"When power calls, wisdom must decide whether to bow—or bite."
The morning sun spilled through the arches of Takshashila's northern hall, casting long golden slants across rows of students bent over their scrolls. The air smelled of ink, sandalwood, and ambition. Vishnugupta sat among them, though his mind was not on the text before him.
Whispers had followed him all week—rumors of a messenger from Magadha, bearing the seal of the Nanda court.
He tried to ignore it, but the whispers grew into certainty when the head of the academy, Acharya Somadeva, entered the hall with an unfamiliar figure beside him—a tall man in royal blue, his hair oiled and bound with gold thread.
The stranger's eyes moved over the students until they found Vishnugupta. The look was brief but heavy, like a hand pressing a seal into wax.
Somadeva's tone was measured. "Students, today we receive a guest from the capital. He bears news for one among you."
A ripple passed through the hall. The envoy stepped forward, his voice smooth, trained. "His Majesty Dhanananda, ruler of Magadha, protector of the Gangetic plains, extends his greetings to the scholars of Takshashila. He has heard of a young Brahmin whose words stir even silence to thought."
Every gaze turned toward Vishnugupta.
The envoy smiled faintly. "His Majesty invites this scholar to Pataliputra, to test his learning at the royal court. Should his wisdom please the throne, he shall be rewarded. Should it fail, he may still call himself honored by the king's attention."
It was not a request. It was a summons.
Somadeva's brows furrowed. "The path to Pataliputra is long, my lord envoy. The boy is still a student."
"The king does not summon students," the envoy replied. "Only minds that have already proven dangerous."
The hall went still. Vishnugupta rose slowly, bowing first to Somadeva, then to the envoy. "If His Majesty commands, I will obey. But wisdom, like a blade, must not be tested without reason."
The envoy's lips twitched. "The king enjoys sharpening his collection."
A few nervous laughs broke out, quickly silenced. The envoy inclined his head. "You will have three days to prepare. The road east waits for no man."
When he left, the hall erupted with hushed voices.
---
That evening, Vishnugupta found Somadeva in the courtyard garden, feeding oil to a flickering lamp.
"You should not go," the teacher said without turning. "Courts devour thinkers faster than armies devour grain."
"I did not seek the summons," Vishnugupta said. "But refusing it would make me prey instead of player."
Somadeva finally looked up. "So you think to play?"
"I think to learn the game," Vishnugupta answered.
Somadeva studied him for a long moment. "The king's court is not like our halls. Truth there is coin, not creed. Each man spends it to buy his safety."
Vishnugupta's gaze was steady. "Then I must learn its value before others spend it for me."
The old man sighed. "You have your father's fire. I only hope you do not share his ashes."
He pressed a small amulet into Vishnugupta's hand—a fragment of sandalwood carved with a verse. "Knowledge is the eye that sees in darkness."
"Keep it," Somadeva said quietly. "And remember that no throne can blind a man who refuses to close his eyes."
---
The next morning, the city of Takshashila stirred early. Traders shouted, carts creaked, and temple bells scattered through the air like falling metal birds. Vishnugupta walked through it all, his bundle light: a few scrolls, a spare robe, and the amulet.
At the eastern gate, he met the envoy again, flanked by two riders and a covered chariot bearing Magadha's seal.
"You travel lightly," the envoy remarked.
"The mind is easier to carry than gold," Vishnugupta replied.
"Let us hope it weighs more."
They rode eastward, leaving behind the white walls of Takshashila. The road bent along fields and riverbanks, then into forests where parrots flashed like sparks among the branches.
For a while, neither spoke. Then the envoy said, "You have enemies here, do you not?"
"I have opinions," Vishnugupta said. "They make their own enemies."
The envoy chuckled. "Good. The king enjoys men who are disliked. It saves him the trouble of envying them."
Vishnugupta studied him. "And what does he enjoy less?"
"Silence," the envoy replied. "In his court, silence is suspicion."
---
Days passed. The road widened as they neared the heart of Magadha, where the Ganga spread like molten bronze under the sun. The scent of river water and sugarcane filled the air. Traders from distant provinces crowded the road—men with baskets of pearls, soldiers with polished spears, monks in saffron robes.
At a wayside resthouse, Vishnugupta sat apart from the others, observing. The envoy joined him with two cups of water.
"You think too much," he said. "That can be dangerous where we're going."
"I think because others do not," Vishnugupta replied.
The envoy sipped his drink. "The king will ask you questions meant to amuse, not enlighten. If you answer too well, you will offend. If you answer poorly, you will bore. Either way, you lose."
"Then the art is to make him believe he wins," Vishnugupta said.
The envoy smiled at that, genuinely this time. "Perhaps you will survive after all."
---
When at last the towers of Pataliputra came into view, Vishnugupta's breath caught. The city stretched across the river's curve like a coiled serpent of stone—walls white as bone, gates gleaming with bronze.
At its center rose the palace of the Nandas, a tiered fortress crowned with banners of gold. Crowds swarmed the causeways: merchants, guards, courtiers, priests.
The envoy's tone softened as they crossed the final bridge. "Remember, young scholar: in this city, every man bows to someone. The trick is to choose who watches you kneel."
Vishnugupta said nothing. His gaze was fixed on the palace spires reflecting sunlight like blades.
---
Inside the outer court, soldiers in crimson armor stood at attention. The envoy dismounted, gesturing for Vishnugupta to follow.
"His Majesty will see you at sunset," he said. "Until then, keep your curiosity on a leash. These walls have ears sharper than scholars."
He left Vishnugupta in a marble chamber overlooking the river. Through the window, the city moved like a living map—markets flashing with copper pots, temples ringing with chants, the faint glitter of the Ganga slicing through it all.
Vishnugupta stood there long after the envoy was gone.
The sun sank lower, staining the river red. Somewhere within those walls waited a king who ruled by greed and fear—one who believed knowledge existed only to serve power.
Vishnugupta's hands tightened on the sill. Then let power learn what knowledge can do when it refuses to kneel.
---