Both partners were visibly shaken and remained quiet. ‘But I'm not here to teach you a lesson,’ softened the history teacher. ‘I'm here to be friends,’ he joked.
‘God defend me from my friends, from my enemies I can defend myself,’ mumbled Rungta under his breath as Gangasagar began outlining his proposal.
‘The ABNS expects to be the ruling party in New Delhi after the next general elections. To achieve that, we're going to need money. Lots of it,’ explained Gangasagar.
‘You already have Agrawalji,’ said Somany. ‘He's been a great benefactor of the ABNS.’
‘That's my problem,’ said Gangasagar. ‘Agrawalji is our benefactor, but our benefactor needs benefaction.’
‘In what way?’ asked Rungta.
‘Four of your deals are in jeopardy. The fate of all four proposals lies in the hands of ABNS ministers. If we're friends, I'll tell our ministers to also be friendly,’ offered the Pandit.
‘How?’ wondered Rungta.
‘The commerce ministry will find that of the several thousand acres allotted to R&S Realty, a few hundred were undervalued. The balance will still remain with you. The minister of telecommunications will discover that telecom licences were issued at low levels and shall double the fee. R&S Telecom will still make a killing, given that they paid only a tenth of the fair market price. The petroleum ministry will observe that oil exploration rights were handed out to R&S Petroleum because no other private player was willing to take on the huge contingent liability of environmental insurance. And finally, the minister for agriculture shall discover an error in their cattle census and arrive at the conclusion that the orders for fodder and fertiliser placed on R&S Agro are correct, after all. See how much I'm willing to do when we're friends?’ said Gangasagar.
‘What about the union dispute you caused?’ asked Rungta. ‘You lit the match. Now how does one put out the fire?’
‘Don't worry. Our union—the ABNKU—has used the past few weeks to woo the members of your two main rival unions. The ABNKU now makes up more than fifty per cent of the workers. We're willing to sign a new wage and productivity agreement immediately.’
‘And what will this cost us?’ asked Somany dryly.
‘Agrawalji's firm shall be entitled to ten per cent commissions on all revenues arising from the four deals that are resurrected,’ said Gangasagar.
‘And why are you being so generous with him?’ asked Somany.
‘Rice pudding is quite expensive these days,’ said Gangasagar cryptically.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
About 2300 years ago
The modest and austere hut in the woods adjoining the palace grounds of Takshila was dimly lit. Chanakya, much against the wishes of Chandragupta, had decided that he would not reside in the palace but would continue to live in spartan surroundings. Chanakya sat on the ground at his desk, with two lamps before him—one lit and the other not.
The Greek noble who sat before him also on the ground was short, curly-haired and clean-shaven. He wore an ornately patterned chiton—a tunic of light linen, which left a shoulder bare. Except for his belt, which bore a few semiprecious stones, he wore no jewellery at all. His name was Megasthenes and he was the new Macedonian ambassador sent by Seleucus to Chandragupta's court. ‘Please be clear with me,’ requested Chanakya. ‘Is your meeting with me today personal or official?’
Megasthenes smiled. He had been forewarned of the outspoken Brahmin whose machinations had installed Chandragupta on the throne. ‘I'm here in Takshila to officially represent my lord Seleucus in the court of His Highness, Chandragupta, but I'm here today in my personal capacity to meet you, sire. Fame for your abilities, words and deeds has spread far and wide and I needed to see for myself this Brahmin who has acquired the persona of a demigod!’
‘Ah! Then you must wait for a moment,’ said Chanakya as he efficiently lit the second oil lamp and extinguished the first.
Megasthenes was puzzled. What purpose did it serve to snuff out one lamp while lighting another that was exactly the same? He hesitantly asked, ‘Sire, why did you do that? Both lamps shed the same light.’
‘They are indeed identical, my friend, but the first one contains oil that has been supplied from the government treasury while the second is supplied with oil bought by me personally. Since your visit is not official, why should I expend state resources?’ said Chanakya. The bewildered Megasthenes understood the reason for Chandragupta's success thus far.
‘My master, Seleucus, has asked me to informally tell you that while he hopes to have mutually beneficial diplomatic relations with Emperor Chandragupta, he will not compromise on Macedonian control over the territory between Phyrgia and the Indus,’ said the ambassador.
