by Rahul Mitra
“We are rich?? Since when did you come into the picture, my friend?”
“Of course my son, we are rich. Now that you are earning, just think how smoothly our household will run. We can have peacock meat, cakes of dry fruit, and madhu to drink everyday. I could give up my job and sit on my ass, and study whatever I want, while you earn for both of us. Oh, thank you God, thank you!”
Aditya couldn’t help himself. A smile broke through, at his friend’s antics.
“Well, come on then, let’s go. I can’t wait to blow up your money.”
“Neither can I brother! Neither can I!”
“Haha, lead on then. Let’s go to Tanku’s dhaba.”
Tanku’s dhaba was the regular hangout for Rishabha and his friends, a street-side stall that was an institution among the students of Takshashila University. The cheap madhu served here was usually sub-par, while the quality of snacks varied from being completely inedible to being fit for the gods themselves, all depending upon the proprietor’s mood. But it wasn’t the food or the drinks that made this place so popular. What the eatery was chiefly famous for, was the personality of the proprietor, the man who put the ‘Tanku’ in Tanku’s dhaba.
He was an elf of a man—bald, thin, and knock-kneed; his dark, scrawny legs poked out from under a remarkably dirty-looking lungi and he was made up in equal parts of malice, humour, and cantankerousness. It was said that he was over a hundred and thirty years old, and alumni going back generations swore that he had looked exactly the same when they themselves had been fresh-faced students at the university. To top it all, the old man had strong political opinions, and was known to charge at paying customers with a bamboo stick, and drive them away if he did not care for their views. At the same time, he was liberal with credit to the students he liked, even when he knew they had no intention of paying him back. The man was a complete contradiction. He would shut down his stall without notice, and lie for days inside his shack, drunk with bhang, and at other times would keep food and milk warm through the nights when he knew the students were studying late.
What they chiefly delighted in, however, was his conversations. He would eavesdrop on his customers and generously offer his opinions in the crudest of Prakrits, liberally peppered with the most obscene, inventive oaths heard by mankind. Then, just when everyone was rolling in laughter at the absurdity and colourfulness of his language, he would again surprise them by quoting from some of the most refined and rare Sanskrit shlokas to underline the point he was making.
In short, he was a complete oddball and the students loved him. Tanku was one of the first things you talked about, if you had ever been a student at Takshashila, and met one of your fellow classmates after many years.
“Aah . . . my gang of gangly gandharvas, my boiled bhaturas—what can I do for you today?” he announced grandly when he saw the duo arrive. Then he turned towards Rishabha, “Welcome, welcome philosophizer,” and facing Aditya, he let loose the choicest abuses.
Rishabha gave the smelly old man a tight hug and lifted him off the ground.
“You are getting heavier, Tanku. What are you eating these days?”
“And you, with the face of an elephant’s ass—you are getting weaker and weaker, all because of your bad habits,” said Tanku.
To Aditya, he mouthed, “And you, looter, thug, bandit—what do you want? Have you come to sell me some exotic item that I have no need of? How about some exquisite silk from Bharukachcha to hang across the doorway of my shack along with a charming little foreign lantern? I hear they are more refined than our Gandharan ones? When are you going to get me one of those?”
Tanku, though a shopkeeper himself, thoroughly despised the merchant class.
“Oh come, my beloved, give us some of your best madhu. See my rich friend here, he has just got his first commission—and it is a princely sum,” said Rishabha.
“Ah, hahahaha . . . the merchant is treating? The dick of a dumb donkey! This boy has his brains in his ass and because he sits on it all day in his merchant’s office, it gets no blood circulation. His brain is now completely shut off!” He strode off to fetch the drinks, and then cackled, “As a merchant, this boy is a fool, and a fool can never be a good merchant.”
Aditya flinched. He had never been able to get close to Tanku, the way Rishabha had. Every time Tanku saw him, he would needle him or say something provocative. Aditya had no idea why.
“Sir, it is a happy occasion for us, and I am in no mood to get angry. I would appreciate it if you would let us have some of your excellent madhu,” he said.
