The Boy From Pataliputra

by Rahul Mitra

  Miraculously, many of the seemingly dead men started rising to their feet one by one. Some of them had merely been pretending to be dead, while others had genuinely been knocked unconscious. Philotas too, struggled to his feet and picked up a sarissa lying on the ground. His shield was still attached to his neck.

  Fifteen men lined up in three ragged rows, and with sarissas lowered, they charged into the fight taking place to their right. Luckily, they caught the unsuspecting Indians on the flank and managed to drive them off.

  ***

  The section where the students were fighting was particularly bloody. They threw themselves on the Greeks with the sort of reckless courage that only the young possess.

  The compact, straight front of the Greek Phalanx had been smashed inwards, and the two sides now met each other along a jagged, irregular line. The men in the front rows hacked, speared, and pushed frantically against the enemy, while those in the rear used their spears to jab at the enemy, going over the heads of their own compatriots. Many of the students in the front rows pushed their khadgas in, under the gleaming metal shields of the Greeks, stabbing at their calves and ankles. Others used their bare hands to pull the shields down and smite the faces of the enemy with the khadga in their other hand. All along the frontline, bodies fell like flies and simply piled up, getting in the way of the side that was pushing forward. More Greeks and Indians were dying from being trampled by their own comrades, than by the weapons of the enemy.

  In the middle, masses of students were simply wedged in by the crush of their own countrymen. Radha, Nala, and Tanku were standing in the fourth row from the front, crushed against each other in the jostling, heaving, mass of students.

  Meanwhile, their friend Rishabha was in the front lines. He had been hacking, stabbing, and pushing since the battle started and had begun to foam at the mouth. A spear had cut through his cheek and his face was a horrible mixture of clotted blood and foam. His long hair was damp with sweat and stuck close to his temples, getting entangled in the coagulated bloody mess on his cheek. His arms and shoulders felt heavy and his knees were giving way. Finally, he collapsed out of sheer exhaustion and was pulled out from under people’s feet by Tanku, who dragged him to the rear.

  Now in the third row, Nala and Radha rose on their toes and with their spears held in an overhand grip, they jabbed at the Greeks from over the heads of their comrades. Radha’s spear smashed into a Greek’s face and got stuck in the man’s eye socket. Letting it go, she pulled out her khadga.

  Nala was still pushing into the back of the person in front of him when an elephant materialized out of nowhere. It came charging in from the left and smashed into the Greek lines. Immediately, pandemonium ensued. Nala saw it pick up a Greek soldier in its trunk and dash the poor man’s brains out on the ground. Many others were crushed to death. The Greeks’ lines collapsed as they fell over each other in their hurry to escape. Many simply dropped their weapons and ran.

  But the elephant was out of control. Someone had gouged out both its eyes and the poor beast was now running amok. Trampling over the Greeks, it now charged into the Indian lines. Its mahout seemed to be unable to make it stop.

  Indians in the front now tried to push back against the weight of their own countrymen. Many of them simply ran towards the Greek lines, which had scattered. In trying to escape, Nala slipped and fell on his back, as the elephant tore through the crowd, coming straight in his direction.

  ***

  Seven hours had gone by, but the battle continued unabated. Craterus had crossed over with his troops and routed the small Indian force Porus had left behind at camp. Overwhelming numbers of Greeks now surrounded the Indians on every side. Yet, stubbornly, the Indians fought on.

  The fighting had been particularly bloody, the bloodiest in Alexander’s career. Never before had a battle continued for so long, nor had so many Macedonians ever been killed. Alexander himself had been thrown from his horse after getting caught in a surprise cavalry charge by the Indians. His favourite horse Bucephalas had died under him, shot through the neck by the spear of an Indian cavalryman.

  His bodyguards had shielded him, the Indian attack had been beaten back and the Greek King was now sitting on a rock near the small mountain that dominated the battlefield. All around him, were the officers and generals of his staff. They watched the battle in grim silence. Everyone could see the majestic figure of the Indian King Porus. He was wounded in the shoulder, but was ceaselessly rallying his troops.

