The Ocean's Own

by Nandini Sengupta

  ‘Of course, Majesty,’ replied Ananta Varman. ‘I will get to work immediately.’

  ‘But what about Prince Bhasma?’ asked Harisena.

  ‘I will take him with me,’ I said. ‘We will leave a week after Ananta Varman and his men. We too will do so quietly but we will travel by land.’

  ‘It is far more difficult to travel incognito by road,’ said Ananta Varman. ‘The cloud of dust raised by a cavalry contingent is a dead giveaway.’

  ‘True,’ I said. ‘That’s why we will travel by night. The men will wear green shawls over their ochre uniforms to blend in with the foliage. We will carry no pennants. The foraging party will be dressed like itinerant tradesmen. There will be no scorched earth policy. We do not inconvenience common folk. The entire platoon does not move at once. We will break up into smaller units of 100 or 200 men, and stagger our move. We will eat dry food like crisp rice and jaggery so there are no cooking fires. We will stay away from the main roads and ride on the grass to muffle the sounds and leave no footprints. Remember, we must be nimble and avoid detection. At all cost.’

  Brahma Deva, who had remained silent all through this discussion, finally spoke. ‘There’s just one thing – have you considered the fact that Prince Jivita will send word to the Naga camp the moment his brother leaves with you, no matter how secretly?’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘That’s why you must put my stepmother and half-brother under house arrest the moment I leave the capital.’

  Brahma Deva nodded. ‘It is a good plan, Majesty,’ he said. ‘But you are the all-powerful Param Bhattaraka Maharajadhiraj. You can use a sledgehammer to crush these Nagas. Why not show them the might of the empire? Show them what it means to cross swords with the valiant Guptas?’

  I smiled. ‘I will,’ I said. ‘When I go on a digvijay.’

  The pale moon cast a gentle glow upon the curiously flat landscape on both sides of the dusty road. The summer harvest was over and the croplands on both sides looked bare, veiled by a thin mist that hung over them. This was the empire’s food bowl; the silt-rich soil grew everything from paddy to wheat, maize to sugarcane. Neatly laid out, the square or oblong blocks of farmland were punctuated by clumps of mud-and-thatch huts, and neem and peepal trees here and there. Far away, I caught the glimmer of the moonlight on a village pond, its edges fringed by tall palm trees. The night air was fragrant with the smell of Mohua flowers and wood fire, the stillness of the night alive with the sound of buzzing crickets, croaking frogs, hooting owls and the occasional long-drawn baying of jackals.

  The sal, arjun and banyan trees that lined our way looked like ghostly sentinels, dark shapes swaying gently in the late autumn breeze. It was late November and the Agrayan nip was already in the air. It sent an occasional shiver down my spine, though more from nervous excitement than cold. Like every member of the platoon, I was wrapped in a thick woolen shawl that covered not only my leather breastplate but also the weapons I carried – the longbow strapped to my back, the Asi and the Khadaga broad sword dangling from my cummerbund. We rode in silence – the horses had their shoes bandaged with thin strips of linen to muffle the sound of their hoofs. Only the scouting party riding ahead carried a torch or two.

  It had been nearly ten days since we marched out of Pataliputra. The infantry divisions were ferried down the river beyond the borders of Magadh and joined the cavalry upstream in small groups of not more than sixty to eighty men. We marched by night, mostly after moonrise, and not as fast as I would have liked, but stealthily enough.

  I stole a glance at Bhasma riding next to me, his long jaw and hawk-nose profile set in stony, sullen silence. He did not like the idea of marching out at night, and the secrecy had robbed him of the opportunity to show to the people just how magnificent he looked in full regalia. ‘Are we going on a military campaign or a cattle raid?’ he’d asked snarkily when finally informed of our plans. ‘If Kacha is as confident of his sword arm as he says he is, why keep everything hush-hush?’

  He’d tried his best to get some answers while on the ride, routinely chatting up some of the men marching alongside him, but since no one in the contingent, except one man, Harisena, knew the entire battle plan, my half-brother was still none the wiser. Harisena and Bhasma kept their distance. Neither had forgotten the Naga ambush near the temple, and both decided it was better not to risk a faceoff in the hurly-burly of a campaign march.