Rishabha caught hold of his wrist and guffawed, “Arre, the old man’s gone senile. Just ignore him.”
“Aha,” the old man came over with two big vessels full of the beverage, and then suddenly switched over to Sanskrit,
“Bodharo mastargrastah,
Prabhavah samyadushita,
Abodhopahatashrachanye
Jirdmarge subhashitam.”
(Learned men are jealous, masters laugh at me. Others do not understand, thus knowledge remains within this old body.)
Tanku grinned his elf grin at Aditya, as he handed them the vessels, “Well, my little chickens, karagre vasati Lakshmi (the power/wealth is in your hands). Drink up!”
They got drunk out of their minds with cup after cup of Tanku’s evil-smelling, low-quality brew. It was like heaven.
“Tell you what? We need to eat,” Aditya said.
“Ah, Your Honour, you are right. You are absolutely right. We need to eat. You need to eat. It’s a very healthy habit to eat,” Rishabha nodded “Yes, it is, my friend. Let’s eat now, and we will continue drinking again later.”
“Aah, yes eat. It’s a very healthy habit, Your Honour,” and Rishabha started shaking his head again. “In fact, it’s so healthy that I make sure to eat everyday. Tonight, I’ll drown myself, me thinks.”
“You have drowned yourself enough. Let’s eat something, or tomorrow will be hell,” said Aditya.
Rishabha now clutched his forehead and suddenly became very sombre.
“Ooooh, you are right. You are right!” he grasped Aditya’s arm, “Truly, you are the only real friend I have. In reality, you are my brother. Who else will worry about me so much?” He slipped into a reverie, “I am already very drunk and tomorrow, there will surely be a problem. That’s tough . . . what should we do?”
“I suggest eating,” said Aditya with a big grin.
“Oh, eat, eat, brilliant,” he slurred and slapped Aditya on the thigh, “Aditya, my brother, you are brilliant!”
“Okay, you clown,” said Aditya finally, pulling him by the arm, “Come, let’s go to the street of lights and stuff ourselves with peacock meat.”
“Peacock meat? Oh, Prince of Pataliputra, you are a millionaire! It is so good to be friends with a millionaire. Lead on, Prince—I will go anywhere you say!”
“Oh, street of lights! My friend is a millionaire,” Rishabha announced to the half dozen other students sitting at the dhaba.
Everyone was laughing at his antics. They went over to the street of lights, so named, because even in the middle of the night, it shone as bright as day. Countless lamps ran all along the street and throngs of people descended upon this place every night. Penniless students rubbed shoulders with prosperous merchants and travellers from far-off lands, who walked past pimps and prostitutes in its lanes and by-lanes. The main street was lined with taverns and eating houses, that remained open all night.
The place was so full of hustle and bustle, that one felt alive the moment one turned into the lane. Aditya and Rishabha pushed their way through the crowds to an establishment called ‘Yajman,’ which happened to be a great favourite with the students of the city, mainly because it was the cheapest place along the entire street. This was the place they would come to, when they had to give a big treat. It was famous for its curried peacock meat, a dish that Aditya particularly favoured. Rishabha, however, was adamant about deer meat and finally, they ended up ord
ering both.
They were still waiting for the food to arrive, when a pair of hands slapped them hard on their backs. It was the magical twins from Vanga, Budhaditya and Bodhisattva.
“Oye, Prince of Pataliputra,” said Budhaditya.
“Tail of a donkey,” said Bodhisattva
“Idiots, what are you two clowns doing here?” shouted Rishabha
“What are you two doing here?” repeated Budhaditya, who had come over to embrace Aditya.
The twins were studying with Rishabha. Within a short period of time, they had become good friends.
“Bodhi?” asked Aditya.
Budhaditya punched him.
“No, you idiot. I am Budha.”
“Oh, hahahaha . . .”
They not only looked alike, but were even dressed in the same clothes—a trick they often liked to pull. For someone who didn’t know them well, it was hard to tell them apart.
