The Ocean's Own Read online

  Several contemporary royal families became kinsmen to the imperial Guptas through marriage. Chandragupta I married Lichchavi princess Kumardevi, Kadamba princess Anantadevi married Kumargupta and Vakataka crown prince Rudrasena married Prabhavati Gupta. Prabhavati Gupta ruled as regent for nearly two decades and her son Damodarsena later called himself Pravarasena-II.

  To Snug and Cuddly

  Because dog licks are good for time-travel

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. Future in the Stars

  2. Snakes and Ladders

  3. Throne of Blood

  4. Venom in the Veins

  5. March to Mathura

  6. Song of the Sword

  7. Angai

  8. Home and Heart

  9. Dreams of Digvijay

  10. War in the Wild

  11. Kosala and Maha Kantar

  12. Blue Beyond

  13. Kadal Kol

  14. Love and War

  Epilogue—365 AD

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Foreword

  THE ENTIRE IDEA OF The Ocean’s Own came from the Prayag Pillar. We get most of our information about Samudragupta from his coins and the inscription or the Prayag Pillar Prasasthi by his minister, Harisena. But this incredible piece of history (which now stands in the premises of the Allahabad Fort in Prayagraj, Uttar Pradesh) carries three distinct inscriptions from three different millennia – Emperor Ashok Priyadarshi, Samrat Samudragupta and Mughal Emperor Jahangir. A wondrous time capsule, as it were, tracking three glorious epochs in India’s history.

  I loved the idea of this time connect, and how even what is written in stone can be lost in the mists of time. The story of the Gupta emperors was indeed lost for many centuries, even though the Gupta Age was India’s ‘first spring’, as narrative historian Abraham Eraly described the era. At its height, the empire stretched from the Himalayas in the north to the Krishna and Godavari rivers down south, from Balkh (in Afghanistan) in the west to the Brahmaputra River in the east. It was economically prosperous, politically strong, vibrant, cosmopolitan, cultured, liberal and enlightened. However, the Gupta Emperors have, unfortunately, not received the kind of interest or patronage that turned Emperor Ashoka before them and the Mughals after into an intrinsic part of our cultural consciousness. And yet, like the other two monarchs mentioned on the Allahabad Pillar, Samudragupta was a stalwart. Often dismissed as India’s Napoleon, to actually do so would be a grave injustice to this great king. Apart from being a military genius, Samudragupta was also a master administrator. It was because of rulers like him and his son Chandragupta Vikramaditya that the Gupta Empire remained as tightly knit as it did for so long, and it took more than 150 years and a thousand vicissitudes for the seams to come apart.

  It’s important to mention that The Ocean’s Own is not a textbook prequel to The King Within (Book 1) any more than The Poisoned Heart (Book 2) is a typical sequel. Nor is it a textbook retelling of history. Of course, many of the characters who took centre stage in The King Within are introduced in this book. This includes Datta Devi, Harisena, Rama Gupta and Samudragupta himself. All these historical characters play important roles to drive the narrative throughout the trilogy, but they have been fleshed out with generous doses of creative imagination.

  Like its sequels – The King Within and The Poisoned Heart – here too history rubs shoulders with fiction for the purposes of dramatic tension and storytelling. Characters like Samudragupta himself, who appears as Kacha in the story, Harisena, Datta Devi, Kumar Devi and Druvabhuti are all historical characters, but the camaraderie between the first three is entirely a product of my imagination. A word here about the use of the name ‘Kacha’ for Samudragupta. There is some debate among historians about the identity of the prince who was called Kacha – some say Kacha and Samudragupta are one and the same, others say Kacha was the brother who challenged Samudragupta. It is not unreasonable to assume that Samudragupta itself was an honorific title and that in his private life the king used a more intimate name.

  As for the Naga relations, including Queen Padma Naga and her son Jivita, they are completely fictional but based on two historical nuggets. First, Harisena’s panegyric says that when Chandragupta I announced Samudragupta’s name as the heir, his brothers’ faces blanched. So clearly there was some heartburn and opposition to the choice of heir, if not an open civil war. Also, Samudragupta’s war against the Naga confederacy is a historical fact mentioned on the Prayag Pillar, so I put two and two together to spin this angle of a Naga usurper in his own household. The character of Bhasma is based on a reference in Arya Manjusri Mulakalpa that depicts him as the person who disputed Samudragupta’s accession. There has been a fair amount of disagreement among historians about the identity of the prince who either challenged Kacha’s accession or was challenged by him. But that there was some internecine trouble before Samudragupta took over is something everyone seems to agree upon. So I am hopefully on safe ground here.

