In India, the practice of espionage dates back to ancient times.
At least as far back as an ancient book called the Arthashastra. The book’s title translates roughly as The Science of Worldly Wealth. The book’s author called himself Kautilya — a pseudonym, we now believe, for a guy named Chanakya. Chanakya was a close advisor to the great Indian Emperor Chandragupta, and also an eminent professor at Taxila University.
Not all professors confine themselves to ivory towers. Certainly not Chanakya. Which is not to say he never made mistakes. According to one legend, he added small amounts of poison to the daily meals of the Emperor. Not to kill the Emperor, but to help the Emperor’s body build up an immunity to poisoning. It worked. Then the Emperor unexpectedly dined with his wife. The poison killed her.
“Well, I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Yes, Sire, I do see that you’re upset. But you shouldn’t have had dinner with your wife. You disregarded the schedule. Naughty you!”
Perhaps the story is a myth, but the Arthashastra does include plenty of instructions on how to create poisons and potions. Poisons to kill instantly, other poisons that kill after a month. Poisons in the form of liquids, powders, or gaseous smoke. Poisons that cause blindness, deafness, or madness. Poisons that cause fever, leprosy, or gonorrhea. Potions to help endure a month’s fasting. Potions to change the colors of animals. Sleeping potions, ideal for insomnia. Potions to cure leprosy (but no money-back guarantee). Fiery potions: apply it to your skin, light it, and it burns without hurting you. Potions that burn while floating on water. Acidic potions that melt chains. Steroid potions to help you walk a long journey. Potions to render you invisible (but only at night). Even potions for casting magic spells. For instance:
When the statue of an enemy is carved from the wood of a cassia-fistula tree and then smeared with the bile fluid from a brown cow’s liver, the cow having been killed with a weapon on the fourteenth day of the dark half of the month, the result causes blindness.
Smeared with bile sucked out of a cow’s liver? Yeah, I’d prefer to be blind to that too.
Despite his knowledge of poisons and potions, history records that Chanakya himself was actually quite compassionate, a royal advisor who urged every ruler to love and care for the common people, even for the slaves. He wrote, “In the happiness of his subjects lies the King’s happiness; in their welfare, his welfare.” Most of his book offers guidance on royal and court behavior, bureaucratic administration, foreign policy, military affairs, and the economy. “A debt should be paid off till the last penny,” he advised, “and an enemy should be destroyed without a trace.”
Compassion is nice, but politics is politics. Here is another excerpt:
Spies, hidden in an underground chamber, or in a tunnel, or inside a secret wall, may slay the enemy when the latter is carelessly amusing himself in a pleasure park or any other place of recreation. Or spies under concealment may poison him. Or women under concealment may throw a snake, or poison, or fire, or poisonous smoke over this person when he is asleep in a confined place. Or spies, having access to the enemy’s harem, may, when opportunities occur, do to the enemy whatever is found possible on the occasion, and then get out unknown.
Attacking a guy in his harem? Gosh, is nothing sacred? Not to Chanakya. And by writing under a pseudonym, he could be blunt. “Kautilya” wrote that the “ideal” King should always heed his royal advisors, even when they tell him that he’s behaving like a greedy, selfish, stupid, lazy-ass, playboy jerk. And he should thank them for their candor.
The Arthashastra also proposed a daily schedule for the King. The schedule was crammed so full of activity, it left him little more than four hours of sleep. The King was supposed to start his “day” before 2:00 o’clock in the morning! The first item of business: talk politics. Then decide what to do for the rest of the day.
“I have a royal idea, Chanakya. How about I go get some more sleep?”
“Absolutely not, Your Majesty, or you’ll become a greedy, selfish, stupid, lazy-ass, playboy jerk.”
“Yeah. Thank you for the candor. But if I don’t get some more sleep, I’ll become a homicidal jerk.”
“Sire, just drink this coffee. You’ll feel better. I even added your favorite spice, Strychnine.”
“Fine, whatever. At least this time you told me.”
Soon thereafter, while still dark outside, the King would send forth his spies. Then he would perform his morning religious duties, followed by some personal duties, then see his doctor, and only then have breakfast, advised by his foremost expert on future events, his astrologer. Then he could watch the sunrise and wonder why the common folk got to sleep late.
Thereafter, over the next four or five hours, the King would receive reports about military matters, about tax revenues, and about budget expenditures.
“Your Majesty, I know you find these reports excruciatingly boring, but you must read each and every one! Otherwise how will you pass my quiz? Sire? Uh, Sire? WAKE UP!”
“…Huh? What is it?”
“Sire, you were being a greedy, selfish, stupid, lazy-ass, playboy jerk.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Thanks for the candor.”
During those same hours the King was scheduled to meet with the common folk, receive their petitions and gifts, hear their complaints, take a morning bath, have lunch, and then devote some time to scholarly study.
“Sire, it’s time for your daily lesson in Chanakya’s philosophy.”
“Oh, not again. Chanakya, you’ve recited your philosophy to me eighty-six times!”
“No, Your Majesty, I’ve recited it ninety-nine times. And since you forgot the real number, you deserve to hear it one-hundred times. So, Sire, to wit: ‘The ideal King should keep away from another man’s wife. He should not covet another’s property. He should practice non-violence towards all living things. He should avoid daydreaming, and also capriciousness, and also falsehood, and also extravagance. He should avoid associating with harmful persons, and also avoid indulging in harmful activities.’”
