E-Book, Englisch, 472 Seiten
MUKHERJEE Chronicle of Lost Empire
1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-3-7438-5284-6
Verlag: BookRix
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection
Secrets of Nalanda
E-Book, Englisch, 472 Seiten
ISBN: 978-3-7438-5284-6
Verlag: BookRix
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection
Autoren/Hrsg.
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Prologue
The sky was still dark and the hazy moon was lurking through the torn pieces of grey clouds. The soil on the earth was still damp as the last rain stopped only a few hours ago and it did not get enough time to soak the water in the soil. Prakashaditya took a deep breath and got the earthy scent of damp soil; the smell of Mother Earth; as his mother once told him. For awhile he became emotional to think about his mother, Prabha Devi; but again, he controlled himself. He had abandoned the palace life and forsaken his right to the throne to embrace a greater goal. Prakashaditya spurred his steed towards the City Gate of Pataliputra. The city-dwellers seemed in deep sleep, only the night guards were patrolling, the lamp-keepers were checking the road-lamps and pouring oil into the oil pots if required. The pillar-like lampposts, planted on both sides of the Rajpath in the regular interval was spreading light on the isolated street. Some of the guards recognised their Prince and looked at him with curiosity. They replaced their curious glance with fear and respect; they bowed down their heads and asked other colleagues to do so. The chief guard once thought that the Prince was there to supervise them; so, he came towards him. Raising his hand he stopped them, “Gallant warriors of Magadha; I am not here to inspect your work. I know you people are more sincere and dutiful than me. I am here on my own venture. Allow me to go.” His last words were more like a request rather than an order. They moved aside and provided him space. Prakashaditya gave a final glance to the city of Pataliputra; the jewel of Magadha; his father’s empire. Suddenly his inner sense told him that it was no more an empire but a kingdom. His heart sank; his land required a brave warrior as a saviour not a craven like him as the next king. Those words were still fresh and ringing in his ears. He could not deny the truth but accepted. So, he decided to revoke his claim and stepped down from the line of inheritance. No doubt, Chandraditya, his half-brother would be a much better choice for Magadha. Arch-shaped City Gate of Pataliputra silhouetted in distance, it was looking grotesque in feeble streetlight diffusing from the lamp-posts. The road leading outside the City Gate was wide enough for passing three chariots side by side. During the daytime, the steady flows of business usually flow in and out of the City Gate and the road outside the gate always remained stack with chariots and bullock carts. It directly connects the city centre to Uttarapath, the longest trade route of Aryavarta and thus farmers and traders often took the route to save their time. However, now the road seemed so isolated that he felt an empty feeling in his stomach. Perhaps, it was the fate of all human beings; ‘you would stay surrounded by companions, as long as they need you. Otherwise, you would find yourself alone like the Rajpath at midnight.’ The toll plaza was looking like a deserted hut under a gigantic arch. The keeper of the gate, who usually worked as the toll-collector sat on a wooden chair and a dog squatted on the floor just under the chair. The man with huge red turban donned in a red tunic and white dhoti was counting copper and silver coins piled on a wooden table placed in front of him. He threw an astonished glance at the prince and left his chair to salute him. Prakashaditya raised his hand and smiled, “Take care of Pataliputra. My friend; serve my father and his heir sincerely.” The last words he uttered in a whispering tone. The City Gate above his head was looking like an architectural giant with its decorated stone pillars finely curved in form of animals and figurines. The centre of the arch had a crest depicting a big lion head located inside a circle resembled the Sun with flares; the dynastic symbol of Magadha engraved on the gate and imparted its name ‘Surya Toran’. Prakashaditya closed his eyes for awhile, now Chandraditya would carry the ‘Flame’ on the battlefield instead of him. He would face those mysterious invaders from the west; who called themselves Walxon, but Magadha people called them Swet Hun or white Hun. Little he knew about his enemies, but much he knew about their massacre. The horror of the last battle was still very fresh in his mind. He still could see the scene. ‘We were about to win; we were about to capture the chief of the Hun; but suddenly, fire engulfed everything. Gatiman jumped and crossed the fire circle safely, but cousin Soumyaditya and uncle Deval could not escape their fate. Elephants and horses scared to see fire around them; they started running here and there stampeding infantries and charioteers alike. I still could hear their last cry in nightmares.’ Prakashaditya tried to forget his past, but the scene came fresh in his mind. Suddenly he felt that his horse stumbled over something; he stopped the horse, dismounted and saw a small boulder in the road. Gatiman whined in pain. Prakashaditya got down and examined the horse’s front leg. Though the wound was not very serious, he decided to apply some medicinal herb on it. He looked around and found himself on a deserted Rajpath. He had left Pataliputra Krosh behind and currently standing in the middle of the Rajpath, which was leading to Odontopura. In between the capital of Magadha and Odontopura; there were other settlements and rest-houses, but the present locality had nothing except big trees and bushes. He saw a pillar type Krosh-Minar on which something was written in Sankhya Lipi; it was stating that Odontopura was thirty Krosh away; it meant more than seven Yojan. The sign gave him a little relief and anticipated that within the second Prahar of the morning, he would be able to reach Nalanda. Now, his main job was to look for some medicinal herbs. Though the moonlight was not strong enough to show herbs; but the road lamps were enough for that. He saw small creeper plants around a big tree and took few of its leaves. He had seen Rajvaidya Ravibhadra using it on the wound of injured soldiers. He rubbed those leaves in his hand and pressed it against the wound. The horse felt a cooling sensation and softly made a neigh in relief. Prakashaditya patted the horse affectionately; Gatiman was not only his horse but also his companion. The dark brown stallion had saved him from many evils in the past, he was best fitted to be a King’s horse, but he had chosen the wrong person as his rider. Within few hours his owner had to sacrifice everything; all his earthly wealth and had to embrace a new life; where wisdom would be his horse and knowledge would be his weapon. With a soft whim, the horse declared that he was ready to carry his owner to his destination. Prakashaditya looked at the horse and patted him softly. He whispered, “Return to Pataliputra; serve a King; don’t serve a beggar, my dear.” However, the horse strongly denied his advice and whined. It seemed like that he ordered the Prince to mount on him. Prakashaditya smiled a bit; ‘Foolish imagination! A Horse is commanding its rider.’ He mounted on his horse. Gatiman seemed to sense his rider’s mind. He started running towards Odontopura. Prakashaditya tried to divert his mind from the past to the future and tried to guess what probable questions Acharya Budhaditya could ask him in the admission test. He knew little about alchemy; whatever he knew about the subject might not be enough to clear the examination. However, he required an alchemist’s guidance to save Magadha from future destruction. He hoped his mentor Acharya Padmanabha’s recommendation would help him. Two more Krosh Miners were passed; Prakashaditya felt refreshing cold winds on his face and noticed that the eastern welkin was looking brighter. However, the sky was still full of cloud pieces and anytime rain could come again. He found himself in the centre of an empty village market. Small huts probably the shops were closed and the houses nearby were looking deserted. Its occupants might be sleeping. He smiled a bit; he had chosen this hour of the day only because of avoiding unnecessary gesture and interrogation. He wanted to keep his venture hidden from the entire world; even from his near and dear ones. Four krosh and a half, it might be five krosh, southeast of Pataliputra, there was a plane separated from the Imperial Capital of Magadha by an intervening swell of hills and tablelands. The barren hilly land full of boulders had no sign of human habitation. The Rajpath was located in between two wall-like hills and the road had curved upwards to keep symmetry with the elevation of the land. The morning sun rays were falling softly on the crests of the hills. He had to cross these hills to enter Rajagriha, the erstwhile capital of Magadha. He had heard many stories regarding this hilly land. People of Pataliputra still believed that the place was inhabited by Nagvanshis; who could transform themselves into snakes. However, his mentor Acharya Padmanabha always discarded those myths and said that they were simple Vanavasi people trained in snake catching but poor in agriculture. Suddenly, the sound of hoof beats and voice of men diverted his contemplation. He assumed that a convoy of a merchant or a local landlord was approaching. He had no desire of meeting anyone and discuss his future; so; he thought to hide behind a big boulder. The place had no scarcity of boulders and caves. He dismounted from his horse and asked the steed to remain behind a...
