The Boy From Pataliputra

by Rahul Mitra

  Tanku filled them in on the rest—he told them about Sumukha’s family, the noble house of the Vardhanas, second only to the royal family in power and influence, and the leader of the extremist faction at court. He told them about Sumukha himself, how the Buddhists and the commoners of the city hated and feared him, how he had once flogged two of his servants to death, and beaten up a bunch of monks for disturbing his sleep. He told them of how Sumukha had won the Vasant Utsav races, three years in a row, brushing aside all challengers year after year, and how he was a darling of the aristocracy due to these exploits. Finally, he suggested an idea of how to humble this man—by defeating him in the horse race held every year on Vasant Utsav day.

  According to Tanku, grinding his arrogance into the dust by defeating him in front of the assembled crowds of nobles and commoners was the only way they could realistically get back at him.

  Rishabha, who had seen Aditya’s expertise with horses, immediately suggested his name as a contender in the race, but Aditya refused. His friends pleaded but to no avail. Aditya’s stubbornness about it led Rishabha to blow up. It was the first of many fights between the two friends and roommates.

  ***

  Radha was waiting by the staircase when Aditya got home. Since their first tempestuous meeting, both Nala and Radha had become firm friends and Radha, being a student of chikitsa shastra, had somehow insinuated herself into their lives as a caregiver. Now, in the days following their ‘accident’, she had firmly taken charge of their treatment.

  Aditya winced on seeing her. Even before she opened her mouth, he knew that she would scold him. The pain and puffiness in his right eye suddenly seemed to flare up. He let out a piteous moan.

  This pre-emptive bit of wretchedness successfully halted the expletives that were about to issue from her tongue, and instead, turned them into expressions of concern.

  “What happened?” asked Radha.

  “It hurts, aaah!” Aditya gingerly felt his right eye, which was swollen. He still couldn’t open it completely.

  “A thousand times I have told you not to go gallivanting all over town before your wound has healed, but such simple logic is just beyond you, isn’t it?” she said, and then suddenly burst out, “and where’s the other good-for-nothing?”

  “What? Rishabha isn’t here?”

  “No. Why can’t you guys just rest for a few days?”

  “Aaah . . .” he moaned.

  “Useless fellow! Anyway, come I need to dress it.” She had a strip of cloth, and a small stone bowl with herbal ointment in it.

  Aditya led the way as they went up the stairs. Since she was studying medicine, her authority could not be challenged, but it was this bossy attitude of hers that always made him feel like pulling her leg.

  “I think that paste has made my eye worse,” said Aditya as he entered the room.

  “Look—let the one who has a brain use it. Don’t tax yourself okay? You are already quite weak; now lie down.”

  Aditya glared at her with his one good eye, but Radha ignored him, as she pushed him down and proceeded to wash out the bruised area with warm water.

  “Now see, it’s drying up. Another five to six days, and it should be much better.”

  “I think my eye would have healed on its own anyway.”

  “Oh yeah? Remember when you were whimpering in pain, and this helped soothe it? Now look, this is a special paste of papaya and arnica herbs. It will help the wound dry up faster. So, lie back and let me do my work.”

  She spoke soothingly this time, and Aditya resigned himself to his fate. Truth be told, it felt good to be pampered and treated like a child, but he would rather have died than admit it to Radha.

  “You know, I have always wondered what will happen, once you graduate and start practicing medicine yourself.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Well, I sometimes feel that even if your wonderful hands work their magic, your tongue will surely put paid to some of your patients. You know, the more sensitive poet-type people like me.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said with a stern face. The woman really did not seem to have a sense of humour.

  He was now feeling relaxed and his mind went back to what had happened at Tanku’s dhaba.

  “You know I fought with Rishabha. You must help me cool him down.”

  “Uff, you are one sample and he is another. When will you two grow up? What is it this time?”

  Aditya recounted the conversation at Tanku’s. Rishabha wanted him to take part in the race and challenge Sumukha, but Aditya saw no point in it. His friend was just being childish. They were still discussing it when Rishaha stormed in.

