Chankya's Chant (53 page)

‘O wise master, isn’t it only just that the Brahmin bandits who murdered innocents should be punished by Ambhi?’ asked Siddharthaka naively.

‘Every snowflake in an avalanche pleads not guilty, Siddharthaka. Which snowflake should you punish?’ asked Chanakya, his eyes narrowing. ‘This is the time for Chandragupta to be seen as a protector of the faith.’

The note that had been attached to the pure white pigeon that was already fluttering its wings impatiently, instructed Chandragupta on how he could acquire the halo of a benefactor, defender, rescuer and preserver of the Brahmin way of life. Chandragupta was to ask a thousand Brahmins to perform a great big
yajna
—a Vedic fire sacrifice in which rich oblations including clarified butter, milk, grains, honey and
soma
would be poured into a massive sacred fire
.
The king was to then hold a great Brahmanic council to discuss the scriptures. Without exception, every participant was to win an entry prize. This was to be followed by a feast for a thousand Brahmins. The programme was to end with each Brahmin receiving further gifts—gold coins, clothes, grain, and a cow.

‘Instead of performing rituals, shouldn’t Chandragupta attack Ambhi and finish him off once and for all?’ asked Siddarthaka.

‘No. I shall let Sasigupta do that instead,’ replied Chanakya.

‘But acharya, isn’t it possible that Sasigupta may wish to take over Gandhar? After all, he’s just as powerful as Chandragupta. Chandragupta is now monarch of Simphapura and also controls Mallavrajya through Sinharan, Kshudraka, Saindhava, Alor, Brahmasthala, Patala and Maha Urdha—but Sasigupta now controls Ashvakans and Sindh—two extremely large and strategically important kingdoms,’ said Siddharthaka.

‘He will definitely try to take over Gandhar. And that’s what I want him to do. While he’s doing that, I want Chandragupta to be busy praying to Brahmins and their gods!’ said Chanakya.

‘Why?’ asked the bewildered Siddharthaka.

‘The early bird catches the worm but it’s the second mouse that gets the cheese,’ said Chanakya cryptically.

‘Did you know that Ambhi maimed and killed a thousand Brahmins in Gandhar?’ asked the local barber. His patron—the goldsmith—looked at him. The barber was busy trimming the goldsmith’s moustache. He waited patiently till the trimming was done and then spoke up.

‘I heard not only that, I also heard that Sasigupta, the great king of Ashvakans and Sindh, will attack Gandhar to avenge the honour of the Brahmins,’ said the goldsmith.

‘Hah!’ blurted the customer-in-waiting. Neither the barber nor the goldsmith knew him. He seemed to be a stranger in these parts.

‘Who are you and what do you wish to contribute to this private conversation, dear sir?’ asked the barber. The stranger let out a little burp, an acknowledgement of the sweet and sour apple he had just consumed.

‘I am Tunnavaya, a tailor from Sindh, here to sell my wares. I’m familiar with the one you call the great Sasigupta, but do you know that Sasigupta eats beef?’

‘He eats meat of the sacred cow?’ asked the goldsmith, scandalised. ‘How can such a man be a benefactor of Brahmins?’

‘Ambhi has donated thousands of gold coins to the Buddhists to set up a university adjacent to Takshila. Did he ever think that he should spend some of his treasury on upgrading the existing Brahmin schools?’ asked the local schoolteacher, sipping lassi as he talked to his friend, an ayurvedic doctor.

His greying friend, the physician, took a swig of his own lassi before he spoke. ‘I heard not only that, I also heard that Sasigupta, the Ashvakans chief, is planning to overrun Gandhar and restore Brahmin pride,’ said the doctor.

‘Hah!’ blurted the customer seated at the table next to them. Neither the schoolteacher nor the doctor knew him. He seemed to be a stranger in these parts.

‘Who are you? Do you have something to say, my friend?’ asked the schoolteacher. The stranger let out another little burp, an acknowledgement of the spiced rice platter that had just been consumed.

‘I’m Charana, a wandering minstrel from Sindh, here to entertain. I am familiar with the one you call the great Sasigupta, but do you know that Sasigupta’s wife is a Shudra?’

‘He cohabits with a lower-caste woman?’ asked the doctor in a shocked whisper. ‘How can such a man be the protector of Brahmins?’

‘Ambhi first sold himself to the Macedonians and now to the Buddhists! Does the man have no shame?’ asked the astrologer indignantly while reading the palm of his client, an accountant.

