The Silence of the Vulture [UPDATED JUNE 8 2017]
PATALIPUTRA, 323 BC
Chapter 1, Part 1 Maharaja Dhana Nanda, King of Kings, sprawled lazily upon his throne, both hair and clothing disheveled. In one hand, he idly swirled a goblet of wine, carelessly splashing drops onto himself and the ground. With the other hand, he half-heartedly fondled the exposed breasts of the courtesan sitting on his lap.
“Rakshas,” the king grunted. He glared warily at the several dozen petitions kneeling by the entrance of his throne room, their heads bowed. “Rakshas!” he screamed more shrilly, shoving the courtesan away from him. She gasped and cursed as she regained her balance and scurried behind one of the king’s bare chested, axe wielding guards. A gloomy eyed, sallow faced man with bags under his eyes shuffled before the king and bowed.
“Rakshas, “intoned the king once more, this time more calmly. He waved a contemptuous hand toward the petitioners. “Why have these wretches come to infest my throne room? I am a busy man. Send them away at once.” Rakshas glanced over his shoulder at the scores of people kneeling. Most were subjects of the king. The majority were farmers and merchants coming to quibble over taxes and lawsuits. Others were wives thrown out of their homes, homeowners who had been robbed, and even foreigners seeking an audience. Maharaja Dhana Nanda was an impulsive, greedy, cunning, and violent man. Few dared to openly contradict him. Rakshas was an exception. Once he had been a purohita, a priest who had performed ritual yajnas for the king. But he had not risen to become the king’s most trusted advisor through pious bleating.
Somewhat theatrically, Rakshas looked up to the ceiling of the throne room and raised his palms to the heavens in silence. Confused, Maharaja Dhana Nanda squinted quizzically at his minister, before following his gaze to the divine abode. The rest of court noticed as well, and the usual low rumbling chatter of lesser officials, concubines, and servants faded away. Finally, Rakshas sighed and lowered his head. He stared directly into Dhana Nanda’s eyes and did not look away. The king began to squirm under his minister’s gaze and his mouth twisted in annoyance. Yet Rakshas’s stare was not a harsh one; he assumed the expression of a kindly uncle beholding a mischievous yet beloved nephew. The minister’s bright red turban and dyed mustache enhanced his amiable appearance.
“Oh Maharaja Dhana Nanda. King of kings. Beloved of Indra and darling of the Asparas. This, indeed is your misfortune: that because of your virtuous deeds in past lives, Brahma fastened you to be a king in order to bring harmony to the world.” Rakshas sighed again, as if pitying Dhana Nanda’s lot. “No one can escape fate, my king. The gods have ordained that you must sacrifice your personal happiness so that you may shower your blessings upon your subjects.” Rakshas gestured smoothly to the supplicants. “Behold your children, great king. They await the soothing words of their father. And what father turns away his children? It would be most…unnatural. Indra, Agni, Vayu, and all the citizens of Amaravati itself would wrinkle their brows in consternation.” Maharaja Dhana Nanda, though not especially devout, was extremely superstitious. He glared suspiciously upward at this invisible, far away realm of Amaravati.
Chapter 1, Part 2 Rakshas wagged a finger at the king. “There is no point in resisting the inevitable Maharaj. So great is your dharma, so inexorable is your path towards moksha, that you have no choice but to make your people happy.” At last, Rakshas bowed and shuffled backwards into the small crowd of the usual sycophants, flatterers, and hanger-ons who clustered behind the king’s throne. They smiled at Rakshas even as they feared and hated him. Rakshas had little to fear from them. Their powers of persuasion were greatly inferior to his own.
Grunting thoughtfully, Maharaja Dhana Nanda slapped his ample belly with his left hand and stroked his chin with the other. All the hair had been plucked from his face, like a eunuch’s. Though his eye lashes were streaked with kohl and his plump cheeks were rouged, he looked more sinister than comical.
“I suppose you are right, Rakshas. If I send them away today, these pests will only reappear tomorrow, or the next day.” He glared at the kneeling supplicants. “But suppose I slaughtered some and chased off the rest,” the king hissed with sudden malice. “You can be sure these cowards would never pester me again!” Rakshas instantly reappeared by his side, as if by magic.
“Oh Maharaj. Once again your lively wit has lit a joyful spark in all our minds. Since you are such a champion of dharma, we all know this is simply another clever jest of yours. But if I were advising a man inferior to you in courage, manhood, wisdom, and virtue, and I would tell him the problem with a little killing is that it never stops just there. Invariably, one person, however much a villain he may be, has kinsmen and friends eager to avenge his demise. So one has to kill them as well, that is, if one can even confirm their identities. And once they are taken care of, you can be sure their clan, gotra, even guild if they are merchants, will desire vengeance as well.” Rakshas shrugged carelessly.
