My long bow was strapped back in place once again and I rode in, swinging my Asi and Khadaga. I saw Harisena spur his horse on my left and realized he was attempting to use his men to hack out a path to Ganapati Naga, now ignominiously dislodged from his elephant. I nodded and followed closely behind as we made our way through a mass of tumbling men and horses with Harisena’s men forming a close ring of five around us as we rode through the melee. They used their axes and spears to clear the way, making sure we stayed away from the rampaging elephants. I took a quick look back to see our vyuha formation closing in – their orders were to take on the main body of the Naga cavalry and to make sure they did not come to their king’s rescue.
When we came closer to where Ganapati Naga was standing, on what seemed like a public dais, I was greeted by a most unusual sight. The Naga King of Mathura stood back while a group of his guards took on Harisena’s men. But fighting alongside them was a woman. Tall and lithe, she moved like the wind, her exquisite ruby and emerald encrusted ornaments glinting in the weak sunshine. She wore a single piece of clothing, a blood red silk sari draped like a dhoti at the bottom and wrapped tightly around her torso over one shoulder and under the other arm. Her hair was piled high in a top-knot on one side of her head and she wore jewelled hairpieces to keep the bun in place.
Like me, she carried a long bow, strapped to her back, and wielded a short sword and a spear with deadly accuracy. So fluid were her movements that it looked like some kind of intricate dance. But it was a deadly dance of death. Vaulting in the air, she dismembered one of our horsemen, landed lightly in front of my horse and rammed the spear butt into Pushpak’s face. Pushpak reared in pain and I slid off the saddle to face my smiling assassin. ‘Welcome to Mathura, Majesty,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you very far from home?’
I looked at Ganapati Naga, who was still standing back on the dais, turbanless and surrounded by a handful of his personal bodyguards. ‘What kind of king hides behind a woman?’ I shouted out to him. ‘You were plotting against me. Now here I am. Come and face me like a man. Your city will soon fall. Don’t let your honour follow suit.’
Ganapati stepped forward and gibbered. ‘I … I … wouldn’t dream of plotting against the empire. You were misinformed, Majesty. I assure you. I am and always will be your most loyal ally and kinsman. Believe me—’
He stopped mid-sentence as his eyes fell on Bhasma standing behind me, and I saw the colour drain from Ganapati’s face. There was such fear and rage in those porcine eyes and pallid jowls that if he weren’t an enemy monarch, I would have speared him then and there. But one can’t kill a prince of the blood without provocation. That endangers the lives of all royal-born and is considered adharma.
‘Come and fight, Ganapati Naga,’ I shouted. ‘If you defeat me in a fair fight, I promise not to molest your city. If not, I will burn your golden Mathura to the ground.’
Before he could answer, the woman warrior stepped forward. ‘I will fight as a stand-in,’ she said. ‘If you want to fight, fight me.’
‘We don’t fight women,’ replied Harisena.
‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘Are you afraid of being bested by a woman?’
‘We are afraid of no one,’ I said. ‘But you don’t look like a Naga to me so we have no quarrel with you. We don’t fight on a whim.’
‘You are right. I am neither Naga nor a local. But I am a guest of Mathura. And as long as I am here, it is my duty to protect my friends from enemy attack.’
‘If you’re so eager to lose your head, you can fight me instead,’ Harisena stepped up.
‘I am a princess of the blood too,’ replied the woman. ‘I will fight His Majesty or no one.’
‘No no, Angai, you don’t need to do this,’ slobbered Ganapati Naga. ‘If you’re killed, I won’t know what to say to your brother Vishnugopa. The Pallava regent is not a man to forget or forgive easily. ’
‘You will tell him the truth – that I died trying to save your honour which is my duty as your guest,’ she replied calmly. ‘Now, Majesty, shall we have a fair and final fight? If you’re as good as they say you are, you have nothing to fear.’
I threw my head back and laughed. ‘Well then,’ I said, as I swung my Asi at her. ‘Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you. Oh, and don’t squeal if you get scratched.’