  “Hi,” he said to Radha.

  “So?” he said to Aditya.

  “So,” repeated Aditya with a smile.

  “Saale, idiot, oaf, rascal, wretch,” he too slowly started smiling as he continued cursing, “well I hope you have had another thought about it.”

  “O Shreeman! First you lie down. Let me dress your wounds and then you can fight. Come,” coaxed Radha.

  Rishabha took off his kayabandh and flung his sword on the ground. Since the ‘accident,’ he had taken to carrying his sword everywhere.

  “Come, let me wash out your wounds. You know you should stay at home for a few days. Your wounds are much worse than Aditya’s.”

  “Hmm . . .”

  “Is it still hurting?” she asked as she washed out his face.

  “Aahhmmgrrumf . . .” muttered Rishabha.

  “Why did you have to go out? Why can’t you two rest for a few days?” asked Radha.

  “Hummpph, it was important,” Rishabha now half-rose and turned to Aditya. “We really need you Aditya, come on yaar.”

  “Lie down,” Radha pushed him back into position.

  “We went to see the horse that Tanku had mentioned. It’s a horrible bony old beast. That Tanku I tell you, he’s crazy!”

  “That’s why I told you not to listen to crackpots like Tanku. So it wasn’t good?” asked Aditya.

  “No . . . But Bodhi said he could get his hands on a good horse. Oh, I am sure we will arrange a horse but without you we are lost. We need you man, none of us is as good as you,” said Rishabha as he turned around again to face Aditya.

  “You know, even if by some miracle we get a good horse, what purpose will it serve to beat that guy?” asked Aditya.

  Rishabha instantly sprang up and turned to Radha, “Did you hear that? Why don’t you tell him something? He’s behaving like a—”

  “You know you should lie still for sometime instead of jumping about like a monkey,” said Radha.

  “Why don’t you say somethinRadha put away the cloth and prepared to apply the herbal paste on his face.

  “Lie still,” she positioned his head so that his right side, which had many wounds, faced her, “Don’t move . . .”

  “Hummfgrummmb . . . aaaaaah . . . okay.”

  “I think Aditya is right. You will just create a powerful enemy if you try to take revenge, and ultimately, that’s all you want to do. You are only trying to satisfy your ego, that’s all.”

  “Oh! So you are taking his side now? And why should we sit quietly? Are we such cowards?”

  “The question is not whether you should sit quietly, but whether you can do anything other than sit quietly. He is very powerful in Takshashila and you, Aditya, all of us, we are nobodies. I am not saying don’t take revenge, but that you should wait for a time when you are stronger, and in a better position,” said Radha.

  “Ohh, to hell with you! That time will never come. Don’t you see that the biggest blow we can give to this person, is to defeat him publicly? And Aditya can do it. Besides, he is a villain and you know how he treats outsiders and Buddhists and Jains. Every time he wins this race, his power and prestige only grow. Don’t you see, it is our duty to reduce his hateful influence? Don’t you see that Radha?”

  “If you look at it that way, you are right. Someone should stop suc
h a person, but why should that someone be you? You are not even from Takshashila. Why are you getting entangled in this?” asked Radha.

  Rishabha now sat up, inspite of Radha’s protests.

  “So, we are not from Takshashila, so we have no moral responsibility, is it? Can’t you see what’s happening here? It’s not only about him beating us or flogging his servants. Today he beats up, his servants or fights with monks, and you keep quiet because you think it’s not your affair, but remember this, tomorrow when he acts against Magadhans or foreign students—then who will save you? Everyone else will also think it does not bother them and they will keep quiet. Don’t you see? This is not about you and me, it is about tyranny.”

  “Oh come on, so you actually think . . .” said Aditya.

  “ Not talking to you,” butted in Rishabha before Aditya could complete his statement. He folded his arms over his chest, and turned his back towards Aditya.

  “But this is not . . .”

  “Not talking!”

  “Oh, don’t be a . . .”

  “ Not talking.”

  Aditya started smiling.