  It seemed to me Bhasma was not the only one upset by the clandestine nature of our campaign. Datta had been just as bewildered and worried at the thought and idea of us sneaking out of the capital, not like heroes marching out for battle glory but like cat burglars, disreputable in our disguise. I saw her tear-stained face and heard the quiet desperation in her voice every time I closed my eyes. Our last night before I left Pataliputra was both heartfelt and heartbreaking. She clung to me in sweet passion, kissing away her own fears along with my deeply buried unease. I relaxed as I always did when I was with her and felt all my unspoken apprehensions ease away. We made tender love and held on to each other after, seeking assurance that neither was able to promise. Her last words to me, however, were those of a queen, not a lover. ‘Teach those Nagas a lesson they will never forget,’ she said, mustering up all the courage she had in that thin, little girl body to hold her head erect. ‘Come back in glory, Majesty.’ As I rode away, I looked back and saw her silhouetted against a brilliantly moon-washed sky, a solitary figure standing on the farthest east-wing balcony, hugging herself and quietly trying not to cry.

  Mother, though, was dry-eyed all through the short and hurried farewell, sanguine in her belief that everything would work out as planned. ‘I know you better than you know yourself,’ she told me. ‘You never take chances. You think things through. That is why I know you won’t fail. Come back victorious, my son. And keep a hawk’s eye on your half-brother.’

  I was jolted out of my reverie by the distant crowing of a cock. I looked up and realized the stars had begun to pale and the horizon was already turning lighter. I used my legs to spur my horse into a gallop, directing the others to follow suit. We needed to hurry and find a place to set up camp before daybreak. This flat, featureless, farmland offered very little cover. Unless we found a neatly tucked away grove of mango trees or a secluded copse of sal up ahead, we would have to disperse even more to avoid any detection.

  Harisena, who was riding just behind me, took the cue and broke into a quick canter; coming up alongside me, he said, ‘There’s a dense thicket of sal and arjun trees just half a kos ahead. The scouts are waiting for us there. We should reach before daybreak.’

  Bhasma, who caught our quick exchange, snorted, ‘Another day, another hiding place. Why not smear some oil on our bodies and soot on our faces as well? To better look the part of bandits.’

  Harisena was about to snap at him with an answer but didn’t because of my restraining touch on his arm.

  ‘Prince Bhasma is not accustomed to the rigours of a military campaign,’ I said, silkily. ‘Please make sure my brother gets uninterrupted rest when we reach camp.’

  It took us another ten days of relentless marching before we reached the forest border just outside Mathura. With the early winter setting in, there was enough fog cover for us to ride hard through the nights without risking discovery, so the latter half of the journey was less tedious than when we first set out. Bhasma did not travel well. He grumbled about the lack of amenities, about not having his personal guards with him and often refused the dry food that all of us ate. ‘I am a prince, I am not used to peasant food,’ he would snap at the hapless camp bearers. ‘Tell my brother to allow us to hunt for game at least. The tedium is killing me.’

  I heard out all his complaints but remained unmoved. Allowing hunts was, of course, completely out of the question. Or, for that matter, hassling the nearby villagers for eggs and meat. We needed to travel incognito and if Bhasma wished to starve himself, that was entirely his choice. As for myself, if my men could eat jaggery and cri
sp rice, accompanied by the occasional ghee-soaked wheat laddoo, then so could I. The only thing that our scouts got back from neighbouring villages was fodder for the horses and pack animals and, just once in a while, a pitcher of milk.

  We travelled with a very small baggage train and just ten pack mules. Apart from food and some weapons, they also carried two very important pieces of war machinery – catapults which had been dismantled into smaller pieces. This ingenious piece of equipment was Ananta Varman’s idea. He’d designed it based on verbal accounts by some Buddhist monks from Kucha (modern-day Xinjiang in China). Our contingent included, apart from the soldiers and scouts, a small but efficient group of carpenters whose job it would be to put the catapults together once we reached Mathura. Catapults were more effective than battering rams as they were lighter and easier to carry but they would have certainly raised suspicion if we had carried them as fully assembled pieces. But in their dismantled form, they looked harmless enough.