  The kings defeated by Kacha’s grand southern campaign are all historical figures, their names, places and routes taken from the Prayag Prasasthi. However, I have added bits and pieces of fiction for the sake of drama – like Bhima is a fictional character as is Angai, even though both King Mahendra of Maha Kosala and regent Vishnugopa of Kanchi are historical figures. The details of the Silambam martial art are, of course, meticulously researched and the Pallava Dynasty’s ancient link with the Nagas is also backed by documented history. Sangam classic Manimekalai says the first Pallava king was the offspring of the Naga princess of Manipallava and the Chola king of Killivalavan. The other reference is in the Bahur copper plate that says the Pallava ancestor Virakurcha married a Naga princess. The Bahur plates also talk about the Pallavas tracing their descent from sage Ashwathama and a Naga princess, which I have mentioned in the book.

  But alongside these historical figures, I have included an entire cast of fictional characters; some central to the narrative like Princess Angai, Queen Padma Naga, Magadh Premier Brahma Deva and General Ananta Varman and others less important like General Kuber Varman, City Magistrate Devdutt, and courtesan Ragini among others. All of these are a product of my imagination but they are firmly rooted in the time and milieu that I am describing in the story. In that sense, although they are not real, they could well have been. It’s just that history does not give us more detail, so I have used my imagination to fill in the gaps.

  Finally, I have worked hard to ensure that the etymological references used in the story are absolutely authentic. The word kadal kol and the references to the sea devouring the Kanchipuram/Mammallapuram region in ancient times can be found in Sangam literature. Similarly, the Chinese pronunciation of Kusumpur/Pataliputra is taken from HH Wilson’s foreword to his translation of Dandin’s Dasa Kumara Charita where he wrote, ‘That Patna was called Kusumapura, the flower city, at a late period we know from the Chinese Buddhist travelers, through whom the name Ku-su-mo-pu-lo became familiar to their countrymen.’

  The Ocean’s Own thus completes the Gupta Empire Trilogy and in a sense brings closure to the nine years of relentless research that backed all three books. I have lived with these characters since 2010 and now that their journey comes to a close, I feel bereft. I hope my readers will enjoy this rollicking ride through ancient India as much as I loved imagining it. I would like to thank my brother Anindya Sengupta and dear friend and author Moupia Basu for their valuable inputs on language, structure, plot, and characterization. I would like to give my little daughter Aura a big hug for all the times I have snapped at her because Kacha was facing some life-or-death dilemma that I simply had to sort out first. I would also like to thank my best friend Reshmi Da
sgupta for all her support. Without her girl power backing me every step of the way, my journey as an author would not have been possible. And last, but not the least, I would like to thank my editor Rea Mukherjee for all her support and the wonderful team at HarperCollins India for their help with the manuscript. May the force be with ye all.

  1

  Future in the Stars

  IF YOU HOLD A conch shell to your ear, you hear the roar of the waves trapped inside it. That’s how I first heard the call of the ocean; long before the journey that changed my life. To the far edges of Dakshinapath, where the three oceans kiss the feet of this blessed land. Long before I met Angai, part-woman, part-wave; untamed and fierce, primal and pure, with the expanse of the sky in her eye and the tang of the salty sea on her tongue. Long before I became Parakramah Samrat Sri Samudragupta, the virtuous, the valiant, the victorious. Conqueror of kings. Emperor of Jamvudeep and all the oceans. Ruler of the world.

  Yes, I am the ocean’s own and here is my story.

  It’s been three decades, but when I look back it still feels like yesterday.

