Though his earlier plans were scuttled, Vikrama had planned his advance well. He still had eight regiments of cavalry and fourteen battalions of foot soldiers. He could visualize the Turks trudging along slowly, delayed by the captives as well as the weight of the treasure.
The Pandyans had followed the Turks at a steady pace, gaining about an inch at every step. Vikrama had calculated the exact place they would espy them: forty miles before reaching the Cauvery.
After two days of marching, their quarry was close and the Pandyans knew their last hope to salvage some pride was a spirited combat. The advance patrol reported that the Turks had continued to march through the night, albeit casually, unaware of their tormentors behind. Vikrama had whispered a silent prayer to the heavens and then raised his hand, signalling for the attack to begin. They had carried out this expedition so secretly that the unwary Turks did not discover them until the first arrow had pierced the neck of an unfortunate rider.
The ensuing confusion delighted Vikrama. He had caught the Turkish general unawares for once; Malik Kafur was not invincible after all. The eunuch could be overwhelmed by a blend of audacity and strategy.
Pandyan soldiers attacked the Turks from the flanks in the middle segment. The confusion that ensued divided the army, cutting the rear segments into disarray. The main forces of the Pandyans then moved in for the slaughter. Soldiers in the rear became hapless casualties of butchery and thousands were cut down, while others were mowed down by the hooves of the Pandyan horses.
The Turks could offer no resistance. Their planned escape was delayed by the menace of the pursuers and the darkness of the night. The groans of the injured accelerated their distress and fear. The Turks, not daring to venture into open war, continued their retreat. Those who escaped into the surrounding villages were slaughtered by the villagers mercilessly.
Without any breathing space, the most formidable military power in this part of the world now ran helter-skelter. Their retreat enthused the Pandyans. ‘The invader and the world will know that Pandyan wrath cannot be contained,’ Vikrama roared. But regret remained: if only they had taken on the Turks in Madurai, they could have probably gained the day. The Turk’s superhuman endurance was illusory. Their general had just been incredibly lucky – he had found the city defenceless and abandoned by a retreating king. It was a pity that the weaknesses of two men had altered the history of their nation. The two had allowed the treasures amassed by their forefathers to fall into the hands of their enemy. Now it was up to Vikrama to check the Turks creeping over the map of their land.
Even Veera realized that he had committed a massive error of judgement. He should have offered resistance. Kingship had blunted his military senses, and he had become a glorified ruler instead of the warrior he once was. The brave Veera from Lanka had disappeared long ago and had not emerged even when faced with the extermination of his nation. He was but an administrative clerk with a crown of pearls rattling on his head.
Vikrama desperately wanted to recover the looted wealth. By now, quite a few captives had been freed and many horses too. But what they wanted most was the gold, and the idols of their deities.
*
The Pandyans ploughed ahead boldly till they were almost at the heels of the enemy. The Turks were repeatedly overtaken and attacked. Vikrama saw both enemies and friends fall, but he had to remain detached, realizing that they were just pawns in a larger game.
Parakrama and his men threw themselves upon the Turks from the right flank, breaking their columns repeatedly. Vikrama vigorously attacked the battalions from the front after encircling them. Both Sundar and Veera were entrusted with leading the actual fighting, which was a massacre. Fallen soldiers were past rescue and many Turks perished in Pandyan lands, far from their homes and families, alone and unaided. Their mounted divisions had turned around and supported the foot soldiers, but were overpowered by the ferocity of the Pandyan cavalry and their fuelled fervour.
For three days, the armies moved swiftly. Aided by the unrivalled speed that retreat alone could give, the quarry ran from the attackers. Seeking revenge for the fate that had befallen their land, the hunters gave chase. The Turks, persecuted constantly by their relentless tormentors, were on the run. They had never expected such a large army to attack them from their rear without warning. Their retreat galvanized the Pandyan forces, which chased them with even more alacrity once the retreat began.
