Divya, page 8
Another old boozer, holding his earthen wine bowl in one hand and some food in the other, stepped forward and said, ‘Friend Shandeya, I shall pay for your drinks. Drink as much as you like.’ He put the bowl to Shandeya’s lips. Then smashing the empty bowl on the ground, he said, ‘Of what use is money? The food I eat or the wine I drink, that alone is mine. I stand in front of a scorching fire the whole day long and forge swords. With my sword in hand the state officer drove my son into the army. My son will go to the front line to bear the brunt of Kendras’s attack, while the priest and the sacrificer, with the money I’ve paid in taxes, will drink the wine sanctified by mantras and devour the meat offered in sacrifice, and pray to the gods for protection by chanting hymns. The great warrior, the feudatory chief, will show his prowess by carrying off to bed slave-girls of fair and dark complexions while my son, trembling under the sword of his enemy, will be dubbed a coward. Oh, it would have been far better if he had become a Buddhist monk and thereby gained a longer lease of life!’ The old man sat down on the ground with his head between his hands.
Shandeya pulled away his shirt from the hands of the old woman and sitting down beside the old man began to console him. ‘No use crying, Uncle. Fate is all-powerful. It is fate that saves, and it is fate that kills. Man’s actions are of no consequence. Have no worry. Uncle, I am myself a mercenary soldier of a feudatory chief. I’ll look after your son. Do you know wherein lies the heroism of a mercenary soldier? He’s the last among those who fight and the first among those who run.’
‘Will some Arya pay for a bowl of wine?’ shouted another drunkard, paying little attention to what Shandeya was saying. ‘My grandfather used to make swords for King Paurav; my father made swords for the Greek king Milinda. I make swords for the two hundred rulers of Madra. With the swords that I make, empires are won. With the swords I make, countries are ruled, while I don’t have enough to buy myself a bowl of wine. Will some kind friend stand me a bowl of wine?’
Many of them went on shouting, without listening to the others. Prithusen could hear only those who spoke louder than the rest. A middle-aged man raised his bowl above his head and said, ‘Yesterday, all my three horses were taken away by the officers of the government. Prestha, the king of horse dealers, gets five gold pieces for every horse from the treasury, but for my three horses they paid me four gold pieces. My horses are needed for war. Sarvarth, the feudatory chief, rides in a chariot driven by four horses, blocking the whole road. The state needs my horses but not the horses of the feudatory chief. Ha, ha!’ He burst out laughing.
The swordsmith who had been begging for a bowl of wine went over to him and putting his mouth close to his ear, said in a very loud voice, ‘Friend, spend the four gold pieces on wine. Stand drinks for your friends. Sleep with Aloma, the pretty strumpet, and then put on the yellow robes of a monk, take the begging bowl in hand, give blessings and receive a bellyful of food in return. The world is nothing but maya. Desires lead you nowhere. Come, friend, let’s drink!’
A young man was trying to console the disconsolate old woman who had not received payment for her drinks. ‘Don’t deny drinks to the good citizens, Grandma. Once the demons of Kendras are here, they will not only drink up your wine, but every second day they’ll break your pitchers and also torture you.’
‘Hey, you’re only a greenhorn. What do you know?’ another said, interrupting the young man. ‘Why be afraid of Kendras? The rule of one king is better in every way than that of the hundred kinglings of a republic. We shall have peace in Sagal of the kind there was before, in the time of the righteous King Milinda.’
A youth sprawling on the road exclaimed in a louder voice, ‘Stand me a drink, friends! This is the last day of my free life. The officers of the nobles came to draft me into the army today. My wife is clever. She said to them, “He’s gone to the weavers’ shop on an errand. Come tomorrow.” They will grab me tomorrow. This is the last day of my life. Friends, buy me a drink!’
‘Why do you want to die as a mercenary, you fool?’ said a fellow sitting next to him, slapping him on the thigh. ‘Why don’t you just run away? Hundreds have saved their lives that way. Go away to the Republic of Katha. The feudatory chiefs don’t rule there. There, all men are equal and free.’
