by Rahul Mitra
When Rishabha got back, he found Aditya cooking in the courtyard.
“Oye,” he shouted, “You got leave?”
“Mahinda forced me,” laughed Aditya.
“Well you’re coming, right? Then get ready,” said Rishabha as he went up to the well and started drawing water to wash his face.
“I’m ready and waiting. You get ready,” said Aditya.
Rishabha now patted his face with the cloth on his shoulder.
“What? You’re going like this?”
“What’s wrong with this?”
“This is horrible . . . there’ll be girls there.”
“Let them—this is good enough for them!” snorted Aditya. He carried the pot of khichdi up the stairs as Rishabha followed him to their room.
“Well, at least wear a turban. If not your own, then think of my reputation at least,” badgered Rishabha.
“Oh, leave me alone.”
Rishabha was wearing the only silk turban he owned, a particularly eye-catching, bright yellow one. He set it at a rakish angle on his head, smoothed his dhoti, and then with all arrangements made, he started hustling Aditya out of the room. They flew down the stairs and almost collided into Charaka who was waiting for them at the bottom. It had been three weeks since they had first met him, and they were fast friends now. Charaka gave them a toothy grin, apologized profusely, and then demanded to see their tongues. With formalities out of the way, the party proceeded towards its destination—the Takshashila University kautuhalshala.
By the time they arrived, the place was packed and humming with noise. It was an enormous multi-pillared hall, constructed in a rectangular shape with a sunken podium at the centre. The podium was surrounded by rows of declining stairwells, meant for the audience. People had already crammed into every available space: there was a charged and excited mix of students and professors, gentlemen and shopkeepers, merchants, soldiers, and administrators.
As the four made their way down through the audience, someone called out Rishabha’s name. Sitting just two levels above them to their right were the twins, waving their arms in exact synchronicity, as they called out in the very same voice.
“Rishabha, over here,” shouted Buddha.
“Over here, Rishabha,” shouted Bodhi as he moved over, energetically patting the space to his right.
They made their way over, and two pairs of the same face grinned up at them.
“We support Chanakya . . .” said one.
“Who do you support?” asked the other.
Excited discussion followed. Charaka was welcomed and they all squeezed into the little space available. Presently, drums were beaten, signifying the start of the evening’s programme. A reverential hush descended on the entire assembly and people leaned forward as the two Acharyas walked in, along with other men of learning from Takshashila. The twins were almost jumping in their seats in excitement, as Rishabha pointed out Acharya Sahlivan and Acharya Chanakya to Aditya.
The debate soon got underway. While Acharya Sahlivan was calm and composed, and expounded his brand of unruffled logic, Acharya Chanakya made a direct appeal to emotions and used his demagoguery to whip the crowds into a frenzy.
Aditya too, followed the debate with keen interest. Acharya Chanakya’s main thesis was, that it was the constant strife and war mongering among different ganarajyas that was responsible for the pointless loss of many lives, and the increasing tolls and taxes that were required to finance such wars. He blamed the ganarajya system for being particularly prone to internal strife and dissension, and pointed out that it was the ambitions of the various warlords that led to spiralling corruption across the land. He advocated the political unification of Bharatvarsha under one powerful ruler to bring an end to internal strife, and usher in a period of peace and stability.
But according to Acharya Sahlivan, the best chance for a just State was one built on the model of local self-governance. The ganarajya model was flawed, for it entrusted political and administrative power into the hands of only one clan or a confederacy, whereas, the solution was for every citizen of a region to hold an equal stake in the administration.
He vigorously attacked Acharya Chanakya’s emotional pleas for a united Bharatvarsha. The ruling class of a united Bharat might be ten times more powerful than the current rulers. Then who or what would keep them in check if they turned even more exploitative, power hungry, and greedy? What would tie their interests to those of the common man? Who could guarantee that the infighting between warlords and ganarajyas would not be replaced by civil war or fighting between different self-serving cliques within the same government?
This was essentially what it all boiled down to, thought Aditya to himself. No doubt the current problems of corruption and injustice throughout Aryavarta were because of the existing system of ganarajyas. However, what was the guarantee that these problems would disappear in a united nation?
Yet, most of the people in the audience seemed to be solidly behind Acharya Chanakya’s ideas. His impassioned appeals relating to the commonality of culture, philosophy and ideals had struck a chord among the highly cosmopolitan audience. The students in particular loved it. They were from all corners of Jambudweepa and having lived, studied, loved and formed friendships in Takshashila, the idea of a united Bharatvarsha appealed directly to their emotions. Thunderous bursts of applause greeted each of Acharya Chanakya’s points and it was clear that he was winning the debate.
Sitting in the audience, Aditya scanned through the faces all around the podium. Here and there, in the audience were people, who seemed to be extremely moved by the speech. This is the one commonality we have in all of Jambudweepa, he thought to himself—whether students of Takshashila or common Buddhist followers of Magadha, we are primarily emotional people. Get us excited, charge up our feelings, and you can get us to do anything, whether it is killing my brother without knowing any facts or hoodwinking large sections of the population on a regular basis in the name of pride, religion, and patriotism. Lost in such thoughts, Aditya was idly surveying the audience when his eyes came to rest on a familiar long, thin, bald head adorned with an incongruously bushy, well-oiled moustache.
