The Ocean's Own

by Nandini Sengupta

  ‘I took lessons in a southern martial art from her. We never met in private.’

  Datta gripped my arms and shook me. ‘Look into my eyes and tell me that’s all there is to it. Look at me, Kacha.’

  I looked into her eyes and then lowered my gaze. I could not hide it from her anymore than from myself.

  ‘I thought so,’ she said quietly, and turned her face away. ‘You can marry her, you know. You don’t need to go on this wild goose chase all over Dakshinapath for her. Even the council will hail it as a diplomatic triumph.’

  I held her by her shoulders and pulled her close. ‘This is not about her. Datta, don’t you see? I have to do this for the future. Our future. I shall leave behind a legacy so well knit, it will take another hundred years and a thousand adversities for the seams to come loose. It’s what father expected of me!’

  She buried her face in my chest. For the longest time she stayed limp in my arms. I could feel her nails digging in and her angry breath burn my skin. It felt like a lifetime before the fury dissolved into tears. They came slowly at first, quietly, imperceptibly. Then suddenly there were great heaving sobs that shook her frail body and broke my heart. Her tears bathed my uttaria scarf and washed away the anger. And she became what she always was – my frightened little tailorbird, looking for a nest in the storm. I held her in my arms and whispered into her unruly curls, ‘I am sorry. I have not been the husband you expected me to be. But if you truly love me, can you not let me go? Just this once?’

  I got no answer from her. But perhaps, I didn’t need to.

  We began preparations for the campaign almost immediately. Summer was fast approaching and I intended to complete the expedition before the rains came in. It is impossible to travel or fight in the pouring rain when the ground below turns into boggy slush and the swollen rivers become even harder to cross. Besides, both Maha Kosala – or Dakshina Kosala as it was often called – and Maha Kantar were known for their impenetrable forest cover. We had to complete our battle preparations in under three weeks and set out well before Baishak (mid-April to mid-May) set in. It would be hot, though not as unbearable as the scorching Jaistha (mid May to mid-June). Still, with all the forest treks before us, it was better to brave the heat than take on the rainy season.

  Unlike our Naga campaign, I had no intention of keeping our attack covert this time round. We were going to march out in full view of the entire city – a tactic suggested by Ananta Varman when he heard of our plans. News, particularly battle news, travels fast. And nothing intimidates better than the sight of the imperial forces marching out in full regalia.

  Funnily enough, Bhasma wanted to join me once again in this campaign. I was initially skeptical about his request till Brahma Deva explained his reasoning. ‘The Nagas are hopping mad. They feel Bhasma has betrayed their cause by becoming a part of your campaign. He is running scared, Majesty. He fears assassination attempts if he were to stay back in the capital. Marching out with you will protect him from his own kinsmen.’

  I had another strategy this time that was very different from the Naga campaign. We took with us a much larger contingent – as many as 8000 men, including 4000 horsemen and a substantial baggage train. The plan was to travel by road, so we took replacement horses, pack animals and a section of my elephant corps as well. Harisena was in charge of the archers and infantry while Bhasma and I were in charge of the cavalry and the elephant brigade. Our big problem, of course, was the terrain. Kosala was deep in forest country and though not as impregnable as Byagra’s Asurgarh, it was still not easy to access. Harisena had used threats and bribes to turn a handful of atavic traders to our side. These men now helped our scouting parties and guides. Like before, we weren’t carrying battering rams. Instead, we carried the dismantled catapults to help storm enemy fortifications.

  Due to the great distances involved, we charted the route carefully before starting out. The road from Kosala (modern-day Raipur, Bilaspur and Sambalpur districts) to the deep South goes through Mahakantar (Kalahandi, Koraput and Bastar region) and is an east coast offshoot of the southward route that traders dubbed Dakshinapath centuries ago. Because of the forest terrain, I would have preferred to fight only with cavalry but Harisena insisted we take a large enough group of archers along with us as well. The good news was that Bhasma was in much better spirits this time around. First, the atavics were not his kinsmen so there was no conflict of interest in his mind. Second, a forest march meant plenty of game for the pot so he would not be forced to chew husked rice and jaggery with the other men.

