The Ocean's Own

by Nandini Sengupta

  ‘Bhima,’ he said, simply by way of introduction.

  Bhasma, tutored from before, did all the talking. ‘We received your message,’ he said.

  The young man gave a curt nod and looked cautiously at both of us. It was an arresting face, square jawed and high cheekboned, but hidden behind a profusion of tattoos, it looked grotesque even in the half-light. Bhima’s slightly bulging eyes moved from Bhasma to me and back to Bhasma in a quick, nervous dance, the only telltale sign of suppressed excitement and agitation. His fleshy lips parted in a slight grimace, showing startling white teeth against the deep brown of his skin. The rest of him – all rippling muscled and long boned – looked like he was carved out of stone. He wore nothing other than a tiger-skin wrap and some bone jewellery on his ears, arms and ankles. His short curly hair was now plastered to his head, sending rivulets of water down his bare body.

  ‘I can help you get inside,’ he said.

  ‘How so?’ asked Bhasma.

  ‘There’s a secret entrance, an escape route,’ said Bhima. ‘It’s known only to members of the royal family. It will take you right inside the palace. After that, it’s up to you.’

  ‘And what do you want in return?’ asked Bhasma.

  ‘My brother’s throne.’

  ‘Any conditions?’

  ‘Don’t kill him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s still my brother,’ said Bhima.

  ‘How do we know this is not a trap?’ asked Bhasma.

  The young man shrugged. ‘You don’t.’

  Bhasma looked at me and I half-shook my head.

  ‘We will storm the place anyway,’ said Bhasma, ‘with or without your help. So if you want us to help you, you have to give us some guarantees.’

  The young man frowned. ‘What kind of guarantees?’

  ‘We will keep you hostage till the raid is over,’ said Bhasma. ‘After that, we will take you to the city and declare you the king.’

  ‘Sounds like a trap to me,’ said Bhima.

  ‘Why should it be?’ said Bhasma. ‘We are not fighting with you so your life is of no importance to us. Even if we kill you, we still need to fight your brother.’

  Bhima thought for a while and then nodded. ‘Very well. My men will show you the way. There’s a derelict temple in the heart of the jungle on the south side. The tunnel starts there and comes out behind the palace stables.’

  ‘Your men can be trusted, I hope?’ asked Bhasma.

  ‘As long as there’s enough gold.’

  Bhasma smiled. ‘It’s a deal,’ he said.

  After that midnight rendezvous, we met Bhima and his cousins several times over the next ten days as Harisena and I turned the plan over and over again between ourselves. My initial reaction was to handle the tunnel charge myself but Harisena refused to allow it. ‘We don’t know what kind of trap we are walking into,’ he said. ‘Your life is precious. You are not going anywhere near that tunnel,’ he said firmly.

  In the meantime, Harisena and a couple of his men had already reconnoitered the tunnel disguised as atavic soldiers. Thankfully, the king’s guards who handled the security of the tunnel were severely compromised. Bhima had used the gold we gave him well, and Harisena had no problem going up to the stables and even slipping into the kitchen and servant quarters, the best places to blend in and turn invisible should there be any trouble.

  ‘The palace itself is not particularly well-protected,’ said Harisena. ‘But it’s laid out like a maze. It’s a labyrinth of a place, a series of corridors and tunnels that run all over the heart of the fort-city, and unless we know exactly which tunnel to take, it would be impossible to negotiate our way in or out of there.’

  ‘It will be dangerous,’ I said. ‘Even with Bhima hostage, we will be relying way too much on his men.’

  Harisena grinned. ‘I want you to lead the diversion on the south side, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Atop your elephant, silver howdah and all.’

  I smiled, getting the drift. ‘I will swoop in to breach the south wall, Bhasma will attack from the east, similarly decked out, and the Kosala guards will be too occupied with the twin attack to pay much attention to what’s going on inside their palace.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Harisena. ‘I will go in and hopefully secure King Mahendra as quickly as possible. That’s the only way to neutralize the tunnels, the wild animals and the poisoned darts. We show them we have their king, and force them to capitulate.’

  It wasn’t a foolproof plan but it was the best we could come up with. ‘It should work,’ I said, sounding far more confident than I felt.

