Nes Najnar

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Nes Najnar

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The Keeper Of Records

The Keeper Of Records

14 mins
306


I awoke with a start, my heart thudding.


A bulky silhouette loomed in the semi dark above me, odd shafts of lamplight bouncing off his gold chains, creating shifting shadows around his deep set eyes and his thick, black oiled moustache.


"Wake up... ! It is a vital matter, come now..." Finance Minister Brihadrath said in a low, urgent voice, shaking my shoulder.


I blinked, confused. My servant Kurnoo stood at the foot of my bed, holding a candle aloft, his eyelids heavy with slumber and ringed by fear. The sound of battle staffs being bounced on the road by the night watch outside accompanied the calling of the time – it was the third prahar, the darkest part of the night.


My throat constricted with anxiety as a memory crept unbidden across my mind’s eye.


It had occurred barely a month ago…


…when the noble Brihadrath had complained to the Mantrimandal that the Empire's tax revenues were down, I had gently highlighted that the common people were measurably wealthier, that commerce with the Southern kingdoms had grown manifold, hence the tax revenues should have grown as well.


And when the honourable Finance Minister had further demanded the province of Taxila should do more for the Empire because it was the trading hub with the world beyond the Hindu Kush mountains, I had felt bound as the Keeper of Records to point out that the southern province of Suvarnagiri had a greater responsibility to the Empire since it traded with the three powerful allied kingdoms to our South - the Cholas, the Cheras and the Pandyas – and was a flourishing a vital conduit to the Eastern kingdoms all the way to Bali, Java and Siam.


Brihadrath had been visibly annoyed by the challenge to his views, as a result of which I had been summarily silenced by the Prime Minister imperiously raising his palm in my direction.

I had tried to apologise to the honourable Brihadrath after the Ministerial conclave, but he had swept past me, flinging his angavastram over his shoulder and striding down the palace steps to his waiting chariot without a backward glance.


I had been left to mull over my own impetuosity, hushed whispers adding to my concerns, my anxiety heightened thereafter by Brihadrath’s steadfast refusal to grant me an audience.


As I returned to the present, I was trembling now under the sheets, wondering why the Finance Minister of the Maurya Empire was leaning over me in the dead of the night.


His next words, though terrible, relieved me somewhat.


"There's been an assassination" rumbled Brihadrath in the same hushed, urgent tone "A powerful man has been found in the quarry. We are investigating before it becomes public, we need the Keeper of Records - come quickly."


He turned on his heel and strode away, clearly expecting me to follow.


Kurnoo helped me throw on clothes, before I took the narrow stairs two at a time to hurry out of my modest house. The wintry night bit into me under a moonless sky as I shivered involuntarily, uncertain of what lay ahead.


*********************************************************************************


My name is Vichitraputra.


When the great Chandragupta Maurya wrested Magadha from the powerful Nandas, it was made possible by his mentor, the visionary Brahmin Chanakya, who wove an intricate plot to make it happen. Of the many chaturanga pieces he moved around, the last (and some say most vital) element of the Great Brahmin's plan was to win over the towering statesman who had served the Nandas as their Prime Minister - Rakshasa Katyayan.


There were considerable difficulties, but in the end the noble Rakshasa Katyayan was persuaded. In the years and decades after that, Chandragupta Maurya and his Prime Minister, advised by the incomparable Chanakya, turned an already strong country into the largest and most powerful Empire in the known world after the demise of Sikander’s fragile annexations.


Rakshasa Katyayan's personal life was unfortunately and repeatedly beset with tragedy. His parents died young, his brothers were goaded into allying against him and his sister killed herself. One night while he was away, his wife and three children perished in a freak fire. It was whispered in the brothels and narrow by-lanes on the outskirts of Pataliputra that Lord Vishnu was isolating the great man, leaving him without close family to build his influence or challenge the Emperor, forcing him to redirect his energies to building the wondrous reign of Chandragupta.


Lord Vishnu, but working through Chanakya, a few dared to opine while in the thrall of many cups of sweet Madira. But these unfortunate louts with hyperactive imaginations usually disappeared without a trace, making it clear to even the meanest intelligence that this uncharitable slur on the Great Brahmin was a sign of bad luck.


Rakshasa was devastated, but felt he was expected to produce an heir, so he remarried with great ceremony a few years later.


Unfortunately, once again, the Gods had something else in mind.


Rakshasa once again mourned deeply when his pregnant new wife's chariot inexplicably tumbled off the road to smash on the rocks in the raging river Son one bitter monsoon. And when the Royal Priest consulted the stars to confirm that the Gods had not written any heir into his destiny, a dispirited Rakshasa eschewed marriage forever, rededicating himself to nation building.


Nevertheless, he was a red blooded man. And so, one summer morning – more than a decade after the noble Chanakya ran into the Queen’s private quarters with gleaming knives to carve open Emperor Chandragupta's dead wife on the floor and lift out the blood stained, premature Bindusara - a humble farmer's daughter serving in the palace kitchens also died, giving birth to me.


A bastard son to the Imperial Prime Minister.