  The first week breezed through in a blur of hard riding, hunting and simply battling the unforgiving terrain. Druvabhuti had actually encouraged the atavic traders to leave the capital once we had marched out so that they would carry exaggerated eye-witness accounts back home to their masters. Harisena added to this by recruiting a large company of itinerant bards whose job was to go from city to city, spreading the word of a mighty military campaign. ‘The more people hear, the more they will fear,’ he told me. ‘Your job will be half complete by the time you reach Kosala.’

  I knew my biggest challenge so far was the terrain. This was densely forested land and the narrow mud tracks that snaked through the impenetrable vegetation could only accommodate a single file. Which made us vulnerable to attack from both wild animals and atavic tribesmen. Not to mention the swarms of bloodsuckers at every step – snakes, leeches and scorpions on the ground and a myriad insects buzzing in the ear and crawling up our arms and legs.

  I was used to jungle travel and hunts, but I had never seen forest as thick as these. All around us, tall trees grew in jumbled profusion, their canopies high above blocking out the sun even at midday. Below, the world was dark and a dappled green. Only shard-thin slivers of light made their way through the thickness of leaves above and glinted off a beehive here or an ant hill there; a snake slithered in the undergrowth and fat centipedes crawled up twisted creepers. The relentless battering of woodpeckers and every once in a while the brilliant flash of colour in a pair of butterfly wings were the only distractions. No matter how quiet it got, this primeval wilderness always buzzed with life. Both the undergrowth and the overgrowth teemed with creatures big and small. Here a troop of monkeys swinging gaily from branch to branch and there the scrunch of an antelope scurrying for cover in the dense elephant grass. Foxes followed our footsteps on the sly while rabbits and field rats scampered into their burrows. Mongoose chased green vine snakes and suddenly we stopped in our tracks to allow a deadly king cobra to slither away. Bhasma slid off his horse and offered a simple prayer and some milk to his family deity, seeking protection against snakebites. I found many of my men joining in too – fighting the Nagas on the battlefield was one thing, but taking on their serpent avatars in the middle of nowhere was quite another. None of us wanted to die of a snakebite so it was better to appease this king of snakes.

  Apart from snakes, this rocky landscape was also full of scorpions, whose venom could be just as lethal. We carried big pouches of salt to sprinkle on our way and the scouts in front and behind us tapped the earth with their sticks to forewarn any creatures hiding in the grass that human feet were soiling their virgin land. After nightfall, this vast universe came alive with sounds – crickets buzzing, owls hooting and every now and then the baying of jackals. We set up camp around crackling fires and took turns to stay awake. This was both wild boar and tiger country, and I had no desire to face an unexpected attack in the middle of the night. We also steered clear of elephant herds – among the most fearsome beasts in the wild – though we heard frequent trumpeting in the distance. I had hoped to hunt big game during the march but apart from boar and stag – both of which helped liven up our meal times – we didn’t have much luck. Both Harisena and Bhasma were enthusiastic hunters but I was reluctant to spend too much time in sport. Game for the pot was one thing but taking time out for serious hunts would delay our mission. This was a military campaign after all and we needed to move as quic
kly as possible before the weather turned hot and forest fires turned this route into a death trap.

  Already it was uncomfortably hot by day. The earth seemed to emit waves of heat that simmered in the stillness of the afternoons. By midday it became unbearable. The thick dust-dry air made every pore in the body sweat and it became difficult to breathe. So we would start out early and rest during the hottest hours of the day. We would begin marching again by late afternoon and continue till sundown before setting up camp. Our scouting parties cleared the tracks as we marched through, widening the path and cleaning the undergrowth on both sides as much as possible. I did not wish to lose either men or animals to snake or scorpion bites, and we had to be careful about leeches in the water. Thankfully crocodiles weren’t common in this region so we had only to look out for terrestrial animals when we approached a water hole.