  ‘It has to,’ said Harisena. ‘Otherwise we die.’

  We began our attack well before dawn, just as the east sky began to pale. We took a longish detour so that we could burst out from the south side in a surprise pre-dawn attack. We had started moving our men and beasts in small consignments over the last few days, doing so in the early hours of the morning and mid-afternoon when the whole world seemed to retreat into a heat-hazed siesta. Harisena grumbled that we always seemed to march in the most unearthly hours, even though the entire troop movement was meticulously planned and executed by him.

  It was a beautiful morning, the sky a luminous blue unspoiled by all the fire and gore that was soon to follow. The river rippled pearly grey in the early dawn half-light and all around us nature woke up with a cacophonous chorus, from chattering drongos and chirpy bulbuls to the ubiquitous mynah, and twittering sparrows. Punctuating this symphony were clear intermittent cuckoo calls – some from the bird and some from our men as they assumed position. It was easy to make out the human calls since our signal was two short hoots followed by one long one.

  We timed ourselves so that we would emerge at the south gate just before daylight broke. Harisena and his team of twenty brave hearts were already on their way into the heart of the palace led by Bhima’s men. The first to break upon the guards on the south side were the archers. They were waiting in the dark and with first light, burst out of the forest cover to shoot fire arrows at the rampart guards. Taken aback, these guards scrambled for cover before coming back to take us on. But that little break was enough time for our catapults to swing into action. They rained fireballs and boulders into the still sleeping city, exploding the peaceful quiet of early dawn to smithereens. Boom, boom, boom. The fireballs hit their targets randomly and efficiently, and suddenly the city burst into a flaming uproar. The rampart guards, not expecting this attack, ran helter-skelter, now taking aim at our advancing elephant corps, and now checking on the pandemonium inside.

  Taking advantage of the confusion, I signalled the elephant corps to charge. It began with an ear-splitting symphony as the conch shells rang out, the Dundhubhi and Bheri war drums beat a frenzied rhythm, horses whinnied, elephants trumpeted and men shouted themselves hoarse. Covered in metal-studded leather armour, the beasts swung their heavy iron balls and charged into the southern wall. The battering rams followed close behind, smashing into dents made by the elephant charge. The ground shook. Mounds of earth flew. The rampart started developing an array of cracks. Screams, trumpets, shrill commands and battle drums filled the air. And in between I heard our battle cry, ‘Jai Garuda!’

  For a mud wall, the rampart held strong much longer than we had expected. Still, by the time the guards gathered their wits and started pouring boiling oil to stave off the charge, a section of the wall had already started to crumble. The elephants were by then in battle frenzy, trumpeting loudly and impaling anything that came their way. But an oil burn is particularly painful and an injured elephant running rampant can decimate any infantry or cavalry. So we pulled back for a while, allowing the rampart guards to sweat off their adrenalin rush. I signalled the archers and the catapult engineers to give us fire cover, and volley after volley of arrow showers and bolts rained out. For a while the exchange of fire was equal as our arrows matched theirs. And then the tides turned.

  A section of the rampart guards were still pouri
ng hot oil into the narrow tunnel between the two walls in an effort to keep us from trying to breach the second wall. Suddenly this oil caught fire and before we knew it, the tunnel had burst into flames, causing their guards to hurriedly jump off the rampart. The fire crackled and blazed, and was carried towards the city by the gentle morning breeze. That’s when, in the middle of that blazing inferno, I realized that the fight was over. We did not even need to storm the palace. We did not need to breach the wall. All we needed to do was wait for the wind to fan the flames. Fear and confusion would do the rest for us.

  In between this carnage, I suddenly heard the clear calls of a cuckoo bird, the pre-arranged signal from Bhasma who was following up with the same manoeuvre on the eastern wall, leading his elephant corps to crash into the mud walls under catapult fire. I signaled my catapult engineers to continue to pummel the city with fire balls – the faster the flames spread, the better. Bhasma too had received similar instructions. He was to attack the wall and then rain a shower of fire balls to distract the guards. It was all going according to plan. The only question mark right now was the ambush and kidnapping of King Mahendra. If Harisena managed that cleanly, we would be able to wrap up the fighting before mid-day.