Vikrama knew the marshes between the Cauvery and Kollidam rivers would slow down the Turks. They wouldn’t be able to run any more, and that would be the right place to finish them off. He imagined a sequence where he would confront Malik Kafur. It would sooth his ego to confront one of the greatest military minds in his lifetime and prove to be superior to him. Vikrama wished he could stand face-to-face with the general, and then with one quick blow, powered with all his strength, hurl death at him.
Suddenly, up ahead, on a mound, he saw a man on a white steed who had paused in the middle of the retreat to observe what was happening behind him. It had to be their leader, Malik Kafur. Finally.
CHAPTER 35
THE CHASE IS OVER
Malik wheeled his horse around to view the progress of the regiments behind him. He immediately saw a man directing the operations on the Pandyan side. People looked to him reverently, most possibly for instructions, but the man himself appeared to be staring at Malik, his eyes boring into Malik’s very soul.
Malik thought the man looked like an aged version of Sundar. He fought without headgear and his bald pate gleamed in the sun. For a moment, time stood still. They recognized each other instinctively, and each knew what they would do were they to ever meet.
For a moment, he was frightened. He could almost read the man’s mind: he wanted to destroy him. He watched the man digging his heels into the belly of his horse, urging it to move forward. Malik was immobilized for an instant, then he realized he would have to make a dash for it. His life was in danger. Malik could feel his body shivering in response to the man’s fury.
*
For three days and nights the Turks had fled with the enemy in hot pursuit. No terrain seemed to restrain their tormentors. They realized that the Pandyans would have been more than a match for them in battle, if only they had chosen to defend their homeland. The perplexing question was, why had they run away then?
Even Malik did not have an answer initially. He thought about the belated surge of energy from his enemy, and the man who had chased him down, and the reason for the Pandyans’ newfound mettle came to him: they had a new leader. The astounding results were capable from a defeated army only if it was directed by a more efficient general – and Malik knew it was the old man.
This unknown leader struck Malik with the chill of a deadly fever. Where had he been all along? In Delhi, a slave could become the leader of an army, but here, a military genius had been kept away from a war that had denuded his country. It was amazing that this unknown man could inspire his soldiers to fight till death.
Day or night made no difference to the Pandyans, except that in the mornings they could see their enemy’s face. The chase went on relentlessly; horses crumpled to the ground because of exhaustion, and segments of Malik’s army which lagged behind were mowed down mercilessly.
The Pandyans’ simple tactic was to drive a wedge in the cavalcade, leaving behind a segment of the army trapped behind enemy lines. It was easier for them to concentrate on a small group and annihilate it. The rest of the Turkish army took advantage of the reprieve and sped away from the dying yells of their soldiers. At a few places, the Turks replied with pitched battles, but more often than not, the Pandyans wanted to avoid a straight fight.
*
On the third day of the chase, the Turks reached the Cauvery. Its muddy waters carved a sword-shaped bend in the landscape. Thousands of soldiers swarmed over the clay banks and leapt into the river without giving a thought to the depth. The current was swift, and many a man lost his life or the treasure he had collected before reach
ing the safety of the other bank.
The Pandyans seemed to pause before the Cauvery. As if on cue, the onslaught stopped. The silence lasted a long time. Only three days had passed, but they seemed like ages to Malik. Could the Pandyans have left? They were grateful for the pause the river had provided, for if the onslaught had continued, the Pandyans would have reached the head of the army very soon. The soldiers around him saw Malik smiling for the first time in days. They thought the smile was brought on by the fact that he was on safe ground now.
But Malik was smiling for different reasons. Just as he had expected, the chase had fizzled out. It was not because the Pandyans had blamed their losses on fate and karma, shrugged and let things be. The different groups in the Pandyan group, who had set aside their differences to chase the invader out, were now concentrating on establishing their power in Madurai. One by one, the groups would head back towards their shattered capital to seek a place in her future. Madurai sat like a molested maiden, but her defenders no longer cared. They wanted to take her still. The Pandyans’ sense of revenge had been overpowered by the urge of self-preservation. After the heat of the chase, their kings had reverted to their old internecine strife.
