Chankya's Chant (21 page)

‘Fuck!’ said Harvey as he got up. The bouncer was nodding at him. The brothers were ready to see him. He was nervous but tried not showing it. It was rumoured that the brothers had once fed a drugged man to pigs on a farm. When either Ted or Fred entered Harrods, the queues at the tills would instantly part, like the Red Sea before Moses, to let them through. In return, the brothers would ‘look after’ the community. The previous year they had even spent thousands on a Guy Fawkes fireworks extravaganza for London.

Harvey knew them because of the help they had extended to him when his house had been burgled. Josephine had been in Oxford, at St Hilda’s, when the break-in occurred. They reported it to the police but nothing happened. Then a well-dressed man representing the brothers had come around to see the Richardsons. He had listened to their tale and said that he was sorry to hear about the theft and that he would do everything he could to ferret out those responsible. Within a week, Harvey’s wife had all her jewellery back and almost everything else that had been taken.

What Gangasagar wanted done could not be handled by anyone else. It had to be the Payne Brothers— social workers in the real sense. Gangasagar requested Harvey to finalise the terms of engagement, including the final price.

The OUBC—the Oxford University Boat Club—was waking up to an early start as usual. The OUBC owned a boathouse on the Thames and the first few boats had already left by six in the morning. An hour later the serenity and predictable routine of the club was shattered as the junior team’s boat collided with the floating corpse of a naked man. The club boat had bumped into the body at seven that morning, just past the green spit post near the jetty. The police were immediately summoned. The body was of a white male aged between twenty and twenty-five, extremely fit. His face had been beaten to a pulp, hence facial recognition was not possible.

Thirty minutes later the seven policemen and the coroner were joined by a police boat to search for the unidentified man’s clothes and belongings along the stretch of the riverbank. A few hours later they located the bloody sleeveless dark blue vest of an Oxford Eight. Near it was the distinctive blue-bladed oar of the OUBC covered in bloody gore. It had been used to smash the victim’s face into mush. The dark blue vest located on the riverbank had an identifying label stitched on at the back. It bore the name ‘Geoffrey’.

D
raped in a dark blanket and wearing a blue turban, the man could have been mistaken for any of the thousands of citizenry walking on the streets of Takshila. His gold amulets would have conveyed the air of a merchant, but his twirled moustache and long hair gave him the appearance of a warrior. It was late evening. By his calculation it was ten
muhurtas
into the night, day and night each being fifteen muhurtas long. He walked purposefully but not briskly. He did not wish to attract attention to himself at this late hour. Within his vision lay her house—Jalakrida. The name was derived from
jala
—or water, and
krida
—or pleasure. This house was a pleasure palace with a swimming pool reserved for wealthy and influential men. It was owned by one of the most famous ganikas—courtesans—in all of Takshila. Her name was Mainika.

The blanket-draped stranger reached Jalakrida and after ascertaining that there was no one watching, went up to the door and knocked—one, one-two, one-two, one—a pattern recognised by the lady of the establishment. The door half-opened and she led him directly into her bedchamber. Once in, she locked the door from inside. But this was certainly not a nocturnal rendezvous to explore the pleasures of Mainika’s secret garden. The man remained standing and whispered, ‘I have news.’

‘How much more stress do I need to take?’ she caustically asked.

‘Bear with me for just a couple of days. The army of Gandhar, disguised as cattle herders, keeps attacking Kaikey’s border farms. They loot cattle and grain and we do nothing. Well, we have finally decided to do something!’

‘But when? And what is it that you want me to do?’ asked Mainika.

‘In this winter month of Magha, during the third day of Bakula—the waning fortnight of the moon—the forces of Kaikey shall attack Gandhar. You must make sure that the commander-in-chief of Gandhar is with you on that day.’

‘He’s utterly captivated by the pleasures that I provide. He’s here every night to bathe in the warm waters. But how do I keep him here for the entire duration of the attack? My skills lie in teasing a man to the very highest peak of bliss, but I can’t keep him here with me after the moment of ecstasy has passed!’ she argued.

‘It’s absolutely essential that the commander-in-chief must not be in a position to direct Gandhar forces when we attack—we need to elicit shock and awe. Do whatever is necessary. If you have cannabis incense, use it!’ he snapped.

‘But—uh… why are we doing this? Can’t the politicians talk to one another and resolve the dispute amicably?’ asked Mainika.

‘Gandharraj, the aged king of Gandhar, wants to have good neighbourly relations with Paurus, our lord and master of Kaikey, but Gandharraj’s brash and headstrong prince—Ambhi—is intent on destroying his neighbour even if it means getting into bed with the Macedonians! In these circumstances, attack is the best form of defence,’ argued the Kaikey intelligence operative.

