News reached Sagal that the forces guarding the frontier had been routed by Kendras. Panic gripped the town. Everywhere people began to talk of war. Devi Mallika too had contributed money and had thereby participated in the war effort. In the concert hall of her palace, in the midst of the performances of song and dance, the state officers charged with military duties and administration would begin to talk of war. Wine cup in hand, they would ignore the graces of art and get involved in the discussion of the horrors of war. The joys of life were there, no doubt, but concern for its security was stronger. And when the wine took effect, discussion would give place to sheer babble. Prithusen felt irritated by their stupidity and cowardice, but he kept his mouth shut.

Indradeep, deep in his cups and with his chest stuck out, said, ‘Wars are won by the physical prowess of the Brahmins. You need the drive and fortitude of a Pushya Mitra for it. How can our ancient Commander-in-Chief, whose head shakes all the time because of the confusion inside, lead us in battle? … These petty victories and defeats mean nothing. In my veins flows the blood of the Paurav dynasty. Even the Greek king, Milinda, was scared of this prowess and could not rule, although he had come as a conqueror, and renounced everything and took the beggar’s bowl. You will see what happens to Kendras the day Indradeep, the great commander, takes into his hands the reins of military command.’ He burst out laughing and stretching out his arms, he pulled to himself the slave-girl who was standing in front of him, with the wine tray in her hand. ‘On that day, the wives of Kendras will drop into my lap in the same way, ha, ha!’

Terrified at Indradeep’s wildness, Magga, the slave-girl, trembled from head to foot. Mallika put her finger to her lips indicating that he should not frighten the girl.

Irked by Mallika’s censure, Kedar Sharma, son of feudatory chief Shrimukh Sharma, who was sitting next to Indradeep, exclaimed, ‘Is it for such subservience as this that we shall bare our chests to the sword-thrusts of Kendras?’ and holding out both his hands, he looked at all those sitting round him, confident of their approval. ‘See? A noble’s son is helpless even before a slave-girl! He cannot do as he pleases even with a slave-girl! Should we have to seek the consent of such an inferior creature? Should insolent upstarts go about insulting and challenging the twice-born Brahmins in the streets and lanes of Sagal? Should weavers and menials sit next to us as our equals? Do we count for nothing in the administration of Madra, such as it is? And shall we shed our blood in its defence? What do you say, Udaya Bhanu?’ he cried loudly, turning for confirmation to the merchant.

‘It’s all the same to me,’ replied Udaya Bhanu in a tone of listless unconcern. ‘The Republic extorts the bulk of my earnings from me in the form of taxes. Kendras too will rob me of my wealth. The Republic has taken from me a hundred gold pieces as my contribution to the war fund. Will the Republic give me hundredfold protection too? … Is my body a hundred times bigger than that of other citizens?’ he asked, patting his rotund belly. ‘Why should I annoy anyone, brother? They are all alike, so far as I am concerned. I’m only a Vaishya, a humble trader. Let that man go to war who thinks that he deserves to sit on the throne. A Vaishya is only a humble servant.’