The Mauryan

by Komal Bhanver

Genres: Historical Fiction

Synopsis

Can Ashoka conquer his enemies, or will his own demons get the better of him? Known in far reaches of the world as a great conqueror, emperor Bindusara rules over much of India with an iron fist. When a Brahmin prophesies that his wife, the beautiful Subhadrangi, will birth a legendary ruler, Bindusara is ecstatic. But when the child is born a frail, ordinary-looking boy, the emperor, filled with disappointment and disgust, leaves him to his mother and turns all attention to grooming Susima, his eldest son, as heir to the Mauryan throne. Shunned by his father, and bullied and humiliated by Susima, Ashoka learns from a very early age to be the master of his own fate. Under the determined tutelage of his mother and the company of a few loyal companions, he begins to challenge Susima at every step. When he meets a beautiful and spirited young woman who teaches him the true meaning of courage and changes him forever, he begins to dream of ruling the vast empire. But kaal has other plans for him, for his ambition and steady rise are being noted by those who want to end the threat to Susima’s succession once and for all. Will Ashoka allow the obstacles along the path of his destiny to overwhelm him, or can he rise above them to become the greatest emperor who ever lived?

Release date: May 15, 2017

Publisher: Hachette India

Print pages: 448

Sample

PROLOGUE

Ashoka trudged on aimlessly, his senses deadened. From a deep corner of his mind, a voice was telling him that his throat was parched. His mouth felt like he had swallowed the embers from a raging fire. The voice inside his head pleaded to be heard while there was still life within him. But the voice could not break through the haze of agony that enveloped him. At last, when he dropped down to his knees in sheer fatigue, the wailing within his mind became audible; it occurred to him that he hadn’t had even a sip of water in the past several horas.

He looked around, not really knowing what it was that he was searching for. There were only ominous shadows whose presence in his path was ubiquitous. He racked his brains to recollect why he was here. But all explanations eluded him. It was an eerie feeling to be walking aimlessly. In the past, there had always been a purpose to his actions.

Ashoka looked up towards the sky, hoping it would offer him a clue. Even the sky is heartless today, he reflected bitterly.

Is it morning already? he wondered as he saw specks of light seeping through the thick foliage of giant trees. His warrior instincts never deserted him. They were always there, even if only at a subconscious level.

He tried to moisten his mouth with his own saliva. But his tongue felt leathery inside the dry cavity. The feeling of thirst seemed to overpower every other sensation all at once.

Water! I need water, he thought desperately as the voice within his head turned into a scream of agony. His warrior instincts told him a shutdown was imminent. Systematically and surely, all his bodily functions would soon stop. The blood flowing through his veins had already slowed down, as had his heartbeat.

A thorny shrub jabbed his arms. But he scarcely noticed. His legs felt as if he were dragging an elephant tied to a rope behind him. Finally, darkness descended like a dark cloak, enveloping him within its fold.



Ashoka spat the dirt out of his mouth as he used the last vestiges of his strength to drag himself up from the ground. With an explosion of extraordinary willpower, he walked ahead one step at a time.

As a sudden blaze of bright light struck from overhead, Ashoka covered his eyes involuntarily. The forest was behind him now. His survival instincts surfaced as he heard the gentle ripple of water somewhere close by. The inviting vision of fresh water spurred him on.

The water was hidden from sight by a pile of large rocks. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to climb over their craggy surface. As he reached the top, he felt the hot rays of the sun falling on his back more cruelly than ever before. It must be well past noon, he considered, squinting his eyes.

Yes! He sighed in relief as the pristine waters of the stream gushed before his eyes. Ashoka rolled rather than climbed down the rocks. Summoning all his strength, he ran towards the water. Lying down on his stomach, he dunked his head in the icy cold stream taking in huge gulps of water.

His thirst now quenched, he became aware of a reflection in the water. But it was not his own image that he saw mirrored there. It was her! She was laughing at him, jesting with him like she always did. Her hair blew across her beautiful face and he could see her lovely forehead, with her favourite red bindi in the centre. For an inexplicable reason, Ashoka’s eyes were drawn to the scarlet coloured bindi that seemed to glow unnaturally. And then, before his very eyes, the scarlet dot on her forehead started to grow bigger…and bigger. The image stopped laughing, as if aware that the time for jesting was over. As Ashoka looked on horrified, the scarlet dot in the center of her forehead burst and ripples of blood spread over the surface of the water.