7
Angai
I LUNGED WITH AN almost half-hearted thrust, expecting a parry from my opponent. Instead, Angai walked away, dropped her sword and spear, and picked up what simply looked like a sturdy, well-oiled stick and a metal whip. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This silly woman was going to take on the best swordsman in Jamvudeep with a whip and a staff? Both weapons looked different from what I had seen in Aryavarta before. The staff was reinforced with metal rings and had metal heads attached to its two ends. The whip was wider than the usual leather straps I’d seen and had a grip like a sword hilt, in effect making it look not unlike a narrow but fluid sword. She swung them around in a series of meditated movements and then took position, standing with one leg bent at the knee, the other straight out at an angle. Her body curved towards the bent knee, the whip hand raised above her head while she held the staff in front, almost as if she was offering it to me.
I stepped back in amazement. ‘And what do you think you’re doing, madam?’ I asked. ‘I thought you wanted to fight.’
‘I do want to fight,’ she replied, calmly.
‘This looks more like a war dance to me,’ I said. ‘I am not interested in a public display.’
Angai’s plump lips stretched in a mirthless smile. ‘This is Silambam, an ancient martial arts form. Where I come from, this is how we fight.’
‘And I suppose you expect me to drop my weapons and use a staff to face you off?’ I asked.
‘No, Majesty,’ she replied. ‘Please use whatever weapon you are comfortable with.’
I looked at Harisena whose raised eyebrows told me just what was going through his head. I caught his eye and grinned. ‘Try not to kill her, Majesty,’ he said. ‘We don’t want a diplomatic incident on our hands.’
My Kshatriya code of honour forbade me from fighting an unarmed person but since the rapier-like whip blade looked sharp enough, I decided to keep my Asi and end this farce as quickly as possible. I took my stance and swung the Asi through the air, attacking her with a series of my trademark vicious thrusts – one, two, three, four, five. My biggest advantage was speed – normally my thrusts are so blinding quick that the enemy gets no time to react. In most cases, the Asi draws blood in the first new moments of a fight. Yet, I noticed, this time around my sword blade never came anywhere close to Angai’s body. She remained rooted to her spot, simply swaying out of the Asi’s reach in what looked like some kind of rhythmic dancing. Each one of my thrusts were expertly blocked by the staff, even as Angai swirled the metal whip overhead in a lazy, circular movement. Surprised, I pulled back but before I could thrust again, she attacked, the metal whip cutting through the air and lashing my sword so hard that sparks flew.
I frowned. She’s clearly well trained and acrobatic, I thought. And I am not used to the unusual attack arc of a stick or a metal whip. I need to focus. This won’t be as easy as I thought.
‘Second thoughts?’ she teased, her dark gaze piercing into mine.
‘I am a warrior, not a dancer,’ I replied, taking position once again with my Asi ready to thrust another series of blinding blows.
This time she attacked first – the metal whip swished through the air coming straight at my face, forcing me to block it with my sword. A second later the staff was lightly tapping me all over my body – my wrists, elbows, knees and even my toes. Each tap produced a spark of shooting pain forcing me to draw back out of reach of the staff. I realized Angai’s staff was as quick as my sword arm, and she knew where to hit; at nerve points which produced the most amount of pain. I needed to neutralize that stick if I were to take on the metal whip.
As she pulled back, I unleashed a series of blows
, attacking her weapon arm. She expertly blocked each one but the brute force of the strikes made her retreat to recoup. But this time, I didn’t give her the chance to use her metal whip to block my aim. As she pirouetted on the spot, I swung a mighty blow at her with such savage force, hitting the staff at an angle that caused her grip to open and the bamboo stick to fall to the ground. I saw Angai purse her lips as she stepped back and swayed away from the hissing kiss of my sword blade. And then she swung her metal whip.
I saw it cutting through the air, and I suddenly knew how I could destroy her rhythm. At the last minute I crouched on the ground and raised my Asi to wrap the metal whip around its blade. The move made Angai smile; she thought she had me. She swirled around to let the whip wrap tighter and then she pulled. Except, she hadn’t considered the strength of my sword arm. The more she pulled, the harder I held on, till bit by bit I could see her feet sliding through the muddy ground.
