The Boy From Pataliputra

by Rahul Mitra

  As soon as it passed him, Aditya reached forward and slapped the attacker’s wrist with the flat of the khadga, pushing the sword onto the student in the middle who also had been rushing forward. This student was now undone by his own momentum, even as he reared back at the last minute, trying to avoid the naked blade of his teammate. By then, Aditya had already withdrawn his own sword in a backhanded slash and delivered a mock cut right across the neck of the student on the extreme left.

  “That’s out. You’re dead. And you’ve been slashed by your friend’s sword,” cried out Pandi pointing at the two students.

  Things had moved very fast. Aditya was now at the extreme left of the group and the mock-dead attacker was between him and the other two. Immediately, he delivered a powerful kick and pushed his erstwhile attacker on to the student in the middle, sending him reeling back. Turning rapidly, he now rushed at the student on the extreme right who too, had moved in close. In his hurry, Aditya lost his balance and stumbled forward with his head extended forward and his khadga pointing towards the ground. By dropping his sword, he had violated one of the most fundamental rules of khadga fighting. His defence was wide open.

  The student on the right immediately made a slash for his head. But it was a trap. As his opponent swung the sword, Aditya’s entire torso straightened up and curved backwards, his head jerked back, while his arms and the khadga rose straight up off the ground, stopping only inches short of his opponent’s groin.

  “You’re out,” shouted Acharya again and now it was one against one, and that too a supposedly injured fighter attacking. Aditya soon got the better of him.

  In truth, this whole sequence of events was over in a matter of moments. It had happened so fast that the novices were not able to appreciate the strategy and cunning behind what they had seen. All they saw was magic. Aditya had somehow materialized on the extreme left of the pack and being in this lucky position, he had not only turned his opponent’s stroke against the one in the middle, but had used this man as a shield to be pushed against the others. By luck and reflexes, he had recovered from a stumble and made short shrift of the student on the right and so on. It was only Pandi who could appreciate the cunning and agility that had set up the victory.

  Later, after all the other students had left, Pandi and Aditya sat on the steps of the great stupa analyzing the fight. Pandi told Aditya about the unnecessary risks he had taken and how he could have done things better. However, now that the fight was over, Aditya’s mind was clearly elsewhere.

  “How many people have you killed in your life Acharya?” he asked.

  “I’ve killed a few. Why?”

  “You must have killed a lot of people.”

  “Yes, I have, but I have always avoided it as much as I can,” he saw the crestfallen look on Aditya’s face and continued, “perhaps you would prefer it if I told you I have killed a hundred and defeated two hundred?”

  “No, Acharya. It’s not that. I just wanted to hear stories from your youth. Did you ever kill anyone and regret it later?”

  “A few times, Aditya, but it has not happened in the last ten years. When I was younger, I was stupid, insecure and puffed up with pride and I was always getting into fights. But not anymore. These days I only draw my sword if mine or my men’s life is in danger. I hope you too will try to avoid fights, Aditya- never draw your sword over trivial matters.”

  “But why?”

  “Because this skill is not given to you for petty reasons. The khadga is a responsibility, Aditya. The kind of skill you have with the khadga, not everyone has it. Your friends don’t have it, your classmates don’t, only you have been given this skill and you must use it to protect and uphold the rights of those who cannot do so themselves. In fact, when you have this level of mastery over the khadga, it also becomes your responsibility to make sure that your opponent is not killed, even iAditya reflected on this for a moment and his face darkened.

  “That’s not the way the world works, Acharya.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But with all the evil in it, the world is not all bad. There is a lot of good in the world as well, for nature believes in balance. You too will have to decide, everytime you draw your sword—what will you use it for? Will you use your khadga to protect the weak and the powerless? Or will you use it to prey upon them, as so many do these days? Believe me, Aditya, time after time you will be faced with situations where you will be forced to choose between different alternatives, and I do hope you will make the right choice, always.” Pandi paused for a bit and then continued, “Remember one thing Aditya, you can win neither love nor respect at the point of a sword.”

  “Then how does one win respect Acharya? I am earning well. I am a Captain of the King’s household guards and I have achieved all this on my own. But the world still respects Sumukha because he has more money, because he is from a noble family. That never seems to change . . .”

  Pandi put his arms around Aditya’s shoulders and smiled.

  “This is about Devika, isn’t it?”

  “Not really, Acharya, but sometimes I wonder,” Aditya shook his head.

  “Aditya, there is too much anger in you—you have to let it go. You will never ever become a master swordsman, unless you master yourself and your feelings.”

  “But what is the problem with feelings? Should we not stick up for our honour? Sumukha badmouths me to Devika and her father, and they listen to him because he is rich and powerful. I too, come from a noble family, but I have achieved everything on my own. Then why am I looked down upon?”

  “I don’t know, Aditya, but I know you. You want respect but intimidation and force will get you only fear and resentment, they can never get you respect. That comes from character, from a lifetime of choices made and actions taken. That’s what you should fight for.”

  “Then how does one get a girl’s respect, Acharya? Sometimes it just seems to me that girls are illogical, selfish, and stupid.”