‘How can I run away?’ the youth replied despondently. ‘What will happen to my devoted wife, to my little boys? The priest says that the person who doesn’t obey his master will be born a dog in his next birth and will again be forced to serve his master. Haven’t I suffered enough in this life that I should wreck my next birth too?’
Licking the drops of cheap pungent wine from his lips, Marish said from among the crowd, ‘Stupid man, have you seen the next world? Has your master seen it? This belief itself makes a slave of you. You acknowledge the authority of your master over you; this is what binds you to slavery. You seek safety by running away from danger and in that lies your weakness. Danger will dog your footsteps wherever you go. Conquer danger. To be vanquished is, in itself, a sin. You will suffer the consequences the very next moment. You are a free agent. To feel the breath of freedom is life itself. The one who admits defeat is already dead, even though his body may be living. Cast off fear. Fight for life. Death is the end of fear. Live in a spirited way. Don’t be a coward!’ Marish put the wine bowl to his lips again, took a gulp and handed the bowl to the frightened youth.
Shaking off from his neck the arm of the whimpering swordsmith, Shandeya addressed Marish, ‘For whom shall we go to war? For whom shall we lay down our lives? For the glory of the feudatory chief Sarvarth? For the religious sacrifice of Acharya Pravardhan? For the Buddhist Dharma Rakshit? It’s all the same to us. He who, by reason of his past actions has to serve others, can serve anyone and everyone.’
‘You too are a fool,’ said Marish, licking his wine-soaked lips. ‘You think that you’ve been born to serve others, that you are destined only to serve. You were not born to serve as a tool for the satisfaction of other people’s interests. For that there are animals. Fight for yourselves. The feudatory chief and the Acharya fight for themselves. You too should fight for yourselves—for your food, for your clothing, for your wine, for the woman you take into your arms and who gives you joy, for the child in whom you see the perpetuation of your life. Die you must, but at least die for the right to live. One who allows himself to be used by others is a lump of dead flesh, worse than an animal. Under a feudatory chief you are only partly human; try to be a human being. In despair and out of sheer laziness, don’t accept the position of animals. Kendras is barbarous. He is greedy for the wealth which is the essence of your life. Powerful is the man who kills, weak is the man who fears,’ Marish said, getting up and walking off.
One of the drunkards suddenly noticed Prithusen and said, ‘Why are you so glum, friend? Are you stricken with fear? Marish says there is no truth in fear. Of whom are you afraid? Are you afraid of war? Go and become the slave of some noble! The officers of the state won’t even be able to touch you. Are you annoyed with your wife? Then go to the prostitute, Aloma. She’s smooth and sleek like an ivory statue. Aloma is not greedy. Come, friend, acquaintance in a drinking parlour is the beginning of friendship.’ He put his own bowl of wine to Prithusen’s lips. Prithusen pushed it away and quietly walked off into the darkness.
Even after he had gone some distance, Prithusen could hear the wailing of the old swordsmith.
The waiting attendant led Prithusen to his bedchamber. Ill at ease, he sat down on his high bed. Like moths that come fluttering round a flame, cares and worries came crowding into his mind—the menacing enemy advancing on Sagal, the all-pervading panic, the intrigues of the nobles, the dissatisfaction and indifference of the populace, the unconcern of the nobility—what would all this lead to? He remembered how Divya had grown limp in his arms and had abandoned herself, and then suddenly trembling all over, had begun to resist. She had been so loving, then why did she reject him? Would they be allowed to marry each other? What will happen before that, under Kendras’s invasion? Should he go away from Sagal? Marish was right, after all. Who will stand up to Kendras? How would any resistance be possible without the support of the people? Resting his chin on the palm of his hand, he remained sitting, lost in thought, unmindful of the soft pillows. He was unaware of the slave-girl standing behind him, fanning him softly to drive away the mosquitoes that had appeared with the stifling air of the rainy season.
‘Arya!’
Prithusen raised his eyes. Another slave-girl, Vapa by name, stood before him.
‘The master has enquired after your health. He hopes that you are well and in good cheer,’ said the slave-girl.
‘Convey my salutations to my father. I am in good health.’ Then, lying down on his bed, he said, ‘I don’t need the light.’
