Rajiv Menon -- ThunderGod (34 page)

Muka, the young Asura captain, watched as a carrier pigeon flew down and alighted on top of the barracks. He hoped there would be some good news, maybe a transfer to the frontline for him. The cook went to collect the message. He looked around at the men who lounged around in the shade; they were bored veterans who had done their time in the army and were now counting the days to their retirement.

Muka had grown up in a life of luxury as the only son of a wealthy nobleman from Assur. He had looked forward to his first commission to escape the boredom of his opulent existence. He had hoped to cut his teeth in the campaign in Sumer, but unknown to him his indulgent and protective father had pulled a few strings and got him posted to this remote northern outpost. Muka could not believe the cards fate had dealt him. It had traded one boring existence for another.

The cook returned with the message, Muka noticed that the man's hand shook with fear as he held it out. The message was wrapped in red and gold, the royal colours of Assur. Muka's heart leapt with excitement as he opened it. It was brief and to the point. Summon the Ikshvaaku princes to the royal court.

Muka read the message out loud to his inquisitive audience; a few groans escaped the lips of his men. The soldiers informed the young officer that the tribe lived in the inhospitable mountains of Talurkan in the northwest. The mountains were a fortnight's march through some of the most treacherous terrain in the area.

The old cook had fought a famous battle in one of its valleys. He had been part of Sargon's legions when the emperor was but a young man. Four thousand Asuras, led by the Grey Wolf, had attacked a Hittite settlement there. It had been a massacre, as twelve thousand of the enemy fell in what came to be called the Valley of Twelve Thousand Souls.

Once the battle was over, the old cook recalled, the Asuras had found themselves standing waist-deep in Hittite corpses. The once fertile valley was red with blood, its many streams and watering holes poisoned by the rotting corpses of the enemy.

The land had then turned into a vile, desolate place shunned by even the most courageous of travellers. It was said that the souls of the dead Hittites still roamed those mountains looking for bodies to possess.

Muka was one of the few Asuras who had mastered the horse, and he knew for certain that he was the only man at the outpost who could ride with any degree of proficiency. To the great relief of the others, he volunteered to go alone on the mission.

As he set out on the lonely road, his thoughts went to the mysterious people he was going to contact. His soldiers, once they'd realised they would not have to accompany him, had been quite forthcoming with whatever little knowledge they had of the Ikshvaaku. According to them, it was a tribe that practiced an ancient and powerful witchcraft. Their ways were not known to the outside world, but they were feared and respected by the fierce northern tribes who knew them.

The cook had been present as a member of the Royal Guard when the Ikshvaaku requested a treaty with the Asuras. Their chief had ridden to the parley mounted on a huge tiger. Sargon was impressed and decided that they were more useful to him alive than dead. He granted their request for permission to make their home in the Talurkan Mountains.

After a six-day gruelling march through the dry and arid wasteland, both Muka and his horse were nearly at the end of their reserves when they came upon the huge, dark shape of the Talurkan Mountains that broke the flat horizon.

The exhausted Asura warrior led his mount up one of the numerous trails. He had no idea where he was going and he had met no other travellers on the road. They now passed through a thick forest of pines. Muka was thankful for the shade. He stopped for a while and allowed his tired horse to feed on the sparse vegetation. He found some succulent cacti, removed its thorns and crushed the pulp into his parched mouth.

Barely had his thirst been satiated when a slight sound alerted him. He saw a dark shape move quickly through the trees, then another. His horse neighed out loud, turned and bolted back down the trail. Muka drew his sword and prepared to face the threat. Ahead of him, something stepped out through the trees. It was a giant timber wolf. The animal gave a low growl and from the corners of his eyes Muka saw more wolves emerge through the trees. Within moments, the animals had him surrounded. Muka knew he didn't stand much of a chance, but he was an Asura warrior and he would sell his life very dearly to this pack. He kept his eyes on the beast in front of him, the alpha male. Suddenly, it crouched low and prepared to spring.

Muka tightened the grip on his weapon. He knew the attack would come from several directions at once. As a warrior he did not fear death, he just regretted that it would be on this lonely mountainside, unheralded and unsung. Just then a sharp cry rang out behind him and the big wolf stopped almost in mid-spring. It let out a series of low angry growls and slowly started to back off. Muka turned his head in surprise and curiosity. He saw a young boy walk towards him; in his arms he carried an injured fawn. His beautiful, emerald green eyes were locked into those of the wolf. The alpha turned and ran; in moments, the rest of the pack melted into the trees.

The boy laid the fawn gently on the floor and took its injured leg in his hands. Muka noticed that the leg was badly broken. The boy gently stroked the limb with his hand as he shut his eyes and muttered something under his breath. The fawn slowly got to his feet and hobbled around for a moment before it ran off up the mountain, showing no signs of injury. The boy turned to face the warrior, dwarfed by his bulk. He had a twinkle in his eyes. Muka could not believe what he had just witnessed. The boy gestured for him to follow as he made his way up the mountain.

Muka trudged along behind his young guide, almost dizzy with exhaustion as he made his way through a narrow path between two hills. It was some of the most difficult terrain he had ever encountered. It did not help that the wind through the pine trees produced a sound like the wails of dying men. The thick canopy blotted out the sun and mist rolled down from the top of the mountain. It only added to the eerie atmosphere. The boy stopped occasionally and looked around to see if the young warrior was all right. Muka struggled to keep focus--one slip would mean a long plunge into the ravine.