‘No…no!’ Ashoka screamed. This can’t be! He raged in frustration as he frantically plunged his hands into the water to hold the woman’s face. But her face had been completely obliterated by the wave of scarlet floating on the surface. Ashoka pulled his hands out of the water – they were red… with her blood.

‘No!’ he screamed again as he slumped to the ground.

1

The chautha prahar of the day had just commenced. But the unseasonal storm raging over the Mauryan kingdom cast a pall of darkness on the city.

As if in defiance of the dark and dreary exterior, the palace was brightly lit. The torches adorning the walls lent the rooms a warm golden glow. The multi-storeyed royal building was made of the finest wood, and the walls, polished to perfection, shone in a dull gold hue.

Inside, in a private discussion hall, Bindusara was conducting a meeting with Senapati Ajaya and Mahamantri Radheya. This was a 20-pillared room – a smaller version of the 100-pillared hall used for public court proceedings. The carvings on the walls captured the stately life led by the royal family.

In sharp contrast to the elaborate surroundings, Bindusara, the great emperor of the Mauryan empire, was dressed simply. His jet-black, well-oiled hair fell flat on his forehead, the long spiked ends almost touching his shoulders. His uttariya was a plain piece of linen, flung casually across his broad shoulders. The thin muslin of the antariya, the garment covering the lower part of his body, barely concealed his athletic legs. The only embellishment that gave away his status was the ruby-inlaid kantha, a flat, short necklace that he wore on his otherwise bare chest.

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘I think it is time we expanded the empire in the south.’ The reflection of the flames of a lamp danced in his small brown eyes as he observed the reactions of his mahamantri and senapati.

Mahamantri Radheya exchanged a quick look with Senapati Ajaya. The Mauryan forces had not waged a war in several years. It hadn’t been necessary. The two men wondered what had happened to warrant a war now.

‘Sometimes it is necessary to wage war in order to maintain peace,’ Bindusara said quietly. Radheya and Ajaya were used to Bindusara’s cryptic statements – more often than not, the emperor left it to them to figure out the meaning of his words.

It took the young and pleasant-faced Radheya a couple of kashtas to realize what Bindusara meant. He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, it is time.’

Bindusara reclined on the silk cushions, knowing he could depend on his astute mahamantri. Radheya looked in his direction, seeking permission to speak. Bindusara nodded.

‘The old Raja Mahajan of Mahishur is no more. His twin sons Kavin and Aagney are fighting for the throne. Young blood is frequently like an astra fired aimlessly, causing more damage than good. It is imperative that we take Mahishur under the Mauryan empire before their dispute spreads to other nations and finally lands at our doorstep. Today, the two may be fighting for Mahishur. But tomorrow…who has seen tomorrow? They may set eyes on our border states,’ said Radheya.

Ajaya nodded in agreement. Sitting ramrod straight – the posture of a man who had spent his entire adult life fighting battles for his country – he ran his fingers over his peppery hair, his expression thoughtful. Now in his mid-forties, he still had the vigour of a man half his age.

‘Our spies tell us that Mahishur’s senapati and their chief minister are in favour of Aagney as the new king,’ Radheya added as an afterthought.

Ajaya finally spoke. ‘We have had a long era of peace. Intense training, however, has ensured that our soldiers have not grown lazy. We are ready for war. The rift between the brothers will work in our favour. We can propose to make Kavin the governor of Mahishur, provided he helps us gain control of the city.’

Bindusara did not comment immediately. He shot a glance at Radheya, who looked pensive. ‘What’s on your mind?’ Bindusara asked the mahamantri.

‘I think that a person who can betray his own brother can betray you too, Raje. I would never be comfortable backing such a person as the governor.’

‘What you say is true,’ admitted Ajaya. ‘But this is the easiest way to win the war against Mahishur. We can make Kavin the governor but keep him under surveillance until we are assured of his loyalty.’

Radheya nodded silently, still unconvinced.

Senapati Ajaya took Radheya’s silence as acquiescence and continued. ‘Mahishur has a large army. To meet the might of their forces, we will need to take a significant chunk of our army with us.’ He turned towards Bindusara. ‘And we will need to leave a large enough force here, in order to quell any rebellion in your absence.’

‘What do our spies tell us about Mahishur?’ Bindusara asked in his resonant voice.

‘Mahishur is incredibly well protected,’ replied Ajaya. ‘I will go over the details and share the strategy with you shortly.’

‘Very well,’ conceded Bindusara who usually listened to his close aides before taking a decision. ‘We will meet after seven sunsets to discuss the details.’