  “This has to stop, my King! We will win, but I fear that the cost in terms of Macedonian lives will be too high. If this continues, we may become too weak to control our own allies, and those who have already surrendered to us, will start getting ambitious,” said Hephaestion.

  Alexander’s face clouded over. In every previous battle they had fought, the enemy had broken and run after a particular breakthrough. Slaughtering such fleeing, disorganized bands had been easy—but here the Indians stood their ground, and were making each life count.

  Alexander’s eyes, which were normally of two different colours, now flashed amber as they often did during times of extreme emotion. He had come to a decision.

  “Hephaestion, send him terms for a truce. Tell him that there is no sense in this useless slaughter. Doubtless, he knows that further resistance is futile. It can only end in his death, the wiping out of his clan, the loss of his army, and of his land. If on the other hand, he submits to us now, his cities will be safe from plunder—he can retain his possessions, and his land and honour will be untouched. In turn, he will be chief among our allies. We will conquer the world together and he can lead at the head of our combined armies. He will be shown due respect if he joins us . . .”

  Alexander continued dictating the message. Ambhi was asked to send an Indian emissary with the offer of truce—he was immediately struck dumb with shock. He had joined the Greeks in the hope of defeating Porus and gaining from the venture, and here was Alexander asking for a truce, and promising to make his rival a ‘leading ally’. As traitors often find out, Ambhi too realized that the tactic of involving outside powers in one’s own power struggles can be a double-edged sword.

  Despite his reservations, an Indian messenger was sent, but was rebuffed by Porus on the grounds that he would only talk to Alexander. Finally, a Greek officer was sent along with an Indian interpreter, and an answer was received, which said that Porus would agree only if he were treated ‘As a King treats another King.’ In other words, Porus would accept a truce only and only on equal terms.

  Alexander agreed and the Battle of the Hydaspes came to an end. The dream of Chanakya and Chandragupta, to repel the invaders from the land of Bharata had once again been thwarted by a ruler’s instinct of self-preservation.

  f approval from all over the Indian lines.

  The Aftermath

  Puru retained all his lands and also became Alexander’s chief ally in India. His ally, Abhisharma of Kashmir, who had been marching to his aid, also joined the Greeks. With a host of powerful allies on Alexander’s side, all of India seemed to be within grasp of the Greeks.

  For the rebels under Chanakya, this was terrible news. They fled Maharaj Puru’s camp en masse. These remaining students, the weary and shattered remnants of a once sizeable army, again sought refuge in the familiar forests outside Takshashila.

  The scene was indescribable. Twenty to thirty discarded limbs lay in a heap among the shrubs and weeds of the forest floor. These were the arms and legs of the patients who had been amputated. The patients themselves lay on the floor or on hammocks, which had been strung up using vines and pieces of cloth. Some of them moaned incessantly. Flies buzzed around everywhere and an overwhelming stench of blood, vomit, and faeces hung in the air.

  Young medical students, some of whom had never dealt with live cases before this, moved silently among the patients, trying in vain to hide their own panic and fear from those whom they were treating. Lengths of cotton cloth, attached to bamboo poles,
screened this section of the forest from outside view.

  Nearby, a swiftly flowing stream cut through the dense forest, and a number of horses stood in the water, neighing softly. They were being washed and rubbed down by students who seemed totally immersed in the task. Others washed clothes and utensils by the side of the stream. A little further down, many of the students lay on the abundant grass, staring at the sky or sleeping. Still others sat with their head in their hands. Very few were talking.

  A large group had formed around a bald, dirty-looking hobgoblin of a man. He was boasting loudly about his exploits in the battle.

  “That daughter fucker still refused to die. Can you believe it? He stuck his head up right in between my legs, right there . . . So I says to myself, by the gods, these pasty-faced patsys, they seem to know something even my wife doesn’t . . .” The old man went on and on, “And what do you think, my wife’s run away and now they got my right hand? By God, what is a man to do?”