Of the five earthen lamps burning with scented oil, the slave-girl extinguished four. Only one was left burning and its light fell only on the carpet below. Seeing him motionless, Vapa went away. The other slave-girl softly stepped to one side, so as not to be seen by Prithusen, and continued to fan him.
Prithusen turned from side to side, put his arm under his head, now in one posture, then in another, but could not sleep. A long time passed. Through the door and casements came strong gusts of wind, followed by the sound of pattering rain. The air became cool and laden with moisture. The slave-girl put down the fan and stood motionless. A little later she picked up the silken sheet lying on a stool by the bed and covered Prithusen with it. Rain and cool air brought some relief to his troubled mind. He tossed aside the covering and turned on his side. After a few seconds, he pulled up the sheet again over his body.
Seeing that her master was not able to sleep, the slave-girl went out into the corridor and told the attendant to send for the slave-girl who knew the art of inducing sleep.
Smooth and glossy as a plantain tree, a fair-complexioned slave-girl tiptoed into the room. She had a pleasant face and had dressed with care. A pearl necklace and garlands of fresh flowers swayed over her shapely bosom, covered with a pink silken bodice, tied at the back. Below her small bare midriff her well-rounded hips swelled voluptuously. Round her waist she wore a skirt of pale yellow silk held in place by a girdle of pearls. On her soft, bare arms she wore pearl armlets and bracelets. Her perfumed hair, plaited with strings of pearls, hung loose. She did not wear any hard metal like gold; only pearls which were cool and soft to the touch.
Prithusen’s eyes fell on her as he turned again on his side. The slave-girl was bending over to touch his body. There was a look of uncertainty and hesitation on her face and in her large eyes: ‘Will it please the master if I smile or should I continue to look solemn out of sympathy for him?’ Prithusen felt uneasy at the girl’s perplexity. He turned his eyes away. The slave-girl began to massage his feet. The touch of her hands did not afford any pleasure to Prithusen, and he pulled his feet away. Thinking that the master was feeling cold, the slave-girl took another silken covering from the stool and spread it over him.
With one covering already over him, Prithusen felt warm enough. When a second sheet was put on him he looked at the slave-girl. The hair on her uncovered skin stood on end from the gusts of cool air coming through the door. Her body had been bared for the gratification of her master. Looking at her, it occurred to Prithusen that Sagal was similarly being pushed into the abyss of ruin for the gratification of the feudatory chief, Sarvarth, and of Acharya Pravardhan. The gentry of Sagal, the commonfolk, his own family that had attained a measure of prosperity through the untiring efforts of his wise father, he himself, his Divya … How could he feel indifferent towards any of them? Father is perfectly right, he thought. This is the proper time to remove those who are vying with one another in self-destruction. He wants me to win the confidence of the Commander-in-Chief. Divya wants me to go to her great-grandfather, the Chief Justice. He turned and his eyes again fell on the slave-girl who stood waiting in doubt and uncertainty, her chilled body covered with gooseflesh. He made a sign to her to go away and kept on tossing and turning, troubled in mind. Later, sleep brought him some relief.
When he woke up, his usual slave-girl was there with a water pitcher, basin and towel. Prithusen looked out of the door. The sky was still overcast with heavy clouds, and a light drizzle was falling. It seemed to be already long past daybreak.
‘What’s the time, girl?’
‘Past first quarter of the day, Arya.’
Prithusen washed his face and rinsed his mouth. The slave girl handed the towel to him and said, ‘The master has asked twice about Your Honour, since morning. When he learnt that Your Honour had gone to bed rather late, he decided to wait for you in his own room.’
Prithusen got up, changed his clothes, and went to meet his father. Prestha, the magnate, looked solemn, but acknowledged the greetings of his son with a smile and a blessing. Putting his hand on his son’s shoulder, he spoke in a low, confidential tone, ‘Perhaps you know about the army and the situation in Sagal? News came last night that the army of Madra has been routed a second time by the forces of Kendras. This news is being kept secret from the President of the Republic. Secret treaties exist between Acharya Pravardhan and the rulers of Shursen and Magadh. I have obtained positive proof of this by spending a great deal of money. Son, take this· information, together with the documentary proofs I have, to the President. On the strength of these you will be able to win his confidence and respect. A golden opportunity has come your way. It’s also your duty to defend the state.’