  “No, they are not. Have you ever thought of Radha as stupid or selfish?”

  “Radha is different. She is . . . one of us.”

  “No, this is not about us or them. You can abuse women all you want, but the truth is that all humans act in the same manner. We never see the value of things we get easily in life. If someone is very nice to you and makes themselves available to you all the time, you will naturally start devaluing them. On the other hand, you will crave for that, which is not easily available.”

  Aditya cringed. There seemed to be some unspoken accusation in Pandi’s tone.

  “If you want Devika, stop pursuing her, give her time to think things through, give her space to feel your absence. Also, don’t be a damned fool! Stop trying to impress her by getting her these expensive gifts. The person who likes you, should like you for who you are, not for the money you have.”

  “It’s not that, Pandi. You wouldn’t believe the chemistry I have with her. She just has to see me and she starts smiling. I can read her mood in an instant and can make her happy, no matter what. Yet, she hesitates about marriage and has never given me any positive indication, even though she knows my feelings. Her parents are pressurizing her to accept Sumukha.”

  Pandi looked out towards the horizon where the sun still lingered on, painting the western sky in a glowing medley of colours. Mellow molten gold gave way to orangish hues, which gradually turned into a deep reddish streak splashed across the sky. Suspended right on the edge of the horizon, the sun seemed to hang in the air for an eternity, before dropping down abruptly to disappear into the bowels of the earth. A cool breeze was blowing in from the side of the stream, and after a cruel, hot day, the mellow sunset had restored some balance to the world.

  Pandi and Aditya were both lost in their thoughts. Finally, Pandi broke the silence.

  “Relationships are not like sword-fighting Aditya. Love has no logic, and nor is it a goal that you can achieve with extra work and dedication. No matter how hard we try, or how much of our blood, sweat, and tears we give, w
e still may not be able to get the one we want. It’s not our fault, it’s not even their fault, for maybe we are not what they want or maybe they are not all that we thought them to be. Don’t blame anyone, don’t waste your time and your talents in jealousy and worry, for just as sure as there are people who don’t see your value, there are others who will love you for what you are.”

  ***

  Even as Aditya sat discussing Devika with Pandi, an extraordinary event was getting underway in the University area behind them.

  As the sun dipped below the horizon and shadows lengthened across the land, hundreds of students in groups of twos and threes started making their way towards Acharya Pundarikaksha’s Gurukul. By the time night fell, an enormous crowd had collected. Volunteers hung lamps from the trees, even as rows of students held aloft burning torches in their hands.

  A group of Acharya’s; their faces illuminated by the flickering lights sat under the big banyan tree in front of the cottage. A sea of heads could be seen, students sitting in row after row that extended into the darkness. Towards the back, students were still arriving, putting down their mats and occupying every available space. Small groups stood together at the sides and at the back, and they talked in hushed whispers. It would have been impossible to estimate just how many students had turned up, for the place was jampacked.

  The brilliant, yellow light caught the glittering, watery eyes of hundreds of students, it bounced off a sword here and a silk dhoti there, and cast a strange pallor over the earnest, expectant faces of the students. Among the crowd sitting right in front, were Radha and Nala, while the twins sat in a section at the back. A group of volunteers, with Rishabha prominent among them, stood behind the Acharyas, answering queries, carrying messages, and marshalling the crowds as requested.

  Presently, Acharya Pundarikaksha the most senior teacher in Takshashila stood up to address the crowds. He was old and slightly stooped. The light etched deep furrows on his face, his cheeks quivered as he spoke, but his voice was steady and commanding.

  “Students, I thank you all for coming here today. The crowd that I see in front of me, is far greater than I had hoped for, and yet somehow this does not surprise me, for I have been associated with this University for over fifty years. I only want to say that in being true to the traditions of our gurukuls, you have made this old man extremely proud.

  You all know the reason for our meeting. There is a grave threat looming over the nation and we can see its reflection in the pitiable conditions of our brothers, the Kambojas, the Pakhtas, and the Kats. This threat is fast approaching, and threatens not just the city, but our precious institution, the University as well. Numerous arguments have already been carried out over what our response should be, but we are yet to come to a firm agreement on this. Acharya Chanakya has been organizing and giving military training to a section of the students while Acharya Subandhu feels that we should leave fighting to the soldiers. Still others have been saying that a University should not get involved in such matters and that we should offer tribute and submit to the invader, so that our precious University is spared.

  It is not for me to order you on what to do. You are wise and I encourage you all to consider this issue yourselves, and make your own decision. However, as you consider this problem, I want to lay down a few basic points in front of you—keep these in mind, as you ponder and decide.

  Firstly, I want you all to understand that the war we are threatened with is a completely new type of war, something that we have never seen before. It is not being fought according to rules that have long been in practice in Bharatvarsha wherein civilians, cultivators, artisans, women, children, and old men are not harmed. On the contrary, entire populations, including women and children, have been slaughtered in places like Maskavati, Aranya Pura, and Ariagaon for resisting the invader. This happened in violation of the oaths and terms for surrender that had been agreed upon. If we decide to fight, we can expect the very same treatment if we are defeated. I ask you to keep this in mind when you make your decision.