‘I thought this was a personal visit—you're making me spend from my personal tab quite unnecessarily,’ joked Chanakya. ‘Let's not talk of war between friends, good sir, let's talk instead about love, marriage and happiness.’
The befuddled ambassador was wondering how to deal with this new tactic, when Chanakya spoke again. ‘Our king, Chandragupta, has already married the lovely Lady Cornelia, the noble daughter of your mighty master, Seleucus. Their secret marriage—a Gandharva Vivah—happened a few months ago. You see, Megasthenes, you and I could well be considered in-laws!’
‘Bu—but wh—what is a secret marriage? How did this happen?’ spluttered Megasthenes nervously.
Chanakya laughed. ‘In an ordinary arranged marriage, the groom gets to screw his wife after he gets married, in a Gandharva Vivah he gets to screw her in order to get married!’ he quipped crudely. Megasthenes shifted uncomfortably—he was overcome by a persistent desire to scratch his crotch but the presence of this powerful thinker prevented him from doing anything so downright physical.
‘But Seleucus has not given his permission to the match,’ said Megasthenes.
‘It seems that Cornelia doesn't need it. Our king seems quite besotted with her. It seems that Lady Cornelia has all the four aspects—mother, sister, daughter and whore—of a perfect woman. Did I tell you that four is a lucky number for us?’ said Chanakya.
Megasthenes was struck speechless. Before he could recover, Chanakya said, ‘So you see, ambassador, your visit is indeed a personal one. Shall we now discuss the bride's dowry?’ Megasthenes’ crotch was itching even more fierecely as he stammered, ‘D—d—dowry?’
‘Yes. After all, the dowry that accompanies the daughter of a monarch such as Seleucus must quite obviously reflect his power and glory. I suggest that Seleucus give Arachosia, Gedrosia, Paropamisadae and Aria to our able monarch. Didn't I tell you that four is a lucky number for us here in Bharat?’
‘Would that be all?’ asked Megasthenes apprehensively.
‘Not quite. Your master, Seleucus, is yet to overthrow the other claimants to Alexander's throne. He still needs to fight Antigonus and Dmetrius, both claimants toAlexander's dominions. Our emperor would like to provide you with five hundred and one elephants to terrorise your enemies and thus contribute to your victory! Five hundred and one is an even luckier number, eh?’
‘And would there be any expectations in terms of compensation for these elephants?’ asked Megasthenes anxiously.
‘Tell your old ally, Paurus, that he can invade Magadha, enjoy her pleasures for the night, but must leave the next morning. His affair with Magadha shall be a one-night stand, not an enduring relationship!’ said Chanakya with a devilish gleam in his eye.
It was too frigging late. He had been duped and Paurus was angry. His intelligence chief, Abhaya, had informed Paurus about Chandragupta's coronation in Takshila. Chanakya, that old bastard, had been present to administer the oath of office. There was obviously no rift between teacher and student. But it was too late to do anything about it. His army was already on the move and one simply could not halt a massive war machine in its tracks. Dhanananda already knew that Paurus was on his way to fight him. If Paurus withdrew, what could prevent Dhanananda from attacking him? No, it was clear. He would have to proce
ed as planned. But I shall not fucking share the spoils with Chanakya or his puppet, Chandragupta, thought Paurus. Magadha was his, all his.
His luxurious tent pitched in a field a few yojanas from the border of Magadha was an island of tranquillity surrounded by a tumultuous ocean. The cacophony of sounds produced by a hundred thousand men, forty thousand horses, four thousand charioteers and three thousand war elephants, was deafening. His tent, if it could be called one, was made of wood. It would be assembled each time they camped in a new place. The wooden walls were draped with thick fabric to absorb sound. Within the king's tent stood a four-poster bed and an ornate desk and chair. Silken rugs and fine linen bedspreads conveyed an aura of softness in a room that was otherwise filled with instruments of war—his armour, helmet, swords, daggers and spears.
Abhaya was standing before him. He shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. The old king had kept him waiting on his feet for over an hour. The pins and needles in his soles were beginning to bother him. ‘Chandragupta has married Cornelia— the daughter of Seleucus. Seleucus has handed over Arachosia, Gedrosia, Paropamisadae and Aria to Chandragupta as dowry. Megasthenes, Seleucus’ ambassador in Chandragupta's court, has assured Chanakya that the mighty Paurus shall have no claim to Magadha's throne,’ informed Abhaya as Prime Minister Indradutt gazed at the map of Magadha that lay before them.