  It started when father fell ill. I was then Lichchavidauhitra Kacha, the crown prince and my father’s favourite son. It was the sixteenth year of his reign and my father Maharajadhiraj Chandragupta I – who had used his vision and valour to forge an empire that stretched from Prayag to Saketa to Magadh – was on the Aryapatta throne. When I left the capital Pataliputra, he seemed in both good health and spirits. I wanted to go away on a hunting trip to Mahakantar for a few weeks with my bride, Dattadevi and best friend, Harisena. Datta and I had been affianced since childhood and grew up together under my mother Kumardevi’s loving care. She knew me well; perhaps too well. Even though we were newly married, it felt sweet and familiar, like the comfort of an old quilt, soft with use and full of shared memories.

  It was autumn, the season was mellow, and I was in love. We laughed and read, rode and hunted. And made love. We spent our nights gazing at the stars and dreaming of our life together. We were young and foolish – I was only twenty-five summers old, Datta a few years younger. We didn’t know it then but life is not a dream. And a future written in the stars can twinkle all night but it fades away in the harsh light of daybreak.

  The news came to us on one such magical evening. We’d been out hunting all day, though with Datta it was more a picnic than real blood sport. We still managed some pheasants and peacocks, and after nightfall, Harisena called out to his men and ordered them to set up camp and light a bonfire for us. With each twig thrown in, the fire crackled, its orange tips flaring upwards, greedily licking the overhanging leaves of the peepal tree under which we took refuge. The smell of slow-roasting game mixed with the fragrance of the autumn air as the sky above us turned a blaze of orange, grey and blue – a celestial palate spreading out across the horizon.

  Datta curled up next to me and drew her light wool uttaria scarf around us. ‘I wish we could stay here forever,’ she said, smiling to herself. ‘Right now, Pataliputra seems so far away, doesn’t it?’

  I put my arm around her and gave her a tight squeeze but said nothing. Although she grew up in the palace, Datta hated the court, with its air of intrigue and ambition. My mother had coached both of us well but with Datta, the more she learnt about politics, the less she seemed to like it. Of course, I knew in my heart that no matter how far we roamed, Pataliputra would never really be far away. It was my destiny, something I couldn’t run away from. Not even for love.

  As if on cue, Harisena walked up to us and sat down at the foot of the Peepal tree. Wiry, athletic and half a hand shorter than me, Harisena’s frame belied his phenomenal skill as a warrior. He wasn’t bulky but he was as strong as an ox, as sure-footed as a leopard, and many a joust opponent had rued their misjudgment of just how quick his sword arm could be. Crushing the cushion of dry leaves under him, Harisena stretched out and yawned. ‘It’s been more than two weeks but there has been no news from the palace,’ he said. ‘I hope there’s nothing amiss.’

  ‘Why should there be?’ asked Datta, annoyed at her reverie being so rudely interrupted. ‘Mother told me she would ensure we weren’t disturbed unless it was a matter of life and death. And I am grateful she’s kept her word.’

  Harisena frowned. ‘True … but life away from court feels a bit boring after a while, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not to me,’ snapped Datta. They were nearly the same age and she loved Harisena like a brother but the two seldom agreed on anything. The only thing they had in common was their fierce love for me.

  ‘You’re feeling bereft, my friend.’ I laughed. Harisena was a creature of the court and though he loved the occasional break as much as I did, politics was his lifeblood. Three weeks of hunting and picnics were simply too much leisure for him.

  Harisena looked embarrassed. ‘I am sorry – I should have realized how important this holiday is for the two of you.’

  ‘When you marry, you too will realize politics can and should play second fiddle sometimes,’ said Datta archly.

  ‘Somehow, I doubt that.’ I laughed.

  Harisena grinned. ‘But politics is far from my first love, remember? If I were to, I’d choose poetry over politics.’

  This time, both Datta and I laughed out loud. ‘Somehow, I doubt that too,’ she said.

  Our chatter was suddenly rudely interrupted by the not-too-distant sound of approaching horsemen. Harisena leapt up immediately, silently signalling for his men to lift their swords and spears. Although father’s formidable administrative skills had ensured there were no significant law-and-order skirmishes, even in areas not directly under imperial command, forest tribes were notoriously difficult to control or subdue.

  But the riders who burst into our campfire cocoon were not atavic tribesmen. Though covered in dust from head to toe, their leather breastplates and arm guards were clearly visible, as was the ochre-coloured imperial livery they wore underneath. These men were from Pataliputra and were clearly on some urgent mission.

