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The Rise and Fall of Imperial Magadha

A Historical Novel by Sathyajith Panachikal

“Of great ideas that divided people, of great men who fell like leaves in autumn.”

Ilavarta, 519 BCE.

The Hakhamanisiyas had set their sights on Gandhara.

Across the Vitasta River lay the fertile lands of the sixteen Mahajanapadas. And Magadha, the mightiest among them all, was unperturbed for it was ruled by none other than Srenika Bimbisara, a sovereign of exceptional strategic acumen. At a time when new inventions like crucible steel and stirrups heralded a sea change in warcraft, he forged an unusual alliance of influential Kingdoms to counter any perceived foreign aggression.

Enter the prince with a begging bowl. The most pragmatic and affable thinker of all time, Gautama Siddhartha met his benefactor in Bimbisara. The rich cultural landscape of the Mahajanapadas once again saw different schools of thought vying for attention.

In a realm where every mortal dreamed of power, court intrigues and patricides became the only constant. Great men manifested themselves and vanished. Vast empires came into brief existence before they perished.

None escaped the grudge and greed of mankind. Not even the Gods.

The story of three generations of Haryanka dynasty and, by extension, the history of India in the Axial Age, as seen through the eyes of Jivaka, the son of a prostitute who rose to the rank of the Royal Physician of Magadha. The doctor who was credited with performing the first cranial surgery in recorded history.

And the healer who was destined to treat a patient with an extraordinary mind – the Buddha.

http://garudalife.in/stela-of-the-sinner-the-rise-fall-of-imperial-magadha

Stela of the sinner: The Rise & Fall of Imperial Magadha|Paperback

When does a writer become an author? Is it when he gets published? Or is it when he gets read?

A writer scribbles for himself and is least concerned about his readership. On the other hand, an author yearns to be read, heard, and critiqued (if not appreciated). However, as with any art, writing is not just about who does it but about what is being created or written.

The river is not about the glacial spring or the sun that melts the ice. It is about the water that enriches and sustains the countless lives along its course. The flow, the streaming – not the beginning nor the end – is all that matters.

So, my dear friends, one of the momentous occasions in my otherwise eventless existence was the publication of my debut historical fiction, Stela of the Sinner, by Gruda Prakashan. The book is available on the publisher’s website.

While I hope you read and like the book, I remain open to plaudits and criticisms.

Old Man and the PC

Heading: 275 Degrees

Speed Over Ground:12 knots

Course: 270 Degrees

Estimated Time of Arrival at Destination: 0630Hrs, next day.

The Passenger Ship was heading for Lakshadweep Islands, a small archipelago that lies to the Southwest of India in the Arabian Sea.

I was in the Navigation Bridge, i.e., the Wheelhouse, as the OOW [Officer-On-Watch] for the shift from 08:00 am to 12:00 pm. My duty as a junior Officer was to assist the Captain with Radio communication and the operation of various navigational aids. Additionally, I needed to do plotting on Charts and observe and interpret the traffic on Radar displays.

Lest the tenor of this write-up would be affected, a brief description as to the hierarchy of seafarers and salient features of modern-day marine navigation has been added as a postscript.

The incident which necessitated this piece’s writing transpired in 2010 if my memory serves me right.

The senior Seaman on duty with me that day was a man in his fifties -let’s call him Hassan-who was a native of Minicoy Island. He, as with many of the Islanders, was a person who was categorised by the Govt of India as a member of the ST-Scheduled Tribe. They were accorded special privileges and concessions by the Government with a view to facilitating their integration with the mainstream population as well as social upliftment.

Although Minicoy belongs to the Lakshadweep Island group and is part of India, geographically it is closer to the Maldives. The majority of healthy men from Minicoy are globe-trotting mariners, the history of the tradition going back to colonial times and perhaps. As seafarers, they are skilful, diligent, neutral and apolitical much like their Filipino counterparts all of which makes them both the most sought-after crew worldwide. However, lately, Filipinos have overtaken Minicoy men by virtue of their edge over the latter in English language proficiency.