“So much bloodshed. So much trouble. And for what? The collection of taxes will be reduced? The weakening of our borders? Such pointless exertion, that could have all been avoided by mere words.” The whole court knew that Maharaja Dhana Nanda hadn’t ridden a horse in years and rarely left the comforts of his capital Pataliputra if he could help it. Rakshas smiled as he patted the king’s hand fondly and winked at him. “But I don’t even know why I’m telling you something you already know, oh wise king. Beloved of the gods!” Deprived of the joys of pointless cruelty, the king slumped in his throne in disappointment.
Chapter 1, Part 3 The maharaja took some small consolation in the obeisant demeanor of the petitioners. So humble, so submissive, like helpless, plucked birds in the palm of his hand. They were all kneeling, their faces bent down towards the ground – except for one man, the king noted to his growing irritation. The man stood right next to the entrance of the throne room and he neither knelt nor looked away, but met the king’s glare with fierce eyes as sharp as a bronze spear and an upraised chin.
“You there!” Dhana Nanda tried to make his voice deep and fearsome, but the other man did not flinch. For a petitioner, he did not look particularly deferential. He had the look of a man entering middle age. Not tall, with a wiry frame, he had a robust energy about him. Bare-chested with a faded saffron cloth draped around his hips, the newcomer had a white string tied diagonally from his shoulder to his waist and a shaved head except for small topknot on the back of his head. A small satchel hung from his shoulder. Rakshas smiled and beckoned to the man.
“Welcome, noble sage. His Majesty is pleased to invite a Brahmin mendicant such as yourself into the royal presence.” The Brahmin did not hesitate but strode forward quickly, as if coming to claim a prize that had been unjustly delayed from his grasp. He stopped only a few paces from the throne, just as a guard stepped forward to bar him from coming any closer. The Brahmin was not a handsome man. He had a beaked nose, like a hawk’s, with protruding cheek bones and hollow cheeks that enhanced the gauntness of his face. Rakshas called for water to be brought forth and turned to the court’s guest.
“Learned stranger, please introduce yourself to the king.” The newcomer did not bow, but remained upright as a spear. A servant ran and handed a wooden bowl to the Brahmin, who drank deeply before handing it back. The servant quickly disappeared.
“Sire, my name is Chanakya. I am a professor from the University of Takshashila. I am learned in the fields of economics, finance, political affairs, warfare, and natural philosophy. I am proficient in Sanskrit, Prakrits, and Pali, as well as the Dravida and Persian languages. I have even made myself knowledgeable in the Yavana tongue and writings of those people.” Rakshas moved forward.
“Learning is the highest rank of nobility. We are honored by your presence, sir, and we will be honored even more if we could verify the extent of your knowledge.” Chanakya reached into his satchel and handed Rakshas a small stack of palm leaf documents wrapped in twine.
“Here is the documented proof. You may test my claims however way you choose.” Rakshas examined the papers with interest and turned to the king.
“Majesty, great king. These papers bear the seal of the University of Takshashila. A learned scholar adorns a mighty king’s court like a brilliant jewel adorns his crown. Let me arrange examinations for this man. Should he pass, may I humbly suggest we m-“ Rakshas was interrupted by an unpleasant, high pitched noise emitting from the king’s mouth. The sound turned into an extended giggle and Dhana Nanda’s face twisted with mirth.
“Rakshas, ahahaha, what ugly fellow this man is! Uglier than even you! He has the face of a vulture.” Rakshas smiled feebly. “Can he do magic tricks? Do you some magic for me at once!” The whole court began dutifully tittering along as well, eager to humor the king's mood. Only Rakshas remained silent and shook his head.
“Shut your mouth.” As quickly as a light snuffed out from a candle, the entire throne room fell into silence. “I did not come here to be mocked by some fat fool.” For once, even Rakshas was at a loss for words. “I can be the greatest boon ever to fall into your lap, or the most terrible enemy you have ever known.” Maharaja Dhana Nanda stood up so quickly that he nearly tripped over his silk gown and fell from his throne. His voice was barely above a hoarse whisper.
“You stupid hermit, how dare you. I am Maharaja Dhana Nanda, king of kings!”
“King of kings, you call yourself. A Persian title you sedulously copied. At least the Parsika king Daryoosh actually ruled over other kings, before the Yavanas smashed him. You can’t even rule yourself. You are a slave to your idiotic whims and passions. Oh and spare me whatever threats you have in mind. A real king threatened to crucify me once, yet here I stand.” Chanakya snatched his papers out of Rakshas’s hands. Turning his back on the king, he began walking out of the throne room.
“Guards. Seize that man!” Dhana Nanda howled. Rakshas seemed to regain his wits.