  Amidst the tumult, a steady lineup of informants brought me news from the eastern wall. It seemed the sudden attack on two fronts took the Kosala guards completely by surprise. While they were expecting an attack and were tracking our troop and baggage movement day by day, they had no idea how fleet-footed our battle charge could be. The day prior they had seen us across the river where my reserves still kept up appearances, completely confusing the Kosala scouts following our trail. Meanwhile half my men had moved upstream, crossed the river, cut through a detour and landed on their southern and eastern doorsteps backed by elephants and horsemen.

  Despite the surprise element, Bhasma did not find it easy to breach those walls. The doors had spikes and after the initial confusion, the guards took position on the ramparts releasing volley after volley of poisoned arrows. The arrows did not bother the elephants too much – they were well protected by their leather and metal armour – but it did take a toll on our foot soldiers. Several battering rams had to be discarded as men fell to poisoned arrows and once the hot oil and boulder shower began, our elephants had to pull back too.

  Fortunately for Bhasma, there was too much happening for the Kosala guards to focus attention on only one front. The city was on fire, its residents running helter-skelter and there was complete bedlam everywhere. Bhasma and I made sure no one could get out of the blazing fortress – any one who tried was greeted with our arrow shower. The stalemate continued for nearly two hours, my anxiety rising with every passing moment. Our catapults were running out of ammunition and our archers were running out of arrows. If Harisena did not manage to secure the king before the fires died out, we’d be in trouble. Worse, if Harisena was captured by the enemy, he would be used to dictate terms in the negotiation. It would be a mess.

  I tried to retain my outward calm but my insides were quivering with trepidation. I cursed myself for allowing my best friend to go into that tunnel. Now I didn’t even know whether Harisena was dead or alive. I didn’t know whether our biggest bargain had turned into our costliest mistake. I gripped my sword hilt and prayed. I prayed for Harisena. I prayed for Datta and our unborn future. I prayed for myself.

  That’s when I heard Harisena’s Panchajanya ring out loud and clear from the thick forests behind us. It was the signal we were waiting for. The signal that told us Harisena had captured King Mahendra.

  The battle was over.

  11

  Kosala and Maha Kantar

  ‘HE RAN INTO OUR arms, Majesty,’ said Harisena. ‘The coward was running away from his people and walked straight into our ambush.’

  The battle was over but the stories went on and on.

  ‘No, no this won’t do,’ I said. ‘You must tell me from the beginning.’

  Harisena smiled, tweaking the ends of his moustache as he reached out for a mango from the fruit platter in front of him. Small and rosy, they looked different from the ones back home but were deliciously juicy. You didn’t need to cut these open to take the stone out. You could nip off a side and simply suck on them.

  ‘Well, despite everything, I couldn’t bring myself to trust Bhima’s men completely,’ he said. ‘So instead of kidnapping King Mahendra from his palace, I decided to wait for him in the tunnel itself.’

  ‘What made you change your mind? I mean, how could you know for sure that he would bolt and that too right into the tunnel?’ asked Bhasma.

  ‘The archers are my men,’ said Harisena. ‘They kept me informed about how the southern and eastern charge fared. If things did not go our way, I would have gone in and tried to kidnap the king as earlier planned. But the fire made all the difference. This was his only escape.’

  ‘Yes, the gods were with us on that day,’ I said. ‘When the fire broke out, I wanted to send you a signal but didn’t know how.’

  Harisena turned to me, his eyes smiling. ‘You needn’t have worried. I had to know what was going on so I could tweak my plans accordingly. When the fire broke out, we held back. I told my men to position themselves all along the tunnel but not stop anyone trying to escape from the palace. I tracked the fire and waited for the king to blink. Bhima’s men had told us that the fort inside is like a maze. With a fire raging, it would turn into a death trap. There was no way Mahendra would risk it. He would run. All we needed to do was wait for him to come to us.’

  ‘Now that we have him under our thumb, what do we do with him?’ asked Bhasma.

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied.

  Harisena looked up, surprised. ‘Aren’t we going to install Bhima in his place?’

