by Jamila Gavin
With him they had encountered princes and kings, made pacts, built cities and seen strange things too – like fire bursting out of the ground from wells which contained not water, but a substance unknown to them – oil. They had fought bloody and extraordinary fights; had campaigned through a winter of blizzards and thunderstorms, with hail and thunderbolts, when soldiers had frozen to death, their bodies welded into tree trunks against which they had leaned in exhaustion.
But there were still powerful kingdoms which did everything they could to repel Alexander’s advance. Although most of Sogdiana was under his command, there was a last stronghold being defended by several hundred natives. It was on a huge rock plateau known as the Rock of Sogdiana, which everyone considered to be impregnable.
The snow was still thick on the ground. The pass they needed to go through was held by a powerful Sogdian baron called Oxyartes, whose warriors were encamped on the top of the rock which was three miles high and fifteen miles round. Many nobles and their familes had gone there for safety, including the wife and daughters of Oxyartes.
The whole rock was thickly guarded at the base and at the top, and it did indeed look impossible. Alexander tried to bargain with Oxyartes; a safe passage in exchange for accepting surrender. But Oxyartes just laughed and mocked saying, “Go and find troops with wings!”
Never one to resist a challenge, Alexander said to his men, “We may not be able to fly, but we can climb.” He offered any man who could reach the top twelve talents – a fabulous sum of money to a common soldier. Three hundred men stepped forward.
They then undertook an astonishing feat of mountaineering. Secretly, they found the sheerest part of the rock, which was unguarded and, with ropes and iron tent pegs, in the middle of a winter’s night, they hauled themselves up the rock. 30 men perished, slipping to their deaths, but, as dawn was breaking, 270 men reached the top and stood on a pinnacle above the enemy camp. They fluttered linen flags to signal their success to Alexander.
Alexander yelled up to his enemy. “See! I found men who could fly!”
When the Sogdians looked up and saw the men, they thought that Alexander had miraculously flown his entire army to the top, so they fled or surrendered.
Oxyartes was captured, as were his daughters, including one called Roxane.
But it wasn’t over yet. There was another rock to be taken. Alexander moved on and came to a deep ravine. Again he was taunted by the enemy. There was no way across. But his men felled trees day and night for his engineers to build a bridge – a sight these Sogdians had never seen before. Once again, Alexander defied the “barbarians” and nature, and marched relentlessly across to the other side.
The Sogdians fought bitterly; arrows and catapults soared over the ravine, but landed harmlessly on Greek and Macedonian shields. On and on they battled, and would have fought to the death, but Oxyartes persuaded them to give up and enter into a pact with Alexander instead.
High up in the mountain fortress of Oxyartes, Alexander enjoyed a victor’s feast. It must have been a wondrous affair, for Oxyartes had stored a vast amount of provisions in his stronghold, enough, he boasted, to feed Alexander and his men for two years.
At the feast, the Sogdian captives were paraded before him, among them, Roxane – “Little Star”. Everyone who saw her declared her to be the most beautiful woman in Asia.
Although Alexander had the friendship and influence of many powerful women in his life from his own mother, Olympias, to Darius’ mother, Sisygambis, and though he had met hundreds of beautiful and eligible women, none had ever fired his passion before. But at the banquet, when his eyes settled on Roxane, it was as if he had been struck by cupid’s arrow. Overwhelmed with emotion, for the first time in his life, he fell in love with a woman. He ordered a marriage immediately.
The wedding feast was lavish in the Iranian style, but the marriage was Macedonian.
Alexander ordered bread to be brought in, according to Macedonian custom. The bread was cut with a sword, and each spouse ate off it, symbolizing not just the union of a man to a woman, or a king to a captive girl, but the union of Europe and Asia.
The music and dancing was wild and extraordinary; warriors leaped and stamped to an accompaniment of twirling women singing and clapping.
However, the Greeks and Macedonians would not have been pleased at this union. They already hated Alexander’s love of all things foreign. Now it seemed the heir to the Greek Empire, when he was born, would be half barbarian.
