Elephant Driver: A Tale of Adventure and Romance in Ancient India

By Gary Worthington

Jimuta, a poor farm boy in a remote part of ancient India’s great Mauryan Empire, finds and returns the huge war elephant Rudra belonging to his local prince. Most unusually, he is invited to become Rudra’s new driver. The elephant and boy form a close bond.

They are sent on a long journey with Rudra as a gift for the legendary emperor Ashoka. Jimuta realizes he is being used by powerful men for mysterious purposes when, strangely, he is befriended by the wealthy merchant leading the caravan. At the same time his life is threatened by the brutal warrior The Mugger (“The Crocodile”), who orders him to report on his talks with the trader.

At the imperial capital, Jimuta is thrilled to be recruited by emperor Ashoka as a spy. But he finds he is unwittingly a key part of a plot to assassinate his new ruler.

Jimuta falls in love with the beautiful and talented young secret agent Renuka. He is tested to the utmost when she is taken hostage by The Mugger and the other plotters who will almost certainly kill her.

With the help of his giant elephant companion Rudra, Jimuta finds he is capable of a serious attempt to rescue Renuka. And he and Rudra rush to Ashoka’s aid when the emperor is surrounded by the enemy in battle

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary Worthington
• Release date: Jul 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476256863

Gary Worthington

Gary Worthington's books include the award winning epic historical novels India Treasures, also published by Penguin India as The Mangarh Chronicles; and the companion sequel India Fortunes. He was a monthly contributor to the Writing Historical Novels website at www.WritingHistoricalNovels.com . His articles have appeared in Traveler's India magazine and elsewhere. He and his wife Sandra have traveled widely on the Indian subcontinent and in many other countries of Asia, as well as in Europe. They are involved long term in funding the operation of primary schools in remote areas of the Great Indian (Thar) Desert and in supporting a hospital there. In his legal career, he has been a lawyer in private practice, a legal counsel for the Washington State House of Representatives, and a JAG officer in the U.S. Navy. Most recently he helped plan and develop the unique new Cama Beach State Park on a historic waterfront resort site formerly operated by his wife Sandra's family on Camano Island, Washington. His wide range of interests include personal spiritual growth, graphic arts, the night sky and the cosmos, and reading; and issues such as climate change, environmental preservation, and vegetarianism. He designed the home he and his wife live in, on a forested site near Olympia. They have developed a 39 acre nature preserve adjacent to their home. His most recent book is Cama Beach: A Guide and A History: How a Unique State Park was Created from a Family Fishing Resort and a Native American Camping Site).

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Elephant Driver

A Tale of Adventure and Romance in Ancient India

From Book One of The Mangarh Chronicles / India Treasures

Gary Worthington

Acclaim for Gary Worthington’s India Treasures / Mangarh Chronicles

Book of the Year Finalist

— ForeWord Magazine

Worthington has wonderfully captured the mystique and adventure-soaked atmosphere of Rajasthan. A delight.

— The Statesman, New Delhi

An utterly absorbing historical.

— Midwest Book Review

An order of magnitude better than most fiction we see. Exciting even to our jaded taste.

— Rowse Reviews

Elephant Driver:

A Tale of Adventure and Romance in Ancient India

By Gary Worthington

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Gary Worthington

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of each original purchaser only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed are either products of the author’s imagination or, if actual historical persons, are used fictitiously.

Dedication: For Sandra, another lover of elephants, who kept urging me to publish this as a novel for young adults.

Preface

This novel was originally part of the lengthy historical epic published as India Treasures in America and as The Mangarh Chronicles by Penguin in South Asia. Numerous readers, especially my wife Sandra, told me the Elephant Driver story was their favorite part of the book, and many suggested that it should be published separately as a novel aimed particularly for young adults. Although the basic tale remains the same, I made numerous small revisions that hopefully improve a story that already has already been widely loved.

A Character List and a Glossary, both with pronunciation guides, are at the end of the book to help readers unfamiliar with Indian names and words. In the Notes near the end of the book, I discuss the extent to which the characters and events are fictional or real.

My Web site at http://www.GaryWorthington.com has additional information, including some personal tips on traveling in India, and various links.

I’m greatly interested in your comments regarding the book. Please contact me by email through Gary[at]GaryWorthington.com.

Above all, enjoy your reading!

