Immortals of Meluha (44 page)

‘Nah,’ grinned Shiva. ‘It will be a daughter. And I’ll spoil her to high heavens!’

Sati laughed heartily. Shiva joined in. His first spirited laugh in over two months. He embraced Sati, feeling the negative energy dissipate from his being. ‘I love you, Sati.’

‘I love you too,’ she whispered.

Shiva raised the curtain to come out of the tent that Sati was ensconced in. Krittika and Ayurvati were with her. A retinue of nurses attended to her every need. Shiva had been obsessive about the health of his unborn child, questioning Ayurvati incessantly about every aspect of Sati’s well-being for the last two months of the march to Swadweep.

The Suryavanshis had moved valiantly for nearly three months. The path had been much more challenging than expected. The forest had reclaimed its original habitat with alarming ferocity. The army was invaded by wild animals and disease at every turn. They had lost two thousand men. And not one to the enemy. After weeks of hacking and marching, the scouts had finally managed to lead the Suryavanshi army to the Chandravanshis.

The Chandravanshis were camped on a sweeping plain called Dharmakhet. Their choice was clever. A substantial and uncluttered field, it had enough room to allow the Chandravanshis to manoeuvre their million strong army. The full weight of their numerical superiority would come into play. The Suryavanshi army had tried to wait out the Chandravanshis, to test if they would lose patience and attack in a less advantageous area. But the Chandravanshis had held firm. Finally, the Suryavanshis moved camp to an easily defensible valley close to Dharmakhet.

Shiva looked up at the clear sky. A lone eagle flew overhead, circling the royal camp, while five pigeons flew lower, unafraid of the eagle. A strange sign. His Guna shaman would have probably said that it’s a bad time for batde, for the pigeons clearly have a hidden advantage.

Don’t think about it. It is all nonsense in any case.

Breathing in the fresh morning air deeply, he turned right, towards Emperor Daksha’s tent. Nandi was walking towards him.

‘What is it Nandi?’

‘I was just coming towards your tent, my Lord. The Emperor requests your presence. There’s been a troubling development’

Shiva and Nandi hurried towards Daksha’s tastefully appointed royal tent. They entered to find Daksha and Parvateshwar engrossed in a discussion. Vraka, Mayashrenik and Drapaku sat at a distance. Drapaku was a little further away from the rest.

‘This is a disaster,’ groaned Daksha.

‘Your Highness?’ asked Shiva.

‘My Lord! I’m glad you’re here. We face complete disaster.’

‘Let’s not use words like that, your Highness,’ said Shiva. Turning towards Parvateshwar, he asked, ‘So your suspicions were correct?’

‘Yes,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘The scouts just returned a few minutes ago. There was a reason the Chandravanshis were refusing to mobilise. They have despatched a hundred thousand soldiers in a great arc around our position. They will enter our valley by tomorrow morning. We will be sandwiched between their main force ahead of us and another hundred thousand at the back.’

‘We can’t fight on two fronts, my Lord,’ cried Daksha.

‘What do we do?’

‘Was it Veerbhadra’s scouts who returned with the news?’ asked Shiva.

Parvateshwar nodded. Shiva turned towards Nandi, who rushed out immediately. Moments later, Veerbhadra stood before them.

‘What route is the Chandravanshi detachment taking, Bhadra?’ asked Shiva.

‘Up the east, along the steep mountains on our side. I think they intend to enter our valley some fifty kilometres up north.’

‘Did you take a cartographer with you as Parvateshwar had instructed?’

Veerbhadra nodded, moved to the centre table and laid out the map on it. Shiva and Parvateshwar leaned across. Pointing to the route with his fingers, Veerbhadra said, ‘This way’.

Shiva suddenly started as he noticed the ideal defensive position on the map, deep north of the Suryavanshi camp. He looked up at Parvateshwar. The same thought had occurred to the General.

‘How many men do you think, Parvateshwar?’

‘Difficult to say. It will be tough. But the pass looks defendable. It will need a sizeable contingent though. At least thirty thousand.’

‘But we can’t spare too many men. I am sure the battle with the main Chandravanshi army to the south will also happen tomorrow. It would be the best time for them to take up positions.’

Parvateshwar nodded grimly. The Meluhans might just have to retreat and manoeuvre for a batde on another, more advantageous position, he thought unhappily.

‘I think five thousand men ought to do it, my Lords.’

Shiva and Parvateshwar had not noticed Drapaku move to the table. He was examining the pass that Shiva had just pointed out.

‘Look here,’ continued Drapaku, as Shiva and Parvateshwar peered.

‘The mountains ahead constrict rapidly to this pass, which is not more than fifty metres across. It doesn’t matter how big their army is, each charge by the enemy into the pass cannot comprise of more than a few hundred men.’

‘But Drapaku, with a hundred thousand men, they can launch one charge after another, almost continuously,’ said Mayashrenik. ‘And with the mountains so steep on the sides, you can’t use any of our missiles. Victory is almost impossible.’

‘It’s not about victory,’ said Drapaku. ‘It’s about holding them for a day so that our main army can fight.’

‘I will do it,’ said Parvateshwar.

‘No, my Lord,’ said Vraka. ‘You are required for the main charge.’ Shiva looked up at Parvateshwar.

I need to be here as well.

‘I can’t do it either,’ said Shiva, shaking his head.

