Vinoda's Vengeance: An Indo-Greek Story

CHAPTER

ONE

THE ROYALS Two ancient cultures met in a confluence, not a clash, at

the crossroads of cultures, between the West and East.

It was 143 BCE.

In the Indo-Greek kingdom of King Menander Sator, a captivating

tapestry of cultures was woven. The inhabitants, hailing

from diverse origins, customs, and habits, were a living testament

to the rich fusion of beliefs and non-beliefs. The Hellenes, descendants

of Greek settlers, no the other hand, he has a problem w in

their fifth and sixth generation, lived a charade, masquerading as

the original Greeks of yore. Their fellow inhabitants, ‘the natives,’

referred to them as Yavana. Yet, despite these labels, the people

mingled freely, crafting a harmonious society. The realm’s subjects

had embraced a cosmopolitan outlook long before the concept of

ethnicity would rise to divide and rule the world. The kingdom

was home to a vast family.

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Even the royal family, a symbol of power and stability, was not

immune to personal struggles. That day in the capital, Sakala, the

queen’s chamber in the palace was filled with tension. Queen Agathocleia

had broached the subject of the crown prince’s marriage

to a princess from a neighboring kingdom. This topic seemed to

hover persistently whenever they met. Prince Herodes, however,

had not found anyone to his taste, adding to the family’s mounting

pressure and personal conflict.

In the following hiatus, the chambermaid Mira walked in with

two mugs of refreshment and placed them gently on a table. She

had presumed the two personalities would need a drink to clear

their throats before another bout of discussion.

Herodes, a man of imposing stature with a physique honed

by years of training, paid no attention to the drink. He was seated

in a manner that was all too familiar to the queen, a sign of inner

turmoil and conflict. His lips parted, but no words escaped, leaving

the room uneasy. The chamber was adorned with intricate

tapestries and golden accents, a stark contrast to the tension that

filled the air.

Indeed, the discussion was about to turn to another topic.

This issue was also relevant to the prince’s future.

The queen noticed his hesitation. She took her mug and

asked, “What truly worries you, my dear? You can confide in your

mother.”

Herodes shifted in his seat, his face a mask of inner turmoil.

“What truly worries me, mother? It is not merely the dire state of

our kingdom that we discussed before: it is the reason behind it:

my revered father. Lately, he has become...” he paused, shaking his

head, before adding, “I don’t know what to say. He is not the same

anymore.” His voice reflected the depth of his emotions.

“I understand what you mean,” said the queen, indicating understanding

and concern. “I, too, have noticed the change. There

is no need to fret. He is not unwell; deep, depressive thoughts burVINODA’S

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den his mind. If I dare broach the subject, he has no answers. He

sees no reason to seek healers. He questions what there is to heal.

Your father is unwilling to share his thoughts or concerns, not even

with me, his spouse; at least, not yet.” Her words were a reflection

of her own worries and the delicate balance she was trying to

maintain in the kingdom.

“But, dear mother, this has been going on for many moons,”

Herodes’ voice was shaky and full of emotion. “He is undergoing

some sort of mental crisis, a transformation. It’s as if he is bidding

farewell to his regal duties, which earned him the title of ‘Savior.’

He is Menander Sator. He conquered more lands in the East than

Alexander and even Demetrius himself. Now, having lost all the

terrain and with our empire reduced, he withdraws into Sakala,

isolating himself and is busy building a mental fortress around

himself. Mathura remains our last stronghold in the East.”

King Menander had returned from the East to quell a rebellion

in Bactria, which resulted in the loss of the Indian territories

to the Shunga emperor.

“You know the reason. Your father couldn’t be in two places

at the same time. We had to give up the eastern region,” the

queen said.

“The region, you say! The whole of India, mother, all the way

to Magadha! Don’t you see how he is sinking in self-pity and is

now losing the courage to rectify the mishap? Could I call it the

blunder?” Herodes replied.

