The Oath of The Vayuputras (38 page)
Later in the day, when the dead were counted, it would emerge that seventy thousand of the Magadhan army from amongst seventy-five thousand had been slaughtered, burned or drowned. Kartik, on the other hand, had lost only five thousand of his one hundred thousand men. This was not a battle. It had been a massacre.
Kartik looked up at the sky. The first rays of the sun were breaking on the horizon, heralding a new day. And on this day, a legend had been born. The legend of Kartik, the Lord of War!
The golden orb of a rising sun peeked from the mainland to the right as a strong southerly wind filled their sails, racing them towards the port of Lothal. Shiva, with Sati at his side, stood poised on the foredeck, eyes transfixed northwards, wishing their ship all speed.
‘I wonder how the war has progressed in Swadweep,’ said Sati.
Shiva turned to her with a smile. ‘We do not know if there has been a war at all, Sati. Maybe Ganesh’s tactics have worked.’
‘I hope so.’
Shiva held Sati’s hand. ‘Our sons are warriors. They are doing what they are supposed to. You don’t need to worry about them.’
‘I’m not worried about Ganesh. I know that if he can avoid bloodshed, he will. Not that he’s a coward, but he understands the futility of war. But Kartik... He loves the art of war. I fear he will go out of his way to court danger.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said Shiva. ‘But you cannot change his essential character. And in any case, isn’t that what being a warrior is all about?’
‘But every other warrior goes into battle reluctantly. He fights because he has to. Kartik is not like that. He’s enthused by warfare. It seems that his
swadharma
is war. That worries me,’ said Sati, expressing her anxieties about what she felt was Kartik’s
personal dharma
.
Shiva drew Sati into his arms and kissed her on her lips, reassuringly. ‘Everything will be all right.’
Sati smiled and rested her head on Shiva’s chest. ‘I must admit that helped a bit...’
Shiva laughed softly. ‘Let me help you some more then.’
Shiva raised Sati’s face and kissed her again.
‘Ahem!’
Shiva and Sati turned around to find Veerbhadra and Krittika approaching them.
‘This is an open deck,’ said a smiling Veerbhadra, teasing his friend. ‘Find a room!’
Krittika hit Veerbhadra lightly on his stomach, embarrassed. ‘Shut up!’
Shiva smiled. ‘How’re you, Krittika?’
‘Very well, My Lord.’
‘Krittika,’ said Shiva. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? You are my friend’s wife. Call me Shiva.’
Krittika smiled. ‘I’m sorry.’
Shiva rested his hand on Veerbhadra’s shoulder. ‘What did the captain say, Bhadra? How far are we?’
‘At the rate we’re sailing, just a few more days. The winds have been kind.’
‘Hmmm... have you ever been to Lothal or Maika, Krittika?’
Krittika shook her head. ‘It’s difficult for me to get pregnant, Shiva. And that is the only way that an outsider can enter Maika.’
Shiva winced. He had touched a raw nerve. Veerbhadra did not care that Krittika couldn’t conceive, but it still distressed her.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Shiva.
‘No, no,’ smiled Krittika. ‘Veerbhadra has convinced me that we are good enough for each other. We don’t need a child to complete us.’
Shiva patted Veerbhadra’s back. ‘Sometimes we barbarians can surprise even ourselves with our good sense.’
Krittika laughed softly. ‘But I have visited the older Lothal.’
‘Older Lothal?’
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ asked Sati. ‘The seaport of Lothal is actually a new city. The older Lothal was a river port on the Saraswati. But when the Saraswati stopped reaching the sea, there was no water around the old city, ending its vibrancy. The locals decided to recreate their hometown next to the sea. The new Lothal is exactly like the old city, except that it’s a sea port.’
‘Interesting,’ said Shiva. ‘So what happened to old Lothal?’
‘It’s practically abandoned, but a few people continue to live there.’
‘So why didn’t they give the new city a different name? Why call it Lothal?’
‘The old citizens were very attached to their city. It was one of the greatest cities of the empire. They didn’t want the name to disappear in the sands of time. They also assumed most people would forget old Lothal.’
Shiva looked towards the sea. ‘New Lothal, here we come!’
The sun had risen high over Bal-Atibal Kund. It was the third hour of the second prahar. The bodies of the fallen Magadhans and Brangas were being removed to a cleared area in the forest where, to the drone of ritual chanting, their mortal remains were being cremated. Considering the massive number of Magadhan dead, this was back-breaking work. But Kartik had been insistent. Valour begot respect, whether in life or in the aftermath of death.
‘Has Surapadman not been found yet?’ asked Bhagirath, his eyes scanning the sands of the kund. Yesterday they were pristine white. Today they were a pale shade of pink, discoloured by massive quantities of blood.
‘Not as yet,’ said Kartik. ‘Initially I thought he was fighting on the southern front. We were unable to find him there so I assumed he would be here.’
Maatali, the Vaishali king, had proved his naval acumen by destroying the rearguard of the Magadhan fleet. Having heard of Kartik’s valour and ferocity, he now viewed him with newfound respect. Gone were the last traces of indulgence for the son of the Neelkanth.
‘How far is my brother’s fleet, King Maatali?’ asked Kartik.