  We stopped at a convenient bend of the River Yamuna; it was flanked by enough forest cover to allow us to set up camp. It had been nearly three weeks since we had set out from Pataliputra and both men and beasts were sore of limb. We needed to rest, recuperate and revisit our battle plans as we waited for news from Ahichhatra and Ananta Varman.

  The dense thicket where we had decided to halt was ideal for many reasons. For one, it lay at the narrowest bend in the river, even though the current here was fearsome and the eddies deadly. Still, it was narrow enough to at least attempt to ford it before we launched our surprise attack on the city.

  For another, this spot would allow us a good view if the Naga reinforcements were to leave by boat instead of by land. Our spies were already keeping an eye on all the city gates but my hunch was that the contingent would prefer the river route at least part of the way because it was quicker. Besides, infantry and archers are more dispensable than horsemen, and therefore more likely to be dispatched to Ahichhatra. Allies or not, horses were expensive and sending out their cavalry would leave Mathura too weakened to resist an attack, any attack. So it was unlikely.

  Ananta Varman’s messenger arrived two days after we set up camp. I immediately recognized the lean and weather-beaten man who dropped to his knees to utter the royal prasasthi before me – this was Nakul, one of Ananta Varman’s most trusted spies. He was accompanied by two other men, both of whom I recognized by face.

  ‘Rise,’ I said.

  Nakul straightened up and produced the seal ring that confirmed what I already knew – that he was Ananta Varman’s messenger. ‘Speak,’ I said.

  ‘We have taken the city of Ahichhatra, Majesty,’ said Nakul. ‘When I left, the platoon was repairing the city’s wall-and-moat defence to take on the reinforcements from Mathura.’

  ‘Tell me how it happened,’ I said. ‘Don’t leave anything out.’

  ‘It took us just over a week to reach Ahichhatra,’ he said. ‘We staggered the flotilla and sailed in an unhurried pace so as not to arouse suspicion. Our spies had obtained false papers for some of us. The first group, around thirty strong, had no problem entering the city disguised as oil merchants. They were strip-searched of course, but they had been told to hide their weapons in their oil pitchers to avoid detection. Over the next week, we smuggled more men into the city. The plan was to attack both from inside as well as from out, and create enough confusion to allow us to storm the gates. This is exactly how it worked out.

  ‘General Ananta Varman had planned to attack the city at dawn so as to use the thick fog hanging over the river as cover. Our boats moored a little upstream from the city gates, and the rest of the contingent simply marched forward in a staggered single file while still using the fog as cover. It was an excellent fog that morning – so thick, you could hardly see your own hands. Our main body of attackers had no difficulty reaching the city walls and climbing the ladders. It seems the Nagas were not expecting an attack, and the sentries were befuddled by the fog. Once Ananta Varman blew the conch shell, the attack began. Our boys inside set fire to as many buildings as they could to create a diversion big enough. Their soldiers then rushed to help put out the fire and in the melee, those who climbed the ladders got inside and opened the gates for the rest of us. After that it was easy. We stormed in and finished the job.’

  ‘How long did it last?’ I asked. ‘And how many dead and wounded on our side?’

  ‘The Nagas fought bravely, Majesty,’ replied Nakul. ‘Despite the surprise attack, they recovered quickly and fought hard. It continued for the better part of the day and it was dusk by the time we finally had the city in our control. The Nagas also managed to send word to Mathura for help. We saw the messengers leave but for some reason, the general told us not to intervene. We lost six men and as just many were wounded, some of them critically. But no more.’

  I smiled. Things had gone exactly as per plan, which is something I needed to thank Ananta Varman for. His experience with topography and planning made sure that the attack did not turn into a long drawn-out siege that would not have helped us at all.

  There was only one thing more to ask. ‘I hope King Achyuta is unharmed?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, Majesty. He is under house arrest. General Ananta Varman tried to parley with him but he says he is a ruling monarch and will speak to you and you alone.’

  I was satisfied. ‘Yes, that is reasonable. Thank you, Nakul; you have done well. Rest and refresh yourselves and your horses for you leave at first light tomorrow. I have a message for General Ananta Varman and I want it delivered as quickly as possible.’