I am the only male child sired by the Prime Minister that I know of. Acknowledged by my noble and powerful father and given shelter under his roof, there was still no place for me in his social order. Coupled with his frequent campaigns with the Emperor Chandragupta and his oversight of distant reaches of the Empire, I saw him rarely during my formative years.


As a result, I grew up in a lonely world, almost invisible – between the luxurious life of the noble Prime Minister whose circle had no time for me; and the servants hall, who were forever and always beneath my station.


But my father did give me one priceless piece of support.


In the year that Chandragupta relinquished his throne to Bindusara to join a wandering band of Jain monks, I was accepted into the great Chanakya's Gurukul on Rakshasa Katyayan's personal request.


Chanakya had gripped my childish chin in his dry, bony fingers “I see in you a seed of extraordinary intellect, my boy. As we enter into the time honoured contract of the Guru Shishya parampara, I hereby swear to teach you all the technical skills of statecraft - mathematics, astronomy, book keeping, taxation, public administration et al.” He uttered solemnly.


But with a flash of something impenetrable in his honey coloured eyes, he had continued "However… the lessons of politics and the niceties of debate and managing people? Ah, those critical subjects I will leave to your noble and most accomplished birth father to teach you..."


And even though my father rarely spoke to me after that day, the Old Master stayed true to his word, teaching me as much and more than he taught my better born peers, drawing out depths I never knew I possessed, rewarding me with rare praise that still exceeded the sum total of what all my peers earned.


Right up until the day I put my final Guru Dakshina at his feet, when he commended me one last time, and in one swift, surprising sentence appointed me the Keeper of Records to the Imperial Mantrimandal.


I found that every bit of my extensive education came into early use in my huge assignment. After a lifetime of real and imagined slights, at last I began to feel a sense of belonging. I was in a role that the best and most noble in the kingdom aspired to. With early results, I truly felt I had been handpicked for the job because of my skills - even though I was still an outsider amongst the nobility, it meant I had no real friends or family to distract me from my work.


Sometimes, in moments of despondency, I felt that the gap in understanding politics and the art of persuading people in my education could impede my success, as it seemed to have done in the incident with Brihadrath. But I was determined to learn quickly from my mistakes. And indeed, an opportunity arose a few weeks after the clash with Brihadrath, when the Imperial Records showed that more messengers from Susima (Governor of Taxila on the North Western boundaries of our Empire and heir to the Emperor Bindusara) had disappeared on the Uttarapath (the great road we had constructed to bind the Empire across future generations) to Pataliputra in the past six months than in three years prior to that. Instead of blurting out this disturbing news in a wider council, I cannily sought a separate audience with the venerable Advaita, Minister for Roadways.


The white haired and beringed old nobleman was clearly caught unawares, but he heard me out patiently. He did confess he didn't have a ready answer; but he acknowledged that it was a concern and promised to look into it, which to me represented my own progress in politics and people management.


I wanted my contribution to the Empire to be my redemption, my atonement for my bastard birth...


*********************************************************************************


I found Brihadrath's ceremonial chariot outside, curtains drawn and lead lamps burning low. The young charioteer assisted me respectfully as I climbed the steep steps.


I was a taken aback to find a third person already ensconced in the deep, plush seats of the carriage - the sage old Minister of Culture and Ceremonies was already inside, bundled in multiple expensively crafted robes. Kanakadhar was always cheerful, having served successfully under three different kings. His black eyes twinkled above his flowing white beard as he took my arm in an avuncular manner and pulled me to sit beside him.


Brihadrath sat opposite, looking more tired now in the dim light. He passed me a narrow necked earthen jar and said in a gruff, encouraging tone "Drink deeply lad, we need all the warmth we can get."


The carriage set off with a jerk, trundling up the Raj Path through a veil of mist that had crept in from the Son, the Gandhaka and the Ganga, the three rivers that bound our fortified city state of Pataliputra. It mingled with woodsmoke from the many small fires lit by the poor to warm themselves, so visibility was down to a few carriage lengths and sounds reverberated eerily through the smoky, misty darkness.


Our horse’s hooves were wrapped in thick jute to muffle their sound; we heard a few stray dogs, the calling out of the night watch, wooden structures creaking in the wind, faint voices apparently raised in argument and even the faraway sound of drunken singing, but it was impossible to determine whence they came.


We stopped quietly at the one of the largest mansions on Raj Path, close to the Royal Palace. A tall, heavy figure was already waiting in the darkness, his shadow reaching out ahead of him in distorted fragments through the smoky mist. The carriage tilted and swayed as Shashigupta, the powerful Minister of Defence, climbed in.


He was a man of few words, who I admired greatly. When my Record Keepers undertook a census of the army earlier this year, I had spent a lot of time with Shashigupta. Because war elephants were dangerous and their Mahouts were contemptuous of record keepers, there had never been a complete census of these valued beasts. But I had devised an innovative method of counting them by measuring their total faeces and dividing by a normal value, which interested and amused Shashigupta. Unfortunately, by our accounting standards almost a hundred elephants were missing, so he had promised to command his Mahouts to carry out a formal census.