  He stuck up his right arm and waved it around for emphasis. The hand had been sliced off at the wrist, and the stump was covered by large green leaves that had been tied together with cotton thread. Only a few of the students laughed.

  In the five days since the battle, the students had aged. There was something hard-edged in the faces now, something cynical in the once enthusiastic eyes. Most of them were wounded and many had seen their friends die in front of them. Out of the total force of twelve hundred students that had joined the Kekeyan army, only seven hundred remained.

  The street smart Sameera was dead, having perished during the cavalry attack on Alexander. His body was later found just yards away from the spot where Alexander’s horse Bucephalas had been killed.

  Nala had been trampled upon by an elephant; Buddhaditya had been hacked to pieces, and Bodhisattwa lay injured and unconscious in the patients’ section. Aditya, Radha, and Rishabha were safe, though each one of them had received multiple wounds to their body. Miraculously, even Charaka had survived. He had fainted on the battlefield, and had passed the duration of the battle lying among the dead bodies. It was only when some scavengers were trying to yank a ring off his fingers at night that he came to, giving them the shock of their lives.

  The surviving rebels now pondered their fate. They had all thrown away an excellent education for what seemed to be an increasingly uncertain future. The future of the movement itself was in question. They were few in number, had no allies, and had been militarily marginalized. A pall of gloom hung over the camp.

  That evening, Acharya Chanakya gave a short speech. Everyone crowded into a clearing, lamps were lit, and Acharya’s powerful, passionate voice boomed through the forest.

  “Comrades, I see sadness and weariness all around me, and I understand. It’s natural. It’s natural, for five hundred of our beloved friends have died. Five hundred of our bravest, best young students—students who had a brilliant future ahead of them, have been cut down by the foreign invader, and now the invader sits cozy in our land being wined and dined by our own rulers, while we have lost our friends, lost our futures, and now hide here, deep inside the forests and scared for our lives, hunted by both Ambhi and the Greeks, and with no one to shelter us.

  It is but natural for us to be sombre when we think of the situation we are in. But that is not what I wanted to talk about. You all know it well enough yourselves, and there is no need to belabour the point. The courageous man is not the one who sinks into gloom and depression over his troubles, but the man who takes up arms and strives against it. Complaints, self-pity or regrets have never solved any problem and they never will. It is positive action that man was built for, and it is only through this trait that he has attained mastery over this world.

  However, action without proper reflection is nothing. If you are depressed, that is good. I say it is a blessing, for depression is just a way of telling you that something is wrong in your life. Work through it, suffer through it, and identify what is bothering you. Once you have worked through your depression, you will know what the problem with you is, and what you need to do about it. At that point, come your actions, your struggle to change the situation, the cause, the seed that gives rise to these feelings of unhappiness.

  The struggle is not easy, it is hard and it takes time. Changing any situation takes time, whether it is that of your own life or the condition of our country. You could always avert your eyes from the cause, drown yourself in material pleasures, or take opium and madhu, and just forget about the situation. You can lose yourself in watching sports, gambling on your favourite sportspersons, or you can drown yourself in listening to music and watching Natya, or any other form of entertainment that you can think of. But remember, when you come back to your senses, the same situation will still be there—staring you in the face.

  Millions of our countrymen do this, but I do not call that a solution at all. The only proper solution to a problem is to deal with it, and that requires action.

  I am getting ahead of myself here. Before action, as I said, comes reflection and all I want to do is, lay before you some points to think about, as you reflect on your state of affairs. Do keep these in mind when you think about it.

  You already know the negatives of our circumstances. I need not repeat them. What I do want to point out, however, are the positives that we can take away from the recent events. There is a lot to rejoice about, in what has come to pass, and first of all, I want to say how proud you all have made me. My heart bursts with pride and joy, when I think of your valour and sacrifices, and I cannot tell you what an honour it is to have you as my students. If only some of the acharyas and our friends from Takshashila could have witnessed the way in which you fought.