“I see. You know, Chanakya, under your philosophy, it’s no fun being the King.”
“Oh Sire, it’s good to be the King. In fact, in the neighboring kingdom, no less than the Emperor Melvin told me so.”
“Of course he did, Chanakya. My friend Mel listens to a very different philosopher, Henry the Hedonist. Mel brooks no boredom.”
“He doesn’t? Well, Sire, in that case, you should buck Henry and get smart. Think for yourself. Or at least until it contradicts whatever I tell you.”
“And perhaps even then.”
“Uh, Sire — must I warn you with candor again?”
At about noon the King was scheduled to receive additional gifts and more tax revenues, appoint new ministers, allocate government tasks, write letters, and receive some secret messages from his spies.
“Mail call, Your Majesty. This morning you’ve received secret messages from Agents Adams and Feldon.”
“Adams and Feldon? Who are they?”
“Spies disguised as actors.”
“You’re kidding? I have spies disguised as actors? That doesn’t sound like quality control. It sounds like a recipe for chaos!”
“Well, Sire, the alternative is to have actors disguised as spies.”
“Imagine that.”
Later, at about mid-afternoon, the King would finally get to enjoy some personal time. The Arthashastra refers to this period as “time for contemplation.”
“Hello, Your Majesty! As usual, I’ve had your bedroom prepared very alluringly, including with silk sheets and the eagerness of twenty-two gorgeous girls, all skilled in the art of sexual pleasure. Are you ready to contemplate the divine experience of erotica?”
“Yes, Chanakya, I like the room. Thank you.”
“Please follow me, Your Majesty…oh! What the? Now this is strange. Sire, where are the twenty-two gorgeous girls I left in here? Except for you and me, this room is empty!”
“That’s right, Chanakya. I sent the girls away. I’m taking a nap.”
“What? A NAP?!! Your Majesty, you are in danger of becoming a greedy, selfish, stupid, lazy-ass jerk!”
“But at least I won’t strangle you.”
“Hummm. A profound insight I can relate to. Very well, Sire, have a nice nap. But there is something else about this room that isn’t right. Sire, where is the bowl of fruit punch which I left in here for your refreshment?”
“I wasn’t thirsty, Chanakya. The girls took it with them.”
“They did? — Sire, I suddenly have an urgent matter to attend to! EXCUSE ME!”
During the few remaining hours before sunset, the King would inspect his troops and consult his generals. Then, in the early hours of the evening, the King would receive another bath, eat dinner, and engage in another period of study.
“Good evening, Sire.”
“Good evening, Chanakya. So, did you rescue the girls?”
“Yes, Sire. They left the punch bowl with the Palace Guards.”
“Ah, I see. That would explain all the new faces. Chanakya, would you please stop taking care of me? Good help is getting hard to find. My cooks are afraid to taste my food. My cleaning staff is afraid to empty my trash cans. And this is the third set of guards this month!”
“But Sire, without my meticulous care, who would save you from yourself?”
“My wife! If you hadn’t poisoned her!”
“Exactly, Sire. Which is why you need me. And if not me, Sire, from where would you obtain knowledge and wisdom?”
“My library!”
“Oh, Sire, I am sorry, but earlier this afternoon the royal librarian was imprudent enough to taste your soup.”
“Chanakya!”
“Not my fault, Sire. He was in the Palace kitchen and snarfed a taste without asking. But if you want something to read, I do have this book called the Arthashastra. It’s quite brilliant.”
“Oh, not again! Chanakya, I know you wrote this book!”
“I am truly flattered that you think so, Sire, but whatever errors are within it are the exclusive fault of that guy Kautilya, wherever he is. Far from here, I’m sure.”
“Chanakya, I know you wrote this book.”
“Your Majesty, I assure you, I did not. If I am lying, may I drink a deadly poison!”
“Chanakya, you’re immune to every poison in India! But if you want to continue this fiction, I’ll read the book.”
“Actually, Sire, the book is non-fiction. And very well written, if I do say so myself.”
At about 9:00 o’clock the King would retire to his bed chamber, soothed by the sound of music. (“Chanakya! Quiet! I hate Polkas!”) Beforehand, however, for about an hour, the King would consult with his spies — in person.
“Agent Jeeves, I have a problem. I need to get rid of somebody.”
“Consider it done, Your Majesty. There’s a great book called the Arthashastra. It contains plenty of information about poisons.”
“No, Agent Jeeves, you misunderstand me. I don’t want him killed. I just want him to leave me alone.”
“Consider it done, Your Majesty. The Arthashastra contains plenty of information about sleeping potions.”
“No, Agent Jeeves, I want to send him on a great and noble mission — far from my palace. Forever. But I don’t want to hurt his feelings. And please don’t suggest any poisons or potions. They won’t work on this guy. I’ve tried.”
“Oh, I see. Well, Sire, what you desire could be difficult. However, I do know of a vacant professorship at Taxila University.”
“Perfect! But I’ve never been there. What is it like?”
“It has towers made of ivory.”
“Perfect!”
Respectfully (because all my readers deserve respect),
Reginald Dipwipple
Secret Agent Extraordinaire