For three days and nights, soldiers around him could hear Malik’s teeth gnashing. But now that he had smiled, everybody was relieved. They trusted his intuition. Most faces around him were a mask of mud and clotted blood, but still they smiled. The entire army had been induced to retreat at the end of a victory when they had more land to loot; they had thought that their leader had lost his mind. But they would never laugh at him any more. His forced retreat had saved most of the army and more importantly, the wealth.
*
Vikrama had decided it would be dangerous to chase the leader of the Turks alone. He held his reins tightly, and caught a fleeting glimpse of Malik’s back even as the general left behind most of his troops at the mercy of the Pandyan sword.
The Turks had strained every muscle to escape and the Pandyans panted at their very heels. The Cauvery was just half a day away now, then in quick succession would come the Kollidam river. The armies could be cut down when they crossed two rivers in a matter of hours. Vikrama had decided that Veera’s army would move to the north and cut across the river with a small force and wait for the Turks on the other bank. Seeing the Pandyans on both their banks, they were sure to panic. Vikrama smiled. His strategy was working.
The Pandyan army had been divided into four divisions, each headed by Vikrama, Veera, Parakrama and Sundar. So far, the strategy had worked brilliantly. Suddenly, Vikrama found that one-fourth of the army had disappeared. Sundar had wheeled back to return to Madurai, probably wanting to lay claim to the ruins of their city. And now, Veera’s division began to follow them, predictably concerned for its future.
‘Will they not return, sire?’ Parakrama asked him, fear evident in his voice when he observed the army had halved in a matter of hours. Vikrama shook his head, knowing the war was over; with the numbers they had it was not worth chasing the Turks. And if the Turks turned around to offer a fight, nobody could predict what would happen. Malik Kafur’s god of fortune seemed to be working over time.
The Pandyans, despite the gains they had made over the past three days, were back to where they had begun: a chance to redeem whatever little they could was thrown away due to the whims of the two brothers who hated each other and coveted the city as if it were their playground. The chase had been successful, and yet they had thrown away their advantage. Vikrama remembered the folk tale about a lion chasing two men. When one asked the other how they could outrun the lion, the second man replied, ‘Why do I have to bother about the lion when all I have to do is outrun you?’
The brothers, both claiming the title of king of Madurai, had swept away all the respect Pandyans had for their rulers, and their shroud of divinity was rudely torn away. Their people would never forget how one brother had betrayed his people, and the other had run away without putting up a fight, leaving his people to the mercy of the invader’s sword. The imperial treasury had been emptied, and the people were in no mood to be taxed any further. It would be tough to govern Madurai. Despite this, the two wanted the throne of pearls.
By the time they reached the Cauvery, one of the captured Turkish soldiers had confessed that their general had foreseen the attack and had organized the dispatch of the plundered gold to Delhi. When Vikrama heard this, he decided there was no point in pursuing the Turks any more. He raised his hand, calling a halt to the pursuit. The Pandyan campaign was over. Now was the time to return to Madurai, the city they had all deserted when she needed them most.
CHAPTER 36
THE CORRIDORS OF POWER
After a fifteen-day march, Malik’s forces finally reached the relative safety of Dwarsamudra, tired, exhausted and confounded by the Pandyans’ attacks. Only when he felt secure did Malik decide to halt. He knew they needed time to take account of what they had lost.
The Hoysalas dared not test the Turks again, believing their wounds to be from a bold battle. They would only hear of the ignominious retreat much later, but by then Malik would be far away in the north.
The elephants had been sent ahead with the treasure. When Malik’s eyes met those of a pachyderm he was hastily overtaking, he tried hard to keep the strange experience in the Meenakshi temple out of his mind. But he saw a twinkle in its eyes, as if it knew all his secrets. Why are the beasts never used in battle? he wondered. I would not have survived a day against these monsters.
