The Boy From Pataliputra

by Rahul Mitra

  Rishabha, however, was still in the same mood. There was something hard in his eyes as he repeated himself.

  “There is no question of peace now, Aditya. Believe me, there will be blood.”

  ��s been organizing all these meetings.”

  The Acharya’s Advice

  The room was huge, overflowing with all the luxuries of the age. Its wooden walls were covered with panels depicting wars and hunts, soldiers and elephants, celestial nymphs and gods. Three tall windows with bamboo lattice screens let in streams of sunlight. At one end of this room, separated by shimmering curtains of silk, was a large divan covered with cushions. Bowls of the finest Kapisayana wine and different types of fresh fruits were placed on a stool next to the diwan, while the wall directly behind it was dominated by an imposing carving of a peacock with its wings outstretched, its feathers embellished with precious stones of varied hues. In front of the impressive aura of royal might, prestige, and luxury exuded by the room, the fair, stocky, curly-headed man who sat on the divan seemed remarkably small and ordinary.

  Alone in the room and veiled by curtains, Maharaj Ambhi sat chewing his nails. The meeting with his council of ministers had not gone well. Just thinking of it made his blood boil. As usual, the coterie of sycophants that his mother had foisted upon him, had spent the entire meeting praising his far-sightedness and benevolence, and cursing the ungratefulness of people, who had ‘forgotten everything he had done for them’. They had fallen over themselves in demonstrating their eagerness to personally deal with the rabble without giving him any idea about the real extent and cause of the disturbances. None of them had offered any actual solutions.

  Exhausted from the constant thinking, Ambhi now lay back on the couch and closed his eyes. How could his praja do this to him, their beloved King? Had they forgotten all that they owed him?

  His reverie was interrupted by his personal bodyguard Lakshamana, who had slithered in silently and now stood on the other side of the curtains, his head bowed at a respectful angle.

  “Maharaj, Acharya Digvijaya is here to see you.”

  “Quick, show him in.”

  Ambhi bounded out of the diwan with his hands folded, a shy smile covering his face. Digvijaya had been his teacher since childhood, and the one man he could count on, for sincere advice.

  “You sent for me Maharaj?” a huge old man with a grey beard that came down to his chest, stood at the doorway of the King’s chambers.

  Ambhi went up to him, and took him by the hand.

  “I need your help, Acharya. Please sit.”

  Ambhi sent for fresh water and refreshments and taking a banana from the pile of fruits, seated himself back on the diwan. Acharya sat down on an ornate armchair next to it.

  “You have undoubtedly heard about these disturbances and protests?”

  “Yes Maharaj, I have seen as well as heard about them.”

  “Really? Who is behind this? What do they want?” Ambhi asked and then continued again, before the Acharya could answer. “My ministers are of no use at all, Acharya. All they do is praise and flatter me. It’s maddening—bunch of idiots!”

  The old man cleared his throat.

  “If I may speak freely, Maharaj?”

  “Speak, please speak Acharya. This is why I have called you.”

  “Then note carefully what I say Maharaj. Do not expect ability, intelligence, or efficiency from your ministers. For a dynastic royal such as yourself, loyalty is the supreme virtue and the highest quality, and it trumps every other quality. The chief qualification of all those who are close to you, should be unswerving allegiance to you and your family, and you should not expect anything more from them. They have all been trained and groomed for their servitude and loyalty, not for their intelligence or judgement. In fact, ministers having greater energy, ability, or ambition will only be a source of danger to the dynasty, Maharaj. Moreover, it could very well be that your ministers themselves may not know the complete picture, for each one of them is also surrounded by a clique that has been chosen for its loyalty, more than anything else, and so it goes all down the chain.”

  Ambhi thought about this for a little while.

  “Are you saying Acharya that all my ministers could be completely out of touch with the situation on the ground?”

  “It is possible, Maharaj. It is the way of the world, especially in well-established and long ruling dynasties such as yours. Your ministers and followers are well-fed and complacent. They have lost touch with the streets, the markets, and the villages. It’s entirely possible that either they do not know, or their complacency makes them disbelieve and dismiss what is happening on the ground.”

  “So then, what is the real picture? How widespread is this revolt and which powers are instigating it? Is it these Kambojas, these people who came like beggars into my territory? Because by the gods, if it’s them, I will hit them so hard that . . .” Ambhi’s words trailed off as his eyes flashed fire.

  “It is not a revolt yet Maharaj, but feelings are running high. Anger against the Yavanas is universal among all sections of the population. The stories about their cruelty, the massacres at Maskavati and Aranya Pura, the wretched condition of the refugees, have all inflamed people’s passions. You must not forget Maharaj, that our people are tied to the refugees by kinship, religion, and culture. There is widespread hatred against the Yavanas, and these flames are further being fanned by Acharyas of the University, as well as all the religious heads. People want you to fight the Yavanas and the possibility of our soldiers teaming up with them in massacres against our own countrymen, makes our citizens angry. To top it all, the new taxes you have announced to feed the Yavanas, and the treaty with them, is seen as humiliating.”

