assembled us for this mission.’
‘Senapati Maurya—the commander-in-chief of Magadha’s army? He’s working against Dhanananda?’
‘It’s better that he tells you himself, sir.’
‘Where is Prime Minister Shaktarji?’
‘He’s already been taken to Pipplivan where Senapati Maurya awaits him. He needs to be kept secure from the king and there’s no safer place than the camp of Senapati Maurya. Acharya, you’re also to proceed to Pipplivan immediately. The alarm will have been sounded and the royal guards will be searching for you. I have a horse waiting.’
‘But what of Katyayanji? I have to meet him and apologise for having unleashed my temper in Dhanananda’s court,’ said Chanakya.
‘He knows you too well, sir. He’s also on the side of truth and justice. He believes, however, that he can do much more to eradicate Dhanananda and his abominable government by being inside rather than outside. He says that you’re the tiger that will attack Dhanananda from the outside while he’s simply the germ that will create a storm inside Dhanananda’s stomach!’
In the quiet of the dark night—not unlike the dark night when Chanakya had cremated his father and fled— they set off for Pipplivan on horseback.
It was still a few hours before dawn when they reached Pipplivan—not much more than a cluster of huts and mud-brick houses located along the banks of a stream. The Lilliputian horsemen led him to one of the slightly larger houses. The senapati was awake and conferring with someone who got up and left the moment their party arrived.
Senapati Maurya was relieved to see Chanakya safe. He bowed before the acharya and said ‘Magadha needs you, O wise teacher. Help me rid my motherland of the leeches that are sucking her dry!’
‘The time’s not yet ripe, Senapati. The only great achievements that make it to the pages of history are those to which tremendous thought and preparation have been given.’
‘I await your guidance, revered teacher. But come, you must be tired. And your wounds and scratches need to be cleaned. I’ll ask my wife to provide clean garments and some breakfast. Please follow me, I’ll show you where you can bathe.’
‘Better treatment than I would have expected at the hands of a vrishala ,’ thought Chanakya to himself. Maurya was considered a vrishala—an outcaste Kshatriya —by upper-caste Brahmins such as Chanakya. Maurya’s father had abandoned the strict caste hierarchy of Hinduism to adopt the ways of the great teacher, Gautam Buddha. The senapati had eventually returned to the folds of Hinduism but would permanently bear the mark of Hindu indignation towards the prodigal by being branded a vrishala.
Bathed, dressed, and morning prayers concluded, Chanakya sat on the little terrace outside Maurya’s hut. The senapati’s wife had placed before him a simple breakfast of millet porridge and hot milk. The sun had just risen and peacocks were dancing in the garden outside, their iridescent blue-green plumage fanning out to reveal their mysteriously beautiful feathered eyes. This was the land of peacocks, and Maurya derived his own family name from them— mor —peacock.
Outside the house, a group of young boys was busy in a game of role-playing. One of them had tied a scarf around his head and had tucked a peacock feather into his headband. He was the make-believe emperor, sitting atop a large rock. The other boys standing around him were either subjects or court officials.
‘Attention! The court of the wise and benevolent Maharaj Chandragupta, Emperor of the world, is now in session. Come and be heard!’ droned a boy playing the role of prime minister and standing by the king’s side.
‘O great King. I’m in trouble. My neighbour sold me his well but he continues to draw water from it. Please stop him,’ pleaded a boy acting the part of the aggrieved.
‘Who is the seller of the well?’ asked the miniature king.
‘I am, my lord. But I sold him
‘Senapati Maurya—the commander-in-chief of Magadha’s army? He’s working against Dhanananda?’
‘It’s better that he tells you himself, sir.’
‘Where is Prime Minister Shaktarji?’
‘He’s already been taken to Pipplivan where Senapati Maurya awaits him. He needs to be kept secure from the king and there’s no safer place than the camp of Senapati Maurya. Acharya, you’re also to proceed to Pipplivan immediately. The alarm will have been sounded and the royal guards will be searching for you. I have a horse waiting.’
‘But what of Katyayanji? I have to meet him and apologise for having unleashed my temper in Dhanananda’s court,’ said Chanakya.
‘He knows you too well, sir. He’s also on the side of truth and justice. He believes, however, that he can do much more to eradicate Dhanananda and his abominable government by being inside rather than outside. He says that you’re the tiger that will attack Dhanananda from the outside while he’s simply the germ that will create a storm inside Dhanananda’s stomach!’
In the quiet of the dark night—not unlike the dark night when Chanakya had cremated his father and fled— they set off for Pipplivan on horseback.
It was still a few hours before dawn when they reached Pipplivan—not much more than a cluster of huts and mud-brick houses located along the banks of a stream. The Lilliputian horsemen led him to one of the slightly larger houses. The senapati was awake and conferring with someone who got up and left the moment their party arrived.
Senapati Maurya was relieved to see Chanakya safe. He bowed before the acharya and said ‘Magadha needs you, O wise teacher. Help me rid my motherland of the leeches that are sucking her dry!’
‘The time’s not yet ripe, Senapati. The only great achievements that make it to the pages of history are those to which tremendous thought and preparation have been given.’
‘I await your guidance, revered teacher. But come, you must be tired. And your wounds and scratches need to be cleaned. I’ll ask my wife to provide clean garments and some breakfast. Please follow me, I’ll show you where you can bathe.’
‘Better treatment than I would have expected at the hands of a vrishala ,’ thought Chanakya to himself. Maurya was considered a vrishala—an outcaste Kshatriya —by upper-caste Brahmins such as Chanakya. Maurya’s father had abandoned the strict caste hierarchy of Hinduism to adopt the ways of the great teacher, Gautam Buddha. The senapati had eventually returned to the folds of Hinduism but would permanently bear the mark of Hindu indignation towards the prodigal by being branded a vrishala.
Bathed, dressed, and morning prayers concluded, Chanakya sat on the little terrace outside Maurya’s hut. The senapati’s wife had placed before him a simple breakfast of millet porridge and hot milk. The sun had just risen and peacocks were dancing in the garden outside, their iridescent blue-green plumage fanning out to reveal their mysteriously beautiful feathered eyes. This was the land of peacocks, and Maurya derived his own family name from them— mor —peacock.
Outside the house, a group of young boys was busy in a game of role-playing. One of them had tied a scarf around his head and had tucked a peacock feather into his headband. He was the make-believe emperor, sitting atop a large rock. The other boys standing around him were either subjects or court officials.
‘Attention! The court of the wise and benevolent Maharaj Chandragupta, Emperor of the world, is now in session. Come and be heard!’ droned a boy playing the role of prime minister and standing by the king’s side.
‘O great King. I’m in trouble. My neighbour sold me his well but he continues to draw water from it. Please stop him,’ pleaded a boy acting the part of the aggrieved.
‘Who is the seller of the well?’ asked the miniature king.
‘I am, my lord. But I sold him
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