Pandit Gangasagar Mishra, watching the scene unfold on television, told Agrawalji, ‘I need you to ensure that the note that I’ve written is sent to the lawyer in Guernsey. That’s my final instruction to you, my friend.’
Agrawalji and Menon remained standing by his bed. Gangasagar closed his eyes in prayer, and didn’t bother opening them again.
S
he was clad in her trademark off-white saree. A few exceptions to her usual attire had been made, though. She wore silk instead of cotton, because of the autumn chill. She wore a Burberry’s coat over her saree and had replaced her usual summer slippers with stockings and Jimmy Choo shoes. Her face bore no trace of age, but her eyes conveyed another story. They were beautiful emerald-green eyes that had seen too much. There were moments when her eyes wished they could stop observing the dark side of human nature and simply enjoy the beauty of life, like this walk in Hyde Park.
By her side, was a young man of twenty-one. He wore a blue Savile Row suit with a green striped Oxford tie. His green eyes matched his attire perfectly. His wavy hair was neatly groomed, save for the strands that hung over his forehead. He walked by her side, holding her hand in his.
The previous night Chandini had attended an event hosted by the British prime minister in honour of her visit. The great sitar maestro, Radhika Shankaran, had teamed up with Britain’s hottest violin prodigy from the Royal Academy of Music, Harry Richardson, who was now walking with her. In an interwoven dance between violin and sitar, Radhika and Harry had spun new fabric from the yarn of ancient Indian ragas, each taking the other’s notes and rendering them with their own unique perspective. It had been an absolutely breathtaking performance and both musicians had been accorded a standing ovation by Chandini and the British prime minister.
‘Why did the Prime Minister hold your hand and help you up?’ asked Harry.
‘Because his wife wasn’t with him?’ she joked. Age hadn’t diminished her mischievousness. They continued to stroll while a contingent of bodyguards walked in front and behind them, maintaining a discreet distance.
‘He could’ve told me I was your son sooner,’ said Harry. ‘If not he, then you.’
‘Honestly, I didn’t know. Uncle Ganga and Josephine were the only ones who did. He built it into the trust deed that your parentage would be revealed only to you— not me—at the age of twenty-one,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you, Harry. I didn’t even know you existed.’
‘And are you going to keep me a secret?’ asked Harry, hurting from the realisation that he had been viewed by everyone as a liability in her political career.
‘It’s my third term as prime minister of India, Harry,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a long innings—too long, some would say. Uncle Ganga used to say politicians are like diapers, they need to be changed frequently,’ she laughed. ‘What’s important to me is that I have a son!’
‘I always felt the absence of a father. Mum—Josephine— always told me my father was of Indian descent and that he died in an air crash,’ said Harry.
‘I guess she had to explain the dashing good looks you got from your mother,’ said Chandini, trying to lighten the conversation.
‘In my view, I’ve now got two mums,’ said Harry smiling.
‘And both of them adore you,’ said Chandini squeezing his hand. ‘And so does Radhika Shankaran, by the looks she was giving you while performing last night.’ They sat down on one of the benches, allowing the crisp air to hit their faces.
Harry took a sealed envelope out from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to Chandini. It had her name written in Gangasagar’s bold handwriting. ‘This was left with the solicitors. I was instructed to give it to you,’ he said. She opened it carefully and pulled out the note and began to read it.
My dear Chandini,
I just wanted to apologise. I couldn’t ask the marksman— the director of the Intelligence Bureau—to go for the right shoulder again. It had already been used in Allahbad. The director had assured me that Hameeda’s contraption wouldn’t work but that they would get rid of him once and for all. He also assured me that your wound would be superficial. Alas, these are the sacrifices one must make for one’s political career. In your case it’s been both your shoulders and both your lovers.
I pray that when you read this letter you are still Prime Minister—it would prove that my strategy worked. Our country loves sacrifice and renunciation. These are adorable qualities that can cement one’s standing among the people. To remain standing one often has to fall. It is a pity that our last conversation—our staged argument—had to be for the benefit of our political adversaries and electronic eavesdroppers.
Otherwise, I would have liked to tell you that I am proud of you.
