The Boy From Pataliputra

by Rahul Mitra

  The foreigners were pale almost to the point of whiteness and had feathers stuck in their helmets, rooster-style. Some of them had yellow-coloured hair and the men were wearing loose sari-type garments that came up till their knees. The crowd looked upon them with mingled curiosity and resentment.

  “Don’t they have any blood in their body? They look like ghosts!” called out someone from the crowd, and everyone dissolved into laughter.

  “Have they sent their children to fight us? Look at them, so short and they don’t even have beards,” heckled another.

  “Its true. Even their swords are shorter than ours,” noted a third.

  Coenus who was the emissary sent by Alexander, ignored them. He had already dealt with a number of Indians, and was familiar with their tendency to stand and stare. Like the rest of the natives, the people of Takshashila were very dark and tall. Some men dyed their beards in different colours, and wore earrings of ivory, while others, men and women, had very elaborate headdresses and top-knots. He noted with interest the group of bald men wearing saffron robes who passed them by, chanting in their strange tongue. They were one of the two main types of philosophers and religious men he had seen in India.

  Meanwhile, the crowd had grown in size, and some of them stared at the Greeks with defiant expressions, hostility writ large on their faces. One of the students even stepped forward and spat loudly onto the ground. He was warned off with a spear butt from their Indian escort, some sharp words were exchanged, and a part of the crowd immediately dispersed.

  Others lingered on, gaping at them. Coenus frowned. They were under strict orders to remain stern and dignified in their dealings with the Indians. Yet, one of his younger soldiers had again started clowning around. Karanos was engaged in a dialogue of the dumb with a group of students that stood in front of him. Waving his hands about he made elaborate hand gestures to try and show them that he had come from very far away. One of the young girls who had been passing by, now stepped forward with a mischievous grin. She took a round smooth, black ball from the pile that she was carrying in a pan on her head, handed it to Karanos, and made eating noises. It was evidently something delicious.

  Karanos looked at the ball in his hand and grinned. It seemed a little soft and looked like . . . goat dung. Immediately, he threw it to the ground as the crowd erupted into laughter. The girl ran away giggling mischievously. It was dried goat dung that some of the households used as fuel. He looked around sheepishly. These people sure had a strange sense of humour.

  By then, a detachment of guards arrived to escort them to the palace. This was when Aditya first set eyes on the Yavanas.

  ***

  By the next evening, word had spread that Maharaj Ambhi had made peace and accepted Yavana overlordship. Messengers of the King spread far and wide throughout Takshashila and its surrounding villages, informing the people about the treaty of peace and friendship between Gandhara and the Yavanas. The Yavanas were not to be harrassed, and in exchange for peace and security, the citizens of Gandhara would welcome and host the friendly armies in their territory. The head of each household in the cities would have to provide two maund of grain and one head of cattle, or ten panas to the State treasury; while in the villages, the head of every household had to provide one milch animal for the Yavanas.

  Discontent simmered throughout the land. Merchants and farmers groaned at the arbitrary taxes, soldiers grumbled about the prospect of fighting their fellow countrymen, religious heads condemned the treaty, and there were open calls for revolt at the University. The refugees living in the camp outside the city walls were getting ever more fractious and uncontrollable. The day after the news was received, the women of the camp got hold of two Takshashilan soldiers and thrashed them half-dead. The merchants and prominent citizens sent delegation after delegation to the King, the students marched brandishing arms, and the scholars and acharyas advised against the treaty. In the bazaars and markets, people were labelling their own king a coward and a traitor.

  The situation unravelled faster than anyone could imagine. The corrupt administration, which was not used to answering to anyone, suddenly found itself being held accountable by the citizens of Takshashila. Incidents of violence against soldiers and officials of the King were reported from a number of areas. Things had come to a head and Ambhi now called a meeting of the council of ministers, to decide on the future course of action.

  Among the nobles and ministers, it was widely held that the core of all these disturbances arose from the destabilizing influence of the foreign students and refugees who had flooded into Gandhara. One faction of the nobles was in favour of military action against these troublesome elements and urged the King to be decisive and forceful.

  Meanwhile, the University and all the gurukuls were shut down in protest. Even as Maharaj Ambhi was meeting with his ministers in the Amatya Parishad, the students called for a massive demonstration to take place the very next day. Everything was now in place for a showdown.

  ***

  The next day, Sameera woke up almost in the second prahar of the day, and lazily made his way to Tanku’s dhaba for food. But the shop was closed. Tanku had disappeared, and the entire area looked desolate. Two groups of students sat nearby, talking in muted tones.

  One of the students whom he knew, called out to him:

  “Sameera!”

  Sameera shuffled over to where they were sitting. He was still half-asleep.

  “What’s going on? Where’s everybody?”

  “They’ve gone for the protests . . . haven’t you heard?”

  “Gone? Where? I don’t know—no one told me.”

  “Hello . . . Shreeman! Have you been sleeping? Don’t you know what’s been happening?” asked the friend.

  “Abbe, how would he know? When was the last time you came to class, brother?” asked another student.

  “I know what’s been going on Susheel, and I also happen to know what’s been going on with you,” said Sameera.