The two men bowed and left the hall. Bindusara sat motionless, his face reflective as he examined Radheya’s viewpoint. He knew Radheya would always be true to the Mauryan empire. His loyalty was first to the empire and then to Bindusara. ‘The eternal giver’ was how Bindusara thought of him. Despite his youth and relative lack of experience, Radheya never shied away from expressing a point of view completely opposite to that of the emperor’s. That was what endeared him to Bindusara.



The first rays of dawn lent the sky an orange hue. Bindusara effortlessly mounted his stallion and started at a canter. The early morning air invigorated him. Once in a while, he gave in to the luxury of riding where he pleased, without a destination in mind. Now, his alert eyes took in everything as he rode through the streets of his beloved Pataliputra. The capital of the Mauryan empire was a large fortified city that was virtually impregnable. A wide moat, 150 dandas in breadth, spanned the perimeter of the city, making it effectively impossible to breach security. The moat acted as a defensive measure against invasions, and also served as a sewage disposal mechanism for the city. The city had 570 towers, and a large number of soldiers were required to guard these, even during times of peace. There were four gates, dedicated to Yama, Indra, Kshatriya and Brahma. These gates were used for different purposes.

Bindusara galloped ahead, leaving his bodyguards covered in a cloud of dust as they tried in vain to keep the emperor in sight. The guards at the Kshatriya gate stepped aside to let him pass. The thick forest whizzed past and Bindusara soon chanced upon a clearing, on which he espied a small hut. An uncanny feeling compelled him to slow down. He caught sight of a figure just outside the hut, sitting under a banyan tree. It was a hermit – he sat cross-legged, deep in meditation.

In that moment Bindusara envied the hermit his aura of peace and serenity. He had a handsome countenance and appeared to Bindusara to be too young to lead such an austere life. What could possibly have prompted this young man to forsake the pleasures of youth? Bindusara wondered. Not wanting to disturb the ascetic, he turned his horse around and left abruptly.

Unknown to Bindusara, the hermit had sensed his presence long before he entered the clearing. Years of penance had sharpened the hermit’s awareness. As he now watched the king ride away, his mind inexplicably went back to a strange episode he had witnessed a few years ago, before he came to live in this forest clearing by the city.

He was then living alone in the forest with only wild animals for company. In a cave, not far from where the hermit stayed, a small pride of lions had made their home. The lions frequently crossed the hermit’s path, but strangely they never bothered him. The aura emanating from the hermit possibly let the beasts know they had nothing to fear from him. The pride comprised a large male lion and two lionesses. One of the lionesses had a cub. The cub appeared strong and intelligent, and it was apparent he would grow up into a strong and healthy adult. The hermit observed that the lion was exceedingly possessive and fond of the cub.

In time, the other lioness conceived too. When it was time to deliver, she came near the hermit’s clearing and quietly gave birth to a cub behind the privacy of the bushes. The hermit was the first human to lay eyes on this cub. He saw that the cub was a pitiful creature, with eyes tightly shut and limbs that looked lifeless. But he was breathing. This seemed to be enough for the lioness.

The hermit was amazed to see how gentle the lioness was with her weak cub. She seemed to feel that she and her cub were safe in the vicinity of the hermit’s dwelling. She had not yet taken the cub to meet the father. At the end of one week, the cub finally opened his eyes, and gently prodded by his mother, took his first steps. His gait was unsteady.

‘He will surely not survive for long…unless he has the will to do so,’ thought the hermit sadly. The lioness seemed to read the hermit’s mind and she now prodded the young cub more firmly. The cub took another few steps and then sat down, tired. He looked up at his mother, blinking in the harsh sun. They appeared to communicate without speaking. After several unsuccessful attempts, the cub made a stupendous effort to drag himself up, and walked around with a little more attitude.

The next sunset, the lioness took him to meet the father. The lion showed no interest in the cub. He rejected him outright and walked away. The older, healthier cub from the other lioness looked at his stepbrother with interest. The little one bore the scrutiny with ease. Finally, the older cub came nearer and knocked him down in a display of strength. The new-born cub appeared not to mind. He thought it was a game.

Fascinated, the hermit keenly observed the pride over the next year. He noticed that when food was scarce, the younger cub’s mother relinquished her share in favour of the little one, who rapidly flourished under her care. The lion never let the younger cub climb over him and play with his mane, and frequently yanked him away impatiently. The lioness, however, took the cub with her on hunts and soon he was steady enough.