Coming back to the story; as the passenger ship was cruising across the Arabian Sea on its way to Agatti Island, Hassan the Seaman stood on the Bridge wing deck, watching out for fishing nets and small boats that could pose an obstruction to our vessel. Either the boats would make way for us, or we would have to make a detour to avoid the nets getting entangled on the propeller.

At some point, Hassan called me to the wing deck and pointed to the sea.

“Have a look at the water.” He told me.

The colour of the water appeared to have changed to that of milk tea.

I smiled at him and nodded as if in acknowledgement of his finding.

Oftentimes, I have seen seawater turn muddy.

“Strange, Isn’t it?” Hassan asked me.

“Is it?’’ I opined “Maybe the strong undercurrents have caused some churning on the seabed…”

“But this looks a massive one — not a tidal phenomenon. And we’re far away from the coast” he replied with a smile, highlighting the difference in the current situation.

“You’re right” I agreed with the Old Salt who might have had under his belt seafaring experience of no less than threefold of my own.” We’re around forty Nautical Miles off the land.”

That was almost seventy kilometres away, in metric units.

Such muddy water is normally seen as we approach the mainland or coastline, especially in areas where rivers and streams empty into the sea.

“Something has happened!” the old man concluded on a rather serious note.

I laughed it off and returned to the Navigation Bridge to resume Radar observation and monitoring of the Main Engine parameters.

Soon I forgot the incident.

After my watch (read duty) I went straight to the Galley and had my lunch. Even as I ate, I looked at the TV showing mid-day news. I could not help but stare at the breaking news about an earthquake that rocked Rajasthan and parts of northwest India almost a couple of hours before.

Suddenly It struck me that the time of the quake exactly matched the time at which Hassan the seaman showed me the muddy waters of the sea. I was shocked and surprised alike. Perhaps there was some connection between the two incidents, perhaps not. I did not tell anybody about the whole thing for fear of getting ridiculed. However, I made it a point to search on the matter later. The findings concurred with my conjuncture- that the land mass /tectonic plates of Rajasthan and west central India extended underwater up to the Lakshadweep Sea.

I was awestruck at Hassan’s observational precision and ability to interpret natural phenomena.

On another occasion, Hasan stunned me with his offhand measurement of wind speed without using the onboard anemometer. When I asked just how he managed to tell the correct wind speed, he replied that he guessed it by looking at the clouds blown away by the storm. I did not know if it was true, because I could never do it.

A fellow seafarer from another Island once told me that while many people had gone missing at sea after losing their way in squally weather or being caught in the doldrums, every single man from Minicoy Island who ventured out into the sea had invariably returned unscathed.

I now remember one of my encounters with another tribal man in 2003.

The young man in question was one of the indigenous forest dwellers of Odisha state. One day, while onboard a Diving Support Vessel, we were visited by a team of officials from the Charterers. Their spouses and children accompanied them. Although not quite unexpected, we were nervous even as we stood on ceremony. The guests were given a short ride up to the nearest offshore platform. Finally, the entourage left the ship, and we literally heaved a sigh of relief. It was then that the seaman Loknath (Name changed) started cutting capers-he showed us how each of us- and he did not spare me- acted funnily and got fidgety in the guests’ presence. His acting was so impeccable that we had no trouble in identifying whom he was trying to mimic. All of us laughed to our hearts’ content. Indeed, it turned out to be a stressbuster for the entire crew.

Loknath later told me he once drove a Maruti Suzuki without ever learning how to drive. Although he had watched people drive, it was his first time behind the wheel. As for me, it was yet another testimony to the tribesmen’s extraordinary innate flair to observe and grasp things that matter.

In this context, it would not be out of place to mention a tribal student who was my brother’s classmate. My brother and this young man were standing about in the street when the latter suddenly turned to a woman passerby. Apocryphal it may sound, but he wanted to stalk her, as according to him (Feminists please excuse) a special scent emanating from her body suggested she was a woman of sexually promiscuous character. I still wonder whether such an inference has any scientific basis at all.