Much had changed since Alexander had left Macedonia full of ambition, with Achilles in his mind and Homer in his pocket. He had gloriously marched into the greatest civilizations in the known world, Ephesus, Babylon, Memphis, Persepolis, defeating the greatest empire in the world – the Persian. He had founded cities – at least seven of them – all called Alexandria. Greeks and Macedonians were brought in to live in them, bringing with them Greek culture and religion. He founded a new generation of soldiers, drawn from mixed marriages. He had moved far beyond Aristotle’s belief that anyone who wasn’t a Greek was a barbarian, to be regarded as merely a species of flora or fauna. He not only admired many other cultures and races, he knew that without the involvement of the people he had conquered, the empire could not be sustained.
Alexander thought deeply about his relationships with the gods, but his murder of Cleitus must have seemed proof enough that he was just a man after all. Was he still driven by his reputed ancestry with Zeus Ammon and Melkart and with Heracles who, it was said, had gone to India, as had Dionysus? Perhaps, to wipe out the stain of his human weakness for wine; perhaps to prove his lineage to the gods; or perhaps out of sheer curiosity, Alexander wanted to go on.
Alexander knew that in 516 BC Darius I had taken the Indian city, Gandara, and made it part of the Persian Empire, and that was enough for him. If India had been part of the Persian Empire, then it must be part of his empire, even though Indian rulers had long since taken the area back and created kingdoms for themselves along the upper Indus River. He also remembered that Aristotle had told him the end of the world was somewhere beyond the river Indus in India. Perhaps, thought Alexander, he could reach the very ends of the earth.
THE CITIZENS OF NYSA
Between the rivers of the Cophen and the Indus, inside the very edges of India, he came to the city of Nysa, and would have crushed it, but its leaders came out to meet him.
Alexander’s reputation had gone before him; his deeds of destruction, terror and heroism put fear into the hearts of those who heard he was coming. They knew a fight with Alexander meant annihilation. So the citizens of Nysa sent a deputation of their leaders to request an audience.
The leaders arrived at Alexander’s camp still amidst a melee of confusion following battles with local tribesmen. They were taken to Alexander’s tent and ushered in.
Expecting to see him like some golden Persian king, seated in luxury, surrounded by slaves, they found him instead sitting in a modest tent alone, motionless, exhausted from battle. His limbs were unwashed and dust-stained, his helmet still on his head and his spear in hand. Speechless, they prostrated themselves before him. For a long time, no word was spoken.
The strange silence went on and on. Who could tell what Alexander was thinking? Had they come across him in a moment of indecision, weariness, homesickness, filled with horror at the enormity of his destruction even? Did he wonder what he was doing there? Why he was fighting? Did he wish to turn back? But back to where? To his own small country of Macedonia? Back to Athens, where he knew he was as much despised as admired? Or was he such a wandering warrior, that his tent had become his home – wherever it was pitched?
Was he thinking of his new wife, Roxane, now pregnant with their child? Was he worrying about Hephaistion who, at that moment, had gone ahead and taken another route to India, to make contact with the Rajah of Taxila? In such terrain, surrounded by enemies, no one could guarantee a safe return.
Did the good citizens of Nysa strengthen his r
esolve to take on India? At any rate, they chose exactly the right argument to get Alexander on their side, for when at last he bade them rise to their feet, this is what they told him.
“The city of Nysa was founded by Dionysus after he had conquered India and was on his way home to Greece. He built it as a memorial to his long journey and his victories, and left there those men who were also his priests but who were no longer fit for service. He did what you too have done, sire. You founded Alexandria in the Caucasus and Alexandria in Egypt, and many others too, and you will surely found even more, thus exceeding the achievements of Dionysus himself. Sire, we request, that out of reverence for Dionysus, you leave us free and independent. Dionysus named this city Nysa, after his nurse, and the mountain nearby, Merus – meaning Thigh – as Dionysus was born from the thigh of Zeus. Ever since that time, Nysa has been free, and we have made our own laws and lived as good men. If you want proof that Dionysus was here and founded us, go forth and look about you. This is the only place in India where ivy grows.”