We remained locked in this position for what seemed like an eternity, and then suddenly she let go. The whiplash would have decapitated me, except I was expecting it. I twirled my Asi and flung the whip to a far corner of the field. But this move gave Angai enough time to grab her staff again. She took a new position, standing with her legs outstretched, slightly bent at the knees, body bent forward at the hip, and arms out with one hand holding the staff over her back.
‘I cannot fight a stick with a sword,’ I told her. ‘That would be an unfair fight.’
Breathing heavily, Angai locked eyes with me and said, ‘This is no ordinary stick. We call it the kampu. It can take on a sword and win.’
‘Most swords, yes,’ I said. ‘Mine?’
She gave a slight grudging nod as sweat dripped from her forehead. ‘Maybe not.’
‘In that case, we call an end to this fight,’ I said.
That last comment startled Ganapati Naga out of his stupor. ‘Yes, yes, please, no more fighting I beg you.’ He jumped, flinging himself at my feet and placing his unsheathed sword on the ground before me. ‘I am surrendering my arms and my person to your Garuda protection, Majesty. Please forgive me for any transgressions or misunderstandings that may have cropped up. I promise on my ancestors you will have no more cause for complaint again. We will remain your loyal allies and kinsmen. Always.’
We stayed on in Mathura longer than I had intended. Ananta Varman joined us soon, parading King Achyuta down the main thoroughfare like a prisoner of war. Unlike Ganapati, Achyuta had too much pride and too little cunning to pretend this was anything but a public humiliation. He sat flint-eyed on a magnificent mare loaned from Ananta Varman, his lean jaw carved into a face so devoid of expression that it looked like a mask. He remained tightlipped throughout this over-the-top show of fealty to the empire, and took his leave almost immediately afterwards.
The victories in Ahichhatra and Mathura had taken the wind out of the Naga sails and the rest of the confederacy meekly submitted to the Garuda protection. They offered to increase the annual protection payment and swore never to do anything to disturb the diplomatic peace in Aryavarta. Their allies – Rudradeva, Matila, Nagadatta, Chandravarman and Balavarman – who had offered outside support to the confederacy, soon followed suit.
Once that was done, we prepared to sail back home but two problems cropped up. First, our intelligence network brought word of more trouble in Kota and I had to dispatch Ananta Varman to sort things out in that tiny western principality. This Kota problem was easily solved when Ananta Varman brought the vanquished monarch of that kingdom back with him for what turned into another round of public groveling for mercy and protection. But it did delay our departure by more than four weeks.
Then there was the second problem; that of Angai and how best to dispense with her. This proved trickier because she was both an ambassador and a woman and, unlike her gibbering host, seemed to have a spine of steel in her supple body. Worse still, she did not particularly relish leaving our fight inconclusive, and I realized that hiding behind her silk sari and glittering gems was a sword blade, sharp and unrelenting.
I met her in the palace gardens just three days after the fall of Mathura. She sought a private audience and was ushered in, be-silked and bejeweled as usual, her fierce face cast in inscrutable politeness. ‘I seek a favour, Majesty,’ she said, without preamble. ‘Our fight the other day was inconclusive. I crave another chance to prove my mettle.’
‘But you fought well, madam,’ I replied. ‘I cannot imagine too many warriors in Aryavarta lasting as long as you did against my sword arm.’
‘But I am not from Aryavarta,’ she replied.
‘Where are you from then?’ asked Harisena.
‘From the deep south, where the wild waves wash the feet of this blessed land. Where the sky meets the sea in an expanse so blue, it fills your soul. Where the earth is red and the hills are black and the coconut trees grow straight and tall, their feet on the ground but heads high up in the heavens.’
‘Kanchi,’ I said simply.
Taken aback, she frowned. ‘How do you know?’
I didn’t answer. Instead I eyed her carefully. The king of Kanchi, as far as I knew, was a child with no siblings. ‘And you must be…?’.
‘Regent Vishnugopa’s sister,’ she replied. ‘Half-sister, actually.’