I wanted to consult him on another matter too. I'd analysed the early reports of the rebellion that our younger Prince, Ashoka, had quelled so effectively in Ujjain. I found the fatal injuries to the rebels inconsistent with the limited cavalry force that Ashoka commanded and I was keen to understand this better.


But in my newfound political wisdom it struck me that tonight was not the time.


Shashigupta gratefully accepted the earthen vessel from me, drank deeply and asked Brihadrath the question that had vexed my mind. "Where's the Prime Minister?"


Brihadratha looked up, his brow furrowed. "We will not disturb Rakshasa's sleep at this stage, let's first review what happened. We can brief him at daybreak."


Shashigupta nodded and leaned back.


We exited the walled city through the southernmost of its fifty odd barricaded gates. The stench of the giant moat surrounding the colossal wooden walls was quickly left behind. We rattled through the Royal highway between rolling farmlands painted silvery black by a starlit sky, en route to the Royal Quarry.


When we reached the incline at the edge of the Royal Quarry, I spied another chariot already waiting at the bottom. Our carriage carefully descended the sloping entrance road and came to a stop near the other.


We disembarked, stamping our feet in the cold. I recognised the noble Advaita and the Minister for Palace Affairs, Bishakhadatta, standing behind the other carriage, huddled in the cold. Standing alongside them was a youthful figure - Radhagupte, my classmate from the Gurukul. He came from the noblest of families and was always reputed to be Chanakya’s favourite, but given the difference in our birth we had not been close.


I was oddly reassured to see his expression mirroring the same mix of uncertainty and anticipation that I felt.


Of the quarry workers there was no sign.


The two parties greeted each other solemnly, after which we fell in behind Bishakhadatta, who lit fresh torches and led us into a large cave on the right. The charioteers stayed outside.


We gathered inside the mouth of the cave, looking at Bishakhadatta expectantly. A long moment passed, then the darkness at the back of the cave shimmered, took shape and a diminutive figure with a shaved pate stepped into the light.


With a quiver of excitement down my spine, I realized that the Old Master was among us!


Chanakya's tawny eyes bore into each of ours in silence, then he started to speak in a low, clear authoritative voice, unmarked by his advanced age.


"Growth is the secret of life, as I have taught many of you personally. Humans, animals, civilisations, institutions - even empires - need to grow. If they stop, they stagnate and die...." He started directly, without introduction.


"Our Empire has been fortunate to have been led by great warriors, who grew it constantly. Chandragupta was unparalleled....and Bindusara outstripped all my expectations... But Susima?"


He paused and his words hung in the air.


"He is the heir to the throne, true, however he is...just... an administrator. He is not the leader, the warrior, the creator of growth that his younger brother Ashoka is..."


The group of powerful men around me shifted uncomfortably on their feet at this. My own eyes widened involuntarily. Denigrating the Crown Prince? Was that not Treason?


The great Brahmin shook his head.


"And so, something has to be done."


The little group surrounding him collectively let out our breath, causing the lanterns to flicker, sending our shadows cavorting in a macabre dance along the rocky floor and wall.


"To strengthen his image as a war general, a hundred elephants were secretly provided to Ashoka over a period of weeks, so that he could quell the Ujjaini revolt."


"Taxes collected by Susima's men from Taxila have been .... quietly rerouted, for some time now... secretly to my old students in Taxila who oppose Susima and who seek to challenge his rule, who are against his future ascension to the throne."


"Messengers from Susima's administrators communicating the challenges they face, asking for help... have been ... carefully disposed of ... so that Bindusara's Mantrimandal is starved of intelligence and the seed of suspicion can be quietly sowed..."


The Great Teacher stopped speaking to look directly at me "But you had already worked that out, had you not, young Vichitraputra?" he asked with a knowing little smile.


Friendly hands pushed me forward as I mumbled an incoherent response.


Chanakya started to pace up and down on the uneven floor of the cave.


"Soon, there will be a revolt in Taxila, which will be widely recognised to have been caused by Susima's maladministration. And Ashoka will ride with his army to tackle the Empire's biggest challenge, which will firmly position him to replace Susima as the heir apparent..."


I glanced around the group, who were all staring intently at the Great Teacher, mesmerised. I realised with a sudden feeling of belonging that the Great Brahmin was plotting again on the magnificent stage of the Empire - and this time I was a part of his grand plan. But I was troubled by an old question – what about my father?


I knew I needed Chanakya's guidance on this.


"There was but one risk, an unknown element, who could have spoken too soon and ruined the Empire's future..." said Chanakya, stopping next to Radhagupte "But he was bludgeoned to death in this very cave by a heavy rock tonight...!"


"What rock?" asked Radhagupte in a strangled voice, looking around.


"This one." said Brihadrath behind me.


I turned to see him bringing down a large jagged rock hard on my head.


And then everything went black.


*************************************************





Author’s Note: History records that Taxila revolted against Susima's maladministration. Fresh from his subjugation of the Ujjain rebels, Ashoka ruthlessly beat down the Taxila revolt. Backed by popular opinion and Rakshasa's successor Radhagupte, Ashoka brutally assassinated Susima to win the right to ascend the throne of the Maurya Empire after Bindusara.



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