It was Brihadratha, the merchant. A stylish young lady sat stiff and perfectly poised next to him. Her head was cocked to one side, curls falling over the forehead and the face, a picture of concentration. With a start, Aditya realised that it was Devika. How much she had changed! When he had last seen her, she was no more than a girl and yet by some mysterious alchemy, she had now become a beautiful, fashionably turned out lady.
What was it that had changed? Aditya studied her intently; that expression of lively absorption with one fingertip on her lip, the trademark curls falling over her face and the slight hint of a dimple on her left cheek. She looked utterly poised, and at the same timeHe was still studying her when she looked up and stared straight into his eyes. She had felt his gaze and reciprocated. Their eyes locked and then slowly, very slowly, she smiled.
Something heaved inside Aditya. Those eyes held him and that one look suggested an intimacy from beyond this birth. Her smile intoxicated him and warmth flooded into the deepest recesses of his soul. A feeling of unexplained delight took over. How much time passed in this manner, he did not know, but suddenly it was all over.
She looked back down. For the rest of the evening, he kept staring at her, but when the debate ended she vanished into the crowds, and he could not find a trace of either father or daughter.
, seemed to be completely unselfconscious.
Devika’s Home
Over the next few days, Aditya remained restless and agitated. Devika was on his mind. That gaze of a few, fleeting moments, across a crowded hall, had seemed to carry an intimacy that had bound their souls together in sacred union and now, without her, he could not find a moment’s rest. He could neither concentrate at work, nor laugh at Rishabha’s jokes. A single thought consumed him—he must see her again.
Aditya started asking ar
ound, for thanks to his work in the storehouses, he knew almost all the big trading parties in Takshashila, and was on first name terms with the fixers and movers who made up that world. He soon found out everything about the merchant Brihadratha, who traded exclusively in textiles from Magadha. Two days later, with Brihadratha and Devika’s address in his hands, he set off to find his beloved.
She lived in Nava Takshashila, the sprawling complex of neatly laid out identical looking houses that had come up on the other side of the Tamra Nala river, an area that Aditya was not too familiar with.
The massive Takshashila stupa was located there, next to the riverbank, and it dominated the entire area around it. Right next to it was an elevated temple and the vast expanse of greenery known as the Takshashila udyaan. These gardens, which were maintained by the State, were very popular with the residents. Wrestlers exercised here early in the mornings, serious looking scholars and good-for nothing students hung around during the day, lovers created their own private spaces in its leafy recesses during the afternoons, and the whole place turned into a promenade in the evenings, as the young and fashionable, men and women of Takshashila strolled up and down. On the other side of the udyaan were rows upon rows of teachers’ cottages, the gurukuls, which together made up Takshashila University.
Way beyond the gurukuls and the udyaan lay the wide lanes and spanking new buildings of New Takshashila. It was a place of calm and order, far removed from the chaos and congestion of the students’ quarter. The noveau riche, the merchants, and middle ranking officers of the administration occupied these houses and Aditya noted with surprise, the absence of squatters and vendors along its lanes.
It took a little bit of asking around, but he soon found his objective—a two-storey mud brick house located at the meeting point of two by-lanes. It was a typical Indian building, built around a central courtyard, with all windows and openings facing the courtyard, rather than the street. A vast peepal tree grew at an angle just outside the entrance. The high boundary wall behind it gleamed a dull brown in the sunlight, and with no windows in front of him, Aditya settled in to wait.
Evening gave way to dusk.
The last of the sun’s rays slowly faded away.
The land came alive with the twitter of birds, and lamps were being lit inside the house. Light filtered out from the main entrance and he fancied he saw some movement. The peepal leaves caught the diffused, pale light coming from the house and gleamed softly in the darkness. Once or twice, the sounds of excited conversation mixed in with the pleasant notes of a woman’s laughter, floated down to him. He strained his ears to understand what was being said, but the words were indistinct.
Three servants came out of the house, conversing loudly amongst themselves, and Aditya immediately started walking with his head held down, as if he was a scholar in deep thought. By and by, the darkness all around him deepened, lamps were extinguished in the house and stillness engulfed everything.
A cool wind now sprang up, funnelled through the long, straight alleyway and the two-storied buildings on either side. The leaves of the peepal tree fluttered noisily in the wind and Aditya was overcome by a terrible sense of loneliness. From somewhere came the thought that Devika might come out of the house if he counted till a hundred. However, she did not come out, and Aditya tried again and again.
Finally, it was almost the second prahar of the night by the time he called it quits, and trudged back towards the city. He had not eaten since morning. Tired and hungry, he went to sleep in the open grounds outside the city gates.
***
For the next three days, Aditya was caught up at work with a caravan that had just arrived. It was only on the fourth day that he was finally able to slip out early. There was only one thing on his mind—Devika.