Alexander and his men did indeed find woods full of ivy – and animals too – and they went hunting, and held a feast at which they sang songs of Dionysus, and made sacrifices, and the Macedonian officers made themselves crowns of ivy and danced themselves into a frenzy. And so Alexander left the citizens of Nysa in peace.
Dionysus had gone to India and, the storytellers said, so had Heracles. Alexander could have had no doubt that he was destined to follow.
But though he must have remembered the adventures and feats of his fellow gods, his military mind – his enquiring mind – was still immensely practical, and he found out everything he could about the India he was about to enter, and what politics dominated the land before him.
He took his armies into the lower reaches of the Himalayas, concluding truces where he could, but subduing others who refused to co-operate.
Tales of his savagery and almost miraculous exploits spread. They told of how he built bridges, crossed canyons, gorges and rushing rivers; that he could even fly. He used incredible weapons like catapults and slings and siege techniques. His reputation was as fearsome as Rostam’s.
India was next.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
INDIA
They stand on a peak of the Hindu Kush, the lower ranges of the Himalayas looking across to India, and are awestruck.
After the wide dusty plains of Central Asia, it seems they gaze upon the land of the gods – with snow-covered, forested mountains higher than Olympus. With breathtaking beauty, the sun rises and sets among the glistening peaks, and they wonder, entranced, about the magical kingdoms of the air; of the heavens of Vishnu and Shiva; of sky cities inhabited by sky demons, and of Surya, the sun god, who gallops across the sky each day in his golden chariot, pulled by five horses. And down below in the bowels of the earth, they hear of the dragons and serpents, and the red-eyed, flesh-eating demons. Alexander must have loved the stories of Krishna who, like Achilles, would die from an arrow piercing the only part of his body which could cause his death – the ankle.
Listen to the thunder. Remember the thunder gods Thor, Ra and Adad. In India it is Indra, Lord of Heaven, the mighty Bringer of Rain, the Battler with Drought Demons, the Slaughterer of Enemies, the God of War. That mighty crash is his iron axe, smiting rocks, sending out brilliant flashes of light and sparks.
Indra had a son called Arjuna, a mighty hero who was one of the Pandava brothers fighting their cousins, the Kauravas. Krishna, a god on earth, tried to be an intermediary. With jangling bells and crashing cymbals, the dancers whirl out with faces painted black, red, green and white. Their wide embroidered skirts swirl as they stamp and dance, while the narrator calls out stories from the Mahabharata.
THE HATRED THAT LED TO WAR
Surya, the sun god, fell in love with the Princess Kunti. He covered her with his golden light and held her in his arms. In time, she bore his child. The shame was terrible. How could she say how it happened? So secretly, in the dead of night, Princess Kunti crept down to the riverbank carrying a cradle in which lay her newborn son – a son of Surya. Sorrowfully, she put the basket into the river and watched it float away. How fervently she prayed to the gods to protect him.
A charioteer, bathing in the river, saw the basket. He hooked it in, and finding a baby boy, was full of joy. He and his wife had prayed for children. They agreed this must be a gift from the gods, and named him Karna.
Later, Princess Kunti married the great King Pandu and was mother to his five sons. These sons became known as the Pandavas. King Pandu had only taken the throne because his elder brother, King Dhritarashtra, was blind. But there was bitterness in the kingdom, for King Dhritarashtra had 100 sons known as the Kauravas and, although the Pandavas and the Kauravas were brought up as brothers, being educated together and learning all the skills of princes, the rivalry between them was great. Whatever they learned, whether it was archery, sword fighting, horse riding or hunting, it was always the five Pandava brothers who outshone their cousins, and the Kauravas became very jealous.
One day, a magnificent tournament was held. Everyone in the land was invited, and the finest warriors came to take part. Once again, the Pandava brothers showed off their skill and bravery. It seemed no one could match them. Then a stranger appeared in golden armour. He marched up to Arjuna, the finest of the Pandava brothers and challenged him.
