by Rahul Mitra
***
Coenus could not believe the idiocy of the Persian standing in front of him. It was pitch dark, and all around him was utter chaos. The embarkation points were choked with troops, horses, and vessels of all shapes and sizes. On top of that, the rain was like a thick sheet of water, driven horizontal by the wind. Gusts of wind lashed the river into violent waves, which sent the rafts crashing against each other or spun them out of control, and sent them hurtling downstream. The mother of all storms had broken out. Brilliant flashes of lightning lit up the entire landscape like mid-day, and terrific claps of thunder made them jump every other minute.
Yet, the Persian, who was a royal messenger, was unperturbed.
“The emperor wishes to ascertain how much more time it will take. He is anxious to embark. What message should I take back with me, General?” he shouted above the violence of the storm.
“Do you see? Can you see this? It will take time. Tell him,” and he was off, stumbling and slipping through the driving rain towards the hillside from where an unending line of Companion Cavalry was streaming down. “Oye, stop, stop! Stop you fucking oafs!” he bellowed at them.
He grabbed hold of one of the cavalry who was leading his horse down. The man was a Bactrian and had long, thick hair, which kept falling like a wet mop over his face.
“Tell them to stop! There’s not enough space!”
“What? Stop?!” the man shouted back.
“Do you want the horses to break their necks? Ask them to stop back there. Who’s your officer?”
There was not an inch of space on the riverbank. The horses coming down the slope kept knocking into each other, with some of them slipping on the steep, muddy path. The riverbank itself had been churned into a deadly morass of mud, with the men and horses that were waiting to embark.
The officer was found. He immediately recognized the General, saluted and went off to stop the long procession of horses that was making its way down.
“What may I report to His Excellency, the Emperor?” persisted the Persian, still sticking at his heels.
“Tell him, I will send a messenger when it’s time for him to embark. Tell him, I will get everybody across before morning.” He noticed the Persian hesitating and bellowed into his face, “You are getting in my way, Artabezos! I will deaHe was soaked to the skin and his fingers had become like shrunken prunes. Yet, these were the types of situations in which Coenus naturally thrived. His nervousness, violence, and energy seemed to find a perfect outlet in such tension. It was precisely because of these qualities that he was often entrusted with tricky assignments like the current one.
He turned towards the riverbank where the cavalry was embarking. The need for secrecy meant that they were working without any torches, but Coenus’s eyes had adjusted to the light. He saw a huge wave displace one of the wooden rafts and shake it loose. The soldier who had been holding it, lost his foothold and fell splashing back into the water, while the horse which had been getting onto the raft, panicked and jumped into the river.
Coenus strode into the water, brushing past a number of his own men who were fighting to steady the raft. He reached out and caught the unlucky private. Philotas came up spluttering and thrashing about for a foothold. Their unit, instead of being the first to embark as he had anticipated, had instead been called up to help with the work.
“Steady, steady, hold it son!” bellowed the old General over the sound of wind and water.
The cavalryman, who had been getting on the raft, was struggling with his animal and a number of hands now reached out to hold him as he guided his horse back.
Coenus, sunk almost up to his knees in the mud, with water coming up till his chest, and struggled along with Private Philotas, to hold the raft steady as the horse was coaxed onto it.
***
On the other bank of the Vitasta, was a small cottage, which was used as a lookout post by Maharaj Puru’s soldiers. It was a tight, cramped space with a thatched roof that leaked continuously and threatened to give way under the fierce winds. Outside, the sky thundered and roared, and sudden, brilliant flashes of lightning threw the insides of the hut into bold relief. Neither the elevated platform on which the cottage had been built, nor the thick overhanging thatch that projected outward from the roof, seemed effective against the driving sheets of water. A continuous spray splattered against the porch, and puddles of water formed on the floor inside the hut, as more and more of it seeped in through the open doorway.
Inside, two soldiers huddled over a fire and talked, while three of their comrades lay sprawled out on the floor. On one side, leaning against the wall, were their weapons, an assortment of khadgas, spears, bows, and arrows. Dense white smoke from the fire permeated the entire hut, filling it with a pungent smell. The two soldiers who sat before it, coughed from time to time, as the smoke caught in their throat. Vinda and Udaya were deep in conversation.
“The Javapacamana’s speed is unmatched, otherwise why would people pay so much for it?” said Udaya who was the younger of the two.
Vinda snorted.
“In this world, not everything that is priced higher is better. People are just sheep, going after anything foreign; but let me tell you my friend, the horses of our Matsya Janapada are much better—they’re the best,” he said.
“They’re so small and anyway, all the races are always won by the Javapacamanas, aren’t they?”
“Arre, so what? Have you ever been in a battle? Javapacamanas are just showpieces, that’s all! They can only race. But in a battle, you need stamina and our Matsya horses are much hardier. They last better.”