‘I’ve sent some of my rowboats upriver. It is clogged with the debris of the Magadhan ships. Our boats are trying to clear up the mess, but it will take time. And Lord Ganesh is moving carefully so the ships don’t sustain any damage. So he will take some time to get here.’
Kartik nodded.
‘But he has been informed about your great victory, Lord Kartik,’ said Maatali. ‘He is very proud of you.’
Kartik frowned. ‘It’s not
my
victory, Your Highness. It’s
our
victory. And it would not have been possible without my elder brother, who destroyed the northern end of the Magadhan navy.’
‘That he did,’ said Maatali.
‘My Lord!’ hailed Divodas, crossing over from the dense forest to the sands of the Bal-Atibal Kund. Still weak from injuries and bandaged across his shoulder, he was being assisted by five men as they together dragged something with ropes.
It took Kartik a moment to recognise what they were dragging. ‘Divodas! Treat him with respect!’
Divodas stopped at once. Kartik ran towards them, followed by Bhagirath and Maatali. The corpse they had been dragging was that of a tall, well-built, swarthy man. His clothes and armour were soaked dark with blood, and his body was covered with wounds, some dried and black, others still fresh, red and wet. His skull had been split open near his temple, showing how he had died. His injuries were too numerous to be counted, clearly indicating the valour of this combatant. All the wounds were in the front, not one on the back. It had been an honourable death.
‘Surapadman...’ whispered Bhagirath.
‘He was on the southern front, My Lord,’ said Divodas.
Kartik pulled out his knife, bent down to cut the ropes tied around Surapadman’s shoulders, and then gently lowered the fallen prince back onto the ground. He noticed Surapadman’s right hand, still tightly gripping his sword. He touched the sword, its blade caked with dried blood. Divodas tried to pry open Surapadman’s fingers.
‘Stop,’ commanded Kartik. ‘Surapadman will carry his sword into the other world.’
Divodas immediately withdrew his hand and fell back.
Surapadman’s mouth was half open. The ancient Vedic hymns on death claim that the soul leaves the body along with the last breath. Therefore, the mouth is open at the point of death. But there is a superstition that the mouth should be closed quickly after death, lest an evil spirit enters the soulless body.
Kartik closed Surapadman’s mouth gently.
‘Find the chief Brahmin,’ said Kartik. ‘Prepare Surapadman’s body. He shall be cremated like the prince that he was.’
Divodas nodded.
Kartik turned to Bhagirath. ‘We shall wait till my brother returns. Surapadman will then be cremated with full state honours.’
Ganesh stood at the ramparts of the Magadhan fort, watching the great Sarayu merge into the mighty Ganga. The setting sun had tinged the waters a brilliant orange. King Mahendra and the citizens of Magadh, stunned by the complete annihilation of their army and the death of their Prince Surapadman, had surrendered meekly when Ganesh’s forces had entered the city. He did not expect any rebellion, since there were practically no soldiers left in Magadh. Ganesh planned to leave a small force of ten thousand soldiers to man the fort and blockade any Ayodhya ships. He would sail out with his other soldiers to meet with his father’s army in Meluha. They were to leave the next day.
The war in Swadweep had worked perfectly for Ganesh. He was now able to block the movements of the Ayodhyan army with far less soldiers than would have been required if he was besieging Ayodhya itself.
‘What are you thinking,
dada
?’ asked Kartik.
Ganesh smiled at his brother as he pointed at the
confluence
. ‘Look at the
sangam
, where the Sarayu meets the Ganga.’
Even before he turned his gaze, Kartik could hear the swirling waters of the
sangam
. What he saw was a young, impetuous Sarayu crashing into the mature, tranquil Ganga, jostling for space within her banks. Though she sometimes relented, the Ganga would often push aside the waters of the Sarayu with surprising ease, creating eddies and currents in its wake. This jostling continued till Ganga, the eternal mother, eventually drew the ebullient tributary into her bosom till they could be distinguished no more in the calm flow.
‘There is always unity at the end,’ said Ganesh, ‘and it brings a new tranquillity. But the meeting of two worlds causes a lot of temporary chaos.’
Kartik smiled, bemused.
‘This could not have been avoided,’ said Ganesh. ‘But the stricken visage of King Mahendra was heartbreaking. Every single house in Magadh has lost a son or a daughter in the Battle of Bal-Atibal.’
‘But King Mahendra was the one who had forced Prince Surapadman to attack. He can only blame himself,’ said Kartik. ‘I’ve heard reports that Prince Surapadman had really wanted to remain neutral.’
‘That may be true, Kartik. But that still doesn’t take away from the fact that we have killed half the adult population of Magadh.’
‘We had no choice,
dada
,’ said Kartik.
‘I know that,’ said Ganesh, turning back to look at the sangam of the Ganga and the Sarayu. ‘The rivers fight with each other with the only currency that they know: water. We humans fight with the only currency that we know in this age: violence.’
‘But how else does one establish one’s standpoint, dada?’ asked Kartik. ‘There are times when reason does not work, and peaceful efforts prove inadequate. Violence is ultimately the last resort. This is the way it has always been. The world will, perhaps, never be any different.’
Ganesh shook his head. ‘It will be, one day. We live in the age of the Kshatriya. That’s why we think that the only currency to bring about change is violence.’