  “Okay, look.”

  “ Not. . .”

  “Arre, listen Baba! Listen—I have been thinking and I realize that if you feel so strongly about it, then I’ll race just because you think so, okay?” said Aditya.

  “You will?” Rishabha had jumped up now, “I knew it.”

  Radha shook her head in exasperation.

  “Wait wait, I didn’t say that. All I said was that we have ten months left for Vasant Utsav, so why don’t we take some time and think about it? If, after two months you still feel strongly about this, I promise that I will train and I will race, okay?” offered Aditya.

  “Oh, I knew it, I knew it,” said Rishabha. He jumped up and hugged Aditya now.

  “Okay, okay . . . we’ll need a good horse though.”

  “You don’t worry about anything my brother. For you, I will arrange a horse from heaven itself, don’t worry,” said Rishabha confidently.

  Finally, it was Radha who had the last word.

  “You know, you two are idiots. But really, among the best idiots I know.”

  g? You know this is wrong, don’t you?”

  Charaka

  Time is the most elastic of concepts. When one is desperately waiting for a situation to change, even a day can seem like a month, while at other times, entire years slip by unnoticed. As Aditya and Rishabha settled back into their regular routines, time flew by quickly, and before long, the two months that they had decided upon, were over. Rishabha had cooled down and as Aditya had calculated, he was able to talk his friend out of the idea of participating in the race.

  Life carried on as usual. Aditya and Rishabha remained the best of friends, Tanku’s dhaba remained their favourite haunt and the circle of friends grew even closer with each passing day. Radha lost no opportunity to criticize the two, and yet insisted on joining the boys in their activities. The twins often fought with everyone else and then sulked for days, Sameera continued to pull practical jokes and they all had frequent disagreements. In other words, the river of life flowed smoothly onwards, without a single ripple disturbing its calm surface.

  There was one exception though, for it was during this time that Aditya and Rishabha first made the acquaintance of the strange and eccentric character called Charaka.

  It happened on a day when Rishabha was alone at home. Aditya had gone off to work and the other occupants of the building, almost all of them students, were also away. Rishabha was bunking. It was a scorching hot afternoon, the entire building was empty and shut up inside his small, dingy room he found that he could not sleep.

  After pacing up and down inside the room, he went down to the courtyard downstairs and was just drawing water from the well when it happened. A distinct loud boom followed by the loud clanging of vessels. Then, the house went back to the drowsy stillness of a summer afternoon. For a moment, Rishabha wondered if it was just his imagination, till presently he heard the sound of someone coughing, followed by a multitudeof other sounds. There was no mistaking it; the sounds were coming from the corner room of the ground floor, a mysterious room that was the subject of much discussion among the other occupants of the building.

  Nobody knew who lived there for the door was almost always locked from the inside. Whoever it was did not step out for days on end; nor did they ever receive any visitors. Rishabha had never seen those doors open but now, with sounds of activity coming from inside, his curiosity was piqued. He tiptoed up to the door, and stuck his ear against it.

  Sounds of coughing came from inside. Vessels clanged. Then, thick black smoke started seeping out from beneath the door, and the coughing became louder and more insistent. The room was on fire!

  There was no time to waste. Rishabha immediately jumped back and flung himself against the door. That was exactly when it opened.

  Rishabha’s shoulder slammed into nothing and carried on by the momentum, he stumbled headlong into the room—his foot struck something underneath—and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled out on the mud floor. The entire room was filled with acrid black smoke; someone was coughing without a stop and right in front of his face, was a large copper plate from which the strange black smoke continued to billow out in copious quantities.

  He got up considerably embarrassed, and started rubbing his shin, for he had hit something on the way in. Framed against the doorway, was a mysterious silhouette that was peering back at him.

  “Who are you Shreeman?” it asked in a voice that quavered with uncertainty. Rishabha limped his way outside still clutching his shin and saw a tall, thin, owl-like person looking at him. He was extraordinarily bony and very fair. His nose protruded outwards in an extravagant curve and big, beady eyes stared at Rishabha in astonishment.