  The men slid off their saddles and knelt down in front of me, waiting for their leader to catch up. When he came forward, I had no doubt something had gone dreadfully wrong in the capital.

  Ananta Varman was one of father’s most trusted generals. I had known him from when I was a little boy and was aware of just how much my parents trusted him and depended on his friendship. In his mid-fifties, his once raven-black hair had now begun to acquire some silver highlights. However, he still looked and fought like he was fifteen years younger than he really was.

  As he knelt down before me, I heard this august figure loudly and clearly pronounce the royal prasasthi, the imperial homage mandatory for not only the officers of the empire but for the palace household as well as common folk across the realm. But only the emperor was entitled to a prasasthi. No one else received it – not the queen empress or the dowager queen and certainly not a crown prince. The prasasthi could only mean one thing – a prospect too terrible for me to even contemplate. I stood there as if in a nightmare, trembling from head to foot. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t even breathe.

  Harisena realized what was happening and quickly walked up behind me. He held me firmly by my shoulders, the pressure bringing me back to reality. ‘When?’ he asked simply.

  ‘Eight days ago,’ replied Ananta Varman. ‘Her Majesty the queen ordered me to ride out immediately.’

  ‘What happened?’ Harisena asked.

  ‘The affliction came suddenly,’ replied Ananta Varman. ‘The physicians worked through the night but couldn’t save His Majesty. His last words were about you, Kumar Kacha,’ he said, looking straight into my eyes. ‘He said, “I have done my duty. I have chosen my tatparigrihita heir. Kacha is noble, righteous and brave. He will protect this earth and forge a destiny far more glittering than any of us could have ever imagined. I leave my legacy in his very capable hands.”’

  His words jolted me, cutting through my daze of disbelief. ‘But he wasn’t in poor hea
lth when we left him,’ I muttered. ‘He seemed in better spirits than I had seen in many months. So, what happened?’

  Harisena, the only person close enough to hear my almost inaudible mumble, understood immediately. ‘Arya Ananta Varman, was there an investigation into the emperor’s sudden death? The queen and the Council of Elders are quite convinced that his death was natural, are they not?’

  Ananta Varman shook his head sadly. ‘I know how hard it is for Kumar Kacha to accept this sudden tragedy, but the physicians were uniformly of the opinion that his death was not caused by extraneous means. It seems he had a secret affliction of the heart and that is what caused it. He wasn’t assassinated.’

  ‘But it doesn’t make sense,’ I said, turning around to face Harisena. ‘Do you hear me? It just doesn’t make sense!’

  Harisena, his hands still firmly gripping my shoulders, shook me gently. ‘Snap out of it, Kacha. This is your legacy. You know it, and your father knew it. Sooner or later, you were meant to pick up the mantle. You can grieve in private but right now, you need to go forth and be an emperor. That’s what His Majesty would have expected of his tatparigrihita heir.’

  I looked at my best friend through a haze of tears, the truth hitting me squarely like the deathblow of a battle axe. As long as father had occupied the Aryapatta throne, I didn’t have to think about anything – I simply followed his orders. Now, I was on my own. I suddenly felt utterly alone, like when I was a little boy and had lost my way through the forest on my maiden hunt. In one fell swoop, my beautiful, unspoiled world of love and laughter had been turned on its head. The dream was over, and it was now time to face life.

  The ride back to the capital seemed interminable. On we rode, through the narrow, overgrown, zigzagging forest paths that snaked through most of Mahakantar. The ruler of this wild and virgin land – Byagra Raja or the Tiger King – was an uneasy ally. Known for routine raids into neighbouring kingdoms and for an easy morality that bowed to nothing but expediency, Byagra took his time coming around to father’s peace offer. But after several border skirmishes went our way, reducing both his weapon hands as well as the morale of his men, Byagra decided his adventurism was turning out to be a costly mistake. And so, a no-first-attack alliance was forged between the two kingdoms. That was five years ago. For as long as he lived, father made sure Byagra stuck to the agreement and kept himself strictly within his own boundaries. Things had even settled down enough for the Tiger King to offer a hunting vacation in Mahakantar as a wedding gift to Datta and I – an offer father graciously accepted. But word of his death meant the mischief-maker would possibly be back to his old tricks. And capturing and ransoming the heir would suit him, perfectly, thank you very much.