I nodded. ‘You’re far away from home, madam.’
‘As are you, Majesty,’ she said.
‘The Nagas are my vassals.’
‘They are our friends,’ she replied.
‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘They must be very special friends for your brother to send you so far from home. A delicate diplomatic mission, perhaps?’
She remained quiet, the mask of inscrutability slipping back on her face.
‘Then it is time you returned home and told your brother that this particular mission can now be safely aborted,’ I went on.
‘Is that an order?’ she asked.
‘It’s a request,’ I replied.
‘In that case, I would prefer to stay and enjoy the beauty of this city and the hospitality of my gracious host for a few more days,’ she replied. ‘With your kind permission, of course, Majesty.’
‘We cannot leave her behind. What if the Nagas were trying to cobble an alliance in the south as well? It’s just too dangerous, Majesty,’ said Harisena. He was in the middle of sending an armload of diplomatic dispatches when I walked into his work and his thoughts.
‘I agree,’ I said. ‘We will need to coerce her into leaving. And then watch her like a hawk.’
Harisena remained silent, the feathery quill deftly held between thumb and index finger. In his hand the quill looked like a sword and worked just like one too. ‘I don’t like her,’ he said, finally. ‘Can’t get a grip on her. She slips through your fingers somehow.’
I laughed. ‘We’re not here to tame southern princesses. But I think I know how to get her off our backs.’
When it came to instinct, I trusted Harisena as much as I trusted myself. And in this case, I agreed with him completely. The Nagas extending their influence beyond Aryavarta was not good news for the empire. This diplomatic distension meant that the Nagas were looking to find new friends to back them up if things were to go wrong. And I had no desire to allow Angai to conclude her mission, whatever it was she had come for.
The trouble was that nothing we tried seemed to work with her. Both Harisena and I had already tried gentle persuasion, veiled and not-so-veiled hints, and the occasional open threat. But Angai remained inflexible. She was Mathura’s guest and unless Ganapati Naga asked her to go, she had every intention of staying for as long as she wanted. It was a stalemate.
‘You’ve to fight this, Majesty,’ said Harisena.
‘Yes, I have been thinking about that,’ I replied abstractedly. ‘But Aryavarta first.’
‘I am sorry?’ said Harisena, his left brow arching into a question mark.
I realized he had completely missed my train of thought and chuckled. ‘Oh yes, and her too,’ I said.
‘The charm offensive?’
‘The joust offensive.’
‘I don’t follow, Majesty,’ said Harisena.
‘I will ask her to teach me her art … you know … Silambam,’ I said. ‘That should help break the ice. Once she starts thinking of us as friends and not invaders, she’ll be more amenable to reason. You’ll see.’
Harisena looked doubtful but gave in. ‘If you say so, Majesty,’ he replied.
I caught her on her early morning ride, racing her to the edge of the river in a brisk gallop that tasted refreshingly like freedom after the tightly coiled tension of the campaign. It was a dappled morning, the light mist giving everything around it a pearly glow. As we made our way back, riding in a slow and easy trot, I asked her about her war dance.
‘It’s not merely about fighting,’ replied Angai. ‘It’s a way of life, a philosophy that permeates everything we do.’
‘It’s intriguing,’ I conceded. ‘But I am not sure how far it will get you in the hurly-burly of the battlefield. Fighting is not an art but a necessity. Killing is not pretty. It’s a messy, nasty business.’
She tilted her head just a little, as if she wasn’t sure how far she could allow herself to agree. Then she said, ‘You think that way because you fight to overpower others. I fight to overpower myself.’
‘How so?’ I asked, genuinely intrigued.
‘To learn Silambam, you have to condition your body and that starts with conditioning the mind. It’s about channeling your prana or life blood through every nerve in your body, then using the weapons as an extension of that channel. So how you live determines how you fight.’
I shook my head. This made no sense to me, schooled as I was in the conventional art of wielding weapons to kill. To me, swordplay was neither dance nor meditation. So to hear of an art that teaches you to fight like a monk sounded intriguing indeed.
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