The two cubs grew bigger and displayed fierce rivalry. They constantly challenged each other to races across the hills. The older cub always won by a wide margin and seemed to mock the younger one. The younger one seemed not to mind at all. The hermit noticed that the winning margin seemed to reduce each sunset. Then came the day when the hermit saw them scampering up the hill with the younger one surely and steadily gaining on the older one and finally taking the lead. The lion looked on, unmoving, at both his sons.

The hermit smiled as they disappeared across the horizon. That was the last he saw of them, for the very next sunset he moved to another place, in his incessant search for truth.

The ascetic shook his head, wondering why this memory had flashed unbidden into his mind at the sight of the emperor. But he knew they were linked somehow.

‘Time will tell…for time is the keeper of all secrets,’ he thought to himself and smiled.



Seven sunsets had swiftly passed since Bindusara had called the meeting in his palace. Senapati Ajaya had given considerable thought to the strategy for war. Mahamantri Radheya and he now waited in the discussion hall for Bindusara. Ajaya glanced out at the palace gardens that boasted of 20 man-made pools harbouring exotic fishes. Flora from the world over found place in this haven of beauty and luxury.

It was late afternoon when the emperor joined them. He looked rested after his customary siesta. Bindusara gazed expectantly at them and finally focused his attention on Ajaya.

Taking the cue, Ajaya quickly shared his strategy. ‘We will require a quarter of our army for this war. This would mean taking along with us 200,000 pada soldiers, 15,000 turanga, 500 rathas and 2,000 war gaja. This force will suffice to rout the Mahishur army if we launch a direct attack. The fort of Mahishur is surrounded on all sides by the Chamundi forest which offers it natural protection. However, the same forest that protects them can also provide us cover for a stealthy attack.’

‘How long will it take us to march to the fort?’ inquired Bindusara.

‘Normally it shouldn’t take more than 35 sunsets.’ Ajaya considered his words before continuing. ‘However, weighed down with the non-fighting men such as cooks, cleaners and tent pitchers, not to mention their extra baggage, we will most likely make it there in 45 sunsets.’

Bindusara pondered this information, without responding.

‘I am hoping we can persuade Kavin to betray his twin in order to ascend to power,’ added Ajaya quietly.

‘The question is – what will we do with him even if he can be persuaded to betray his own brother. I continue to have serious reservations about letting him govern Mahishur,’ said Radheya in a grave tone.

‘Ah, Radheya. The best of people are swayed by the greed for power. We will have to live with such people on our rosters,’ said Bindusara.

Radheya wasn’t ready to give in. ‘I still do not recommend such an approach. If we can take the fort of Mahishur by the sheer strength of our army, why should we stoop to a compromise?’

Bindusara looked at Radheya fondly. ‘I will try to avoid any unnecessary settlement. But if the upside is too big to ignore, I might do it.’

Ajaya cleared his throat as he spread out the stitched-up palm leaves in front of him. His attention to detail was apparent in the way he had etched his plans in different colours of ink with copious notes and symbols.

‘I have two plans in mind. Plan prathma is as follows. Mahishur has two gates diametrically opposite each other.’ Bindusara and Mahamantri Radheya peered at the plan. Ajaya had labelled the gates as Uttara and Dakshin. ‘We also know that Mahishur is protected on all sides by the Chamundi forest. However, this works like a double-edged sword. We will camp close to the Uttara gate. Our forces will be split, with half of them travelling by night to reach the Dakshin gate. By dawn we will launch an attack simultaneously, on both sides. Of course, we will comb the forest to dig out their spies, before launching into the plan. This will ensure that their spy network is unable to give them an advance warning. The Mahishur force within the fort will not be able to track our movements as the same forest that protects them will also give us cover. Mahishur will be forced to divide their forces to defend themselves at both the gates. Our larger army will easily rout them.’

He took a deep breath and continued. ‘Plan dwitiya is an extension of the first plan. Half of our force will travel by night towards the Dakshin gate. This information will be deliberately fed to Mahishur through their spies. While they deploy a significant chunk of their force at the Dakshin gate, our forces will quickly backtrack and we will launch an attack of gargantuan proportions at the Uttara gate. It will be easy for us to enter the fort from this gate, and once inside we can easily rout the enemy.’

Bindusara was thoughtful. ‘Do we have any tribals in our army?’ he asked.

‘No. It is difficult to train…’ Ajaya started to reply before he was interrupted by the emperor.

‘Then recruit the tribals. Our army will require them for this mission,’ Bindusara said.

‘And…’ Senapati Ajaya asked hesitantly, expecting Bindusara to elaborate.