Muka did not know for how long he had dragged his exhausted body along that treacherous path, but he was on the verge of collapse when the boy called to him. The warrior looked up. The boy was on top of a slope, pointing downwards excitedly. Muka made his way up and peered over the ledge. All his exhaustion disappeared as he looked down at one of the most spectacular views he had ever seen.

He guessed this was the valley the cook had told him about, where Sargon had won his great, blood-stained victory. Only it was nothing like the old man's morbid description. In front of him lay a pristine paradise. The desolate land he had been told about had been replaced by green meadows interspersed with thick woods filled with a variety of fruit-bearing trees. Streams crisscrossed the landscape before they emptied themselves into the azure blue waters of a mountain lake.

They quickly made their way down into the valley and Muka drank from the crystal waters of the stream. The boy went to a tree, put his right hand to its trunk and chanted a few words. An astonished Muka watched a branch of the tree, laden with fruit, bend downwards towards the outstretched hands of the child. The boy picked a couple of fruit and handed one to the Asura. It was by far the sweetest fruit Muka had ever tasted. His strength returned to him as he kept pace with the boy down a path that led through a bed of wild flowers of every conceivable hue. Their heady fragrance intoxicated his mind and removed all fear and misgivings from it.

As they neared the settlement, Muka saw men and women go about their chores, tending to their crops or flocks. They greeted the Asura with big smiles on their faces. Their livestock grazed in the meadows along with deer and antelope. One of the fawns ran to the boy and playfully nuzzled against him.

Muka noticed that the roof and walls of their huts were made of living plants and creepers. This tribe lived in complete harmony with their surroundings, he thought. The child stopped in front of one of the huts and greeted the man who stepped out. The man exchanged a few words with the child before he turned to Muka.

'I am Vivasvat, chief of the Ikshvaaku. Tell me how I may be of service to you.'

Muka was surprised to note that the chief's appearance and dwelling was no different from that of the other members of his tribe. He bowed low and conveyed the message of his sovereign.

The chief did not hesitate with his reply.

'Tell the Asura king that my sons will be at his service by the new moon.'

***

Somewhere in the vast open plains of Sumer, Indra and Soma watched the members of the caravan put up a spirited resistance, but they were no match for the superior strength and skill of the Devas. Within a few moments, it was all over. The portly head merchant of the caravan threw up his arms and fell to his knees in a gesture of surrender. But it was an action that came a little too late: his armed escort had all been slaughtered. Indra soon got tired of hearing his cries for mercy; his attention was drawn to the rear of the caravan where an abandoned palanquin lay. He went to it and ripped aside the curtains.

In it was a beautiful young woman unlike any he had ever seen before. Her skin was the colour of wild honey and shone with the kiss of good health. Her hair, the colour of a raven's wing, was straight and long and framed the high cheekbones of her face. Her eyes were big and dark; she had no fear in them as she beheld him, only a sense of curiosity. Her breasts were firm with dark perky nipples. She wore only a skirt of beads but showed no sense of shame at her nakedness.

Indra felt strangely uncomfortable under her scrutiny. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out to where the survivors of the raid had been bunched together. As he threw her down, she said something to him in an alien tongue. The head merchant rebuked her and slapped her hard across the face.

'Forgive me, my lord. She is a witch who has brought us nothing but misfortune. Allow me to cut her insolent tongue out.'

Indra looked at her as she continued to stare at him. Her lips were cut from the blow and she licked the blood off them with a lascivious smile.

'What did she say?'

The merchant hesitated as he figured out how best to translate her words.

'She asks that you give her one hour alone with yourself, you will never want another woman again. She is evil, my lord, I would have cut her to pieces and thrown her to the wolves if I did not fear her future master.'

Indra cocked his eyebrow in surprise.

'Who is the unfortunate man who must tame this savage?'

'Hiranya, the Asura governor of Sumer.'

Timon came up to Indra and whispered in his ear. 'Bhadra's brother! He has vowed to mount your head at the end of his spear and send it to Sargon as a trophy.'

Indra laughed.

'Well then, let us give him a little more incentive to take my head. We'll take her with us. Let me see if she will make good her promise.'

***

Valli finished her bath by the stream shielded from the camp by a cluster of rocks. It had been weeks since she had been held prisoner. Once her captors had noticed her aversion to the horses, they had let her move freely through the camp. They were in the middle of nowhere, and there was really no place she could escape to on foot.

As she returned to the camp, she saw their king in conference with his scouts. She stared at him unabashedly. She had made her desire for him apparent, but he seemed immune to her charms. His fascination for her was like what one might have for an exotic animal. He glanced in her direction and quickly looked away as she made an obscene gesture with her tongue. She laughed and made a promise to herself that she would have him one day.

The scouts were informing Indra about a herd of wild horses that were a day's march away from the camp. They were headed straight towards them. Indra could not contain his excitement. He asked them to keep a close watch on the animals. They would be a welcome addition to his vastly depleted herd.

By dusk that day, the herd was within sight of the camp. It was a large one--Indra counted over one hundred and fifty animals. But there was something strange about them. They moved in perfect order, like a cavalry formation. Indra looked for the lead stallion, but could not find him. The herd stopped a short distance away and snorted indignantly as they smelt the camp. Then the wind stopped and changed direction. It began to blow towards the camp.

Indra suddenly sensed unrest among his own horses. As the wild ones inched closer, he noticed something extremely strange--they were all mares. He knew wild mares did not behave in this fashion and he watched closely as they approached the paddock. This was some kind of sorcery that Indra was unfamiliar with. The mares turned together, the wind carrying the smell of their oestrus to the nostrils of the Deva stallions. Indra realised what was going on and shouted out to the grooms, 'Secure the stallions!'