  Typically, I used the afternoon hours to catch up on intelligence dispatches and chalk out battle plans with Harisena, while Bhasma and his men headed out for the daily hunt. He’d return late afternoon laden with pheasants, peacocks, rabbits and occasionally wild boar raising a cheer among the kitchen staff. The forest also teemed with fruits and berries, and the foot soldiers had already started sampling some of the local fare including a fiery chutney made from red ants, scrambled ant eggs and Mahua liquor. The baggage party also scoured the forest for tangy green mangoes, sickly sweet jackfruit, local figs and the juicy Kendu fruit, all of which we learnt to cherish during that long, sweat-dripping march.

  Apart from the occasional bear and leopard attack, our party remained safe for the most part. But we did lose a few men to a strange shivering fever caused by mosquito bites. Progress was slow with 12000 soldiers and another 4000 baggage and scouting men so by the time we reached Kosala, we’d been on the road for more than two weeks. King Mahendra’s capital city, Shripur (modern-day Sirpur, 40 miles north-east of Raipur), was an imposing mud brick fort on the banks of the Mahanadi River. Our first glimpse of it, coloured by the magic light of impending dusk, left us speechless. Its red walls, the deep green forest cover surrounding it and the rippling grey of the river made it look like a fresco, too perfect to be real.

  It shimmered in the distance beckoning us to test our fortune. And earn our reward.

  Or retribution.

  10

  War in the Wild

  WE SPENT THE NEXT couple of days meticulously tracking the terrain. The Kosala fort faced the banks of the Mahanadi River and was surrounded by thick forest cover on three sides. An entirely mud-baked structure, the fortified city’s first defence was a circular wall taller than an elephant. Beyond that was a second, slightly higher wall and so the cityscape after this dual-layered protection remained permanently hidden to the outsider at the gates.

  Like fortresses in Aryavarta, this atavic fort too had sentry towers all along its outer rampart. It also had guards stationed on the second rampart to catch enemy targets stuck in the narrow gap between the first and the second boundary walls. This gap, we were told, was so narrow that no more than two people could enter those tunnels side by side, thus making them a death trap under an arrow shower. Our atavic guides also informed us that inside the fort walls, the city itself was a maze of tunnels – one of the reasons why this fort was considered virtually impregnable.

  The good news was that the Mahanadi, a mighty and fearsome river during the rains, now looked tame; its flow intermittently interrupted by dried up patches of the riverbed. With our horses and elephants, it would not be difficult to cross the river, I figured. Though wide and free-flowing where the fortified city stood, the riverbed had already started to dry up a little over two kos (just over 6 kilometres) upstream so we decided to cross the river at that point.

  The fort itself looked solid enough, its wooden gates on all four sides had been fitted with spikes to keep away an elephant charge. The walls looked as wide as our palaces but, Harisena pointed out, they were made of mud, not brick and stone, and so could be rammed in if sufficient force were to be used. Our scouts brought us information that the southern face of the fort, facing the thickest part of the jungle, would probably be the easiest to storm as the walls were not uniformly thick and some parts were in urgent need of repairs.

  ‘Mahendra clearly thinks the river and the forest cover is enough protection for his people,’ said Bhasma. ‘His fortress isn’t as stout at the back as it looks from the front.’

  ‘That’s because the atavics don’t expect the plains people to attempt jungle warfare,’ I said. ‘Our spies have been talking to some of the guards and they are quite sanguine about that. They expect an attack from the front or the sides. Not from the back.’

  ‘Then it’s time we surprised them.’ Bhasma grinned.

  ‘But the double boundary wall could be tricky,’ said Harisena.

  ‘How do you propose to get around that problem?’ asked Bhasma.

  Harisena was quiet for a moment or two. Then he said, ‘I have a plan. We storm the outer wall, breach it, and then stock pile firewood into the gap between the two walls.’

  Bhasma brightened up. ‘Then we use fire arrows to set it alight and allow the sentries on the second wall to roast or get off their posts,’ he said.

  I wasn’t convinced. ‘If the gap is alight, how do we enter?’ I asked. ‘And remember, the rest of the city is also a maze of tunnels. The enemy will use snipers to pick us off one by one. It won’t work.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ asked Bhasma.