Nevertheless, these encounters have instilled in me immense respect for the tribespeople and an undying curiosity about their culture and practices.

Remember Jaguar Paw of Apocalypto who had an uncanny knowledge of his environs, flora and fauna which he more often used to his advantage.

They are the real earth people who are prescient and hence forewarned. Their philosophy of life was perfectly in synch with nature and its elements (Think Avatar).

PS. First of all, let’s unlearn what we think is the way a ship’s manning is done!

Contrary to popular belief, the captain of a ship does not have to sit in the Wheelhouse round the clock, turning the Wheel. Before beginning my career in the merchant marine, I too was under a similar impression, probably inspired by the real-life stories of Vasco da Gamma, Captain Cook and Magellan, Kabral etc. The skipper’s used to be a permanent presence in the wheelhouse those days- that was the norm. But times have changed and modern advancements in science and technology have demystified and simplified marine navigation so much so that even amateur sailors can now circumnavigate the earth in small yachts.

Nowadays, even the name wheelhouse has been rendered redundant as, in many a modern ship, the wheel has been replaced by a joystick and Auto-pilot. The day and night duty times aboard a ship are divided into 4Hour shifts, each manned by a Junior Officer, 2nd Mate and Chief Mate. There would at least be a trained Able-Bodied Seamen each assisting the OOW in steering and watch-keeping jobs as mentioned earlier. The Captain would make occasional visits to the Navigation Bridge ( Wheelhouse) to make sure that everything goes well and that the Officer and crew are indeed doing their jobs promptly- they now have advanced surveillance systems that enable remote monitoring of these activities! Master Mariner, or Captain as they are generally called, only needs to be present in the Bridge during important passage planning, navigational decision-making, harbour entries, docking or berthing and cargo operations at ports. Apart from the above-mentioned deck crew, the ships also must have an engine crew which consists of the Chief Engineer, 2nd Engineer, 3rd Engineer and junior Engineers, each of which may be assisted by Oilers, Pumpmen or Motormen in their watchkeeping duties.

Now, Look at that kink in the graph.

It is your own growth, Mittu. You’ll be surprised to know that it has been on a downward trajectory.

You are, as of now, between jobs. And your wife’s increment has been inordinately delayed owing to her company’s mediocre performance.

Here, the graph runs a tad flat for a while, you see.

A weak monsoon forecast as well as the Country’s GDP growth does not augur well for the common man.

The spiralling price of essential commodities coupled with that of petrol has surely begun taking a toll on your domestic budget.

Gold continues to be dearer relentlessly. You are pretty well aware that your sister’s marriage is around the corner, and you could not avoid making a generous contribution towards this cause.

Things are looking bleak, at least this fiscal.

You have a car loan to pay up and the house rent was recently hiked by the owner

Can you, Mittu, forget about your son’s Kinder Garten admission? Do you know how much it costs to have your kid secure a seat in any of the prestigious play schools in the city?

The insurance premiums are already overdue if you have overlooked them.

Lo and behold! The places where the line nosedives are truly indicative of your state of affairs six months hence.

Your long-cherished goal of buying a property on the outskirts of the city would have to be put on the back burner, given the current fiscal scenario.

The only possible way out is strict adherence to some degree of economic austerity. And that means fewer shopping and dining- out.

In the aftermath of the overall recession, the chances of external borrowing are limited.

Downsize yourself. You cannot retain a housemaid for rupees 4000 a month anymore.

Outsourcing is a strict no-no. And that means you have to be careful about buying milk, meat and vegetables. You can always grow spinach, cabbage, celery, beetroot, potato, onion and the like in the small kitchen garden, can’t you?

(You can ill-afford to tend a cow or hatch a few chickens here as your folks do in your village.)

It was the first rain they were enjoying since their union.

They, the man and woman of the woods, lay under the tree.

Unaware of their own nudity, each thinking of the ways to escape the cold that was gradually gripping them.

At some point in time, a fascinating ogle, an invitation so irresistible from the snake-like eyes hidden in the foliage, pulled the man towards the tree.

He got up from the ground, reached for the lowest bough, plucked a ripe fruit and bit it.