“I am afraid you are right,” she conceded. She felt cornered,

but had no explanation. Both seemed to agree, but only on their

mutual discontent.

“I wish that were only the case and nothing more,” Herodes

went on, “I daresay—forgive me for putting it this way, dear mother—

my venerable father seems impervious to the humiliation of

losing his possessions. He is not even mindful of the fundamental

pillars of a reign, the cleo, and thymos, the glory and noble spirit

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2

and drive for victory, the prerequisites for the recognition of a king

by his subjects, peers, and enemies. Instead, he associates himself

with wandering sophists, stoics, and other fatalists and defeatists.

He enjoys discussing with them irrelevant stuff concerning heaven

and hereafter, seeking solace in a life beyond death. That would

not help him rise again, pick up the sword, and re-conquer the

land we lost. The world is here and now, not in the afterlife.”

The prince paused to catch his breath and stared at his mother.

The queen gave in.

“Do you think this stance of his suits me? Believe me, dear,

when I say that I also have my needs beyond those limited to a

mere woman, wife, and mother. I am also a queen reared and

brought up for a purpose. Of course, I also uphold the traditional

virtues of our heritage that you mention, which are to be supported

and shared by the king’s spouse. A king and a queen should

represent and radiate the power and glory of the land. They are

not sitting on the throne to languish with dreams and speculation,

pretending to be spiritual leaders.”

Herodes raised his head. For once, his face was relaxed. She

walked up to him, laid her hand on his fist, and continued.

“I know what you mean, dear. I noticed your father was transformed

after he returned from the East. Of course, he had to

attend immediately upon arrival at the matters in Bactria. Only

after that could he become fully aware of the condition of his own

family. You know the rest.” She turned her head away.

“Melita,” Herodes whispered and nodded.

King Menander had returned to Sakala in a hurry to quell

a rebellion. On his way, he was informed of the health condition

of his dear daughter Melita. The twenty-year-old girl had been

attacked by a deadly disease of the brain with no remedy. On his

arrival, he had to learn that the daughter had succumbed to it only

two days before.

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3

“Where does that leave me? If I am to be the heir to his

throne…” the prince again sunk his head and lowered his voice.

“You have nothing to do with the decisions your father makes.”

“But it does matter to me what kind of legacy his actions and

inaction leave. One day, I will have to bear the burden.”

“And also reap the profit. Do not look at the future only negatively.

One day, you will be on your own, and with the gods’ blessing,

you will manage the kingdom to the best of your ability when

the time comes.”

Herodes pressed his lips and shook his head. She heard him

whisper her last words, “When the time comes.”

When the queen heard a sound behind her, she turned

around. Her chambermaid was standing at the door, hesitating to

address her.

“Is he here?” the queen asked. Mira nodded.

Agathocleia turned to her son. “As I told you, I was expecting

Nicodromos. He is here. Let us see what he has to say. Show him

in, Mira.”

The intrusion did not bother her, for the discussion had been

going on with no end in sight, and she had been at a loss to comfort

or console Herodes. Indeed, she needed someone to cheer her up,

too. The queen was equally desperate and even more concerned

with her husband, who was getting reclusive by the day. Though

she shared her son’s view, she did not want to encourage him to

defame. The interruption was indeed most welcome.

It had been an exciting day for Nicodromos. A simple man

with lofty ambitions, he was a self-proclaimed reporter of places

and peoples, treading on the footsteps of famous travelers, messengers,

authors, and diplomats like Megasthenes, Pyrrho, and Herodotos

of Halicarnassus. Nicodromos had traveled widely in the

past following the track of the conquering Greeks and their allies,

such as the Panchalas and Máthuras, all led by Menander through

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India, past Mathura, the middle region, and up to Pátaliputra, a

vast region hitherto not explored by the Greeks.

Recently, he had contacted a traveling theater troupe consisting

of Greek and native actors from Bactria who were staging

Greek plays. Impressed by their performance, he had approached

them and offered to arrange their staging in the kingdom’s capital.