Udaya mulled over this for a moment. He didn’t want to challenge his senior partner.
“Do you think we should put out the fire?” he asked. His eyes were burning.
“Upto you,” Vinda got up, stretched out his limbs and let out a huge yawn, “Think I’m going to lie down for a bit. Wake me up when you get tired and I’ll take over from there.”
Udaya looked at him in dismay. Being the youngest in the group, he was always being taken advantage of. Theirs was one of the many five-man units that had been posted as lookouts all along the riverbank. At least two of them were supposed to stay awake every night and patrol the bank, but as usual, Vinda had left it all up to him. He looked uncertainly towards the doorway.
“Do you think we should take a round before you sleep?”
“Naah . . . no need. You’ll get mud all over. Besides,” and Vinda let out another jaw-shattering yawn before pointing towards the doorway. “You must be crazy.”
It was true. There was no way the Yavanas could cross the river on a night like this, he thought to himself. Besides, everyone knew that the Yavanas were settling in for the monsoon.
A huge clap of thunder interrupted his thoughts, making him cringe.
“Vinda, Vinda?”
“Hmm . . .”
“Do you think it’s true that the Yavanas eat humans?”
“Naah . . . don’t be stupid,” murmured Vinda. It was the last thing he said and soon the faint sounds of his snoring were added to the panoply of sounds that filled the night. Udaya was left alone with his thoughts.
By the third prahar of the night, the storm had quietened down. The winds abated and the rain was reduced to a steady drizzle. Udaya drifted in and out of a light slumber, all the while sitting with his back against the wall. For the umpteenth time, his head nodded forward, falling into nothingness and he awoke with a jerk. His eyes were heavy with sleep and his mind confused. All was quiet inside the hut—the fire had died down along with the thunder and lightning outside. Through senses dulled by sleep, he heard faint sounds that seemed to be floating across the river.
Udaya was a very superstitious young man and miscellaneous, unidentified sounds in the middle of the night always had the power to snap him awake. He stopped in mid-breath, stared into the darkness, every muscle in his body tense as he waited for the sounds to repeat themselves. When he did hear the sounds
again, they made his skin crawl.
He rushed outside, went over to the banks of the river and peered into the pre-dawn darkness. Strange sounds, the clanking of metal, and shouts and curses in a strange language came floating up to his ears. Ghostly silhouettes, numberless shadows seemed to be wading through the waters towards him. They stretched across the water for as far as he could make out.
It was Alexander’s army. They had crossed over the flooded river at night, only to find that the wooded banks, which they had taken to be the other side of the river, were actually those of an island. With no time to drag the boats and vessels over the island, they had found a ford, and were now wading across through chest-deep waters.
It was this huge column of men, horses, and supplies that Udaya saw. For a moment, he was too shocked to react; his legs seemed to be rooted to the spot. Then he suddenly found his legs, and with his hand clapped over his mouth, ran back full tilt, towards the cottage.
The Yavanas had arrived!
l with our King if he is angry, now go!”
Prelude
Golden necklaces and bracelets, silk turbans, jewelled scabbards and ivory earrings flashed in the early morning sunlight. A dazzling array of individuals had congregated near the riverbank.
A giant, standing all of six feet, six inches tall, dominated the gathering. He had a stubborn set to his mouth and his deep set, tired-looking eyes now glowered out from under thick, bushy eyebrows. Unlike the others, he was simply dressed in a calf-length tunic, a kayabandh at his waist, and had his hair tied up in a loose bun on top of his head. This was Maharaj Puru, known to the Greeks as Porus, Lord of Kekeya.
Around him, stood a gaggle of officers and nobles of his kingdom, every one of them waiting for him to speak. There was the square-jawed General Pradyumna, the earnest baby-faced Captain of the Cavalry, Vasudhana, Kekeya’s chief vassal Vajrahanu, the chief minister Uddalaka, as well as the elder son of Maharaj Puru, the Pururajkumar, who looked exactly like a younger version of his father.
“It’s just a small force of skirmishers. Let’s go and throw them back into the Vitasta, Maharaj!” urged Vasudhana.
“They must be, Maharaj. My intelligence indicates that Alexander has no plans of a battle untill the monsoons subside. The seven archers we captured last week were all unanimous,” said Uddalaka.
“Your intelligence!” burst in the General Pradyumna. “If your intelligence were right, we wouldn’t be faced with these Yavanas on our banks today. Those prisoners have fed you lies Arya!”
“Shreeman, numerous sources indicated that the Yavanas have been accumulating grain and provisions to last the monsoons. Besides, just take a look across the river. There is enough activity there, men, elephants everything.”
The view across the flooded river was reassuring. From their vantage point, everything seemed normal. Tiny columns of human figures milled about in the open spaces, the elephants supplied by Maharaj Ambhi towering over them. A number of Yavana boats too, had ventured onto the river.