  ‘We must attack from the south,’ I said. ‘That’s where they least expect a charge.’

  ‘We will need to cut a way through impassable jungle,’ said Bhasma.

  ‘We will attack in the classic Garuda Vyuha formation,’ I said. ‘The beak, comprising some of our best men, and a strong contingent of scouts will clear the way for us. The head will comprise the elephant corps. The wings – our cavalry – will spread out and attack from two ends, the eastern side to create a diversion and the southern face to create a breach.’

  ‘But how do we breach the walls? And do we cross over with our entire force?’ asked Bhasma.

  ‘We use elephants,’ I said. ‘Those beasts can swing heavy iron balls to smash a hole in the wall. We will fell some trees and use them as battering rams as well. And we will do all this under a hail of fire balls from our catapult. We will keep some reserves on this bank of the river so that if need be we can call on fresh forces. It will confuse the Kosala scouts into thinking we’ll cross the river and attack,’ I said.

  ‘So we take most of our elephant and cavalry corps across?’ asked Harisena.

  ‘Of course. We can use the larger islands midstream as our base. Station some of our pack animals there. It is just outside their arrow range so we should be safe.’

  ‘And the tunnels?’ asked Harisena.

  ‘We can’t neutralize the tunnels,’ I said. ‘So we will pay our way in.’

  ‘Bribes?’ asked Bhasma.

  ‘Yes, we have been contacted by Mahendra’s younger brother and first cousin. There is serious discord within his own family. If we bribe them well, they will help us infiltrate the tunnels. That, as far as I can see, is the only way we can overrun the place.’

  Harisena’s brow remained arched in a question mark. ‘A man who betrays his family can also betray us,’ he said.

  ‘I agree. That’s why we need to be careful while dealing with them. Give them too much and they could turn too greedy. Give them too little and they could betray our presence,’ I said.

  ‘It could work depending on what their weapon capabilities are,’ said Bhasma.

  ‘The trouble is they have elephants too,’ said Harisena. ‘And a tiger brigade I am told.’

  ‘I have never heard of war tigers,’ I said. ‘Those beasts are not easy to tame or train.’

  ‘Mahendra’s garrison includes a wide variety of wild animals,’ said Harisena. ‘Leopards. Bears. Wild boars.’

  ‘Wild animals may have novelty and some shock-value
but I am not sure how effective they will be in the crush of a real battle where you need training and discipline,’ I said.

  ‘They will also use poisoned arrows,’ said Harisena.

  ‘That’s my biggest worry,’ I replied. ‘Tell the men they must wear their thickest armour. I know it’s hot and it will be very uncomfortable but we cannot afford to take on their arrow shower.’

  ‘Do we take our archers along?’ asked Bhasma.

  ‘Maybe a small contingent,’ I said. ‘This battle will be fought by the infantry and the elephant corps while the cavalry creates a diversion. Remember, their archers will be positioned all along the ramparts and they will be showering us with poisoned arrows. We need to neutralize that firepower with the ferocity and speed of our charge.’

  ‘Jai Garuda,’ said Harisena. ‘I can hardly wait.’

  It was a moonless night but so clear that we could see the Saptarshi constellation spread out like a spangled canopy over us. Apart from the gentle sounds of the river and the rustle of Sal and Mohua leaves around us, all was still. It was as if nature itself stood quiet and expectant, waiting for possibilities to turn up.

  A gentle slap-slap in the river told us our nightly visitors were not late. Three tall figures walked up the sand and pebble-strewn riverbank to the small copse that had been cleared for our secret meeting. They came up, dripping water and identified themselves with the tiger-bone pendants strung around their necks. Harisena, always suspicious, body searched them for weapons and then asked for the code word.

  ‘Mahanadi,’ said the tallest of the three men.

  Harisena nodded and led them to our makeshift meeting place – a bower of creepers so well hidden in the bosom of the forest that even the single earthen lamp that cast a mild glow around it was completely invisible from the outside.

  Only one man entered the bower – the tallest and most athletic of the three. He looked at Bhasma and me and bowed, not knowing whom to address.