Mitra was dismayed at Indra's announcement. He could not fathom the reasoning behind his decision. The Dvanda was an ancient, barbaric way the northern tribes had used to settle disputes. It was a knife fight to the death. One hand of an adversary would be tied to the hand of his opponent with a rope made of horsehair. The length of rope between them would be exactly three feet. They were then given short daggers of identical shape and size. The rules were simple: the two men would hack and stab at each other till only one of them was left standing.
One of the primary reasons the Dvanda had been banned was because more often than not it descended into a bloody scrap from which neither opponent walked away alive. It was cruel and barbaric, even by the Devas' standards. Vasu called for silence, but in vain. Finally he shouted over the din. 'The Sabha will not allow a Dvanda to take place. It requests Prince Indra to reconsider his challenge.'
Indra bowed to the regent.
'I beg your pardon, my lord, but the laws clearly state that a Dvanda can be used to decide the right to kingship. Provided both the opponents are in agreement. Unless I'm mistaken, this is a duel that will decide who will eventually lead our tribe. So unless Pusan has an objection, the Sabha cannot interfere.'
A helpless Vasu tried a softer approach.
'My boy, I promised your brave father that I would look after you. Allow me to honour my raja's last wishes. You are like a son to me. Please! Desist from this madness.'
'You loved my father, my lord. Surely you understand my need to avenge an insult to his memory. If I'm like your son, do not fear, at the end of this duel, you will still have one son you can be proud of.'
Pusan watched Indra closely; there was something different about him. And these were not the words of a mad man, but of someone with supreme confidence in his own ability. Pusan quickly dispensed the thought from his mind. He was at least half a head taller than his opponent, with a significantly longer reach. This was going to be easy.
'I have no objection, let's get this over with,' he said.
Indra bowed, first to Vasu and the other members and then to Pusan.
'Good, then our business here is concluded. We will meet at the square outside tomorrow, at first light.'
He nodded to the others and they left.
***
Sachi's heart had filled with joy when she heard of Indra's return, but her celebrations were rudely cut short by the news from the Sabha. Madri tried in vain to offer her some kind of solace, but there was nothing really that she could say to console her daughter.
Sachi walked out of the house down towards the Mara River, to her favourite spot, a rock that jutted out over the water's edge. It was a perfect place to be alone, hidden from view by the overhanging branches. It was only when she was there that she allowed her tears to flow. By tomorrow night, only one of the two men she loved more than her own life would be alive.
On one hand there was her brother, whom she had loved from the day she was born. Whatever differences of opinion she had with him, he had been a kind, generous and protective sibling.
She looked down into the clear blue waters of the Mara; it reminded her of the eyes of her beloved. Ever since she had been a little girl, she had grown up with the knowledge that Indra would be her husband. It would be impossible for another man to take his place.
Just then, she heard her father's voice call out to her. She ran to him with a loud cry. 'Father, you were there! How could you let this happen?'
Vasu took his beloved daughter in his arms.
'I am sorry, my child. I tried to talk to Indra but he would not listen. Neither to order nor to plea.'
Sachi untangled herself from his arms and wiped her tears.
'Then I will go to him. He claims to love me more than anything else in this world, let me see how he can deny me this request.'
Vasu held his daughter back; the old warrior had tears in his eyes as he spoke.
'I would gladly let you go if I thought there was even the slightest chance he might accede to your request. I have looked into his eyes; this is not the boy you and I once knew. This is a man who has made his decision, even the gods cannot make him change it.'
Her father's words only confirmed what she already feared. Still, she was not willing to let it go.
'What of your son? Why didn't you stop him?'
'Stop him from what? Having ambition? Wanting something that he truly deserves? I am bound by my vow to Daeyus, he isn't. I know this is as difficult a time for you as it is for me. I will scour the earth and find you a better husband than this mad, headstrong fool. Now go back into the house and pray for your brother's victory.'
