1.6 Clandestine operations

Pabbata’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, and his face had turned pale in horror.

All five guards had prostrated themselves before him, claiming their innocence and begging for his forgiveness.

“Whose mercy do you wish for?” the prince asked through gritted teeth. “Mine, or my father’s?”

The guards continued to wail incoherently. He kicked one who had grabbed his ankle.

Not only was this threatening to ruin all of Pabbata’s plans, this would seriously damage his image in his father’s eyes, even if Pabbata had had nothing to do with Cāṇakya’s escape nor the security of his imprisonment, because the emperor now viewed Cāṇakya and all the problems surrounding him as among Pabbata’s affairs.

“Listen here,” he pronounced, “You wish for my mercy? You will have it. I will tell father that it was on my orders that you released Cāṇakya from his cell. And this is what you will tell everyone as well – your friends, your family, everyone. I shall not reveal to any of them the truth of your incompetence.”

“We are grateful, O kind prince, we are gra—”

“But I have two conditions,” Pabbata interjected with a fierce glare. “One, obviously, the five of you shall be my slaves in this life and the next six, heeding every word of mine. And two:

“Find Cāṇakya!”

Cāṇakya wasn’t too worried about getting caught.

The fastest route out of Pāṭaliputra was the Northern Highway, so he would be alerted in advance of any search party sent in pursuit of him, and he simply had to hide in the bushes while it passed. He considered that a kingdom ought to have a better alert system, such as a sequence of lighthouses to be lit in succession along the highway, or simply conch-blowers placed at regular intervals.

What Cāṇakya was more concerned about was him voluntarily submitting to capture.

Although he had broken out of prison on his own accord anyway, he was fairly certain that Pabbata had been making some sort of effort to have him pardoned, for whatever purpose that he sought Cāṇakya for. Based on the interaction that Cāṇakya had observed earlier between Dhanānanda and his son, Cāṇakya estimated a high chance of this attempt succeeding.

The question then arose, of how the search party would approach precisely.

There were several possibilities.

One, a standard search party may approach, should Dhanānanda’s men be the first to discover Cāṇakya missing, or should Pabbata tell his father about Cāṇakya’s escape and Dhanānanda be responsive to this information in this way. In this case, Cāṇakya merely had to hide, then bother about contacting Pabbata after safely making it to Takṣaśilā.

Two, if Pabbata initiated the search himself, he might do so under his own name, clearly announcing his intent at various cities on the highway. In this case, Cāṇakya would need to stalk him until he could isolate Pabbata and confront him himself, having prepared a decent escape plan.

Three, Pabbata may initiate the search under one of his brothers’ names, as a search for both Pabbata and Cāṇakya who had escaped – this way, the emperor wouldn’t learn of Cāṇakya’s escape and simply assume there was some disagreement between brothers. In this case, Cāṇakya would need to first find Pabbata himself, then stalk and isolate him, having prepared a decent escape plan.

Four, Pabbata may initiate the search under some entirely different pretense, such as a search for child slaves, or a survey of recent migrants to each city – or even, having gathered the information from those who guarded the gates of Pāṭaliputra, a registration of Ājīvaka monks. Thus Cāṇakya had to avoid entering walled cities, instead monitoring the happenings from the outside.

(And Cāṇakya acknowledged, in some corner of his mind, that this was how he had to think – to consider every possibility that may arise, and decide on the optimal course of action in response, and to consider every possible hurdle in that course of action, the response to that, and thus so.)

After making precautions to meet in a forested tract where Pabbata’s cavalry companions couldn’t easily pursue him, and having made plans for escape (such a severed log that he could push into a pond to feign that he had jumped into it, should he be pursued), and having found an opportune moment where Pabbata was isolated from his army – as an archer isolated his target from a phalanx to shoot him, or as a man isolated a courtesan from her ill-mannered companions to court her – Cāṇakya showed himself to Pabbata.

“Cāṇakya!” Pabbata cried, then cringed. “And do you have to maintain that appearance?”

Cāṇakya accepted the dhoti. “I assume that if you sought to return me to my prison, you would have hardly gone to the trouble of all this pretense to capture me. I will answer to your demands, but you must first dismiss your army.”

The Magadhi prince made a questioning gesture. “You believe that if you could escape my friends if I ordered them to capture you?”

“I broke out of Pāṭaliputra’s highest-security dungeons, designed by Ajātaśatru himself. Do you truly believe that I couldn’t escape three kids the same age as myself?”

Pabbata nodded, then turned to his minion. “Devajit,” he said. “Do as he says. I will be away from Magadha for an extended period of time as previously discussed; in that time, you shall be my messenger and representative in Pāṭaliputra.”

Then he turned to his other, younger minion: “You will accompany me, Candragupta.”