He arrived outside her place in the early afternoon and once again, settled into wait. This time, his patience was rewarded. The object of his desire had appeared.
A strange thrill now passed through his entire body. Ecstasy and dread ran up and down his spine, and his brain stopped functioning for she had just stepped out of the house along with a friend. Engrossed in each other’s company, the two girls made their way down the street. Almost mechanically, Aditya started following them. His eyes could only see Devika.
From afar, he studied her hair, which fell in a mass of curls onto her neck and shoulders, her hands as they moved animatedly, and the lilt of her laughter which he could just about overhear. Evidently old friends, the two girls were gossiping and laughing as they made their way towards the udyaan.
Aditya, with his pulse quickening at every step, followed them into the garden. The girls had perched themselves on a few scattered rocks, and were still immersed in their conversation. A wild idea now seized him. Should he show himself—walk by in front of them as if he was just out for a stroll? Would she not recognize him and call out to him, as she had done so many times in the past? He stood there, considering this for a few minutes. Finally, taking a deep breath, he resolved to take his life into his own hands.
Looking neither left nor right, he marched stiffly towards Devika. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, and his mind was full of all sorts of confusing thoughts. The only thing which was clear to him, was that he must appear as natural as possible. He looked up, and seeing a neem tree, studied its leaves with singular concentration. Then he looked down and stared hard at the grass growing under his feet, as if his life depended upon it. And yet, all the while, the only thing he was conscious of, was her.
He was coming closer and closer to where the two of them were sitting, his hands clasped behind him, in a most reflective posture, his eyes looking straight ahead, focussed on the mid-distance. A wild expression now appeared on his face, like that of a soldier marching straight onto the path of a charging elephant. He had almost appeared right in front of them and his heart was beating so loudly in his chest that he could hardly hear anything else. Yet, they did not seem to have noticed.
Should he now look up, appear to have just seen Devika, and then greet her with a casual ‘hi’? What if the girl accompanying her, was a strict aunt? No, no, no, no, no—he must not take any chances. Let her recognize him and call out his name, and he would act surprised. He was still thinking all this while, looking with great interest at a peepal tree, trying to calm himself down, when he inadvertently stumbled on a small rock, right in front of the girls.
He fancied he heard a laugh and darted a reproachful look towards Devika. She was staring in his direction, but seemed to be looking at something beyond him. What was happening? Didn’t she recognize him? How could she have forgotten him so quickly? Was she afraid of her companion? Or waAditya quickly regained his composure, looked the other way, and walked on with an expression of haughty disdain. He half-expected her to call out to him, but she did not. Disappointed and unnerved, he repeated the whole thing again. He took a giant round of the park, and then came back to pass by where the two girls were sitting.
Last time he had been looking at a peepal tree and this time, he studied the ground as he passed by. He even darted a furtive glance directly at her. She was engrossed in conversation, though her face was not as animated as before. He made another round and came back, checking out Devika through the corners of his eyes. This time, he fancied that the friend was looking at him. The fourth time that Aditya came around, the two girls were nowhere to be seen.
s she just shy? Oh god, what was going on?
A Budding Romance
Rishabha was astonished. His friend was oiling his hair and bathing with sandalwood paste. He had even taken to twirling his moustache into a variety of ferocious shapes, and was spending increasing amounts of time away from home.
Aditya’s colleagues also noticed this change. The man who had no fashion sense at all, was suddenly at his immaculate best everyday. He was also behaving rather mysteriously. He would rush through work during the day, and run off somewhere in the evenings.
As a matter of fact, Aditya w
as going to the udyaan. He would run there every evening as soon as he was free. Once there, he would pause a while to adjust his turban and twist his moustache into shape. Despite his best efforts, however, the straggly hair on his upper lip remained defiant and rebellious, sticking out this way and that, like a sparrow’s nest after heavy rains. After struggling valiantly with his moustache, he would then loiter around the entrance and study the flowers growing there with considerable interest. By and by, having worked up his courage, he would finally enter the udyaan with the look of one going into his final battle.
Devika and her companion too, came to the udyaan everyday, where they would always sit at the same place. Over the next few days, Devika’s friend noticed a peculiar young man who always seemed to be hanging around. On different days he would be slinking behind different trees, staring at their leaves as if engaged in some deep botanical study. She even caught him gaping at them like a madman on a couple of occasions. Truth be told, the fellow was making her very nervous.
To Aditya, it seemed as if the days were passing by in a dream. On some days, he forgot to eat dinner. He also talked less and instead, spent a great deal of time, lying on his mattress and staring up at the ceiling. Sometimes, he would laugh out loud in the middle of the night. Rishabha was becoming more and more concerned about his health.
Things might have continued indefinitely in this vein, if by some fortunate chance, Brihadratha had not accompanied Devika to the udyaan one day. Aditya, who saw a man sitting with Devika from afar, was overcome with jealousy and immediately marched towards the couple in a perfect fit of indignation. On coming closer, he realized with a start that it was the merchant Brihadratha. Instantly, he assumed his most diginified expression and strolled past them, as if completely unaware of their presence. He had just passed them by, when he heard someone call out his name.