  Harisena followed me back to my tent, bristling with questions. ‘If King Achyuta asked for help, how come we haven’t seen the Mathura reinforcements leave?’ he asked, as soon as we found ourselves alone.

  That was a question bothering me too and this conversation gave me the opportunity to think things through and consider all the options. ‘There are only two possible explanations,’ I responded. ‘Either Mathura has already sent help and we missed them somehow or they have realized this is a trap we set up and decided to wait for us to attack them here.’

  Harisena took in what I said with a preoccupied look, chewing on the edges of his thin moustache abstractedly. ‘If they are expecting an attack, it won’t be a surprise any more, Majesty,’ he said. ‘They’ll be waiting for us and they will outnumber us two to one.’

  That was something I too was worried about. Clearly Ganapati Naga was smarter than I gave him credit for. I thought about it for a while and then said, ‘Either way, we will have to risk it. We have merely 1800 men so we can’t afford to lose too many. We need to plan our attack meticulously and stick to it.’

  Harisena nodded. ‘Our first problem is fording this bend,’ he said. ‘It’s just too treacherous, Majesty.’

  That was another thing that bothered me. Although winter meant the river was not in spate, it was still far too frisky to be crossed, particularly at night – which is what we needed to do if we wanted to avoid detection. I knew keen-eyed sentries would be watching this bend day and night from the tallest turrets in the city and an army crossing over wouldn’t go unnoticed. Worse, we did not have elephants to help us cross the river and cavalry horses were notoriously temperamental beasts. They could never be depended upon not to buck and rear midstream causing both rider and animal to be pulled in and washed away by the river’s treacherous eddies. It was a problem to which, for a while, I had no answers.

  Finally, Harisena came up with at least a workable solution. ‘Rafts,’ he said, suddenly. ‘We can make rafts and use them to ferry horses and men, can we not?’

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ I nodded. ‘But a treacherous river can pull in a raft as much as horse and man, and we still need to make sure the rafts don’t sail off course.’

  Harisena was smiling. ‘That can be easily done. We will wait till the fog sits nice and heavy on the river before we start. We will have men and ropes create a pathway to ford the river, and then the rafts will follow.
We will move the weapons and supplies first and then move most of the men and finally the animals,’ he said. ‘I think I can make it work.’

  I looked up and saw the gleam in my friend’s eyes and knew it would surely turn out as we planned. ‘Well then,’ I said smiling, ‘what are you waiting for?’

  6

  Song of the Sword

  PUSHPAK SNORTED, SHAKING HIS head in impatience. My favourite stallion, dappled grey and silk-skinned, was no stranger to battle. I smoothed his long mane and murmured to him. It was a cloudless night and so bitterly cold that my fingers holding the reins were already turning blue. Every now and then, a bone-numbing wind swept over us from the river, causing the sal leaves to rustle and whisper in the dark like phantom forms, half-seen, half-imagined shadows of long-forgotten fears.

  There were nearly 1800 men scattered all over the riverbank but cocooned by the fog, I felt utterly alone. The moon was up and the fog lay white and thick over the river. So thick that when I looked down, I couldn’t see the ground below. The night air was full of muffled sounds – the hooting of an owl, the burbling eddies of the river, the sudden neighing of a horse and the voices of men raised barely above a whisper.

  The leaves dripped dew and my woolen wrap was already sodden. The cold pierced my armour harder than any enemy sword had ever done and chilled my heart. I pitied Harisena and the men holding the ropes down in the ice-cold water to steer the rafts to the other side. This was no night to be standing waist-deep in the river.

  Harisena’s plan was simple. His men had felled some sal and arjun trees to hammer out makeshift rafts that were sturdy enough to carry both men and animals. A handful of our men had swum across by daylight, first to check how strong the current was, and then to string some thick ropes across the water which would come in handy when we forded the river. By nightfall, the ropes were in place and the carpenters were sewing an intricate pattern of twine and wood to create a temporary bridge. Each successive group, no bigger than twenty men, added to this flimsy pathway by laying branches and leaves along the way and making the crossover a tad less treacherous for those who came after them.