  I shook my head. ‘Absolutely not. Bhima is a traitor. I cannot have that adharma on my head.’

  ‘But you promised,’ said Bhasma.

  ‘No, you promised,’ I replied. ‘I did nothing. Bhima gave us access and we paid for it with gold. I owe him nothing more.’

  ‘But this could endanger his life,’ said Harisena.

  ‘I have spoken to King Mahendra,’ I replied, ‘and made the terms of the treaty very clear to him. He has agreed to three things. First, he will announce fealty to my Garuda Dhwaja and accept my suzerainty in open court. He will pay us a yearly tax in return for our protection. Second, he will allow us to use Kosala as a base to launch an attack on Maha Kantar and further south. Third, he will not hurt Bhima in any way. If he does, he will have me to contend with.’

  ‘And in return?’ asked Bhasma.

  ‘He will continue as the King of Kosala. I have no desire to annex his kingdom.’

  ‘But we won the battle,’ said Bhasma. ‘So why not annex?’

  ‘Because it is too far for us to hold.’

  ‘So why fight then?’

  ‘So that, in future, King Mahendra will know his place. He will know that he owes his throne to me and I can take it away any time I want. It will keep things in perspective. And stop him from undertaking any kind of misadventure by himself or in collusion with others.’

  ‘So all this for a deterrent,’ said Bhasma, in a small voice.

  ‘All this for the future,’ I replied.

  Bhasma lowered his head. ‘I know you feel bad about Bhima,’ I said. ‘But remember, no legitimate ruler will ever back a usurper. It’s against the divine order of kingship. I can use any means I like – fair or foul – to win a war. That doesn’t mean I trust those who betray their own.’

  ‘Nor should you,’ said Harisena, as much to Bhasma as to me.

  We spent the next couple of weeks in Shripur settling the new order in and allowing our men to rest and recuperate. King Mahendra proved to be a willing ally, helping replenish our arrow and catapult bolts, and offering scouts to take us to Maha Kantar through a shorter jungle route. Asurgarh was just a couple of days ride from Shripur and I wanted to set out as quickly as possible. We were less than
four weeks away from the rainy month of Ashar and I wanted to wrap up the Maha Kantar campaign well before the rains turned the terrain sludgy and impassable.

  King Mahendra’s generosity apart, the Kosala campaign turned out to be a bigger boon for us than I had ever imagined. The Shripur fort had a formidable reputation as impregnable and news of our victory in that battle spread quickly through the length and breadth of Dakshinapath.

  ‘The bards are already singing about it, sire,’ said Harisena. ‘They say it takes a god to take down a bolt hole like Shripur.’

  I laughed. ‘I hope our friend Byagra is listening too.’

  ‘Asurgarh is protected by a deep lake, a river and a moat infested with crocodiles. I don’t know how we’re going to land up at his doorstep in a surprise raid like we did here,’ said Bhasma.

  ‘It will have to be a siege, I suppose,’ said Harisena. ‘Except we don’t have time on our side.’

  ‘Our best bet is to intimidate him into submission,’ I said. ‘King Mahendra has already written to him telling him in no uncertain terms that Kosala has done atma nivedan to Magadh and any plans Byagra has to take us on will have to exclude Kosala.’

  ‘That means he’s left without an ally,’ said Bhasma. ‘And is facing a formidable army led by a god. He should blink.’

  ‘I am counting on that,’ I replied. ‘But if he doesn’t, this won’t be an easy one to win.’

  Asurgarh took my breath away. It sat like a pearl surrounded by water, glimmering under angry grey rain clouds that cast a blue tinge on the green ridges to the west. The Sandul River, impetuous and already swollen with rainwater, flowed past its western rampart. On the east, as far as the eye could see, stretched a lake, a sheet of rippling water that seemed to merge with the far horizon. The fort itself was a roughly square-build structure, stone based and brick laid. It was surrounded by a moat on its north and south where, our Kosala guides informed us, Byagra kept his pet crocodiles. The fort had four gates, each with its own guardian diety – Ganga on the east, Dokri on the south, Kalapat on the west and Vaishnavi on the north.