Now, having appealed to the queen’s goodwill, he had won her

favor for the group. Of course, it was only the first step, but for

Nicodromos, winning a chance for a wandering drama group to

present itself and seek patronage was an achievement. He always

had a soft corner for the artists, those idealists always on the move

in search of a donor, a sponsor, or a patron. Who else would support

their talent and effort?

He had proposed a performance during the next Dionysia,

a festival honoring Dionysus, the god of orchards, grapes, wine,

ecstasy, and theater. As elsewhere in regions of Greek tradition, in

Sakala, it was one of the most significant celebrations. The festival

lasted four days in spring and was open to all, be they citizens, visitors,

or foreigners. It was a period when most shops were closed,

and the streets were full of rejoicing families. God Dionysus was

honored in the theater with lyric hymns called dithyramb sung by a

chorus and plays of all fashion, from comedies to tragedies.

Engaged in the city’s cultural activities, Agathocleia was also a

matron and chief adviser to the royal organizing committee of the

festival. She had heard of a new theater group in her homeland

Bactria, which the audience had acclaimed as staging a famous

play in a new fashion. Currently, they were performing a tragedy,

a famous work written by Sophocles that is worthy of any cultural

or religious festivity. She was curious to know if the acting and

chorus quality would be of a good standard. Of course, there was

quite a resistance from local troupes to the staging by a group from

elsewhere. However, the regional actors needed to improve at performing

and had no new play to present either. She had suggestVINODA’S

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5

ed a compromise: the chorus would be a locally approved group,

only the actors were to be from outside Sakala. She would have

their play performed before a select audience to judge whether the

quality was worth the occasion of the Dionysia festival. For this

purpose, the members of the committee and a collection of chosen

citizens were to attend a special performance months ahead

of the festival.

“What is the news you are bringing now for me? Anything

new from the theater troupe?” the queen asked after some pleasantry

and an offer of a seat to the veteran traveler.

“They are busy rehearsing for the performance next week,

Your Majesty.” Nicodromos looked at the prince, relishing the

double audience he was receiving on this matter. “They feel highly

honored by your kind invitation. It is not only the prospect of staging

during the festival, but it is unusual for them to perform before

a select audience. They will receive special attention from a select

few prominent persons for the first time. I have come especially

to convey gratitude and respect from Alastor, the group master in

charge of the direction, dress, rehearsals, and organization. He is

indeed a grand master of our theatrical tradition. Out of respect

and affection, they even call him the Guru.”

“Have you any news, anything special?”

“Oh, sure, milady. There are a few special features about this

group.”

On instinct, the last time, he had not told the queen the whole

truth. He had saved for a later occasion the unconventional, even

revolutionary, features of their staging of the drama. He had

thought it should suffice that he had seen them perform. He had

felt it would be up to the select audience to decide if this new way

of enacting a Greek play with due honor to the author and tradition

and assured of no alteration of the play’s content would be

acceptable on merit.

But now it was time.

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“They are a mixed troupe of Greek and native origin, men

and women.”

“Women as actors?” Herodes asked, raising his eyebrows and

casting a broad grin.

“Yes, indeed, my prince.” Nicodromos smiled and added,

“Two of the major characters are women, as in the story.”

He paused, expecting a reaction. Agathocleia waited.

Feeling encouraged, he added, “I know. Of course, in Greece,

it is not the custom. Men also play the roles of women. Moreover,

the actors are masked there. Not here.”

“Really? With naked faces?” Agathocleia had to laugh.

“Yes, milady. The local habits influence the actors, and they

need to understand the custom of only men getting on stage and

then hiding behind masks. The actors and actresses say they have

no fears. But I assure you, it is well done. I have witnessed the

performance, and it is engaging to watch them act, not only impressing

us with their movement, gesticulation, and voice but also

with their facial expressions, which come into play, as in the dances

performed by the natives.”