Gary Worthington

Olympia, Washington

Table of Contents

Map of The Mauryan Empire

Chapter 1. Jimuta Watches a Battle

Chapter 2. Rudra

Chapter 3. The Fortress of Mangarh

Chapter 4. The Mugger

Chapter 5. Training with Rudra

Chapter 6. The Journey Begins

Chapter 7. Shantanu in Danger

Chapter 8. The Long Journey Continues

Chapter 9. Pataliputra and King Ashoka

Chapter 10. A Surprising Encounter with the King

Chapter 11. Learning to Spy

Chapter 12. A Scare with Rudra

Chapter 13. Renuka, and Shantanu Again

Chapter 14. Training for War

Chapter 15. Forced into Intrigue

Chapter 16. Renuka in Peril

Chapter 17. War

Chapter 18. Jimuta and Rudra in Battle

Chapter 19. An Unexpected Reward

Chapter 20. Bargaining with Satyavati

Notes

Character Lists

Glossary

Acknowledgments

About the Author

List of Characters in this Story

Glossary of Indian Language Words Used

Back to Table of Contents

1

Elephant Driver

Chapter 1. Jimuta Watches a Battle

Amarpur village, Pariyatra (later known as the Aravalli Range), in the winter of the eighth year of the reign of Emperor Ashoka Maurya, 264 B.C.E.

The day of the battle between the two kingdoms began as another morning of tormenting hunger. Jimuta wrapped his shawl tighter against the cool morning air. He scuffed a bare foot in the dust by the tracks of his uncle and two older cousins, who walked ahead along the edge of the field of struggling wheat seedlings. Although the air smelled fresh from last night’s dew, and mist lingered in some lower areas, the small amount of moisture did not change the dry, powdery feel of the soil between his toes.

Like the others, fifteen year old Jimuta had not yet had anything to eat this day. The last of the mangos and other fruits from the summer’s harvest had been consumed over a week ago. Jimuta would eat nothing until their tiny evening meal, and in his stomach he felt the dull pangs that had become so familiar the past two years.

A flock of crows settled onto the far end of the field and began to peck at the soil. Jimuta ran at them, screaming to chase them away, so they would not steal any of the grain that might feed the family. The crows flapped off into the nearby neem tree, and Jimuta returned to his uncle and cousins.

His uncle, a short, sinewy man with skin burned dark from so many years working in the sun, gave a nod of approval. But the two older boys, Suchaka and Chekitana, whispered to each other, watching Jimuta from the corners of their eyes, and snickering. Ever since he had come to live with his uncle and aunt’s family after his widowed mother died, Jimuta’s cousins ridiculed him for whatever he did, and they played tricks on him like putting a dead cobra in his bedroll and hiding his water pot.

Jimuta understood their not wanting to share the family’s meager food supply with him. The two older boys apparently also resented Jimuta’s working harder than they did. Even though having to feed and clothe another person was an added burden, at least Jimuta’s uncle and aunt had been kind.

Jimuta’s uncle spotted some tiny weeds. He bent and tugged them from the dust so they would not steal further moisture from the crop. May we go back to the house, Father? asked Suchaka, the elder son, who was seventeen years old, and taller and stronger than his brother.

Jimuta’s uncle shook his head no. We’ll stay and weed.

Again? asked Chekitana, age sixteen. He wrinkled his broad forehead as if in pain and put his hand on his stomach. I don’t feel well. He lay down on the ground on his back, in the shade of the neem tree by the edge of the field and closed his eyes. No one commented that this was his favorite excuse for not working.

Suchaka said, I don’t see why we should bother weeding, Father. We won’t get much wheat anyway. He squatted beside his younger brother. Only Jimuta stooped and began pulling at the weeds that were just barely appearing above the layer of dust.

Out of the last five years, in only one—three years ago—had the rains come in adequate amounts. The wheat and gram reserves from that time were long gone. And locusts had come last spring to devastate the fields. This season, the family had drawn water from the well and painstakingly watered the crop of winter wheat and millet, but then the well went mostly dry. Even the Khari River was only a trickle in the center of its channel.

Jimuta’s uncle was weeding a row close by. I don’t see how much longer we can keep Mango Blossom, he muttered about the family’s cow. There’s so little fodder now. Her milk’s gone as dry as our well.

They were working near a small shrine of the god Bhairava, a clay image of an archer on horseback. Jimuta thought about how Uncle and the other farmers of the village had petitioned Bhairava and the other gods for rain. For whatever reason, the deities had failed to respond.