Sachi looked at her father. There was a hardness to his voice that she had never heard before. She turned and ran back into the house.
***
Mitra finished his evening prayers and stepped out of his hut. A worried Paras informed him that Indra had not shown up for training or taken any food and drink that day. The man in question sat a little distance away, under a tree. His eyes were focused in the direction of the setting sun. He was lost in his thoughts and did not appear to notice the two of them. The seer asked Paras to leave them and he went and sat next to his pupil.
Indra continued to look ahead, and then he said, 'I had to do it. It was the only way out.'
'I understand your need to challenge and defeat him. But the Dvanda--was that really necessary? I fear you underestimate Pusan. He is a great warrior. Surely you can see the advantage that he will have in this contest.'
'He has the advantage of height and physical strength. But it was you who said that it is not size and strength that makes a great warrior. It is the heart. I do not think he has the heart.'
'If you are wrong, it will cost you your life. Listen to me, my boy. All is not lost. I will speak to the regent. Let this be decided by a duel with training swords as is the norm.'
Indra turned to his master, his eyes blazing with a determination and confidence that Mitra had never seen before.
'This world is not big enough for the two of us. If I lose the duel with him, I cannot be king, and if I cannot be king, I have no desire to live anyway. That is why I chose a fight to the death.'
***
The citizens of Aryavarta gathered in the square well before sunrise. Both warriors were extremely popular, and the crowd was almost equally divided in its support.
The two fighters stood toe to toe in the middle of the square, not taking their eyes off each other. The rest of the Falcons, along with Mitra and Paras, had found themselves seats at the top of the stairs from where they had an uninterrupted view of the proceedings.
As the sun rose, Vasu stood up to address the crowd.
'Citizens, it gives me no pleasure to make this announcement, but I'm left with little choice. Today, two of our greatest warriors will fight against each other in a Dvanda, a fight to the death. Bring the rope.'
A soldier brought the rope of horsehair and handed it to Vasu. The regent approached the fighters. He bound Indra's left hand to Pusan's right, making sure the length of rope between them was not more than three feet. The old warrior's eyes welled up with tears as he wished them luck. He kept his voice steady, stepped back and pointed to a brass gong that hung near the stairs.
'At the sound of the gong, the fight will commence. It will end only when the victor cuts the rope off the dead hand of the vanquished. The gong will sound again to mark the end of the contest. Anyone who tries to intervene during the fight or in any way tries to influence its outcome will be put to death instantly.'
The elite guard, fully armed, placed themselves as a protective human barrier between the fighters and the crowd.
'May Surya lend strength to your arms, and may the greater warrior prevail.'
Vasu sat down and nodded for the gong to be sounded.
The two fighters circled each other warily, clutching a knife each in their free hands. Clad only in their loincloths, they presented quite a contrast in appearance. Pusan
was tall, strong and well-built. His shoulders, chest and arms were massive from years of training. His legs were thick and sturdy, like tree trunks. He looked every inch his part, a Deva warrior in peak fighting condition.
In contrast, Indra was much smaller in build. His body was lean and wiry, with every muscle clearly defined. What he lacked in musculature he made up in speed. He nimbly dodged and blocked Pusan's strikes as he looked for an opening. They both used an overhand grip with the blade pointed downwards.
Suddenly Pusan gave the rope a mighty tug and knocked Indra off balance, towards him. With all his weight behind it, he brought the knife down in an overhead stabbing motion.
Indra saw the blade coming. It was aimed at the point where his neck connected to his shoulder. If it landed, it would bring an early end to the duel. He watched the knife all the way and at the very last moment he stepped back. Indra was fast, but not fast enough; the point of the knife grazed his chest. Pusan's supporters roared their approval as their champion drew first blood. Vasu found himself unable to remain neutral any longer and joined in the applause. His son was going to win.