  “But people? This rabble, this trash is now questioning my decisions? How did they suddenly develop the guts? And why now? When our kingdom is flourishing and the people are prosperous. What do they have to complain about?”

  “It is precisely because our kingdom has a newly rich class of merchants and scholars, that we face these problems. In any system, it is never the very poor or the very rich that challenge the rulers, but always the ones in the middle. The poor simply don’t have the ability to stand against anyone, while the very rich are usually beholden to the existing system and have a lot to lose.”

  “But these are the very people who should be thankful to me. Our family has made so many sacrifices for them. What reason do they have, to show such thanklessness?”

  “Please understand what I am trying to say, Maharaj. The social order of Takshashila has changed dramatically over the past twenty years, and these are the results of this change. Your dynasty has ruled this country for more than sixty years, Maharaj, and when the country was poor and the people uneducated, there were no problems, because everyone accepted their lot in life and never even knew that thingscould be different. Your father, your grandmother, and your great-grandfather ruled over this poverty and were worshipped as gods. But things have changed since then. Firstly, with all these gurukuls coming up, there are a huge number of educated people in Takshashila today, and educated people are dangerous Maharaj, for they think. An uneducated man will unquestioningly accept whatever you give them as a big favour done by the powerful, while educated people are likely to analyse, debate, and develop their own opinions. Moreover, an educated man is less likely to be manipulated through appeals to emotion, honour, patriotism or religion. It is, thus, much more difficult to divide and play off various sections against each other today, somethi“Acharya, you being a teacher, are condemning the gurukuls? I thought our gurukuls and our reputation as the premier centre of learning in Bharatvarsha is to be envied, and is a matter of pride.”

  “I am not condemning the gurukuls, Maharaj, but just consider—today Acharya Chanakya is talking publicly about concepts like the duty of the ruler towards the ruled. Such concepts, which were earlier confined to philosophical treatises and religious texts, are now being disseminated widely among the
students because of the gurukuls. You must also remember, Maharaj that society has changed a lot since the time of your grandmother, and it is these changes, that are making it more difficult for you to rule.”

  “You mean the level of education?”

  “Not just education, Maharaj. In my opinion, it is the change in people’s aspirations that is the biggest challenge to your dynasty’s rule. Ironically, when everyone was poor, people’s aspirations were minimal and their time and effort were completely taken up by the business of surviving. However, thanks to the growth in trade and commerce, Takshashilahas seen an unprecedented boom in the last twenty years. Yet, ever since you came to the throne, the constant wars and border clashes with the Kekeyas have disrupted trade and affected this prosperity. Our people have tasted prosperity and having relished the taste, they want more. However, this stagnation, the taxes to finance our wars with Kekeya, and finally the new toll you have announced in order to feed a foreign army, are widely hated.

  Moreover, many of our merchants have travelled to different lands—they see the prosperity in other places and think they deserve the same. We have students from all over the world, who have experienced different modes of governance, such as the ganarajyas, or they have, perhaps, seen different types of rulers. You now have more people who are educated, more people who are prosperous, and have the time and money to think. Your citizens who are much more aware of what is going on in other parts of the world. This is an explosive combination, Maharaj.”

  Ambhi took a long draught of the Kapisayana as he pondered over Acharya’s counsel. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he stretched out on the diwan.

  “What do you suggest then Acharya? How should we deal with these disturbances now? I want complete peace in my kingdom by the time the Yavana army arrives. No stray incident should upset our treaty.”

  “You must immediately repeal the new taxes that you have announced for feeding the Yavana army, Maharaj. Most people are selfish, and as soon as you take away their hurt, they will be satisfied and neutralized. Even better if you distribute freebies—they will support you enthusiastically, and will not bother where the wealth is coming from, even if you take it from one section of the population later.”

  “That cannot be done Acharya. There is no question of repealing taxes; we need to feed the Yavanas.”

  “I am here, only to give you my suggestions, Maharaj.”

  “Well, go on. What else can be done? All this nonsense needs to be nipped in the bud.”

  “If you want to stop this fire from spreading, you will have to crackdown on the eye of the storm and that is, the acharyas and the students who are inciting the population. It is the acharyas, who have initiated this discontent and provided the intellectual rationale, and it is the energy and the passion of the students that has amplified and transmitted this dissatisfaction to all sections of society.”

  “Do you have a list of the gurukuls and individuals involved, Acharya?”

  “You will have to ask your trusted guptchars for that information, Maharaj. But everyone knows who the main instigators of the students are. It is Acharya Chanakya who has been spreading dangerous ideas about the need for a united Bharatvarsha, and it is he who has organized the students for military training and is instigating them to fight the Yavanas.”

  Ambhi ground his teeth.

  “I will get that rat. We will have him arrested immediately.”

  “He is not in Takshashila, Maharaj. He is travelling through neighbouring janapadas trying to get military support and form a coalation against the Yavanas. The main agent provocateur in Takshashila right now is Acharya Pundarikaksha, Acharya Chanakya’s guru, who is providing intellectual inspiration to the students in Chanakya’s absence.”

  “Hmm . . . that old man is still causing trouble? I’m surprised he has the energy.”

  “Don’t forget, Maharaj, he is himself a Pakhta and his people have suffered the most.”