“Maharaj, Devaputra, son of heaven, it is inauspicious to harm a mad man. The gods frown on it.” The king’s face was contorted with rage.
“Mad, what do you mean? This wretch insulted me before the entire court!”
“Which is precisely how we know he is mad. Look at all the symptoms: unkempt appearance, bulging eyes, inappropriate outbursts…” Chanakya turned around.
“I am not insane,” he declared firmly. Rakshas patted the king’s hands soothingly.
“That’s exactly what a madman would say. Have you ever head of an insane person admitting they are insane? Such a recognition of their illness would mean they are actually rational.” Dhana Nanda’s eyes glazed over in confusion.
“What about those papers he was waving around?”
“Waving around, haha, very good sire. There is no way to prove they are his. The poor soul probably believes he is a real scholar.” Chanakya’s face turned dark with anger. He uttered something in the Yavana language. Rakshas beamed with delight.
“You see sire? Utter gibberish.”
“Fine. Just make sure this lunatic doesn’t wander into the harem or steal from the kitchens.” Chanakya snorted in contempt and walked away. The maharaja sat down with a petulant grunt.
“I’ve had enough of madmen for one day. Get rid of these beggars kneeling before me. I’ll see them another day. More wine! Bring me more palm wine!”
Chapter 1, Part 4 Outside the moats and wooden palisades surrounding Pataliputra were extensive forests. Village chieftains had plead with king Dhana Nanda to clear them for farmland while the woodcutters’ guild petitioned the maharaja to harvest timber from the vast tracts of trees. The king had refused them all. He claimed to reserve the right for himself to hunt in these lands.
“The last thing I need is for these useless fellows to scare all the game away,” he had apparently exclaimed, even after Rakshas had pointed out that timber sales could be taxed by the crown. In truth, the king was a less fervent hunter than he made himself out to be. He did not ride out on horseback with guards and soldiers to lance boar with a spear or hurl javelins at deer or shoot birds with a bow from a chariot. Certainly he did not deign to wait in the forest for days on end to hunt tiger from a machan. Dhana Nanda’s hunting expeditions were more akin to outdoor banquets that usually degenerated into drunken orgies. The king and hundreds of courtiers and courtesans would venture, not very far, into the forest, pausing for days to feast to the accompaniment of musicians and singers. Some halfhearted attempts to seek for game would be made, but most animals had long fled before the cacophonous host of men and women. Once, a courtier drunkenly aimed at a peacock with a bamboo longbow and ended up shooting a servant in the arms. Several tendons were severed and the wretch ended up crippled. But the king was greatly amused by this escapade and the courtier escaped any punishment.
But now, the forests were empty of men, spare for Chanakya. He savored his solitude. When his father was old and widowed, he had withdrawn into the forest as a sannyasin, never to be seen him again by those who had loved him. Chanakya could hear the trickle of a nearby stream, bees buzzing around their hive, larks warbling in the trees above, and the rustle of grazing deer, punctuated by the occasional cough of a stag. These noises reassured him, for they meant that leopards and tigers were not nearby. Chanakya sat down under a banyan tree and pondered his next step. He had left the war-ravaged lands in the west. He could no longer stay in these lands after offending the king. Perhaps he should go south to Kalinga, or even down to the lands of Tamilakam. Behind him, a branch snapped crisply. The larks fell silent; the sound of deer seemed to fade away into the trees. Perhaps Dhana Nanda had changed his mind and sent his men to drag Chanakya back or perhaps kill him on the spot.
Chanakya hoped it would be the latter. He had faced certain death before and had not shamed himself. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and stood up.
“Show yourself”, he commanded to the trees and the faint wind. Twigs rustled and a man stepped into the light.
“You.” Rakshas smiled and bowed.
“Learned sage.”
“What do you want? Be quick about it. I have a long journey ahead of me.”
“Not so long. It is an hour’s journey back to the edge of the forest. I have a chariot there waiting to take you back to the city.” Chanakya uttered a sharp, jagged laugh.
“Back to the city? To do what? Serve that pathetic idiot like you do? I have better things to do with my life then mind and overgrown child.”
“Then don’t do it for the king. Yes, he’s a fool. So what. The gods have not granted him immortality.” Rakshas spread his arms expansively. “Think of our country. A man like you, behind the throne, you and I, we could achieve so much together. Think of the wealth of the land. What it could accomplish. What we could attain.” Chanakya gazed at Rakshas for a moment. The harshness in his eyes softened into sadness.
“This land will never prosper with Dhana Nanda as king. He has made injustice his rule. When he dies, his sons by numerous wives will slaughter one another, and the one who remains will be just like him. You’re a man rushing to embrace a reflection in a pond, Rakshas. Take care that you don’t drown.” Chanakya turned around disappeared into the foliage.
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by mad orc