For a few seconds Prithusen was lost in thought. Then he said in a voice equally secretive, but despondent, ‘You’re right, Father. But the time for defence is almost gone. What can the two or three hundred families of the nobility do, ensconced in their palaces? And they don’t agree among themselves on anything either. The vast population of Madra is terribly disheartened and dissatisfied. It’s only waiting for Kendras to march in. Last night, I heard with my own ears the views of the poor and the low-caste people. They are disturbed, frightened, disappointed and terribly dissatisfied. Father, the orders of commanders have their importance, no doubt, but it’s the ordinary people who do the fighting. They’re waiting to welcome Kendras. There’s no way left to us except either to leave Sagal and seek shelter elsewhere while there is still time, or die fighting and save ourselves from disgrace.’
The magnate was pleased ·to find that Prithusen was not as indifferent to the situation as he had been earlier. He made his son sit next to him and said, ‘If the people are dissatisfied they can be satisfied too. It is important that people should be contented, that they should cooperate, but their satisfaction and cooperation should be drawn not towards the feudatory chief Sarvarth or Acharya Pravardhan, but towards the President, towards Prestha, towards Commander Prithusen. Do you follow me, my son?’
And for a long time, the magnate went on explaining to his son the fine art of diplomacy.
The army of Kendras reached the bank of the Tavisha river after defeating the forces of Madra. The terrible news coming from the frontier frightened and discouraged the inhabitants of Sagal greatly. Before they could overcome their earlier fears and regain composure, more terrifying news would come to increase their panic. In such circumstances another unexpected incident occurred which bewildered them all the more. Stunned, they began to conjecture about its causes and possible consequences.
Dev Sharma, the aged Chief Justice, seldom stirred out of his palace. Similarly, Mithrodus, the aged President of the Republic and Commander-in-Chief, led the life of a recluse. One day, however, the aged Chief Justice got into his palanquin and went to the palace of the President. The same evening, the palanquin of the aged President was seen going to the palace of the Chief Justice. Both times, Prithusen, the outstanding swordsman of Sagal and son of Prestha, the magnate, mounted on his agile white horse, was seen riding besides the palanquins of both the Chief Justice and the President.
The same day, the chariot of Prestha, was many times seen standing at the gates of the palaces of both the President and the Chief Justice. Besides, the chariots of the feudatory chiefs, Okris, Meghavritta and Indrasen, and of Samarthak, the merchant, were seen moving about in mysterious haste on the roads of Sagal.
These comings and goings continued for three days. The curiosity of both the gentry and the ordinary people reached a high pitch of excitement. On the evening of the third day, the President summoned the Republican Council to an urgent meeting. Until late that night, people kept waiting to know the results of the Council’s deliberations. Sagal had learnt nothing new when its inhabitants retired for the night.
Next morning, even before the sun had risen, the streets and lanes of the city resounded with the sound of kettledrums. Many a timid citizen, having lived under the shadow of imminent disaster, and thinking that the armies of Kendras had entered the city, cried out in consternation. A lot of them, holding up their clothes with one hand, reached with the other for the weapons to which they had so far remained indifferent. The majority of them, however, were simply bewildered, and began peeping through doors and windows and from behind terrace walls, out of curiosity and fear.
When the sound of the kettledrum subsided, the notes of the military bugle were heard. Men on horseback made the announcement:
‘Under the orders of the Republican Council, the President of the Republic of Madra, the Most Honourable, the Most Valiant, the Chief Noble Lord, the Commander-in-Chief Mithrodus hereby assumes full control of the administration of the Republic of Madra for the duration of the war. Under orders of the Council, the ownership of the entire wealth of the noble families now rests with the state. All the subjects of the Republic of Madra shall be regarded as equals in the eyes of the law and the state. No officer of the state shall levy contributions to the war fund by force. No citizens will be bound, under duress, to offer his services for the war.
