked them.
“Four Greek soldiers passed through our village some days ago.” A man told me. “One of them took fancy to my daughter. They took her with them, literally dragging her away.” There was a combination of sadness and anger in the man’s voice. “We couldn’t do anything.”
I comforted him. “Let’s go pray at the temple for her safety.”
We went to the village temple, and I noticed that something was amiss.
The man looked at my puzzled expression and explained. “There was a copper top to the temple,” he said. “The soldiers had come to take it away. They also took my daughter with it.” Tears started to flow from the man’s eyes.
I moved on. Day by day, I was drawing near to the Jhelum River. I came upon a village where all the houses were set on fire. Smoke was riding rapidly through the tops of the huts whose thatched grass roofs were burning.
I met a flock of people hiding in the nearby forest. At first they were afraid at the sight of me, but when they saw that I too was an Arya like them, they let me come to them.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Greek soldiers drove us out. They took our women and girls, whoever was young enough to be desired, and told us to run away.”
“Why did they burn the village?”
“They say a new city is to be built here,” a villager said. “Not only us, but all the villages in this area have been burnt and people displaced. Ours was the last. They are making space for a Greek city.”
I started to leave.
“Where are you going?” They asked me.
“To the village,” I said.
They tried to stop me, but I entered the burning village. The houses had not yet burnt down completely. There was no one there; the Greek soldiers had left after setting the houses on fire.
I searched for the temple and soon saw it in the center of the village, with its top remove
d. Everything was burning. I entered through a small door which had still not fallen.
Inside, everything was left devastated. The ornaments of the idol were looted. The idol was of a Devi, but it was lying horizontal on the ground, broken into pieces. I couldn’t do anything. When the heat became too much to bear, I left.
Along the way, I saw a bullock cart rider.
“Would you take me to the banks of the Jhelum?” I asked the rider. I was tired of walking after all.
The bullock cart rider agreed, in return for money. As we moved along the way, the rider told me about the aftermath of the battle.
“The city is the only safe place now.” The rider said. “Even though the Greek army is camped there, Raja Puru ensures that no one is harassed. However outside, in the villages, nothing is in his control. The Greeks roam about setting a new order, vandalizing temples, raping women, displacing the people.”
Finally we reached at the spot of the battle near the Jhelum River. The sight amazed me. It didn’t look anything like a battlefield.
Thousands of men were working, erecting buildings - what looked like a city under construction..
We stayed away because Greek soldiers were patrolling the construction. From atop a nearby hill, I looked at the place.
“What is this?” I asked the cart rider.
“This is the spot where Sikander’s horse died.” The cart ride said. The wooden structures were coming up just by the river. “He has vowed to create a great Greek city here named after his horse. Thousands of Aryas are being used as slaves to toil in creating this city. Kshatriyas, Brahmins, everyone.”
I gazed at the city. The half-finished structures of the buildings looked so foreign, so different. Halfway along, I looked at what looked like a semi-finished statue of marble. It was of a huge bearded man, holding a lightning bolt in his hand.
A Greek God!
“Take me to Taxila, brother.” I finally said. “I want to go home.”
As I sat back in the moving cart, I looked at the setting sun.
“Three!” I said.
Radhagupta
Northwest, 270 BC
Prime Minister Radhagupta stared at the vast, unending valley that stretched for miles in front of him as far as the eye could see. He was standing at the edge of a huge cliff, only inches away from the deep down under. It was a steep fall directly into the stony patches far below. Behind him, men of his convoy prepared to rest for the night.
In front of him was the setting sun, almost disappearing behind mountains far away. The valley was there in between and they could see the dark stone walls of the city of Taxila at the horizon, though its details were obscured by the sun in their face.
“We are just one day away from the city now, Prime Minister.” A subordinate informed from behind him, and it broke Radhagupta’s trance. He dismissed the subordinate with a wave of the hand. The sight from the cliff was beautiful; he wanted to take it all in, before darkness would fall.
He had never travelled this far north. All his assignments for the Crown had been in the south and the east. He had been to Mathura, Dwarka, even as far south as Suvarnagiri. But never had he been to the northwest.
It seemed like a different world here. The mountains were so much taller and bigger, and capped with snow. The rivers they had crossed were frightening, wider and speedier than any he had ever seen before. There was a continuous chill in the air whether day or night. And it had even snowed once while they were travelling. It was the first time Radhagupta had seen snow.
“Your tent is ready now, Sire,” a servant informed, with his head bent. Radhagupta nodded.
The sun had set now, and it was dark. He couldn’t see anything as the valley got engulfed in black. Flocks of birds could be seen flying home. Crickets had begun to chirp. It was time to retreat to his tent.
In the center of the camp, his men had lit a cozy fire and most of them were sitting by it. It was too cold and the fire provided good warmth.
The servants were roasting a big deer over the fire for dinner. The smell of the warm meat filled his stomach with hunger, but first there were some things that needed to be done.
Radhagupta entered his tent and sat by the well-laid bed. He reached out in the goatskin pouch by its side and pulled out rolls of parchment that were tied with cotton. He unrolled one and placed it on the bed.
He started reading it slowly, one word at a time. Suddenly there was the sound of marching hooves. There were horses. Whose horses? Radhagupta rolled back the parchment and placed it in the goatskin pouch. He walked to the entrance of his tent.