Vasu had spent a very troubled night, torn between the love for his son and his duty towards his fallen raja. But the father in him had prevailed. Now as he watched the fight unfurl, he was glad for Indra's choice. It could mean that his son would be the next raja of the Devas. No one could deny Pusan the right to sit on the throne after this victory. The old warrior smiled to himself. So what if he had not been able to be king, it was his bloodline that would rule the Devas.
The fight did not appear to be going well for Indra at all. He was bleeding from the numerous cuts all over his body. It was only his speed and agility that had kept him alive till now. As he watched the mismatched contest, Mitra knew it was only a matter of time before one of Pusan's strikes found its mark.
Suddenly, the sky above them began to darken. Mitra looked up and saw dark clouds start to gather. As they swirled overhead, there was a loud clap of thunder. The fight stopped for the briefest of moments.
Indra looked up to the heavens and rain began to fall on his face. Mitra cursed under his breath: as if the fight wasn't one-sided enough already. The odds were now further stacked against Indra. The rain would make the ground very slippery. Oddly enough, the Falcons did not seem perturbed at all by the way the events were unfolding in front of them.
Pusan paused for breath as he studied his opponent. All he had to do now was to wait for Indra to make a mistake. Indra changed his grip on the weapon; he now held the knife in his fingers, pointed upwards. Paras looked at Mitra, his expression saying it all: what in Surya's name was Indra doing?
The rain began to fall steadily now. Indra stood in a puddle of water that had turned bright red with his blood. It was a wonder to most people how he hadn't bled to death yet. The seasoned warriors marvelled at how his wounds hadn't slowed him down at all. Pusan, who was relatively unscathed but for a few minor cuts on his knife hand, now attacked with renewed vigour. Indra backed away cautiously as he avoided a couple of vicious strikes. Suddenly Pusan, who was holding the rope tight, let it go slack, which threw Indra off balance.
Pusan came at him with the knife held high. From his unbalanced position, Indra could not step away without losing his footing so he went the other way, sliding towards his opponent. As his legs crashed into Pusan's, he used all his strength and momentum and tugged at the rope. Pusan lost his balance. For one brief moment, he had to check his strike and use his arms to steady himself. That was all the time his opponent needed.
Indra held the knife like one would hold a pointing stick and swung his arm in a lazy, wide arc. The blow appeared to miss its mark. Indra rolled with the strike and got to his feet. The crowd was surprised to see him hang back without pressing his attack. By now Pusan had managed to steady himself. As he raised his head, a red line appeared at his throat. There was a cry of anguish from Pusan's supporters as their champion's head gently fell back. The line on his throat was now a gaping wound from which blood was starting to gush.
Mitra's jaw dropped in astonishment; Indra had not missed his mark. The knife had severed Pusan's jugular vein, windpipe and carotid artery with surgical precision. It was the perfect death strike.
Vasu let out a cry of anguish and ran towards the arena. His only son was dead; his dream, shattered.
Indra bent over his opponent's fallen body to sever the rope that bound them together. He felt no elation at the victory, only regret at the passing of a great warrior. He heard a sound behind him and turned sharply, knife in hand, to see Vasu rush towards him. Suddenly the old warrior lost his footing, tried to check his forward momentum, but fell on Indra. The dagger in Indra's hand entered his soft gut and buried itself to the hilt.
Vasu gasped in pain as he fell to the ground. Indra took him in his arms, unable to control the tears that were streaming down his face. The regent had been more than kind to him throughout his childhood. After Mitra, he was the closest thing to a father Indra had known. Vasu opened his mouth to speak.
'My boy, when your father left you and the tribe in my charge, my only regret was that I could not join him in a glorious death. I feared I would die old and lonely in my bed, with my flesh slowly wasting away. Thank you for giving me a soldier's death. I go happy in the knowledge that my life was taken by the greatest warrior this world will ever see.'
Indra tried hard to keep his voice steady, around him the rain continued to fall.
'Do not worry, my lord. It is only a scratch, the physicians will have you up and about in a few days.'