Parvateshwar looked up at Shiva, disillusionment writ large on his face. While he had prepared his heart for disappointment, he had hoped that Shiva would prove him wrong. But it appeared clear to Parvateshwar that Shiva too would be simply watching the battìe from the viewing platform being made for Daksha.

‘Give me the honour, my Lord,’ said Drapaku.

‘Drapaku...,’ whispered Mayashrenik, not putting in words what everyone else knew.

With only five thousand soldiers, the battle at the northern pass against the Chandravanshi detachment was a suicide mission.

‘Drapaku,’ said Shiva. ‘I don’t know if...’

‘I know, my Lord,’ interrupted Drapaku. ‘It is my destiny. I will hold them for one day. If Lord Indra supports me, I’ll even try for two. Get us victory by then.’

Daksha suddenly interjected. ‘Wonderful. Drapaku, make preparations to leave immediately’

Drapaku saluted smartly and rushed out before any second thoughts were voiced.

It took less than an hour before the vikarma brigade was marching out of the camp. The sun was high up in the sky and practically the entire camp was awake, watching the soldiers set out on their mission. Everyone knew the terrible odds the vikarmas were going to face. They knew that it was unlikely that any of these soldiers would be seen alive again. The soldiers, though, did not exhibit the slightest hesitation or hint of fear, as they walked on. The camp stood in silent awe. One thought reverberated through all of them.

How could the vikarmas be so magnificent? They are supposed to be weak.

Drapaku was at the lead, his handsome face smeared with war paint. On top of his armour, he wore a saffron angvastram. The colour of the Parmatma. The colour worn for the final journey. He didn’t expect to return.

He stopped suddenly as Vidyunmali darted in front of him. Drapaku frowned. Before he could react, Vidyunmali had drawn his knife. Drapaku reached for his side arm. But Vidyunmali was quicker. He sliced his own thumb across the blade, and brought it up to Drapaku’s forehead. In the tradition of the great brother-warriors of yore, Vidyunmali ran his blood across Drapaku’s brow, signifying that his blood will protect him.

‘You’re a better man than me, Drapaku,’ whispered Vidyunmali.

Drapaku stood silent, astonished by Vidyunmali’s uncharacteristic behaviour.

Raising his balled fist high, Vidyunmali roared, ‘Give them hell, vikarma!’

‘Give them hell, vikarma!’ bellowed the Suryavanshis, repeating it again and again.

Drapaku and his soldiers looked around the camp, absorbing the respect that they had been denied so long. Way too long.

‘Give them hell, vikarma!’

Drapaku nodded, turned and marched on before his emotions spoiled the moment. His soldiers followed.

‘Give them hell, vikarma!’

It was an uncharacteristically warm morning for that time of the year.

The Chandravanshi detachment had been surprised to find Meluhan soldiers at the northern pass the previous night. They had immediately attacked. The vikarmas had held them through the night, buying precious time for the main Suryavanshi army. This
had to be
the day for the main battle. Shiva was prepared.

Sati stood resplendent, looping the aarti thali in small circles around Shiva’s face. She stopped after seven turns, took some vermilion on her thumb and smeared it up Shiva’s forehead in a long tilak. ‘Come back victorious or don’t come back at all.’

Shiva raised one eyebrow and grimaced. ‘What kind of a send off is that?!’

‘What? No, it’s just...’ stammered Sati.

‘I know, I know,’ smiled Shiva as he embraced Sati. ‘It’s the traditional Suryavanshi send off before a war, right?’

Sati looked up, her eyes moist. Her love for Shiva was overcoming decades of Suryavanshi training. ‘Just come back safe and sound.’

‘I will, my love,’ whispered Shiva. ‘You won’t get rid of me that easily.’

Sati smiled weakly. ‘I’ll be waiting.’

Sati stood on her toes and kissed Shiva lightly. Shiva kissed her back and turned quickly, before his heart would overcome his head with second thoughts. Lifting the tent curtain, he walked out. He looked up at the skies, in case there were some other omens. There were none.

Bloody good!

The distant droning of Sanskrit shlokas, accompanied by the beating of war drums in a smooth rhythmic pulse, wafted in over the dry winter breeze. Shiva had thought this particular Suryavanshi custom odd. But maybe there was something to the Brahmin ‘Call for Indra and Agni’, as this particular puja was called. The drums and the shlokas somehow grafted together to rouse a fierce warrior spirit in whoever heard them. The beats would quicken as the battle began. Shiva was eager to throw himself into the battle. He turned and strode towards Daksha’s tent.

‘Greetings, your Highness,’ said Shiva as he raised the curtain to enter the royal tent, where Parvateshwar was explaining the plans to the Emperor. ‘Namaste, Parvateshwar.’

Parvateshwar smiled and folded his hands.

‘What news of Drapaku, Parvateshwar?’ asked Shiva. The last despatch I heard is at least three hours old.’

‘The vikarma battle is on. Drapaku still leads them. He has bought us invaluable time. May Lord Ram bless him.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Shiva. ‘May Lord Ram bless him. He just has to hold on to the end of this day.’

‘My Lord,’ said Daksha, hands in a formal namaste, head bowed. ‘It is an auspicious beginning. We will have a good day. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Yes it does seem so,’ smiled Shiva. The news of Drapaku is very welcome. ‘But perhaps this question may be better suited for the fourth prahar, your Highness.’