Just then a guard walked in. He waited deferentially for permission to speak.

‘Raje, Queen Subhadrangi’s chief aide requests an audience with you.’

Bindusara looked peeved at the interruption. Nevertheless, it was rare that anyone from his younger queen’s entourage sought his audience. In this case, however, he had an inkling about the reason behind the interruption.

‘Send her in,’ he ordered, his tone betraying his excitement.

A young, pleasant-faced woman entered the chambers demurely. It was Daya, Queen Subhadrangi’s chief aide and confidante. She bowed low to Bindusara before speaking. ‘Raje, the queen is at the threshold of her labour and will deliver any moment.’

For once, Bindusara did not bother to formally conclude a meeting. He all but rushed out of the room in his excitement, making it difficult for Daya to keep pace with his long strides.



There was a hush about the palace on that fated day as Bindusara walked towards Subhadrangi’s chambers. Subhadrangi was in delirium. The midwife’s forehead was soaked in perspiration. It was a tough delivery. But the younger queen of Bindusara bore the pain with grace.

Bindusara waited in the outer chambers, till such time that the delivery was over. His thoughts went unbidden to the day when Subhadrangi’s father, a distinguished Brahmin, had asked for a private audience with him.

‘O Raje,’ the Brahmin told Bindusara, ‘it is my daughter Subhadrangi’s destiny to give birth to an emperor such as the world has not seen till now. I therefore offer her hand in marriage to you.’

The Raja of Magadha was amused but not convinced. The Brahmin was persuasive. ‘O Raje, my daughter embodies the sweetness of honey and the pristine beauty of the mountains. You would not be doing me a favour by marrying her.’

Bindusara’s curiosity was aroused. He asked to meet her.

‘My daughter is not an object that you can assess,’ retorted the Brahmin haughtily. ‘At the most I will allow you to see her reflection. Noon tomorrow is auspicious.’

Bindusara decided to keep the visit clandestine. The next day, accompanied by his most trusted spy, he walked the lively streets of Pataliputra to the Brahmin’s house. Dressed as commoners, they were indistinguishable from the rest of the crowd.

At the gate, Bindusara hesitated. He wondered whether he was making a fool of himself. ‘It’s too late to turn back now,’ he decided. He told his companion to wait outside and entered the Brahmin’s house with a sense of anticipation.

The Brahmin greeted the emperor formally. He beckoned to his wife to wash the emperor’s feet. After Bindusara was comfortably settled, kshira and vataka were served. Sensing Bindusara’s growing impatience, the Brahmin asked the emperor to take a walk in the garden. As the Brahmin had promised, a full-length polished slab made of iron ore was placed in a corner of the garden, reflecting the afternoon light in its full glory. As Bindusara’s eyes adjusted to the bright light, he grew conscious of a woman’s reflection. It was a lithe figure, almost fragile.

Bindusara’s breath caught in his throat. Nothing he had seen before had prepared him for the beauty of Subhadrangi. She stood uncertainly, wearing a simple cotton antariya around her waist. The decorative belt, mekhala, was replete with fresh flowers. A plain uttariya was draped modestly over her upper body. The only ornaments Subhadrangi wore were flower armlets. Her complexion was a mixture of earth and honey. Bindusara’s heart ached with desire at the sight of her doe-like light brown eyes and full lips.

He wanted to turn and look at Subhadrangi in flesh and blood, but decided against it, lest he offend the Brahmin. He spent a couple of minutes gazing at her and then turned to the father.

Bindusara told the Brahmin that the royal priest would meet him to fix an auspicious date. For a brief instant, it crossed his mind that his existing wife, Agramahisi Rakshita, would not be too happy about his marriage to Subhadrangi. He shrugged – he had ways of dealing with that.

Bindusara walked back to the palace, scarcely conscious of his aide walking silently by his side. This was one day when the emperor did not notice the streets of his beloved Pataliputra. His mind was elsewhere, in a garden with a woman he had barely met.



The day Bindusara had waited for so desperately had finally arrived. The Brahmin had foretold that Subhadrangi was destined to give birth to an emperor even greater than he. Bindusara was impatient to look at the future ruler of his empire – the land that stretched from Magadha in the east to Takshashila in the west, with Ujjaini in the south.

Daya came running out. ‘It’s a boy!’ she shouted in excitement.

‘I know that. When can I hold him?’ Bindusara asked impatiently.

The pathetic cries of the newborn grew louder as the midwife emerged with a bundle wrapped in red velvet.

