3.8 Speaking ill of the dead

Every lion was a god in the eyes of its prey.

(“It is with great sorrow that I inform you, my favored student,” Cāṇakya had written to him, “Of your father’s death—“)

The sole dictator of its destiny, the sole occupant of its thoughts, the source of all its emotions.

A single lion was worth more than a hundred hares – indeed, it was the single greatest beast to roam the jungle, in every respect.

(“He was found dead in his room several weeks ago, and the physicians state that the marks on his body do not belong to any poison known to them – indeed, I was also unable to find any matching descriptions at the libraries here at Takṣaśilā—“)

And yet a single lion was insignificant to the jungle.

(“Several artefacts were found scattered on your father’s body, including: dissociated wooden beads of a wood not known in the civilized world, as if from a necklace, an eagle motif, and a bronze war helmet of distinctly Greek mold—“)

And yet the death of a single lion meant nothing to life in the jungle.

Even its own pride mourned its death so briefly – immediately devolving into brawls over the questions that truly mattered: ascension and inheritance.

(“You should be aware that there is a large undercurrent of doubt over the official claim that the act was the work of Greek assassins. The argument is as follows. If the Greeks were to send assassins to Pāṭaliputra, they would subcontract Magadhi assassins – not foreigners who will be fragile in this environment, and unlikely to succeed. If they did send Greek assassins, they would be clad in more efficient attire, without heavy armor and certainly without distinctive Greek symbolism. And even if they did, it is highly unlikely that the only articles that separated from the assassins’ outfits in the ensuing struggle were those of obvious Greek symbolism. Instead, the doubters say that an explanation that would lead to the observations is that these artefacts were planted, in an obvious attempt to frame the Greeks—”)

He had never possessed any reverence for his father, Pabbata realized, and yet upon his death he naturally felt the obligation to think fondly of him.

He did not naturally feel that fondness itself, though.

He wondered if those who cried at funerals did so not out of genuine sorrow, but out of guilt at not expressing that sorrow in the manner they did.

(“I needn’t say why I am informing you of this conspiracy theory. Regardless, I should also warn you: if the Greeks do show interest in Magadha – DO NOT seek their alliance. You must be seen to be upholding the path of justice regardless of whether the official story or the conspiracy theory is the truth – otherwise, your enemies will simply shift to believing the opposite story to portray you as wicked and patricidal—”)

The more sorrow he made himself feel – and it was surprisingly easy to feel such kindness for a man who was his father, as lowly as he may have previously seen him to be – the more enraged he was at those who had slain his father. Not that they had slain him – but that they had done it so unritually, as if his father had been such an unimportant man. He was offended at how pathetic of a frame job it had – that they considered his father so unimportant that they did not even afford some thought into doing a good frame job – that they believed Magadhis wouldn’t even care enough about his father to bother contesting it.

Equipped with his army’s newfound sympathy, Pabbata raised his arm in salute.

“The enemy is smart.”

Surari tentatively looked at her husband, the Prime Minister of all Magadha, who had been pacing urgently across the room for the past two-fifth-hour, eyes bloodshot and staring at a particular war helmet he had brought with him from the crime scene.

“The enemy?” she enquired on a relatively light note, “Are you now left with only one, my dear husband?”

Prime Minister Sakadala slowly shook his head. “No, Surari,” he said in a tone that was both quiet and passionate at the same time, “An enemy. Not a petty rival in court to thwart, not a distracting troublemaker who sets my plans back for some months, not a mere feature of reality like hunger, laziness or the Magadhi state that I have learned to do the best under. An enemy who possesses intelligence – who can learn my weaknesses and develop a strategy that truly handicaps me – an enemy I cannot defeat by mere fighting, but the use of deception as well. An enemy that I haven’t faced since … well, since as long my memories maintain clarity.”

“The Greeks?” Surari questioned, “Why, it is only an assassination. You yourself have carried out so many—”

“Not the Greeks!” Sakadala exclaimed, “It was not the Greeks! For anything! The whole operation was a farce, and an embarrassing  one at that. I do not believe that Dhanānanda had ordered any offensive against the Greeks before his death either, but if I recall the decision, my enem— rivals, stupid rivals who cannot see beyond petty court politics, will accuse me of collaborating with the Greeks, why even declare my own guilt in the attack! — the vassal kings may not even listen to me, believing there to be a schism in the court, and if there is a schism in the court, you better believe I will not be the one to win it in this situation, being viewed as the establishment— and now two thirds of all imperial elephantry is marching, under no leadership whatsoever, to fight an enemy we know nothing about, for a military objective that does not even exist!”

“But who is the enemy, Lord? Who benefits from all this?”

“I do not know – in fact, it may just be the Greeks making such an obvious assassination to set about this bizarre sequence of events that will lead to a crushing military defeat for us. I have taken every possible means to try and identify any unusual or non-routine visitors to the capital at the time of the attack, interrogated them all, interrogated their alibis … nothing! I cannot imagine how some assassins could penetrate the impenetrable city of Pāṭaliputra at night, enter the palace, sneak past every guard, physically fight the ruler of the greatest empire in the world without detection, poison him, then leave past all of those very defenses!”

“Well, I do … ” Surari started, then stopped, chiding herself. How silly of her – that was after the attack, it would only have made her husband even angrier if she had blurted out something so irrelevant.

“What?”

“No … I was just being silly. I do know of an odd visitor to the palace, but it was after the assassination, so it is of no relevance. Silly of me.”