  Secondly, I want to emphasize that these invaders are a completely alien force to the land of Bharatvarsha. If Kekaya or Magadha were to conquer Takshashila, we would still follow the way of the Tathagata or lord Mahavira, offer animal sacrifices and oblations to the fire, or be complete unbelievers—followers of all these schools of thought exist in all of our Janapadas. More importantly, we would still have freedom to follow our own belief systems, we would still argue these points in kautuhalshalas, we would still teach the classical texts in Sanskrit, we would still abide by the same principles of science and medicine, and our society would still be organized along the same lines.

  But these invaders are different. If they win or otherwise dominate us, they will bring with themselves, a culture and a worldview that is totally alien to this land. Theirs is a completely different civilization and when one civilization conquers another, it is often seen that the baser elements among the conquered, the masses of the population readily ape the culture of the conqueror. It is in the nature of the base and the brutish to be readily attracted to that which glitters, that which is mighty, and to the power that is on the ascendant. There is then, a tendency among the shallower elements to look down upon the native language or native manners as uncouth or barbaric.

  When this happens over generations, it completely robs a people of their identity. People adopt the dress, the language, the religion, and the culture of the conquerors, and may even start denigrating the culture of their own ancestors. That is the point at which a nation is really conquered—when their minds are conquered. When this happens, when there is an unquestioned belief in the supremacy of the conqueror’s culture or way of life, then there arises a desperate urge to identify with the conqueror. It is inevitable, for once you start speaking the tongue of the Yavanas at home and in the markets, why would you want to admit that you are a conquered and defeated native who is desperately aping another nation instead of just saying that your ancestors were Yavanas and there is not a single trace of the native in you, whether it be blood, language, manners, or rituals.

  There is no guarantee that these invaders will have the same tolerance that our societies have maintained so far. If they decide to impose their own culture, and if they decide to stay, then all the possibilities I have talked about, might come to fruition. If that happens, then our own descendants could turn their backs on our achievements and instead, take pride in those of the Yavanas. The Takshashila that you know, this ancient seat of learning; the very flowering of the Bharatiya genius in the arts and sciences, will then be lost for ever, for there will be no one to cherish its memory.

  Even worse, if only a part of our people surrender to the Yavanas then it will be an even bigger tragedy. By their very identification with the Yavanas and their contempt for the natives, they will then, forever, be at daggers drawn against their own brothers. We will then effectively become a people divided amongst ourselves, and foreigners will find a permanent base to meddle in the affairs of this region. All of this can happen if the Yavana finds a permanent foothold here, and I hope you will keep these possibilities in mind when you make your decision.

  Lastly, I want you all to understand what is at stake here. This is not about our beloved University, or about Takshashila, or even about Gandhara. It is about an idea—that a Jain, a Vaidika, a Buddhist, a Nastik, a Charvaka, a Malli, an Angi and Magadhi can live together side by side, take pride in each other’s achievements and all identify as Bharatiya. I believe this is a unique idea, an idea that stresses brotherhood and compassion over differences. It is an idea worth living for, worth fighting for, and worth dying for.

  I firmly believe that it is not just Gandhara that is threatened today, but this idea. It is this idea of Bharatiyata, this way of looking at the world that might change forever, by this attack of an alien civilization, and it is for all of us as Bharatiya, to play our role in defending our motherland.

  For after all, what is Bharat? Wh
at is Bharat I ask you?

  It is this idea. It is this idea that is the bedrock of this land—this land that is kept apart from the rest of the world by the high mountains in the North and the Northwest, by the great seas in the south, and the barren, impenetrable deserts in the west. By the very accident of our geography, this land has come together as one. It is this land that the rest of the world refers to as Hindus and that we ourselves acknowledge as Bharata. No matter, which janapada or tribe we belong to, we acknowledge ourselves as Bharatiya, for the underlying culture is common across the entire land. It is this self-identification as being Bharatiya, that makes us all one in spite of our rich diversity.

  If we remain divided into monarchies and ganarajyas, and think only of our own selfish interests, then sooner or later, a time will come when we will all be defeated one by one, just as the Ashvakas, Ashvakayanas, Pakhtas, and Kats have been defeated. We will then be united in our servitude, if not in our independence. I, therefore, ask you all as Bharatvasis, to stand ready to defend Takshashila and do our utmost to support our army.

  It is time for our land to awaken. Utthisht Bharata!”

  “Uttisht Bharata! Uttisht Bharata!! Uttisht Bharata!!!”

  The answering roar from the assembled students, reverberated through the stillness of Takshashila night.

  f you do get into a fight with someone.”

  Blood on the Streets

  The following week, a strange sight presented itself at the gates of Takshashila. A party of forty-five soldiers had arrived from the garrison at Udabhandapura, escorting twelve Yavanas and one Indian. They were emissaries from the Yavana King.

  A lively discussion ensued among the sentries about what to do with these foreigners, untill finally, the captain in charge, a giant by the name of Hastin asked them to wait, while a messenger was sent to the palace. Meanwhile, a crowd collected outside the gates. Men, women, and children who had been passing through, simply stopped to stare at these outlandish creatures.