Empires that were too big to fall – he toppled them.
Sciences that were too vast to comprehend – he fathered them.
A continent that was too great to rule – he conquered it.
“The concept of atoning for one’s sins is the fallacy of Magadhi philosophy,” Cāṇakya had replied, “The goal of life is not to merely ensure that one does more good than bad, it is not to merely justify your existence in the world. The goal of life is to do as much good as possible, and that rarely comes from men who justify their actions on basis of doing good. Therein lies the distinction, between goodness and greatness.”
Speaking to the fertile lands of Magadha, to the rivers that irrigated it, to its human settlements, Cāṇakya spoke.
I claim you as mine, he said – in the epic historical battle between the light of the Vedas and the wickedness that originated in this realm, the final move shall be mine.
And simply defending one’s holdings, or re-taking lost territories, would hardly be such a final move.
I will return, wielding in battle that torch that Vasiṣṭha had borne so many years ago taking the Bhāratas to their victory against the Purus – I shall take that throne you forbade me from resting on, and give it in charity to the deserving.
I swear to adopt the art of cunning; to be restrained by no foolish idealisms; to employ any means necessary to accomplish these goals.
Let it be known for centuries forth: that Magadha, after conquering Mathura, found herself conquered by her.
“Perhaps we ought to spend some time and think about alternative approaches in more detail,” Cāṇakya suggested. “And if we find one, we could send another scholar, trained to that approach, with an apology for my behaviour—”
Professor Caṇin interrupted him with a wry yet sympathetic smile.
“Viṣṇugupta,” he said gently, “What good is a life of apology?”
“Too many aged men emphasize sattva alone, but sattva without rajas is like an archer without his bow. Such a man, even as he goes to great lengths to do good rather than bad, never accomplishes any significant amount of good, for he is lacking in ambition. Certainly, the quality of sattva is to be honoured, as we honour cows – for the cow symbolizes sattva, as the vulture symbolizes tamas, yet neither of them is capable of ruling the world. No, it is man, and man alone, who possesses rajas, who is equipped to rule the world.
“Too many young men emphasize rajas alone: princes who spend their lives rallying armies to battle, never quite identifying what it is they are fighting for. Such men’s names are never immortalized in history, for in all their lives they accomplish nothing but the change of the colour of a flag on a fort, or some letters on a writ. For rajas alone, without sattva or tamas, is ambitiousness without ambition, it is passion without purpose. Such ones are mere tools to those men who possess true ambition.
“How blissful it is,” he said, “To be young and believe one knows everything. I must relish the nostalgia. You have studied under the Professors at Takṣaśilā, Cāṇakya, and have believed their words to be truth – but I could name you tens of more experienced scholars at Sauvīrāyana and elsewhere, who have discussed at length the value of heroism over discipline, and the disaster that discipline has spelled for the kṣatriya race.”
Cāṇakya gave a wry smile in response, that alone sufficed to rescue the university from a historic humiliation, and to secure Takṣaśilā its twenty-first consecutive victory at the Yājñavalkya Debates.
“Tens of scholars?” he asked. “I only need two: myself, and the goddess Vāc, who smiles down upon me when I speak the truth.”
“I told Professor Ṛṣyaśṛṅga that I wished to study at Takṣaśilā,” he stated. “That I wished to be his student. The Professor declined, telling me the knowledge-line on my palm was not deep enough. I did not know which line that was, so I carved all of them with a knife.”
Cāṇakya held the boy’s gaze for a full half-minute.
“That intelligence resides behind the forehead, not on the palm, is known to all men who possess any of it. What is your name, child?”
“Pāṇini,” said the boy.
She introduced herself, then said: “I had some objections to what you said at the debate, but didn’t wish to betray you and the university by interrupting you mid-speech.”
“Oh?” Cāṇakya started. “You should have. If you were to defeat me now, my win would be tainted.”
“I was unaware,” she said shamefully. “I’m new to Takṣaśilā, and am not familiar with what’s considered polite.”
Cāṇakya, for all his apparent haughtiness from afar, said something fairly decent for once: “Do whatever is right, and no one will be offended in Takṣaśilā. Honesty is what we regard as polite; dishonesty is the gravest insult.”
“It is only those born to wealth who do not understand its value, only those born with great intelligence who cannot comprehend what cognitive capacities they possess that others do not, and it is beautiful women who downplay the importance of being well-formed or shower dishonest praise on the beauty of their uglier friends. There is a great deal that wealth can buy, and wealth is an encapsulation of the deeds of a man – for a man earns wealth by giving goods to his clients, and loses wealth by taking goods from sellers. There are indeed goods that money cannot buy, but an honest man must find it upsetting that such goods cannot be bought by money, and think of methods to make such goods purchasable to money, rather than celebrate such goods for their inability to be purchased by money.”
“I’m sure that you, and the Greeks in general, also agree with the Indian opinion on the proper method to wash oneself after defecating—”
“—actually, we don’t agree on that—”
“—but it is through discussing disagreement, not agreement, that the progress of the world is achieved. Agreement is the consequence, not the cause, of a successful debate that dispels false beliefs on either or both sides.”
“History is littered with the corpses of forgotten men who were ahead of their time,”
Their way of life was dying.
The Brāhmaṇas were winning.
The light of the Vedas was burning through the country—
—for the Sun had risen in the West.