“What odd visitor?” Sakadala asked absently, anyway.

She shook her head. “There was … a Brāhmaṇa hypnotist from Ayodhya, who had apparently been summoned by Augraseniya for an audience. Which was odd, because usually we do not have many Brāhmaṇas entering the palace here – besides you, of course, my Lord.” (She grimaced, knowing her husband did not enjoy being reminded of his caste – as it evoked feelings of guilt in him, as if he were being treacherous to his people – even as he denied such a thought, arguing that it made little sense.)

But Sakadala’s eyes shot up. “A Brāhmaṇa man?” He asked “With Augraseniya? WAIT—DID YOU SAY HYPNOTIST? A HYPNOTIST WAS ALLOWED TO MEET THE EMPEROR – WITHOUT MY PERMISSION? WITHOUT MY PRESENCE? WHY WOULD … HOW WOULD … WHAT else do you know about this meeting, Surari?”

She stuttered – she had not been expecting that meeting to have any importance, so was taken quite by surprise.

“Um … I … I just thought he was seeking the advice of a seer in grief, due to his father’s death … but I was not invited to the session, because, well, you were not – I learned about it from the Emperor’s mother myself, she was present when it happened … ”

(I will warn you so: if you are ever in the moment exactly prior to such a situation, you will find your mind having many wishful thoughts – oh, surely I would lose consciousness before they inflict any significant injury – oh, surely I can just provide false information, and they will have no way of verifying, why, the very possibility of that makes this whole process unreliable to start, and they know it – I will simply not reveal the information, and suffer any pains they may inflict on me, I know I can and will do it, because I should! – maybe they are not even going to torture me, perhaps the official executioner is only here out of his personal curiosity.)

“Problem!” said the Prime Minister, dressed in robes far darker than what was usual for him, “How do you bring in an anti-government propagandist, a sower of dissension, who upholds a philosophy contrary to official sanction, to meet with the Emperor and tell him lies? Any ideas?”

The Prime Minister’s cronies shook their heads dramatically with comically pursed lips.

“Well, you would disguise him as a member of an approved sect, of relatively little fame, have the Emperor issue the invitation himself – if you have enough sway over the throne. Of course, this would only work if the meeting was private, but no matter what excuse you come up with to have the Emperor make it so, he seems to have found a new air of foolish confidence in himself, saying: Oh, but knowledge should be shared! I must not keep such an auspicious audience from my friends, or from my mother!”

“Then what did she do, Prime Minister?” queried the official executioner with a child-like inquisitive look, tilting his head as he brought up one finger to press into his right cheek.

“So you take the opposite strategy: you hide the true purpose in plain sight! You make it a public scandal – a BRĀHMAṆA has entered the palace to HYPNOTIZE THE MAGADHI EMPEROR! Who caused this?! Augraseniya has been acting very sympathetic to the Brāhmaṇas, will he now adopt their laws as well – LET IT NOT BE SO! Is he already hypnotized, is he being hypnotized to order more hypnotists – is this the new, dark weapon of the Brāhmaṇas to destroy the Magadhi way of life? Was he complicit in his own father’s assassination – OH, LET THE DYNASTY OF THE GREAT MAHĀPADMA NOT BE STAINED BY THE SIN OF PATRICIDE, LET US HOPE THAT IT IS NOT TRUE! Such distractions, such drama – everyone’s ears strained to look for any dangerous calls to action and even inclinations that the hypnotist may place in the emperor’s mind – that nobody notices the random, irrelevant fact that the hypnotist told the emperor a false version of the story of Bharata and Kaikeyi, in which Bharata is not forgiven by his people even after he denounces his mother’s actions.”

(That is all a fantasy. If not at the moment that they drill a hole through your first fingernail, then after you are slowly, excruciatingly slowly, blinded in one eye and been impaled through your urethra by a glowing or spiked metal rod, you will reveal every single thing that they want to know from you.)

“Haaaaau?” exclaimed the official executioner in his annoyingly rehearsed tone, “Why did he do that? That would have certainly escaped my eyes, or indeed all but—” he gestured to Sakadala, “—the sharpest eye in Magadha.”

“Why would he do that? Except to plant a very deep-seated, unquestioned belief in the Emperor’s mind that should someone close to him also commit a heinous crime to benefit him, he should also keep their secret, as he would stand to lose by revealing it. Someone close to him … close enough to have persuaded him to invite this hypnotist in the first place.”

“Who could that be, Prime Minister?” asked the official executioner, appearing thoughtful. Then he (far more slowly than would be thought possible) spun on his heel, coming to face her, making eye contact. “Oooohhh … ”

“Now, young lady,” said Sakadala approaching her in rather leisure for the situation, “I know that you could not have been the originator of this plan. Nor do I believe there could be any greater goal you could be pursuing in all this. You will tell me who your sponsor is – either before, or after you are made to suffer through the punishments of hell.”

(I swear to you, young lady – that should you die in your mission, I – with the countless disaffected who have been wronged by Magadha – will avenge you, and will realize your dream of avenging your husband. But should you act out of such delusions of being able to withstand torture – I assure you, then, that in pursuit of a petty desire to appear more virtuous than others, you and you alone could then be held responsible for compromising our objective, and of betraying the sanctity of your devotion towards your husband.)

Rūpakośa bit her suicide pill.

And Pāṭaliputra erupted into civil war.