“We are having peacock and deer. Join us,” said Rishabha.
“Join you? Arre, but that is our duty!” said Bodhi.
Buddha held up one hand, “Stop! First answer my question: who is paying for the deer and peacock?” he asked.
“Aah, you’re drunk, aren’t you?” exclaimed Bodhi with delight, as he slid in beside Rishabha.
“Not at all, I have only just begun. But I do aim at getting significantly drunk. It is my friend’s treat,” said Rishabha, pointing towards Aditya.
“Really? For what?” said one and turned on Aditya.
“You’re treating? What for?” repeated the other, as he grasped Aditya by the shoulder.
“Yes, my friend is a millionaire, didn’t you know? He’s treating all of us.”
“I just got a commission on my first deal. Why don’t you join us?”
As a matter of fact, the twins had already joined them.
“He is definitely drunk,” said Bodhi, shaking a finger at Rishabha.
“We’ve been drinking,” said Aditya, stating the obvious. “We just got here from Tanku’s.”
“Oh, like crazy, since evening. By the way, did I tell you our friend is a millionaire?”
“Really, then we must order some ksheer as well, shouldn’t we Buddha?”
“Oh, absolutely!”
“Come on, Rishabha. Tell me how much is this?” Bodhi held up four fingers.
“Two,” said Rishabha immediately, even though he could see quite clearly.
Being drunk and happy is one thing, but running into friends unexpectedly, while in such a state, is a pleasure that is impossible to describe. They were all in high spirits. The twins grinned with delight as Rishabha played the fool, and Aditya looked on, amused. They were almost through with the feast, when someone came up with a new idea.
“Hey, I’ll tell you what. Let’s go and wake up Sameera. He lives nearby, doesn’t he?” suggested someone.
“Oh, yes—let’s do it. He’ll have to get up early tomorrow for wrestling practice. We won’t let him sleep.”
Sameera was another close friend. He was hardly ever in the classes and spent most of his time either wrestling, or pulling pranks on others.
“I’ll tell you what—remember the day when he threw eggs at Acharya Suyodhana’s house? We’ll turn the tables on him, we’ll throw eggs at his house.”
“He’ll get furious!”
“His landlord will kick him out!”
“He’ll go crazy!”
“Let’s drag him out of his house in the middle of the night.”
“Where will we get eggs?”
“Oh, leave it to me. I will get them.”
“Oh, yes let’s. Come on.”
“Baba, if he starts fighting, you only control him.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Nonsense, we are four of us. We’ll handle him.”
Rishabha called out to the owner for eggs and vegetables, Aditya paid with a flourish worthy of a king and they set off. Armed with a deadly arsenal of swan’s eggs and rotten cabbage, they tottered unsteadily to their feet, and then pushed their way through the milling crowds.
They made their way through the silent and dark streets, got confused and whispered excitedly among themselves, till someone shouted at them. With loud oaths, they set off again, through the narrow winding streets till they were finally standing in front of Sameera’s house.
Here again, they stood conferring for sometime, giggling and whispering excitedly.
“That’s the wall.”
“Let’s chuck them into the courtyard. It’ll be a mess… just imagine the look on his face when he steps out tomorrow.”
Buddha immediately took up on the suggestion.
“Oye, Sameera!”
He took an egg and launched it straight into the house.
“That one’s gone in,” noted Rishabha solemnly.
They listened for sounds. All was quiet.
“Oh come on! Let’s get him.”
The others joined in with gusto and soon, the entire lane resounded with their cries. They were out to create a ruckus.
“Sameera you dog,” shouted Buddha and as if exhausted with the flinging of this insult, he slowly sank down to the ground.
“Come on out, you idiot,” shouted Bodhi.
“Come out if you dare, come out and face me!” shouted Rishabha.
“Oye Licchavi!”
“If you have drunk your mother’s milk, come out and face me . . .”
“Hahahaha . . .”
It was at this moment, just as the entire party had dissolved into a wild, hysterical fit of laughter, that they heard hoofbeats coming from behind them. Someone was riding at full tilt through the narrow lanes in the middle of the night.