  Susheel blushed and Sameera continued, “But where are they protesting today?”

  “They are marching to the palace. Almost everyone’s gone. They want to present their grievances directly to Maharaj Ambhi,” replied his friend.

  The news jolted him awake.

  “What about Rishabha? Is he also with them?”

  “Of course he’s there! You know, he�“Your friends are all there, Sameera. I saw Radha here in the morning. Some of them assembled here, before joining the protest,” said another student.

  “And Tanku? Where’s Tanku?”

  “He’s also at the demonstration. Old man’s gonna start a revolution,” the student chuckled.

  “He’s dead drunk. Been drinking since morning; some soldiers are in for a tough time,” said one of them, and everyone laughed.

  Everyone, that is, except Sameera. He looked worried.

  “Ya, your friends could be in a whole lot of trouble,” observed one of the students. It was as if he had read Sameera’s mind.

  “You’d better go quickly, if you want to help them,” said another.

  “Where? The King’s palace?”

  “Yes.”

  Sameera took it all in and then, with a leap and abound, he was on his way. Rishabha and the twins were real hotheads, and this whole marching-on-the-palace idea was just asking for trouble. Perhaps he should try and locate Aditya first. No, there wasn’t enough time. He must make his way directly to the palace.

  ***

  A mass of people had spilled out onto the streets of Takshashila. As the procession passed through the various quarters of the city, more and more people joined it, and the rush got bigger and bigger. By the time they reached the soldier’s barracks, the crush of people took up the entire street.

  It was a subdued and cheerless mass of people. Venerable monks and pundits led the way, and were followed by a motley mix of refugees, students, shopkeepers, and prostitutes. Faces looked tense and expectant. No one was quite sure of what to expect
.

  “Remember brothers, we are not here to seek a confrontation,” shouted a stocky, dark, young man from the front of the crowds.

  An old Acharya who was walking next to him, turned to address the crowd.

  “Please be restrained at all times; all we want is an audience with Maharaj Ambhi,” he shouted.

  The disorganized and cumbersome mass slowly turned the corner into the city’s main square. It was a vast expanse of empty space, dominated by the imposing buildings of the King’s palace and the Amatya Parishad. Three main arterial roads of the city met at this point, making it one of the main thoroughfares of the city.

  Now, as more and more people spilled out onto the square, they saw that the palace front was already teeming with soldiers. Five solid rows of foot soldiers blocked the way to the palace, while groups of horsemen hung about on the sides.

  It was as if a predator and its prey had suddenly come face to face. The crowd stood as if transfixed by the impassive faces standing at the far end of this vast, open space. Murmurs and exclamations were suddenly heard on all sides.

  “Soldiers!” this single exclamation, so full of horror and shock, was repeated over and over again.

  Gathered at the edge of the square, the procession wavered. Now was the moment of uncertainty. A few had already begun to melt away. Ananimated discussion broke out amongst the acharyas and student leaders at the front of the crowd.

  “Friends, do not fear. We are not here to cause trouble. We only want an audience with the Maharaj,” shouted the young man in front, trying to reassure them.

  Meanwhile, the horsemen had started moving. They formed up in a line, and closed ranks, even as the procession hesitated and argued.

  “Come on, friends. Forward! These are our soldiers. We have nothing to fear from them,” shouted the young man.

  ***

  Meanwhile, a party of almost twenty people rushed through the lane, leading from the oil pressers’ market to the palace. Almost all of them were students. There were also a few strangers who had joined them along the way. They attracted quite a crowd and a long line of urchins trailed after them, laughing and jeering at the antics of the old drunkard leading them.

  He was creating quite a ruckus, this bald and dark elf of a man.

  “You nincompoops, bunch of useless oafs . . . I told you we should have gone through the barracks,” huffed Tanku. He was carrying his bamboo stick and swayed unsteadily on his feet, as he walked.

  “That calf Ambhi; who’s he think he is? I’ll box his ears, I’ll . . . I’ll, I’ll turn him into a chicken and make him stand in a corner. By the gods, he hasn’t met Tanku, I tell you,” said the old man, as he waved his stick about in the air.

  “It’s all right, keep your voice down, please,” said Radha, as she walked right beside him.

  This small group barrelled down the narrow lanes of the ‘shortcut’ they had taken, to join the main crowds.

  ***

  At the front of the procession, the acharyas and the religious men locked their arms together and slowly started advancing towards the soldiers.

  “Come on brothers, nothing to fear,” repeated the students to one another, as they encouraged each other and started inching forward. Others stood where they were.

  Facing them, the horses started ambling towards them, their hooves clicking smartly on the ground. The sunlight gleamed off the naked khadgas being carried by the soldiers.

  The crowd looked on in horror as the horses slowly broke into a canter. The leaders were still urging the crowd forward.

  “Hold firm, mates; they won’t harm us, they are our brothers, nothing to fear,” shouted the stocky young student in front.

  “No, get back!” shouted others.

  Even as the crowd wavered and the officers were about to issue their orders, a commotion broke out in one section of the square. For a few moments, everyone was distracted as people craned their necks to see what was going on.