Jimuta glanced up to the top of the nearby hill, at the long, low wooden buildings of the Buddhist monastery. As long as he could remember, the early morning visits of the orange-robed monks, heads shaved, eyes averted to avoid seeing women, begging bowls extended before them, had been a regular part of each day’s routine. When the villagers went hungry, the begging bowls also received little. But the monks’ prayers also failed to bring rain.

Something hit his back and shattered. Startled, Jimuta began to straighten and to turn to see what had struck him. Then he realized one of his cousins, probably Suchaka, had thrown a dirt clod at him. He resumed the weeding.

Another clump of dirt struck, knocking his turban askew. This time his uncle noticed. You boys stop that! You should be ashamed! Your cousin does ten times as much work as both of you put together. Get over here and help.

Neither young man moved.

Uncle said in irritation, Do you want The Mugger’s men to thrash us all when we don’t have a big enough harvest to pay our ruler’s share?

They all well remembered The Mugger’s last visit. The Mugger was what the farmers called the brutal warrior who sometimes accompanied the tax collector sent by Kumara Aja, the prince who ruled their village and the neighboring ones. A mugger was a crocodile. Tigers and lions and many other predators killed quickly, but a crocodile’s victims sometimes took a long time to die.

The Mugger’s most recent visit was all too typical. When the farmers insisted they could not pay as much as The Mugger demanded, he and his men forced their way into houses, taking whatever they found of value, supposedly to pay the assessments. But the men also discovered a thirteen year old girl named Ambika hiding in the storage shed of her family’s home. Her screams were heard all over the village while The Mugger and his men took their pleasure with her. Afterwards, she refused to be seen outside her house, and her parents soon took her to live with distant relatives.

Jimuta had been fond of Ambika, who’d had lively, intelligent eyes and a charming lilt to her speech. Whenever he thought of her fate, he grew angry although normally he was quite even tempered.

Usually, Jimuta’s uncle did not bother to try to force his sons to overcome their indolent ways, except on rare occasions when they aroused his ire, such as now. Jimuta thought his uncle’s approach was not a wise one, as it had resulted in the boys turning into lazy, thoughtless bullies. Still, it was not his place to criticize his elders.

He thought about how, after Prince Aja had refused to hear their requests for lower taxes, Uncle and the other farmers had gone to petition the Raja of Mangarh for cart loads of grain. However, the Raja’s own lands had the same difficulties as those of his subjects. His one-fourth share of the crops from the lands in his domain was not enough to maintain his own huge household with its servants and warriors.

In desperation, the village elders eventually sent a delegation to the Mauryan Emperor Ashoka’s governor in the district capital at Bairat. However, they were given a mere single cartload of seed grain, because the rains had failed not only in the Pariyatra region, but over much of the rest of the vast empire.

Jimuta’s thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Kuvera, one of the village boys, who came at a half run. Jimuta could remember years ago when Kuvera was plump. But he was as thin now as the rest of the villagers.

The boy respectfully greeted Jimuta’s uncle and then announced, There’s going to be a battle by the river! The Raja from Ramgarh is attacking our own Raja. I’m going there now.

Jimuta’s cousins scrambled up with new-found energy and were already leaving. Suddenly he found purpose in the day. Watching a battle was the most exciting entertainment one could hope for. Uncle! May I go watch?

Uncle gave a quick nod. They’re warring over who gets to use the most water from the river. Just be sure to keep away from the fighters! There was no danger to the onlookers, provided they took care to keep well out of the paths of the warriors and the weapons. Weeding the field had receded in importance for Uncle, also. I’ll go see that the rest of the village knows.

The boys hurried along the road toward the river, past areas of sandy soil with dry looking, thorny babul trees and purple-blossomed, cactus-like akkra plants. I hope we get there in time, shouted Suchaka. I’d hate to miss any of the fighting!

A peacock ran from their path as they climbed the rocky hill toward the Buddhist monastery. Now that Jimuta was higher up, he could see the two armies approaching each other on the plain, each surrounded by a huge cloud of dust. The normal quiet of the valley was replaced by the sounds of drumbeats and rattling weapons and armor. We’re in time! Suchaka said. They haven’t started fighting yet.

More and more villagers climbed the hill for a good view. Most of the inhabitants of the monastery were traveling in this season, but the few saffron-robed monks who remained appeared from their buildings and stood to watch.