Buddha, who was sitting right on the ground, scarcely had time to get up before a horse came careening out into the lane from behind him and knocked him out of the way, even as the rest of them looked on in horror.
Two more horses came galloping up, and then stopped behind the first one. Bodhi gave a cry of horror and went running to his brother’s side. Buddha appeared to be in pain and was bleeding from his nose. The rider of the first horse now got down to inspect the damage, but instead of running to Buddha he was calming his horse. He was a well-built handsome young man wearing the clothes of a rich aristocrat. After patting his horse on the neck, he looked back towards the brothers with a look of pure hatred.
“You dog. Do you know how much this steed is worth?” he ran at Buddha as if to kick him.
Buddha was groaning in pain, and Bodhi got up to stop this man. Rishabha who had been almost immobile till now, rushed between them.
“Who are you calling a dog? Dog yourself! How dare you ride a horse so fast in these narrow lanes?” said Rishabha as he caught this man by the shoulders.
“Phast? Phast? Where are you from, you foreign filth?” said the other and with a shrug of his shoulders, he freed himself from Rishabha’s grip. His companions now got down and surrounded Rishabha.
“You beggars, you come to Takshashila and now you will teach us the rules? I think we should teach these fellows a lesson. What say?” said Sumukha, addressing his own friends now.
“Lesson? You want to teach us a lesson? Just who do you think you are, eh? I’ll show you a lesson . . .”
In a flash, the young man had punched him in the face, straight on the nose. White, blinding stars exploded in front of Rishabha’s eyes and he lost his balance. Already heavily drunk, he passed out in an instant.
The three horse riders now jumped upon Bodhi and Aditya. The whole action was short and brutal. Buddha couldn’t get up, for he was in pain and he watched helplessly, as the three of them beat his friends to a pulp. Aditya was heavily drunk, and even though he threw his punches and tried to headbutt one of them, he was no match for the skill of the first horse rider. He was punched repeatedly, as he put up the most resistance, and finally, he too sank to the ground, curled up in a ball, as the three assailants stood over him, kicking him from all sides.
Finally,
they turned their fury towards Rishabha, who had dared to talk back at them. The first rider grabbed Rishabha by his hair, and dragged him along the ground, before rubbing his face into the dirt and kicking him repeatedly. Aditya was curled up on the ground, his body wracked by pain. The beating he had received made him vomit convulsively, again and again into the dirt and he could only watch helplessly, as his friend was subjected to such indignities. Thankfully for him, however, Rishabha had passed out and was totally unaware of what was happening. The first rider kept up a steady stream of oaths and insults.
“Dirty little beggars, you think you can come to my city and threaten me? Fuckin’ Buddhists, think you can convert and then look me in the eye? I’ll show you . . .”
He was suddenly interrupted.
“What’s going on?”
It was Sameera. He had been out visiting a friend, and had just got back when he saw some people fighting right in front of his house.
“Sameera,” groaned Buddha “What happened?”
The first rider now came up. The man now drew his sword and placed it on Sameera’s neck. Sameera recognized him. It was Sumukha.
“I have just taught your friends a lesson. Stay out of it, if you know what’s good for you.”
Sameera kept quiet.
“If I ever come across these dirty beggars again, I promise I will break every bone in their body and throw them into the Tamra Nala. You better tell them that.”
He turned on his heel—all three of them mounted their horses, and were soon gone. Sameera ran to administer to his friends. Buddha was groaning in pain, Rishabha and Bodhi had passed out, while Aditya, who was still conscious, had been badly bruised and battered. He would have to get them all attended to. It was going to be a long night for him.
with his face buried in a kullad of madhu.
Thoughts of Revenge
The next day, the bruised and battered group of friends met at Tanku’s dhaba and there was only one thing on their minds—revenge!
Sameera, who knew their aggressor through his wrestling contacts, told them about Sumukha—scion of one of the most powerful families in Takshashila, rich beyond imagination and a champion horseman, wrestler and sword-fighter to boot.