“All right,” she said. “Let us be tolerant to the extent that these

are only superficial elements not conforming with our Hellenistic

tradition. Let us hope they get the message across precisely as the

great poet had intended for the audience, not altered and twisted

to suit some local demands.”

“What is it all about, mother? I mean the drama,”

Herodes asked.

“The play is Antigone,” she said, “You ought to know the

story.”

“Oh, Antigone!” said Herodes. “I only remember that it had

something to do with the myth of Oedipus. I have forgotten the

details.”

VINODA’S VENGEANCE

7

“Can you summarize the story in a few words?” Agathocleia

asked, turning to Nicodromos, not mentioning it was for her son’s

benefit, who never cared for such lore, not to speak of tragedies.

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty.” Nicodromos cleared his throat,

paused a while, and set out with his eyes intensely watching the

faces of the prince and the queen,

“It is the story about the children of King Oedipus. The

play’s back story is this: Oedipus has died, leaving two sons and

two daughters, Antigone and Ismene. One of the two brothers,

prince Eteocles, becomes the king of Thebes. The other brother,

Polyneices, fights him for the crown. Both get killed in the fight.

“When the story begins on stage, their uncle Creon has become

the king. He allows a funeral service for former king Eteocles

but not for his brother Polyneices, who is named a traitor and is

unworthy of burial in Thebean soil. Moved by her love for both

the brothers, Antigone decides to carry out the funeral rites for this

brother and bury the body, not leaving it for desecration by the

mongrels and the vultures. The sister Ismene desists; disobeying

the royal decree would mean a death sentence. The question is

raised as to which law is superior and ought to overrule the other,

the regally declared law against the burial or the law of familial

duty towards one’s own kin.”

He paused for a short while before drawing a conclusion.

“The story has a clear plot, but a difficult question is raised and left

unanswered.” He placed his hand on his chest and smiled. “That

is for us to answer. The poet says, ‘You be the judge’,” before adding

as an afterthought, “or he says, ‘Judge her not.’”

CHAPTER

TWO

VINODA OFFSTAGE The performance was set to take place in the esteemed

royal theater, a cultural gem nestled in a corner of the

city. Despite its modest size, the theater was a beacon of

cultural significance in the Indo-Greek kingdoms, hosting a variety

of events from special announcements to high-caliber performances.

Its intimate setting, accommodating a maximum of

a hundred spectators, added to the exclusivity and allure of the

occasion.

As an outdoor theater, it had been modeled after a typical

Athenian theater on a minor scale. The spectators sat on a terraced

space sloping from the rare row to the front. The first row

faced a circular stage for the chorus and orchestra, who played a

crucial role in setting the mood and reacting to the story. For a

clear view, the wooden stage for the drama performance was set

on a higher plane than that of the orchestra, with doors on either

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side. They led to a wooden structure in the rear. This was the

backstage, the space for the actors to get dressed and await their

call. They could also enter the theater from the sides and climb

onto the stage.

The place had been kept free for two days for the rehearsal before

the private staging of the play for a select audience. This kind

of reservation was an additional honor for the wandering troupe.

Usually, the artists were given to adjust themselves to all sorts of

locations, even in public places, under conditions no better than

those for storytellers, such as under the shade of trees with grownups

and children alike clinging to the high branches to watch the

show. With its appearance in marketplaces, street theater was

the order of the day, even if the polished language they spoke

and the severe substance of the story competed with daily street

noise and calls. The message conveyed was almost thrown into the

winds. Yet occasionally, a few scholarly listeners were present in

such gatherings who had yet to gain access to expert presentations

of laudable literature on worthy stages. For one and all, it was

a welcome variation to the solitary storyteller enacting a drama

single-handed without actors, costumes, or a chorus as support.

His voice, his mimicry, and the rhabdos, a staff he would hit on the

ground in rhythm of his songs, were his only accompaniment.