Though his vassals assumed that elephants were the cream of any army, Malik never had much use for them. They were useless to him in a swift battle and expensive to feed during wartime. One of his generals had said, ‘We need these elephants to scare the enemy, sire.’ Malik was quick to retort, ‘We overran four kings from the south without any.’ The general had replied in quiet admiration, ‘But we had you, sire.’ His reply made Malik think seriously that he now had a reputation to live up to.
Malik observed with satisfaction that all his newfound wealth was safe. A survey of his captured elephants informed him that they were 512 in number and extended a length of three parasangs – up to nine thousand paces. To keep them company were three thousand excellent horses, Arabian and Syrian. The booty also included five hundred mans, nearly 175 tonnes, of jewels of every description: diamonds, pearls, emeralds and rubies.
After a fatiguing eighty days, the Sultanate army finally reached Delhi. The elephants were made to walk day and night, and both the retinues arrived in Delhi around the same time. They marched along the Yamuna on the last stretch, the sky-blue river giving them company till Delhi. The elephants trumpeted in joy when they saw the Yamuna and one young calf broke free from the procession and rushed into the river. Shocked by the icy waters, it ran back squealing, to the mirth of the entire army.
Camped on the other bank of the river, Malik gazed at the silhouette of Delhi in the distance, a city he would walk into the next morning as the victor. The bulwarks of the city concealed the view to a great extent, yet the flickering lights from the mosques gave the capital an eerie glow.
Malik was confident that a grand ceremony would be held to welcome him. His frequent messages to the Sultan indicated that he was returning with great wealth. The people could now look forward to reduced taxes because of Malik, with an overall economic boom expected with the biggest influx of wealth into Delhi in history. A spree of weddings would follow too.
Malik could visualize the pageantry of the reception he would get in Delhi. Not that he cared much for the gathering of people; how many of them would turn up for his funeral? But Malik did not prefer the inconvenience of being dead to quiz the point. All his feats till now had been well-received, but now was the time to be cautious, for he knew fate led people up a peak just to push them down.
Malik had risen to power the hard way – by dint of work, willpower and astute political sense. Who would have thought that a young Hindu eunuch was destined to control Del
hi? But that was the easy part. To consolidate his success would take most of his time from now on.
The war had killed a good many of his compatriots, but he had no commiseration for feeble men. And now that the campaign was over, the soldiers would be idle and he could not ask any of them to go back home to plough their millet fields – perhaps, he thought, more of them should have been killed.
It was still dark when roosters began to crow. But most citizens had already risen. The ground was covered with sheet of dew, soon to be stamped into a muddy layer. The rich would watch the procession from their balconies while the general populace braved the cold to get a privileged place behind the barricades.
A stone bridge across the Yamuna gave access to Delhi and the triumphant army marched into their hometown over it. The army’s morale, though trimmed in half by their ignominious retreat, remained high. Once they got closer to home, they began joking about who ran faster during the retreat. The boisterous soldiers were happy to be rich. But not many of them would volunteer for another trip down south.
The victory procession swept through the streets, Malik leading it on a pure white stallion. Platoons carried scarlet banners emblazoned with their crests. The looted treasure was borne by soldiers while slaves and captives marched with downcast faces. The generals who had remained in Delhi hid themselves in their palaces as their slaves and women went out on the balconies to watch the new hero of the empire.
If Malik thought he would be the sole centre of attraction, he was mistaken. The privilege was reserved for the elephants. The colossal animals were led by mahouts from Dwarsamudra. Most people gave the elephants an unblinking look but only after taking a respectful step back in due respect for their monstrous obesity. The earth trembled when the elephants walked past them. The road was soon in shambles with small hills of fibrous dung now lying in the sun, their ammoniac smell nauseating the viewers. When the elephants trumpeted one after another, the crowd held its breath. A covey of pigeons rose into the air and as if controlled by the invisible strands of a non-existent puppeteer, they swirled together and flew away.
Gods, Kings & Slaves: The Siege of Madurai Page 43