  “You are right. I should never have allowed these foreigners into Takshashila. At the end of the day, blood speaks for itself. I will have him arrested immediately.”

  “Careful, Maharaj, I must caution you on the use of violence. You must take care that there is no violence on civilians, or even in front of them. Incidents like the attack on the procession, and that too in the heart of the city with so many civilians involved must not be repeated for they only increase sympathy for these provocateurs among the common populace. With every incident like this, the students are seen as heroes and anger among the common populace only increases.”

  “So then?”

  “Maharaj, if you need to use force against the students, please do so as most of the committed ones are not even from Takshashila and have no family here. However, you have to make sure that you do it in a manner that the ordinary citizens of Takshashila are not involved, and do not even come to know. If you are going to crack down on these protests and arrest the Acharya, then I would suggest you do so in the University area, on the other side of the Tamra Nala and with as few civilian witnesses as possible.”

  “Hmm, you’re right. This has to be dealt with very subtly; I’ll take care of it Acharya. Any other suggestions?”

  “Yes Maharaj. I wanted to request you. That old man who was arrested creating a ruckus . . .”

  “Yes, what about him?”

  “Please release him, Maharaj. I know him well—he is a harmless old drunkard, and is very popular with the students. Harming such a man could give rise to a thousand discussions and that’s exactly what we should try to avoid.”

  Maharaj Ambhi frowned.

  “Are you aware that the buffoon has been creating quite a scene in prison? He has been calling me names and singing lewd songs day and night!”

  “Maharaj, this is the time to show your magnanimity. The buffoon and drunkard is well-liked by many. If you were to release him and send him back laden with gifts, it would surely give out a positive message to the students.”

  “Acharya, I respect and honour you for all the good advice and service you have given me and my family. If you say so, I will order his release and load him with gifts. That clown hardly matters to me. I heard he created quite a scene in front of the palace. Anyway, is there anything else?”

  “I have but one more suggestion to offer Maharaj—with so many prosperous and educated people in your kingdom, you must keep them entertained and diverted, so that they do not have the time or inclination to think. Give them a sporting event, dances, and celebrations every month that they can look forward to and discuss among themselves for days. They will willingly forget about your decisions or the actions of the government.”

  Ambhi now shook his head in amazement.

  “I sometimes wonder at your intelligence and creativity, Acharya. Where do you get such brilliant ideas from?”

  “It is my duty to instruct the Maharaj, but it is your call to govern and it is you, who must take the decisions. Between the two of us, it is you, who has the harder job by far, Maharaj.”

  ng that was a matter of course earlier.”

  The Tipping Point

  The most trivial incident sometimes sparks off a revolution. No one can see it coming, this tsunami that lurks in the very bowels of the ocean. The elite feel secure in their power and the general population remains convinced of its impotence, its inability to change the system. The people are resentful, but reconciled. They make their everyday compromises and the system functions smoothly. The anger is there, the resentment simmers, the ground is fertile for revolution, and yet, the surface of the ocean remains calm, waiting only for the triggers that will finally unleash the tsunami.

  Into this static system is then introduced an anomaly, a disturbance to the existing equilibrium. A petty, everyday humiliation, a run-of-the-mill injustice is perpetrated one too many times, and a person or a group, pushed to the very edge of desperation, reacts uncharacteristically. A memorable incident is born, a story that is stark in its simplicity.


  This story spreads with lightning speed, passing from ear to ear and building up steam along the way. Details are embellished and the story assumes mythical overtones.

  Still, nothing changes on the surface. The story is being discussed inside closed rooms and in private corners. Everyone is too stunned to react; everyone can sense that ‘this time they have gone too far’ and yet everyone is uncertain and watchful of what is coming. The entire city holds its breath and the final moments of calm before the storm hits seem to stretch for an eternity.

  Then, something snaps.

  An indescribable madness seizes everyone and the rage that has been simmering under the surface for years and years, suddenly boils over. Meek, everyday people are seized by the urge to rush out, to shout and scream, to throw bricks and bash someone’s head in. Consequences and the fear of power are forgotten. A riot starts. As more and more people join in the madness, the crowd turns into a human flood.

  The point at which the mob realizes its own might, is the crucial point of inflexion. If the rulers are less than perfectly ruthless, or hesitate for even a second at this point, it is as good as over for them. The masses get a sniff of blood—their fantasies of finally hanging the entire enmeshed mass of the corrupt and the exploitative, seem within grasp and the crowds swell to gargantuan proportions. A revolution is born.

  Revolutions can take different courses, but this is a pattern that has been repeated many times throughout history. In virtually every case, it has caught the elites unaware.

  In Takshashila, the trouble started with an ill-advised attempt to arrest Acharya Pundarikaksha. Details were sketchy, but rumours about the incident spread like wildfire. The basic story ran like this: it was said that Maharaj Ambhi had charged Sumukha Vardhana, the youngest general in his army, with the task of rounding up the dissidents. This man, a much-reviled figure among the commoners, had turned up to arrest Acharya Pundarikaksha in the afternoon, while he was in the middle of a lecture and surrounded by students.