A strange sense of virulence and lust irrupting within him, he offered the partially eaten fruit to the woman.

As he stood agape with half-open eyes, she hugged him from behind, her throbbing bare chest pressed against his muscular back.

Then, a swarthy hirsute man, the one with those eyes, quietly descended from the tree, with an ethereal smile.

The nude man freed himself from the woman with a jerk and walked towards the man from the tree.

In no time, they found themselves in a tight embrace and started making love.

The woman sank to her knees, wailing in unbearable pain of rejection.

Lightning and thunder vainly tried to console her.

And from each of her teardrops that touched the earth sprouted myriad mushrooms.

It happened around twenty years ago.

I saw this old man in his sixties donating a book to our village library. If my memory serves me right, the title of the book which was written in Malayalam- was something like ‘In search of the truth behind Earthquakes.’

Now, if you doubt the authenticity of a book simply because it was written in a vernacular language, then it is time for you to do a rethink. Jyeshtadeva’s Yukthibhasha, the first treatise on Calculus (centuries before that fabulous apple fell bang on Newton’s head) was also written in Malayalam.

However the analogies end there since the man in question was neither an academic nor a formally qualified expert on the chosen subject which is seismology.

I cannot recall his name, but he can at best be called an Astro-Seismologist.

Surprised, eh? Wonder what astronomy has got to do with earthquakes?

Coming back to the story, the very title of the book piqued my curiosity, and to my surprise, I found that the old man was only selling this book. And that meant that he was not an ordinary book pedlar (though technically he was) I asked him if he was the writer of the book to which he, at first, replied in the negative. Upon repeated queries he admitted to the crime of authoring the book.

We sat chatting about him and about his book. Eventually, I purchased one copy of it paying Rupees 10(I left it in my ancestral home and have not been able to find it yet) Even with my maritime background, I found it difficult to understand the part where the author expatiated on geographical coordinates such as latitude and longitude. The book encompassed a detailed empirical analysis of celestial bodies, tidal wave formations and geography. It was an astounding feat for an uneducated man to have produced such an exhaustive work dedicated to the study of earthquakes.

When I probed further to learn about the circumstances that led him to focus on the quakes, he said it was by pure coincidence that he ventured into the uncharted territory of seismology. A water diviner by trade, his job involved locating the exact spot to dig water wells and ponds. In short, he was someone who could detect the course of groundwater channels, using some indigenous techniques. Once while on a visit to his sister’s house, he had a first-hand experience of a low intensity earthquake. The ground, household utensils and even people were shaking as if possessed for a few seconds. And that set him thinking about the strange phenomenon.

Later his job took him away from Kerala. In Karnataka, he was busy finding the locations for wells for irrigation purposes in the various agricultural fields across the state. At nights, after his work, he would lie on the hilly meadows looking at the star-studded sky and wonder about the infinite nature of the universe and its creator. He passionately watched myriad planetary movements and procession of stars and comets over the seasons. What began as a pastime soon became an obsession and before he knew he was closely monitoring every astronomical event that could be observed with naked eyes. With the intrigue triggered by his first encounter with a quake still fresh in his memory, the man was now searching for any possible link between the natural calamity and celestial bodies.

At long last, he zeroed in on the culprit- the planet responsible, or so he thought, for earthquakes-Venus. Although some of his postulates regarding there being no record of quakes outside a certain geographical zone (lying between Latitude 80° N and Latitude 80° S, I guess) seemed contestable, his meticulously recorded data of all major earthquakes and the corresponding planetary alignment at the time was remarkable for the due diligence he had accorded to his avocation, if not for its veracity. Likewise, his observations on tidal waves, which he personally conducted at different ports and harbours of Kerala, would seem puerile and rather amateurish to a trained man.