The boys reached the top of a rock outcropping near the highest point of the hill, where they had a view in three directions. Through the dust they saw that their own Raja Balarama had perhaps a dozen elephants in his front line, and behind them were ranked at least fifty chariots. Then came a couple hundred or so horse cavalry, and maybe a thousand foot soldiers. In the middle of the array, protected by the cavalry, rode the Raja, in a four-horse chariot with a white umbrella and white pennants. The opposing Raja had his own army arranged similarly. He appeared to have more elephants, but otherwise the armies were of about the same size.

The invading Raja of Ramgarh blew a long note on his conch shell, answered by a blast from the Raja of Mangarh. The armies charged. Dust billowed high into the air. Men shouted as they ran toward the enemy and brandished their weapons. Elephants’ great feet hammered the earth. Horses’ hooves pounded. Jimuta sensed the vibrations even so high on the hill.

First to meet were the elephants in the front ranks, colliding with thuds and shrieks and clashing of metal. Then the chariots and horsemen and foot soldiers joined the fray. Jimuta gaped in fascination mixed with unease as, on both sides, men fell into the dust, some screaming from pain. He flinched as a chariot overturned, its wooden frame snapping with a loud crack. Its driver and warriors pitched onto the ground, their arms flailing in a futile effort to protect themselves. Suchaka and Chekitana whooped with delight at the sight.

Look, Jimuta shouted, pointing off to the left. That one elephant’s running away, coming this direction!

He’s not coming here, Suchaka sneered. He’s headed toward the next hill.

The others turned their attentions back to the main battle. Jimuta, however, continued watching the runaway elephant. He wasn’t sure, but it looked like the animal didn’t have a driver, or even any warriors in the box on its back. Soon the great beast disappeared into the trees on the hillside. Jimuta watched a few moments longer, but there was much more happening on the battlefield itself, so he, too, resumed watching the fighting.

I think our Raja’s winning, Suchaka said.

Yes—he’s shoving back Ramgarh’s men, said Chekitana, with the confident air of an expert on warfare.

The battle continued. More men lay scattered on the ground; a chariot lost a wheel and was dragged by the horses a considerable distance through the dust. An elephant fell, shrieking in pain. Then the Ramgarh Raja blew several blasts on his conch, wheeled his chariot about, and swiftly drove toward his own territories. His warriors disengaged and followed.

I think it’s over already, Suchaka muttered in disgust.

Chekitana said, They hardly killed anybody.

I’ve heard that sometimes battles can last all day, Jimuta said. The rajas must not have wanted to lose too many men or animals. The others ignored him. He decided to count bodies on the ground, and came up with about twenty men, plus four horses and an elephant. Possibly twice as many more warriors were limping or being carried away.

A few Mangarh cavalry and chariots chased their enemy a short distance before giving up and returning. The boys watched the Mangarh forces assembling to count their losses and aid their wounded. Crews began salvaging arrows, spears, and other weapons and debris.

Jimuta looked toward the hill where the runaway elephant had vanished, half expecting it to reappear. But he saw no sign of it.

He glanced at the sky. High above, vultures had gathered and were circling about, waiting for the chance to feed on whatever remained from the carnage of the battle.

Chapter 2. Rudra

The arrow in Rudra’s shoulder burned, and whenever he moved he felt sharp pain from the spear in his side. He raised his trunk and trumpeted a protest.

Today when his keepers had thrown the colorful blanket over him and strapped the big wooden box on his back, and began painting decorations on his head, he had assumed he would be in a parade. That was fine with him. He enjoyed all the attention when he walked in a parade. The people would shout encouragement to him. Sometimes he would bellow or raise his trunk and blow a raucous burst of air from it just to hear the laughs and shouts from the people watching.

This morning, though, his driver and his keepers hadn’t seemed as happy as they were before parades. They hadn’t hung the bells around his legs, and they had been quiet most of the time. When they spoke, their voices sounded harsher. The people who cheered when the procession had left the fort had sounded different, too. Loud like they were excited, but not having as much fun as at a festival or parade.

Groups of men riding horses and carrying the metal-pointed sticks joined the procession outside the town, and Rudra realized he was going to a place where men would fight other men. When he had done that before, he had usually gotten hurt. That was how his ear had gotten the big rip in its edge.

Rudra hated being where men were fighting other men. Even the mere sounds of men shouting at each other in anger, of their metal weapons clashing together, disturbed him. The smell of blood and the screaming when men and other elephants got hurt especially upset him.

He was quite willing to carry as many men on his back as could fit in the box, but he hated it when other men threw