Vasu's body stiffened. He gripped Indra's shoulder and raised his head with difficulty so he could look into the boy's eyes.
'Sachi! Her only fault is that she is Pusan's sister and my daughter. But she loves you more than anything in this world. Promise me you will honour the pact and make her your wife.'
'Your daughter means the world to me, my lord. I would be lucky to have her for a wife.'
Indra felt Vasu's grip on his shoulder slacken. The old warrior was gone. The rain stopped and the square was once again bathed in bright sunlight.
***
There was no celebration to mark Indra's victory, no loud cheering. While Pusan had had his fair share of detractors, Vasu had been loved and respected by all. A tearful Indra handed the regent's body to one of the guards. He severed the rope at his wrist and heard the sound of the gong announce the end of the fight. Just then, he felt a blackness surround him. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Soma and his companions run towards him. He took a couple of steps towards them and collapsed in their arms. On Mitra's instructions, they rushed him to Mahisi's house where the physicians could take a look at him.
It was dark by the time Dhanavantri, the chief physician, came out of Indra's hut. His face wore a worried expression. He had already pronounced two people dead, and he was not entirely hopeful about the third.
'I wish I had some good news for you, Master Mitra. But the truth is, by all accounts Indra should be dead. He has lost way too much blood. I have cleaned his wounds and applied a poultice. It is up to the gods now.'
Mitra put his arm around the physician and led him out of earshot of Indra's companions. He did not want the boys to worry.
'Tell me Dhanavantri, how do you explain the fact that he is still alive?'
'I cannot!'
Dhanavantri leaned in closer; his voice was now a tiny whisper.
'I felt his prana, his life force, when I examined him.'
'Is it strong?'
'Strong? It is ten, perhaps a hundred times stronger than an average healthy human being's, and that too in his weakened state! I had examined him after the Spardha; he was strong then, but this I cannot explain. Now he does not even seem human.'
Mitra's grip tightened on the physician's shoulder and the man winced. Mitra realised what he was doing and immediately relaxed his hand, but his voice was still stern.
'Speak to no one about this. Consider
this an order from your new raja.'
The old physician smiled.
'Do not worry. I spoke to you only because I know you have an understanding of certain things that cannot be explained. I have no wish to talk about this to anybody and have people question my sanity. This secret is safe with me.'
As the man departed, Mitra turned to the boys who had big smiles on their faces. Mitra was not amused.
'What are the smiles for? Did I miss some joyous moment?'
Varuna spoke for them.
'Indra will not die. He will be fine as soon as Soma arrives.'
Mitra remembered something he had neglected to do when he had met them after their period of exile. He now scanned their auras and noticed now how brightly they shone. This was not normal. Clearly these boys had had some kind of divine experience. He decided to probe further.
'How do you know he will be fine? And where is Soma?'
'Indra told us himself. Soma has gone to fetch a brew that will revive him.'
'What do you mean Indra told you himself? He is lying in the hut unconscious.'
Agni had waited impatiently to get into the conversation.
'We heard Indra's voice in our heads.'
Vayu tried to explain.
'What Agni means is that we can communicate with him, using our thoughts.'
Mitra was amazed. These boys were saying that they could use telepathy, a craft that took even learned seers like himself years to perfect. Just then, Soma arrived with a little bowl and rushed into the hut. Mitra turned to the others.
'How long has this been going on? Why didn't you'll tell me anything?'
Varuna was hesitant.
'We wanted to, but we were not sure you would believe us. We could scarcely believe it ourselves. We thought it was all a dream.'
'Wait, there's Indra.'
Mitra turned as he heard Vayu's words and looked on disbelieving as Soma and Indra walked out of the hut and headed straight towards them. The prince had wrapped his body with a cloth, but otherwise he looked like he was in the pink of health. As he neared his master, Indra removed the cloth. His wounds had healed completely.
Rajiv Menon -- ThunderGod Page 17