I’m assuming that Harry is sitting beside you when you read this letter. I had to keep him a secret from you to protect your political career. As for Geoffrey—I had no qualms about doing what I did. He was bad news. Shankar was another matter, though. I think that he truly did love you, but often love can be more ruinous than hate. Elizabeth I ruled England by transforming herself into the Virgin Queen and I needed you to do the same.
Josephine has told dear Harry that she christened him that because his father’s nickname had been Harry and she wanted to perpetuate the connection. What she hadn’t told him was that ‘Hari’ also means ‘green’ in Hindi and that she had chosen the name because of the boy’s emerald-green eyes—identical to yours. As you can see, no expense has been spared to nurture him into a young man you can be proud of.
The unity and integrity of India requires strong leaders and often these leaders must play dirty games. Chanakya did that for his protégé—Chandragupta, and I did it for my protégé—Chandini Gupta. Yes, Shakti trumped Shiva— a sign of our times. I have no regrets.
Chandini folded the letter and stood up. ‘Are we on for dinner at Le Caprice?’ she asked.
‘I’d love that, but can we do it tomorrow instead? I have to meet someone,’ said Harry.
‘Who?’
‘Radhika Shankaran,’ said Harry, blushing slightly.
‘I guess I’ll just have to dine on my own,’ said Chandini in mock despair.
‘I’m told the food’s quite bad,’ said Harry.
‘At Le Caprice?’ asked Chandini.
‘At Number Ten. His wife’s out of town,’ said Harry.
Writers of historical fiction are not historians and they must depend on others for historical information. The narratives about Chanakya and Chandragupta in
Chanakya’s Chant
are fictitious although their events and lives depicted may possibly have roots in history or mythology. Several books have been written about Chanakya and his work—the
Arthashastra
. I depended on the following sources to construct my fictional version of Chanakya.
In the course of writing this book, I used several internet resources for background information. The websites that I used most were:
In addition, I depended upon various online resources to build many of my fictional constructs. Specifically, some of the URL’s from which I drew information were:
I spent several weeks watching the entire forty-seven episodes of the series,
Chanakya
, directed by Dr Chandraprakash Dwivedi. The series was a starting point for developing the
Chanakya
storyline.
In a section of the book, Chanakya engages in light banter with his students. Some of the ideas expressed therein are adaptations of quotes from the series
Yes Minister
and
Yes Prime Minister
by Jonathyn Lynn & Antony Jay. The specific quotes that have been adapted from the series are:
‘People do not want to know how welfare money has actually been spent. Nobody asks the priest what happen to the ritual offering after the ceremony.’
‘When anybody says “It’s not the money, it’s the principle” they mean it’s the money.’
‘If people don’t know what you’re doing, they don’t know what you’re doing wrong.’
‘Government is about principles. And the principle is, never act on principle.’
‘Politicians must be allowed to panic. They need activity. It is their substitute for achievement.’
‘A good political speech is not one in which you can prove that the man is telling the truth; it is one where no one else can prove he is lying.’
‘If you do not want Cabinet to spend too long discussing something, make it last on the agenda before lunch.’
‘Britain should always be on the side of law and justice, so long as we don’t allow it to affect our foreign policy.’
‘Ministers are ignorant not because we do not give them the right answers but because they do not ask us the right questions.’
In the story some key quotes attributed to Chanakya, Gangasagar and other characters have been inspired from other sources. These are as follows:
‘Any clod can have the facts, having an opinion is an art.’
Charles McCabe.
‘Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.’
Benjamin Franklin.
‘I am a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it.’
Thomas Jefferson.
‘It has been well said, that a hungry man is more interested in four sandwiches, than four freedoms.’
Henry Cabot Lodge, Jr.
‘If we desire respect for the law, we must first make the law respectable.’
Louis D. Brandeis.
‘I have come to the conclusion that politics is too serious a matter to be left to the politicians.’
Charles de Gaulle.
‘It can therefore be said that politics is war without bloodshed while war is politics with bloodshed.’
Mao Tse Tung
in his
On Protracted War
(May 1938), Selected Works, Vol. II.