‘But Ambhi is studying in Takshila University. How can he possibly influence state policy?’ asked the bewildered courtesan.

‘He has been expelled from the university owing to his misbehaviour. The university authorities hushed up the matter and Gandharraj has requested that the prince’s tutoring continue at the palace itself. The arrogant and foolish youth now wants to depose his own father and take control of Gandhar with the help of Alexander’s bastards—’

‘Sshh,’ she hissed, ‘this may be the house of a ganika, but we do not use foul language within the precincts of my sacred love nest!’

‘A thousand apologies, dear Mainika. I forgot that in our ancient scriptures, Mainika was the most beautiful of the celestial apsaras, sent by Lord Indra to break the severe penance undertaken by Sage Vishwamitra,’ he joked.

‘Don’t forget that Vishwamitra’s penance was indeed broken and his lust awakened when he saw Mainika swimming in a lake near his hermitage, which is precisely what you want me to do with the commander-in-chief!’ she retorted.

‘The only difference being that you have your own lake!’ he quipped as he slipped away into the wintry darkness of Takshila’s streets.

Chanakya introduced his newest protégé to his students, Sinharan, Mehir and Sharangrao. ‘This is Chandragupta. He’s the son of Senapati Maurya and I have brought him with me so that he may be tutored in the subjects of kingship—combat, warfare, politics, economics, languages, mathematics and the sciences. Sinharan, I need you to be his best friend.’

‘It shall be done, acharya,’ said Sinharan as he put his arm around the young Chandragupta. ‘In the past few years, the acharya has been training me in the very same subjects, Chandragupta. My father is the governor of Mallayrajya and we too face the Macedonian threat. With my help, you will absorb what the acharya has to teach you at twice the pace,’ he bantered, trying to make the new boy, who was quite obviously missing his parents, feel at home.

Sinharan continued. ‘This is my friend Mehir. He’s from Persia. I’ve been learning Persian—cusswords mostly—from him! When Ambhi, the crown prince of Gandhar, was a student here, he was always curious about what we were saying about him, little realising that a string of the choicest Persian expletives was being let loose! And this is Sharangrao—be careful about what you say in his presence. He has the memory of an elephant!’

The trip from Magadha, at the eastern tip of Bharat, to Gandhar, along its northwest frontiers, had been tiring but efficiently completed. They had managed the journey in about six months. Unlike on his previous journey, this time Chanakya had the advantage of fresh horses and an entourage of attendants. Some of the treasure had been left with Senapati Maurya to raise an army that would eventually help overthrow Dhanananda and keep external aggression at bay. ‘The senapati will not double-cross me,’ thought the game theory-inspired Brahmin. ‘After all, I have his son with me, and that son is the future king of Magadha and, possibly, the emperor of a united Bharat.’

Chanakya and Chandragupta had brought back with them a significant amount of gold. This would be used to raise a student force that could assist in repelling the Macedonians at the doorstep of Gandhar. During the long and arduous journey they had been under constant threat from gangs of thugs and thieves. Had it not been for the presence of a large contingent of specially trained men sent along by Senapati Maurya, they would never have been able to return to Takshila safely and with treasure chest intact.

‘Let’s understand the dynamics at play here. Gandhar is a powerful kingdom, but the king is old and weak. His son, Ambhi, is impatient and ambitious. Time will prove me right but I’m sure that he’ll sleep with the enemy— Alexander—to usurp the throne. Attacking Gandhar at this moment would be foolish because you’ll precipitate matters and push him into the arms of the Macedonians,’ cautioned Chanakya to his friend Indradutt, the prime minister of Kaikey.

They were seated on a thick jute rug by the banks of the Indus. Indradutt’s wife had provided them with fruits, yoghurt and a few savouries for their little picnic. Their horses were tethered to a tree close by. Meetings between Indradutt and Chanakya necessarily had to remain secret lest Ambhi accuse Chanakya of conspiring with the enemy.

Indradutt knew that what Chanakya was saying made sense. There was no point in weakening the hinges of a gate when the enemy was standing just outside. But he also knew that his own king, Paurus, was an old-world honour-guts-and-glory kind of guy. He saw himself as a knight in shining armour who would teach the rascal Ambhi a lesson that he would never forget.

‘I agree with you, Vishnu’—he was one of the few people who still had the liberty of calling him by his birth name, Vishnugupta—‘but Ambhi has provoked the situation through perpetual border skirmishes. Sending military men dressed as cattle herders and looting livestock has made the whole of Kaikey very angry. Maharaj Paurus has been pushed into a corner. If he doesn’t act against Gandhar, he fears that his own people may call him a coward,’ explained Indradutt, biting into an apple absentmindedly.