‘Who does Megasthenes think he is?’ thundered Paurus. ‘He can't make commitments on my behalf. I'm no longer a servant of the Macedonians! Magadha is mine! It's my divine duty to capture it and unite it with Kaikey. No one can stop me—not even God!’
Abhaya shifted a little more. He kept his eyes glued to his toes. He was never comfortable conveying delicate news to Paurus. He flew into tantrums so easily. ‘After all is said and done, a lot more is said than done, O King,’ suggested Indradutt wisely. ‘Megasthenes and his master are fully aware they do not have any bargaining power with us. Let's attack Magadha and use it as a bargaining chip.’
‘O wise Prime Minister, there's more bad news. The king of Kalinga, desirous of throwing off the yoke of Magadha's suzerainty, has pledged to attack with fifty thousand troops. He will be attacking from the east as we move in from the west. He may also be a contender for the throne,’ said Abhaya quietly.
‘That arsewipe who has meekly accepted enslavement by Magadha for the past sixty years now thinks he can sit on the throne of the most powerful kingdom on earth?’ asked Paurus with hauteur. Indradutt kept quiet although he would have liked to remind his pompous king that he too had accepted being slave to the Macedonians not too long ago.
‘Maharaj, let's not worry about Seleucus or Kalinga. These are not the real obstacles in our path to Pataliputra,’ advised Indradutt.
‘Then who is?’ asked the angry Paurus.
‘Chanakya,’ replied Indradutt.
In a dusty old warehouse in Paricharak lane of Pataliputra, no one paid any attention to the several men pounding away at a rather strange mixture. Each man used oversized stone pestles and mortars to grind the curious concoction into a paste. Surrounding them were various quantities of the ingredients—some of them imported— including costmary, sweet flag, hypericum, gum, sagapenum, acacia juice, illyrian iris, cardamom, anise, nard, gentian root, dried rose-leaves, poppy-tears, parsley, casia, saxifrage, darnel, long pepper, storax, castoreum, frankincense, hypocistis juice, myrrh, opopanax, malabathrum leaves, round rush, turpentine-resin, galbanum, carrot seeds, opobalsam, rhubarb root, saffron, ginger, cinnamon, vinegar, and honey. Supervising the men was Jeevasiddhi, continuously referring to the little notes that had been sent by Chanakya using pigeon post.
In an adjoining room sat another group of men wearing thick cotton masks. They were preparing an even deadlier brew. They were roasting orpiment, an orange-yellow mineral found along the eastern borders of Magadha. The result was an ayurvedic compound called phenashmabhasam—white arsenic. ‘Fool!’ Jeevasiddhi yelled at one of the men who was using his bare hands to dust off the residue from his mortar. ‘Wash your hands immediately! Then apply some of the mithridatay solution from the other room!’
Why am I stuck with these idiots who have no fucking clue to what they're dealing with, he thought. He paused to reflect. He then smiled. He realised that they were willing to do the job only because they had no clue. It was always better to operate on a strict need-to-know basis. And these simpletons didn't need to know anything at all.
The creaking bullock cart wound its way through the new chariot road that ran from Indraprastha to Pataliputra. The cart was old and had seen better days, but the bullocks looked surprisingly well-fed and strong. Little bells around their necks tinkled to the swaying motion of the lumbering beasts of burden. Seated on the cart were three men. One of them was old, dark, and had a pockmarked face. He was stark naked—without even a loincloth around his privates. His long hair, beard and moustache were unkempt. Sandalwood paste and cremation ash was smeared across his face and body. His appearance indicated that he was an Aghorpanthi—one of a fierce and eccentric sect of yogis who worshipped Shiva, and whose name translated to ‘non-terrified’ because they did not fear death. Aghorpanthis believed that everything in this world was created from divine matter and thus nothing could be impure. The aggregate of the universe was sacred and flawless as God himself. Aghorpanthis sat for their meditation and penance in cremation grounds, praying for the souls of the departed and consuming the flesh of the dead. They were necrophagists.