  It was all the work of one man. A dark, dirty, bald old man had come running out of one of the other lanes leading into the square, and was screaming at the top of his voice.

  “Come at me, you bloody worms. Cowards, cockroaches, bandicoots . . . come here and get your prizes,” he yelled. He stumbled about, waving his stick in the air, and the force of his lungs carried his voice straight across the square.

  “Come on, you dirty daanavas; Tanku will teach you a lesson today,” he shouted as he lurched unsteadily towards the foot soldiers.

  This drama, playing out on the other end of the square, distracted the soldiers on horseback for just a moment, but that brief interlude in their attack, probably saved the lives of many students that day. Within seconds, the old man was swallowed up by a crowd of foot soldiers and he disappeared from view.

  “Rakshasas, dastardly dhaturas, you tree of assholes . . .” his voice still bellowed across the square from somewhere within that dense mass of soldiers.

  Meanwhile, the officers now passed the orders and the horsemen broke into a trot, their khadgas outstretched. They were charging the procession!

  Shrieks of terror broke out everywhere.

  “Run for your lives!” the cry spread like wildfire.

  The crowd ran back into the lanes, pushing against the people at the rear, and stampeding in blind terror. Rishabha, who had been marshalling the multitude at the back, tried to hold firm.

  “Come on, brothers . . . hold firm!” he shouted but no one heard him. Someone crashed into him and they both went sprawling to the ground. People were stepping on his fingers, stumbling over his body, pushing him into the ground in their haste to get away. The shrieks of terrified men echoed through the narrow lanes as horses charged over him. Finally, at some point, he blacked out.

  ***

  Rishabha sat on the floor, his head hanging low on his chest. He had received multiple bruises all over his body, and particularly bad ones on his arms. Next to him lay Buddha, who too had been hurt. No one spoke. Eight of them had squeezed into Radha and Nala’s room and the atmosphere was glum.

  Rishabha’s eyes glittered maniacally in the dim light, as he shook his head over and over again.

  “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it,” he said.

  “Fifty students were killed today, Aditya and Tanku’s perhaps been beaten to death; he’s been missing since the protests,” whispered Radha.

  Aditya and Pandi had been hunting and had heard the news immediately on return to Takshashila. “There were Brahmins and monks in there, acharyas and women—how could they do this? How could they do this to us, Aditya? Did you know about this?”

  “No, you know it’s my day off. How would I know? Why didn’t you tell me you were planning all this? Did you attack the soldiers or something?”

  “No, it was pre-meditated, cold-blooded murder. I was there. I saw it,” said Bodhi.

  “We are not going to remain quiet after this,” said Buddha.

  “Don’t be stupid, why are you guys creating trouble? Can’t you just live in peace?” asked Sameera.

  “Peace? Peace? You call this peace? The King killing his own citizens to please these invaders? Prostituting our country for their lunch and dinner—you call this peace?” sputtered Buddha.

  “No, there can be no peace with this government, Sameera,” said Rishabha as he shook his head. “This foreign army has landed at our doorstep and now there is no question of peace. Not for us, not for you, and not for Aditya. None of us can escape this. Whether you like it or not, you too are a part of this thing now, Sameera. The only thing is—whose side will you take? As for us, we are already committed.”

  The group fell silent, as everyone’s thoughts turned towards the situation. Rishabha was right. In one way or the other, they all risked getting involved. On the one hand, the students and refugees were determined to resist the invaders and on the other, Maharaj Ambhi had pledged support to the Yavanas. The conflict had entered their houses and a fire was raging all around them. How long w
ould they remain unscathed?

  “As far as I am concerned, this government has lost all credibility. After selling our countrymen over to these foreigners, it has no moral right to rule over us,” asserted Radha as the others nodded in agreement.

  “It is now our sacred duty to resist such rulers, as well as the Yavana army,” said Bodhi.

  “How will you resist? Think, at least, for gods’ sake, before you talk of such things. You are students—do you really think you can stand against organized armies? You will be cut down like grass,” said Sameera.

  “Are you a friend or not? If you are a friend, then whose side are you on?” asked Bodhi.

  Sameera caught his breath and composed himself. His voice was low and emphatic when he replied.

  “Brother, I will come with you to the ends of the Earth, but it is also my duty to stand in your way if you are doing something stupid, and self-destructive. I cannot see you jumping into a well in front of my own eyes and not say anything,” he said and paused before continuing, “but if each one of you has already decided to go down this dangerous path, then know that I will be with you. But I warn you—you have no idea about what you are getting into.”

  “If you are so afraid, you can back out; we don’t need you!” snarled Buddha.

  “Enough! Enough blood has been shed for today. There is no reason to fight amongst ourselves. Rishabha, now come home. Enough of this! You all need to rest at least today. We will discuss all this later,” announced Aditya.

  “Come on, let’s go,” he ordered.

  The party broke up. The twins and Pandi went home, and Rishabha followed Aditya outside. As they walked through the darkened streets of the city, Aditya found himself thinking of the future with a sense of shock. He would have to do something to keep his friends out of trouble, he thought as he glanced at Rishabha.