His client, a young man hoping for a wonderful prediction of success and riches from the astrologer, indulged the old man’s whims and allowed the conversation to stray from his own life.

‘I heard not only that Ambhi is encouraging Buddhists to neutralise the power of the Brahmins, but also that Sasigupta has sent him an ultimatum asking him to restore the balance of power,’ said the accountant, still gazing at his own palm, which lay in the hands of the whimsical palmist.

‘Hah!’ blurted the man half-dozing under the pipal tree, which was temporary respite from the noonday sun for all of them. Neither the astrologer nor the accountant knew him. He seemed to be a stranger in these parts.

‘Where are you from, my friend? Do you know something that we don’t?’ asked the accountant, looking over. The comatose onlooker let out a little burp, an acknowledgement of the betel nut that had just helped his digestion.

‘I’m Ashvamadhak, a horse-trainer from the Sindh, here to sell my fine steeds. I’m familiar with the one you call the great Sasigupta, but do you know that Sasigupta demolished a Kubera temple to make space for a chariotway?

‘He willingly allows temples to be razed?’ asked the appalled astrologer. ‘How can such a man be the defender of Brahmins?’

‘In statecraft, as in medicine, words are sometimes the most powerful drugs we can use. The power of propaganda should never be discounted,’ said Chanakya as he moved the pawn in front of his queen forward by two spaces. To Mehir it seemed like a move that would leave Chanakya’s queen in a vulnerable position. He smiled and made his countermove. Effortlessly, Chanakya moved his bishop diagonally three spaces. After Mehir’s next move, he zipped his queen diagonally two spaces and let her sit in front of the pawn. The third man in the room watched the game in boredom, dozing off between moves.

Chanakya laughed. It didn’t matter what Mehir’s next move was. Chanakya would be able to rush his queen straight up to his opponents’s pawn, capture it and place the king in checkmate. The king would not be able to capture the queen because Chanakya’s bishop would be in the way. He could not move away from the queen, as he would be blocked by his own pieces. Mehir grunted in despair as he realised the futility of his position. It was no fun playing chess with the acharya. He always seemed to get inside Mehir’s head and predict his every move.

‘Mehir, my dear boy, it’s hard to let go of key pieces in this game, but to win you sometimes have to sacrifice strategic pieces. If your opponent is in a tight spot you need to let go of bait simply to get him to move. Just ensure that the sacrifice you make gets you what you want!’ advised Chanakya as they wrapped up the game. The observer of the game between Chanakya and Mehir was Sharangrao—ace student and undercover operative of the black Brahmin. He listened to the conversation intently and burped—an acknowledgment of the wisdom that he had just digested.

Mehir sulked as Chanakya rubbed it in. ‘There are no points for losing!’ chuckled Chanakya.

‘So we simply sit here, playing chess, while Sasigupta overruns Gandhar?’ asked Mehir, visibly irritated at having lost yet again.

‘Mehir, he may succeed in capturing Gandhar, but he’ll be bled dry by the Brahmin guerrilla forces which have been substantially financed by us. It shall be death by a thousand cuts. Guerrilla warfare is an economical method of unconventional armed struggle. Our small group of combatants can cause irreparable harm to a much mightier foe by using mobile tactics such as ambushes and raids. Sasigupta’s invasion of Gandhar will drain him of his resources, make his rule over Ashvakans and Sindh less stable, and turn him into the sworn enemy of the most powerful segment of Gandhar citizenry— the Brahmins. That’s the moment when Chandragupta shall effortlessly run a hot knife through the butter. I don’t plan to merely get Gandhar for Chandragupta. I shall also get Ashvakans and Sindh—Sasigupta’s own provinces—for him. Let Sasigupta be the first mouse... the trap will kill him. Chandragupta shall be the second mouse. The early bird catches the worm but it is the second mouse that gets the cheese!’

‘Why is it that you’re getting laid while I’m getting screwed?’ asked Bhadrashala. Jeevasiddhi looked up, tearing himself away from the ganika that lay in his arms. She giggled, and attempted to pull him back for further frolicking but he admonished her. She got up and left the room, pouting, while Bhadrashala sat down. Jeevasiddhi adjusted his turban and his clothes, then picked up his goblet and drained the prasanna from it. He wiped his moustache and said jokingly, ‘This prasanna is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy! Why are you so fucking glum?’

Bhadrashala was quiet. Jeevasiddhi probed, ‘Did you get the cabinet to agree to allow our forces to enter Magadha without resistance until they reach Pataliputra?’