In the book he propounds the theory that earthquakes happen under the influence of Venus; just as lunar forces play a significant part in tidal patterns on earth’s seas. I remember reading news reports about the ‘Venus transit’ days before the Gujarat quakes occurred way back in 2001 which corroborates, to some extent, his findings on the planetary connection to the phenomenon. The man, married with grown up offspring, told me he had, indeed, approached the Centre for Earth Science in Thiruvananthapuram, with his observations, but was spurned by the scientist couple who headed the research institute at the time, perhaps on the grounds that he was not qualified enough to be taken seriously.

So that makes him another ‘Ramar Pillai’- the man who invented artificial bio-petrol. Neither the hapless man could prove his point satisfactorily nor the scientists were able to unravel the secret themselves. While not everybody would turn out to be a Srinivasa Ramanujan, ‘the man who knew infinity’, it is high time the people at the higher echelons of scientific bodies stopped ignoring the hard work and enthusiasm of amateur inventors and explorers.

Another case in point is that of a young maths teacher who earned a living by giving private tuitions in a village in Kerala, again, a couple of decades ago. He had arrived at an ingenious method to calculate the eccentricity of an oval. The findings were sent to Dr A.P.J. Abdul Kalam who, in turn, forwarded it to ISRO for further verification. The formula was, incidentally, found to be correct and useful in astronomical calculations involving the trajectory and orbital paths of heavenly bodies.

The book in question contained the results of years of painstaking research and thought-provoking conjectures peppered with quirky observations that often looked far-fetched. Nevertheless, it was a book which shed light on the mysterious events of the universe and one that emphasised the need to explore beyond the known horizons of knowledge.

I never saw the man again.

This is my homage to that old man who deserves to be called the ‘Earthquake Johnny’ of India, although he did not invent any seismograph or establish an institute like John Milne, the legendary scientist renowned for his extensive work in this field.

(I am still in search of his name and the rare paperback copy…and hope to find it someday.)

It was with a heavy heart that I saw the image, last year, of a pregnant elephant, standing stoically in a river in Kerala’s Palakkad district, awaiting an imminent death. Despite being in excruciating pain from mangled, bleeding mouth and tongue, the hapless pachyderm never ran amok nor showed any sign of discomfort till her end.

However, what those ignorant ingrates who fed the unsuspecting animal with pineapple stuffed with explosives did not know was that elephant is not just another wild beast but a bulwark that protected a region from foreign invasions for millennia. Once a prized possession of Emperors and Kings by virtue of their being formidable war machines and deterrents besides gracing rituals and performing heavy-lifting tasks, the humble animals have now been relegated to the status of circus and ceremonial attractions.

It is an irony that the land of Mathanga Leela, one of the rare treatises on the science of elephants, written by Thirumangalath Neelakantan Musath, witnessed the macabre incident. There is an adage in Kerala that says ‘an elephant, whether alive or dead, can fetch its owner a fortune’. While captive elephants still command staggering prices, primarily on account of their demand for processions and logging jobs, their indispensability and importance in an almost completely automated world have suffered a setback. Advent of technology and their subsequent fall from grace have not only left the poor animals redundant but vulnerable to abuse and gradual extinction as well. From being an animal whose murder would have attracted capital punishment some two thousand and three hundred years ago to being an inmate of destitute animal shelters and a target of poachers and forest brigands, the majestic Asian creature has seen it all.

As the mighty animals retreat into inconsequentiality and, possibly, oblivion, let us examine the various occasions on which they played a pivotal role in safeguarding the territories of the Indian subcontinent.

Semiramis, the Assyrian Empress, tempted by the prospect of overlording the fertile, rich lands beyond the Indus River, attacked India somewhere between 811–806 BCE. In spite of initial gains, her huge army, with its caparisoned camels covered in black buffalo hide masquerading as elephants, suffered near total annihilation at the hands of the retaliating forces of the Indian King Sunakshatra. The fake elephants, when they confronted the real ones, ran helter-skelter complicating matters further for the Assyrian forces already under a barrage of spear and arrow attack. This was the only humiliating defeat in an otherwise invincible reign of Semiramis.