“Any skill you have, I have. I can do better. Look!”
The stranger took up his bow, aimed at an eagle in and let fly the arrow. The eagle plunged to earth. “See? And I aimed at his left eye!”
The Kauravas cheered. At last someone had come who could challenge the Pandavas.
“What is your name?” they asked.
“Karna,” replied the stranger.
“What are you doing here?” asked the Pandava, Arjuna, suspiciously. “Who invited you?”
“Isn’t this contest open to all?” retorted the stranger.
“What is your line of birth?” asked Arjuna? I fight no one who is below me in birth. Who is your father? Who is your mother?” Karna silently lowered his head. “What? You do not know your mother’s name?” sneered Arjuna. “I won’t fight you.”
“Not so fast!” cried the eldest Kaurava brother, Duryodhana, who hated and feared Arjuna. “I hereby give Karna part of my kingdom; the land of Anga. I declare him King of Anga.”
Karna was full of gratitude. “How can I repay you?”
“Always be on my side,” replied Duryodhana. Then he called out triumphantly to Arjuna, “Karna is now a king! Come! Fight with your equal. Let the contest begin! A fight to the death!”
At this point, the queen, who had been watching, turned pale. She recognized the golden mien of this youth. He was her son, son of Surya, and here he was about to fight to the death with his own brother and there was nothing she could do.
Suddenly, a ragged old man appeared. He ran towards Karna. “O my son! I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”
The old man was grasped by the guards, and a Kaurava brother demanded, “Who are you?”
“I am just a humble charioteer, and Karna is my son,” said the old man.
“Karna is your son?” they exclaimed in amazement. “Is it true?”
How the Pandavas jeered with derision. “Why, cousins, you have made a low caste driver’s son, King of Anga!” Then the Pandavas and Kauravas flew at each other, striking blows and hurling insults.
“Whatever his birth, he is noble. How many of us know our true origins?” cried Duryodhana. “Karna is our friend and ally.” He embraced Karna, and called him brother. “Tell me what you desire and you shall have it.”
“All I wish is to fight Arjuna in a fair and equal combat,” answered Karna.
Suddenly the sky both darkened and brightened. Thunder clouds rolled. Shafts of light pierced through like golden arrows blinding those below. It was Indra the Lord of Heaven, siding with Arjuna, and Surya the Sun God defending Karna. But before they could fight,
the sun galloped from the skies, and it became too dark to fight.
“Son of a charioteer! Go find a bullock cart to drive,” jeered Arjuna.
Karna shouted back, furiously. “You may reject me now, Arjuna, but I promise you, we will meet again. We will fight, and I will kill you.”
The day came, when Yudhishtritha, the eldest of the Pandava brothers, became King of Kings. He married the beautiful and noble princess, Draupadi. Because the five Pandava brothers were so united, Draupadi was a wife to them all. But the Kauravas were embittered. They were sure that one of them should have inherited the throne.
However, their uncle, Sakuni, a cunning gambler who was also known as a cheat, had a plan to get back the kingdom. “Yudhishtritha may be a wise man, but he has one weakness. He loves to gamble. I will challenge him to a game – but watch! No one has more skill with the dice than I. I’ll make him play for the highest stakes.”
The Pandavas and the Kauravas gathered for the game.
Yudhishtritha played for the Pandavas. First he staked all his jewels to Sakuni, and lost them, followed by his treasures, slaves, horses and cows, and even his brothers – and lost them all. Finally, to cries of horror, he staked Draupadi, his wife, and lost her!
Draupadi was dragged before them trembling. She tried to escape, but a Kaurava grabbed her back by her hair. She was enraged.
“Don’t touch me with your filthy hands. Do you not know that a woman’s hair is sacred?”
But still they taunted.
“Accept your fate, Draupadi,” jeered Karna. “You have no husband. You are a slave. You are nothing.”
“We’ve won!” declared the Kauravas. “Let’s strip them naked so that the world can see the Pandavas for what they really are,”