His men by the campfire had stood up and were looking at where the horses were coming from. Whose were they? Radhagupta wondered. He hadn’t heard about any bandits in these parts. Who could they be?
Soon they saw four horsemen approaching from the dense trees and riding towards them. The horses stopped by the fire. The horsemen were armored and wearing helmets. One of them stopped his horse right by the side of the fire.
“The smell of a roasting deer is a welcoming fragrance for the hungry belly.” He said through his helmet.
“Who are you?” Radhagupta asked. He looked at his men who had their hands on their swords. But the men on the horses didn’t have theirs. The man who had spoken got down from his horse. He surveyed Radhagupta head to toe.
“Smell travels faster than sight.” He said. “And word travels faster than men.”
“Who are you?” Radhagupta asked again.
“Welcome to Taxila, Prime Minister,” the man said, reaching up with his hands to remove his helmet.
“Who are you?” Radhagupta asked again.
“Oh come on!” The man said. “Who would dare to walk upon the Prime Minister with such pride?” The helmet was removed, and the handsome, fair face exposed. The hair was brownish, which fell to his shoulders. Prince Sushem was indeed a handsome man.
“Prince Sushem!” Radhagupta exclaimed.
“Maharaja Sushem,” Sushem said, throwing his helmet at one of the men on the horses who caught it. He inspected the roasting deer.
“Your men are fools.” He said loudly. “They are roasting a Kasturi deer. It’s is a treasured commodity. But now it is wasted by fire.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you before I reached the city,” Radhagupta said.
“And I wasn’t expecting to see you at all in the city,” Sushem said. “But here we are.” He gestured towards the tent. “Can we at least sit inside? It is cold.”
“Sure.” Radhagupta gestured for him to enter.
Sushem placed the reins of his horse in the hands of a servant by the fire. “Don’t forget to feed it.’ He said, and walked inside the tent. Radhagupta walked in behind him.
“Can I tempt you with some wine?” He asked Sushem who had already made himself comfortable on a chair.
“No.” Sushem said. “I prefer my drinks much stronger.”
Radhagupta poured some wine for himself and sat down on another chair. The warmth of the fire was reaching them, making them feel warm.
“What are you doing here?” Both asked at once, and then Sushem smiled. “You Prime Ministers are becoming more and more stupid it seems.” He said. “Can’t you look at my attire? I’ve been hunting in the forest on the mountains.”
“You didn’t catch any prey then?” Radhagupta asked.
“No, your arrival must have driven all the animals away,” Sushem said curtly.
“Your bad luck,” Radhagupta said.
“Indeed my bad luck,” Sushem sighed. “I never plan on seeing ministers before dinner.”
“I am not your minister,” Radhagupta said.
“Not yet,” Sushem laughed. “Soon you will be! Or maybe not! Maybe I’ll make some changes.”
“So you know that the Samrat is ill?” Radhagupta asked.
“I knew he was ill,” Sushem said, “and now your arrival here confirms that he must be dying. Now you are here to officially tell me that. My father is dying,
isn’t he?”
“Maybe, maybe not!” Radhagupta smiled. “I am not here to see you, Maharaja.”
Sushem’s eyes widened as he leaned forward and placed his chin on his hands. “Ah,” he said, “a witty minister. That is a first. All the earlier ones were old fools. Maybe I’ll keep you.”
“You are not going to ask who am I here to see?” Radhagupta asked.
“Now that you tell me that it is not I who you want to see,” Sushem said, “it is obvious that you must be here to see my brother, Tissa.”
Radhagupta was impressed. Sushem was known to be arrogant, but also a capable politician. That was why he had been running Taxila successfully for so many days. “I don’t see it as being obvious.”
“Oh come on,” Sushem said, “six months ago, I sent Asoka to break the rebellion in Avanti…”
“The Samrat sent Asoka,” Radhagupta said, cutting him mid-sentence.
“Let’s not play games, Minister,” Sushem said. “The Samrat asked me, I said yes. Everyone knows that. And assuming that Asoka is not dead yet, he must have broken the rebellion by now. And now you are here, looking for a governor.”
“The Samrat seeks Vittasoka to be governor,” Radhagupta said.
Sushem smiled. “My little brother, a governor! We’ll have to stop calling him Tissa now, it seems. I shall have to start calling him by his proper name.”
“He is also my nephew,” Radhagupta said.
“But he has been in my care since he was an infant,” Sushem said. “He is only seven years old, the only son besides me who could actually make something of himself. All the others have just wasted their births. It is obvious that the Samrat must choose him.”
“Yet you ignore one of your brothers in these sons of potential,” Radhagupta said.
“Who, Asoka?” Sushem exclaimed. “Asoka is a fighter. And also a half-Vaishya.”
“I have heard that the caste system has never held any credibility for you,” Radhagupta said.
“True, I don’t believe in the caste system,” Sushem said, “but as I said, Asoka is a fighter, not a ruler. The only way he can rule is through men like you. While I believe that a ruler should rule by consolidating power, not by dividing it. Furthermore fighters have a tendency to die early in battle.” There was an odd grin on Sushem’s face.
The Prince of Patliputra Page 21