  “Me? I thought there was a fire here. What’s going on?” Rishabha saw that this was another young man, in all probability, a student.

  “Oh . . . haha—” the young man burst out into a soft, rapid burst of laughter, and gave him a toothy, good-humoured grin, “Fire? No, no, no . . . that was one of the experiments. See, it’s a success!” he looked unabashed and delighted as he pointed to the copper urn which was still smoking away.

  “Prayog? Experiment? Well, you are the one who lives here, right?” said Rishabha

  “Yes, and you?” he was extremely soft-spoken and seemed quite shy.

  “We also live here, me and my roommate. On the first floor, but I’ve never seen you before. What do you do?”

  “Oh, I am a student. I study medicine with Acharya Paritosha.”

  “Really! Don’t you have classes at this time?”

  “Class? Oh no. No, no, no. I am working on developing my own system of holistic healing and working on my book, I am trying to write another Veda on human health and well-being. It’s taking a lot of time and if I go to class, I end up spending my entire day, so I study at home.”

  The whole conversation was terribly confusing. Rishabha once again peered into the room and now saw that it was scattered all over with with palm leaf documents and numerous utensils and vessels normally used for cooking. A writing desk stood in one corner, and the whole place gave off a strange, pungent smell.

  “So you want to write another Veda?” Rishabha tried again. “A fifth Veda?”

  “Yes, I mean, I am only formulating and developing my theories right now, but if I finish my book, I will call it Ayurveda—the fifth Veda.” There was a strange, intense look on the man’s face and he seemed totally serious when he said it.

  Rishabha did not know what to make of it all.

  “Well, my name’s Rishabha—I’m from Magadha. It’s great meeting you,” he said.

  “Oh, my name is Charaka, I’m very pleased to meet you, Shreeman,” said the strange, owlish fellow.

  “Oh, Charaka! Well come out sometime to our room. Almost everyone in this building is a student. Why don’t you come over and meet us sometime
?”

  “Sure, sure . . . oh, yes actually you know, I do need your help,” said Charaka.

  “My help? Sure . . . tell me!”

  “Show me your tongue.”

  “What?”

  “Tongue,” and Charaka stuckout his own tongue to demonstrate. “Aaaaa . . . like this.”

  Rishabha did as instructed. He was growing surer by the minute, that this man was completely batty.

  Charaka started mumbling to himself, making vague, dissatisfied noises.

  “That won’t do . . . no, no good at all,” he was talking to himself.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “No, no . . . that won’t do. It won’t do at all,” Charaka shook his head and frowned.

  “What do you mean not good? What happened? Is there something wrong with me?” Rishabha asked.

  “But you are healthy! Internally, you are completely healthy,” said Charaka, dissatisfied.

  “I am? Oh, thank god!”

  “Yes, you are healthy. Can’t do anything with you! Sorry! Don’t you know anyone here who is sick? I need to study actual cases.”

  “Oh . . .” Rishabha considered. He was not very sure about Charaka’s sanity and didn’t want to assign any of his friends to him. Then he remembered Nala and decided that introducing that crushing bore and bundle of sincerity to this mad doctor might provide some laugh“Actually I do know someone. I will send him to you as soon as possible. Okay?”

  “Oh, great, great. Thank you so much. Is he ill?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, very good, very good. Send me anyone you know is ill, anyone who is very ill. Even better if they are almost dying,” said Charaka, flashing another toothy grin.

  That was how Rishabha first met Charaka. The magic of youth and the novelty of genius worked their alchemy once again and very soon, Charaka too, was a part of the collection of oddballs that comprised Aditya’s and Rishabha’s circle of friends.

  s and improve the health of everyone else.

  Chanakya

  Rishabha hurried home early, as classes had been cancelled. It was the day of the big debate featuring two of the brightest minds in Takshashila—Acharya Chanakya and Acharya Sahlivan. The streets were deserted, businesses had shut down early, and crowds of people jammed together at the few eateries that were open. A sense of barely restrained excitement hung in the air.