  Congratulate yourselves, for you have put the fear of the gods into the hearts of the Yavanas. Not one of you retreated, and we stood our ground for over eight hours. More than fifteen hundred Yavanas have died, far more than in any of their previous battles. You think that we have been defeated—but I tell you, we are closer to victory than you could ever imagine. If Maharaj Puru, the ruler of Kekeya could bleed them so much, believe me friends, the Yavanas will think twice before invading the heart of BharatvarshaCongratulate yourselves also, for you have shown the world something that will serve as a model for generations to come. For the first time ever, a force consisting of Indians from all regions, speaking different dialects and practicing different religions has stood as one on the battlefield and shown its mettle. I promise you that from this small nucleus of a force I see in front of me, will arise a great Bharatiya army that will unify Bharatvarsha and drive the Yavanas from this land. The hopes for our future must reside only in this kind of an army.

  You must remember that there are only a few routes into India and all of them from the North West. When we look beyond those passes, we see an area of harsh mountains and barren lands. But when they look beyond those passes, they see fertile lands stretching away to the deltas and unimaginable prosperity. Because of this simple difference, even our most powerful ganarajyas will rarely attack across those passes, while those on the other side will attack us whenever they have an opportunity to do so. Whenever we are united, we will hold them, but invaders like the present ones will always penetrate deep into our heartlands everytime we are divided. What I am telling you today is: I see in front of me a united Indian army that will be the salvation of Bharatvarsha. It is this army that will throw these Yavanas out. It is this force that will necessarily be the nucleus of a much greater all-India confederation that we will build tomorrow.

  Now congratulate yourselves, for this is only the start of a much longer struggle. I promise you now, that we will continue the fight. The battle has ended but the war has not, so gird up your loins. Anyone who wants to leave may go his way, but for myself, I promise you today that the struggle will continue. I leave you now to think of your future course of action. If you join me, I promise you blood, sweat, and tears, and also, the chance of working on a great nation building mission. Sho
uld you decide to leave, I will understand and forever be grateful to you for what you have done. That’s it, comrades—please think long and hard.”

  That night, Aditya lay by the side of the stream, looking up at the star-lit sky. He thought of the strange turns his life had taken and of all he had lost. Life had brought him back to the same place he had started out from. He thought of Pandi who was gone, and of Devika who seemed to belong to another world now. Finally, he thought of his brother and his burning desire to avenge his death. He had always thought that this revenge would be his life’s goal.

  Rishabha came up and lay down beside him, and they talked quietly for some time. Later, Aditya woke up in the middle of the night. Looking at Rishabha and at the other bodies sprawled all around him, he had an epiphany. His brother was dead, but he was still among brothers. Rishabha was his brother and so was Pandi, who had taught him all he knew. So, were the hundreds of others laying spread out all over the forest floor. These were the brothers who had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him in battle and in life; they had protected his back and even sacrificed themselves for him. He looked at the wound on his arm, and felt the blood running strong through his veins. He lived, his body felt supple and alive, and he was surrounded by a band of brothers, the only brothers who mattered now.

  A feeling of intense energy came over him. The fight for India was not over, and neither was his fight for revenge. He was alive, he was strong, and his brothers were at his side. The fight would continue!

  , where much bigger ganarajyas await them.

  NOTES

  A

  Acharya An ancient Indian term for a respected teacher.

  Akhara Akhara refers to the place of practice or exercise. At its basic, it is the dirt pit in which wrestling matches are conducted. In addition, there might be more facilities for exercise as well as for lodging. Irrespective of religion, wrestlers consider this mud pit sacred, and preparing and maintaining the pit is a full-time activity, and a good source of exercise for the wrestlers. The pit itself is carefully maintained and created by mixing three different kinds of soil as well as oil, kumkum, turmeric, milk, or buttermilk and more. Before every training session, it is dug up, raked, and then smoothened carefully to remove small pebbles, and to create a uniform texture. The soil thus prepared, is said to prevent infections and rashes, absorb sweat, and is soft enough to absorb heavy throws, and hard enough to provide a grip.