The two other men were quite obviously his disciples. One was sitting in front, directing the bullocks, while the other was seated opposite his guru. Both followers wore scanty loincloths of the same greyish-white colour, stained from ashes of the dead. Aghorpanthis were not to be messed around with. They were human symbols of Shiva himself. They lived in cemeteries precisely because these were the very places that Shiva dwelt. Aghorpanthis roamed around stark naked because their nudity reflected their complete detachment from the illusory world of ordinary mortals. There was a method to their madness. Through their terrible penance they transcended human emotions of attachment, pride, jealousy, and hatred, thus becoming true yogis.
Their cart was not stopped at any of the border checkpoints along the way. The guards were simply too terrified of being cursed by them, or worse, being eaten alive. The three men in the cart chuckled to themselves as they saw the fear in the eyes of all those who passed them. Chanakya, Chandragupta and Sharangrao made the journey to Pataliputra pretty quickly.
Inside the palace grounds, Dhanananda was busy pouring rivers of clarified butter, honey, milk, grain and soma into the grand sacred fire being tended by a hundred and ten Brahmins of the kingdom. It was a fervent plea to the Almighty to grant him victory over the scoundrels who wanted to usurp his throne. After the ceremonies were over, the Brahmins would be led to the royal dining hall where ten senior Brahmins would be fed on crockery of pure gold. The one hundred junior Brahmins who had stood in the background reciting Vedic hymns would also eat, but on a hundred plates of solid silver. Pleasing the Brahmins was the equivalent of pleasing God and Dhanananda had taken out some time from his usual schedule of pleasing himself to attend to the sacred rites.
Prayers over, the Brahmins were led to the dining hall where they were shocked to find three Aghorpanthis sitting before three of the golden plates. ‘This is preposterous! How can we sit here with these disgusting men who live among corpses and eat rotten flesh?’ asked the chief Brahmin among them. Dhanananda was also livid. Why had his guards allowed these obscene mystics into the premises?
‘They said that they would curse me and that my intestines would pour out of my stomach, which they would consume with relish!’ said a hysterical guard to Dhanananda. His commanding officer, a handsome young man with an exceedingly well-oiled moustache said in alarm, ‘Your Highness, they said that my limbs would fall off and fly spontaneously into your sacred fire. They said that the meat hanging on my bones would be nicely roasted before they took a
single bite!’
‘O King, we may be Aghorpanthis but we came here to seek divine intervention for your victory. Our powers are far greater than the hundred and ten fat Brahmins who are present in this room. By insulting us you have brought the wrath of Shiva upon you. Shiva's blood shall poison your wells and your citizens shall die of thirst with the enemy baying like wolves at the city gates. Nothing can save you or your kingdom now—not even another a thousand sacrificial fires!’ shouted the naked Chanakya as all three men stood up with plates still in their hands. They threw their plates down on the floor in rage and stormed out of the dining hall. None of the guards blocked their exit. Dhanananda too stood motionless, paralysed with fear. It was only a few minutes later that his guards saw the puddle of urine around his feet.
‘If a snake isn't poisonous, all the more reason that it should pretend to be so,’ muttered Chanakya quietly to Chandragupta and Sharangrao as they left the premises.
‘Hurry up! Get the phenashmabhasam poured into all the wells before sunrise. Why must I deal with a bunch of incompetent cretins!’ muttered Jeevasiddhi as he supervised the gangs of men who were busy poisoning the wells, cisterns, tanks and reservoirs of Pataliputra.
‘Why must we kill innocents to take over Magadha?’ Chandragupta had asked Chanakya.
His guru had replied, ‘The first ones that drink water in the early hours of the morning are animals. This is the reason that the poisoning must be done at night— human loss shall be extremely limited. Word regarding the curse of the Aghorpanthis has already spread. It's a matter of time before the populace is willing to do anything that we demand.’
‘And what happens when the council calls us and pleads with us, requesting that we revoke our curse?’ asked Sharangrao.
‘Simple. We tell them that Dhanananda must make a supreme sacrifice to rectify the breach. He must leave his palace to live in the forests—in exile. In the meantime, Jeevasiddhi shall get his men to pour the antidote prepared by us—the mithridatay—into the very water sources that were poisoned the previous night. Miracles do happen!’ laughed Chanakya.