Bindusara stared at his son, speechless. The baby’s body seemed to be disproportionately tiny in comparison to the mass of thick brown curls on his head. He flailed his limbs in panic, as if missing the comfort of the womb he had just left. This ugly weakling cannot be destined to be a future emperor, Bindusara declared to himself with silent disappointment.

The baby suddenly became quiet, almost as if he understood the significance of the moment.

Bindusara abruptly turned around and left, his disgust showing. Daya saw him walking towards the far end of the long corridor. She knew he was headed to his Agramahisi Rakshita and their two-year-old son Susima.



Subhadrangi had a visitor that evening. It was Jayaraman, the royal astrologer, who had come to bless the new prince as per custom. Subhadrangi had named him Ashoka. It meant ‘freedom from sorrow’. Those were the emotions she had felt when she held him for the first time. A freedom from sorrow, loneliness and endless empty sunsets.

Ashoka was handed over to Jayaraman. He blessed Subhadrangi first as she touched his feet. Then, studying the baby’s tiny palms, he observed him carefully. Jayaraman frowned as he made calculations based on the date and time of Ashoka’s birth. Jayaraman knew that in rare cases, very little could be predicted. This was the first case that had confounded him. His years of studying the shastra had been rendered useless.

‘A mix of blood and water,’ he said softly, staring at Subhadrangi. ‘Daughter, I see a destiny I cannot understand. His destiny is in his own hands. Make what you will of it.’

‘I don’t understand…what do you mean?’ His cryptic words made Subhadrangi anxious. Sensing this, he strove to lighten the mood. He did not want to explain to Subhadrangi that Ashoka’s stars foretold two paths. One was full of despair and bloodshed and the other a path of righteousness and virtue…or both.

‘Am I not going to be offered madhuparka? What shall I tell your father when he asks me about you? You should smile more often,’ he added, patting her head affectionately.

Jayaraman left soon after. His parting words rang in Subhadrangi’s ears. ‘Remember my child, it is not often that God gives a person the opportunity to shape someone’s destiny. You are the instrument he has chosen for Ashoka.’



Rakshita surreptitiously peeped through the slits in the curtains of her chambers as Bindusara sparred with a huge opponent in his private arena in the palace. Perspiration flowed down his bare chest. A few drops trickled down his eyes, blurring his vision till he impatiently wiped them off. The queen stared at him, mesmerized. He was thrashing his much younger opponent, who seemed to be at the end of his final reserves of strength. In a final, desperate effort he attempted a powerful thrust at Bindusara’s chest. It was a classic move and it nearly worked. At the last moment, Bindusara deftly stepped aside, and without breaking his stride, he employed a complex manoeuvre to yank his opponent’s sword away. The young man’s sword clattered to the ground. Exhausted, he bowed to Bindusara and left the arena.

Bindusara gazed respectfully at his own sword. It had been given to him by his father; the great Chandragupta Maurya – founder of the Mauryan empire. The sword had a peacock carved on the hilt, and its blade shone with the intensity of the fire it had been hardened in. Bindusara adoringly touched the flat edge of the blade to his forehead. ‘One day, I will hand you to my successor,’ he murmured. Then, feeling someone’s gaze on him, he turned to look towards the palace.

Rakshita guiltily hid her face behind a pillar as though she had been caught in an act she was not supposed to indulge in. She sighed wistfully. Bindusara would be away for many ayanas. I will miss you, she thought.

Despite her great love for Bindusara, the seeds of bitterness forever lurked in a corner of her mind. He had married another woman and given her too the status of a queen. At times, the pain gnawed at her so much that she felt she was being consumed from within by an army of angry ants.



Bindusara walked into Subhadrangi’s private chambers. Tomorrow, when the first rays of the sun caressed his beloved Pataliputra, the march would commence. He wanted to bid goodbye to his younger queen. Standing silently, he took in the scene that greeted him. Subhadrangi radiated a combination of child-like innocence and motherly warmth as she lounged on the large bed. Her arm was draped possessively over the baby. The infant was a picture of serenity – as though he knew he was well protected. Mother and son seemed complete in each other’s company.

Bindusara abruptly turned around and left. His departure was as unobtrusive as his entry had been.

2

War preparations had commenced. Most of Pataliputra seemed caught up in the arrangements. Mahamantri Radheya had taken on the task of managing the administration affairs of the kingdom in the emperor’s absence. Senapati Ajaya monitored everything with the eyes of a hawk, with the heads of various divisions – infantry, cavalry, war chariots, elephants, supplies, transport and