Alexander's Conspiracy

Alexander’s Conspiracy

(AN HISTORICAL EXTRAVAGANZA)

(Sub-Editor, The Hindustan Times, Delhi)

"Not an inch of clean space in the world-conqueror’s tent!" Listless and with hands hanging limp, Alexander sat in his pavilion like a bored Apollo. "A regular buffalo-shed," he thought, tiredly gazing at the clusters of flies in the other corner. "’Tis four hours since I had my lunch and the plates have not been removed." The bored Apollo mildly frowned at the perspiring slaves. "More dirty than these greasy barbarians, you need, the whole pack of you, to be drowned in the river." Alexander was overcome by a feeling of excruciating disgust as he looked at the stale and salty slime oozing out of their naked bodies. He closed his eyes and sank on the cushion like a furry kitten.

Honeymooning with the divine Roxana among the Bactrian mountains–a whole host of regretful memories crowded Alexander’s brain. Why did he enter this Hades? The figure of the wounded Porus, grim and defiant, again flashed through his mind, for the hundredth time during these three days. And the virulent contempt with which he had greeted that "castrated renegade" Ambhi. Alexander was sad. "Anyway I will settle matters with him today," he consoled himself, "he must be coming just now."

It was abysmally sultry. Everything was sticky in the pavilion. The thick pile of carpets was like a river of treacle. Alexander got up and walked a few paces. A whole city of tents lay in the ground extending right up to the bank of the flooded Hydaspes, visible in blue and white patches from an opening at the . Coming up to the main entrance Alexander saw the capital of the Paurava kingdom lying in the distance. The sky was still all black and red on one side with the funeral pyres of the barbarians killed in the battle below. Crossing the river of treacle, Alexander again dropped down into the chair. With half shut eyes one of the slaves had been working at the fan all this time.

The soldier at the main entrance announced the arrival of Porus. Alexander quickly composed himself into the attitude of a benevolent god and went out to receive his defeated enemy–a clean-shaven emaciated figure in a dhoti with a flame-coloured border and a cloth carelessly flung over the shoulders. Such a crashing contrast to the armoured figure, black, fierce, almost metallic, whom Alexander met in the battlefield.

Alexander was a little taken a. "What, Porus, grown old in two days." he said addressing the old Hindoo. "Not yet finished burning your dead and filling the river with their ashes?" Porus sat in silence. "What hell is let loose?" Alexander abruptly remarked shaking his head to remove a fly that had settled on his nose. "You don’t very much mind the flies, Porus, do you?" he added.

"Why should I mind the flies, General," Porus replied calmly as if he was uttering some profound philosophical truth.

"No, I don’t mind anything, even bugs, even lice–and the great Lord Vishnu protect us–even the Greeks." Porus planted himself on a chair.

"So grief has made you bitter," said Alexander still beaming with benevolence. "I am sorry for your two sons, Porus."

"Sorry, really–why, sir, the Captain-General of the Hellenes shouldn’t have such a heart of cotton-wool," Porus blurted out trying to be cruel. "Your ancestors," he added, "beat out the brains of a suckling baby–its mother had a beautiful name I forget–to prevent its growing into another Hector. Nipped the danger in the bud. We too have a baby at home, General, though its father was no Hector. Shall I send it to you?"

"Don’t be silly," said Alexander pretending not to have been offended. "You could have avoided all this suffering by surrendering in the beginning like Ambhi and Abisares."

"Surrender without a struggle!" Porus shrugged his shoulders. "Even a lamb would bleat and struggle!" he added softly, "before you slit open its wind pipe. Your Ambhi and Abisares are impossible beasts."

"Don’t say all those things, Porus." Alexander spoke like a hurt child. "You don’t know how I have suffered all these days. My sleep has been crowded with elephants."

"Crowded with what?" asked Porus a little wistfully.

"Yes, Porus, crowded with elephants–elementally black with big gaping wounds writhing in the slush. Thousands and thousands of them. Oh, it was horrible. I have dreamt of nothing else these three nights, and every time I felt my blood turn blue-black. I have fought bigger battles, Porus, but never did I feel so miserable."

"You surprise me, General." There was amused contempt in Porus’s voice. "You ought to be a little more thick skinned," he added, "Why, a world-conqueror should be a regular hippo. You just fall short of the ideal, General, though to be fair to you I must say that your past achievements-Thebes and Persepolis–had brought you perilously near the goal."

Alexander was pale with anger. "You are an old buffoon," he said. "I didn’t want you here to babble out all this impudence." And then with a note of helplessness, "You must know you are a prisoner of war and must behave and be treated as such."

"I am awfully sorry." Porus looked like a sphinx. "I forgot that the dark night and the storm had already done the trick for you."

"You mean to say you could ever hope to win in any pitched battle against us with that ridiculously unwieldy army of yours!" Alexander was very much excited. "The men," he went on with their bows stuck in the mud–it was like some vast reptile, miles and miles of it, with just six inches of brains at one end. Too little of grey matter. It was a dirty job killing it." The world-conqueror subsided into his chair.

"I should have thought even six inches of brains rather unnecessary to win a battle," protested Porus. "Why, General, our defences were perfect. You don’t require much brains to see that nothing was easier than to prevent the very devil’s hosts from crossing the flooded river during rains and landing on our territory. And why, at other times, when the ground was not all soaked with water, the clouds of arrows from the bows of our archers would have been as effective as God’s lightning. Not even the world-conqueror’s smart cavalry could have withstood those clouds. You yourself had given up all hopes of further conquest, General. The end of the world had come and the tears of the world-conqueror mingled with the waters of the Hydaspes. But then there came that storm and the dark night. You crept higher up the bank with a picked body of your men and crossed the river under cover of that wooded island like a reckless thief. What were your feelings then? The world-conqueror quaking in his shoes with fear! A sight for Kartikeya! He is our god of war; you know. Anyway you crossed the river. The ground was wet and it was, all over with us," Porus concluded with a note of pride in his voice.

Alexander blushed guiltily. "Don’t be anxious about your lost kingdom," he said laughingly. "I am going to return it to you."

"Is it going to be an unconditional return?" asked Porus, conspiratorial and ironical.

"Not quite." Alexander’s voice was secretly intimate. "Un-less you want me to be murdered by my generals," he added with some effort. "You won’t very much mind the nominal suzerainty of the world-conqueror, I hope. And moreover when I am gone, you can disown your conqueror and do as you please."

Porus remained silent.

"We shall settle the details afterwards," Alexander resumed.

"You are attending the games tomorrow, aren’t you?" he asked.

"I am" Porus replied quixotically. Then, Then neatly arranging the cloth over his shoulders, he quietly walked away.