None dreamed of attacking India for the following 500 years. Then, in 326 BCE, Alexander III of Macedon invaded the subcontinent culminating in the Battle of the Hydaspes. According to Marshal Georgy Zhukov and a few ancient sources, Alexander lost the battle to King Porus, though majority of the European historians saw it as a victory of the incursive army. Be that as it may, but it is quite clear that the over five hundred war elephants of the Paurava Kingdom scared the living daylights out of the Greek soldiers. And the disheartening news that King Dhana Nanda of Magadha was waiting with his 6000 plus battle-ready tuskers must have dented the morale of an already worn-out Greek-Persian combined forces prompting them to revolt against Alexander’s further campaigns in the region.

Before long, the mighty animals again came to the rescue — this time in the war between Chandragupta Maurya and Seleucus Nicator fought during the period 305–302 BCE. Not only did the Greek commander lose the battle but he was forced to cede a considerable part of his territory along the Indus River and his daughter in marriage to the victor. In return, the founder of the Mauryan Emperor gifted the vanquished 500 war elephants from his kraal that housed no less than 9000 of them. It was those elephants that helped Seleucus gain an upper hand in the Wars of the Diadochi, making him the ‘strongest’ contender to succeed Alexander.

There had, however, been a few episodes in history where the strategy of employing elephants in the battlefield backfired. The earliest such instance, of the threat being successfully thwarted by a wily General through ingenious means, is the Battle of Zama fought between the legendary Carthaginian General Hannibal and Roman forces under Scipio Africanus in 202 BCE. The pitched battle saw the 80 war elephants of Hannibal running into “corridors of slaughter”, a formation in which the Roman infantry and cavalry surrounded and pounced on the dreaded animals with spears, leading to a decisive victory for Scipio and thus ending the second Punic war.

Another warlord who successfully thwarted the onslaught of elephants was Timur Lang who defeated Nasir-ud-din Mahmud Shah Tughluq and captured Delhi on 17 December 1398 AD. The Turkic general effectively hindered the advance of the Sultan’s elephants by using caltrops on the battlefield. And, in yet another tactical move, Timur unleashed camels laden with wood on fire which rattled the war elephants of the Sultanate.

It was in 1526, in the first Battle of Panipat to be precise, that the Asian elephants had their tryst with canons. When Babur, the founder of the Mogul Empire, defeated Ibrahim Lodhi in the war, heralding the arrival of ‘Gunpowder Empire’ in the Indian peninsula, it also virtually brought to an end the hitherto undisputed reign of the mighty war elephants. The reverberations of the Uzbek’s artillery fire sent shivers down the spine of Delhi Sultanate’s soldiers and tuskers alike and the subjugation of the illustrious land was complete.

Although past their prime, the elephants deserve respect and care. I no longer view them as some ‘supernumerary’ animal, rather as battle-hardened, retired generals. And I now understand why my ancestors worshipped them as God.

A mercenary of the invading army broke into the ante-chamber of a palatial house in Syracuse, Sicily, and found a bearded old man standing at a desk, playing with some contraptions. Thinking that the elderly man was trying to steal them, the raider ordered him to surrender and follow him out.

“Wait a bit, young man .Let me finish this work” was his reply.

Riled at his nonchalant response and implied impudence, the soldier immediately pulled his sword out of the scabbard and beheaded the defenseless old man.

The man who thus met with a tragic end was Archimedes, the great Greek mathematician and philosopher.

Bakhtiyar Khilji, a Turkic general in a bid to prove his military prowess attacked and ransacked several forts in Bihar. One of them, the marauders came to know, was not a castle, but not before hundreds of hapless Buddhist monks were massacred and the libraries of manuscripts containing priceless knowledge destroyed in arson.

It was one of the world’s oldest universities, Nalanda .

The above mentioned incidents are a testimony to the fact that the existence of intellectuals and Cultural institutions of a country are dependent on the diligence of those who guard its frontiers.

Because, the invaders’ swords (read guns) do not know whether you are a pagan scientist or a ‘liberal secularist’. Nor do their mortars make any distinction between barracks and ‘premier institutions’ of learning.

Never, not even for a second, forget that the earth we walk on, the air we breathe and the water we drink are protected by the men who cannot afford to make a mistake.