The sober voice of Vajrahanu now cut through that of the squabbling officers.
“In either case, Maharaj, we cannot afford to waste time. Whether they are the main thrust of the attack, or just a feint to draw our forces away from here, we can’t allow them to entrench themselves on this side. Our best chance is to meet them at the riverbank itself, as they disembark. Already, it might be too late.”
A number of heads nodded their agreement.
“We’ll need to send our fastest forces, the cavalry and the chariots. It’s almost eight kos away, marching men to Mangal Dev will just waste time,” said the General Pradyumna.
“Give me this chance, Maharaj,” urged Pururajkumar.
Maharaj Puru now nodded his head.
“You are right Vajrahanu. I sense a trap; there’s no sense in moving our entire army forward and leaving this crossing unmanned. Give orders for the army to form up but in the meanwhile, General Vasudhana—get your fastest forces ready. Take two thousand of our best horsemen and two hundred chariots with you, and close with these infiltrators as soon as possible.” Maharaj Puru now turned towards his son, “Rajkumar you will lead them, but defer to the orders of General Vasudhana- he is more experienced than you.”
Pururajkumar and General Vasudhana immediately bowed and called up their junior officers. A flurry of orders was given and messengers rushed off in every direction to get the cavalry ready.
“What about our students Maharaj? They are eagerly awaiting a chance to prove their worth.”
Every eye in the gathering, now turned towards the speaker. He was an exceptionally ugly man—short, dark, and pockmarked. The shaved head and the lock of hair at the back indicated that he was a Brahmana. It was Acharya Chanakya.
Dressed in a simple white cotton dhoti, a quilted armour tunic, and with no turban on his head, this man and his disciple, the scrawny young man with the deathlike face and glittering eyes, stood out like a sore thumb amidst the flash and glitter of the richly-attired nobles. Clearly, they were outsiders and one could almost sense the hostility with which the nobles and officers of the court now stared at them. They had made a nuisance of themselves on more than one occasion by constantly talking of Bharatvarsha instead of Kekeya, by insinuating themselves inevery important meeting and discussion, and by their frequent criticism of the ruling classes.
“What are Jainsand pen-pushers doing on this battlefield, Acharya? Do your forces intend to go and enter into Samadhi in front of the Yavanas? You never shy away from giving us lectures and yet you, who espouse ahmisa, profess to fight with us and participate in wars between kings? What exactly is your intention, Acharya?” asked Vajrahanu.
“The mother and the motherland are more valuable than heaven itself, Shreeman. All my students aren’t Jains—they hold different beliefs and come from all over Bharatvarsha. Yet, they fight for the motherland. Besides, Maharaj, when rulers prefer their own interests to that of the nation, when they gladly become puppets of outside powers, instead of protecting us; it is fitting and right that Jains like me and pen-pushing students like him should turn into warriors.”
Vajrahanu turned red in the face. His hands were at the khadga at his waist. Maharaj Puru now stepped forward.
“Enough! The enemy is at our doorstep and the two of you are fighting? Pull yourself together!” He turned towards Chanakya, “Acharya, your students will get their chance. You may depend upon it! Now please go and get them ready. Vajrahanu, Uddalaka come with me.”
Maharaj Puru strode away, followed by Uddalaka and Vajrahanu. Chanakya and Chandragupta left immediately.
“His impertinence knows no bounds Maharaj. I smell treason each time that ugly Brahman opens his mouth,” began Vajrahanu.
“I know, Vajrahanu, I know! He is not to be trusted, but this is not the time to turn away allies. We are already outnumbered and we need every man we can get. He commands five hundred horses and seven hundred foot soldiers. That’s quite sizeable.”
“They are just a ragtag bunch of poorly-trained students, my Lord! Not one of them has seen a battle,” said Uddalaka.
“It maybe so, Uddalaka, but remember that these are zealots— they are not fighting for money or fame, or to protect their property. They are fighting for an idea that they believe in, an idea that thrills them. Such men can prove to be very useful. So let’s not write them off yet.”
“Yes, Maharaj,” said Uddalaka immediately.
Porus now gestured to the General Pradyumna who joined them.
“What orders for me Maharaj? What are we to do with the main army? They are all in a state of readiness.”
“That’s good, Pradyumna. The entire army is to draw up in battle array, and stand ready to fight but before that, make sure everyone gets his fill of food. We have at least half a prahar, so let everyone fill their bellies. They must eat, even if they have to choke it down. I don’t want soldiers tiring by mid-day. Also, distribute madhu and opium to the young ones and the students. Once they
are drawn up in line, get them shouting or singing, no one is to be left alone to worry: so do anything to keep them busy. See to it immediately.”
“Yes, Maharaj,” Pradyumna bowedThe Maharaj turned towards a tall, thin, balding man who was standing discreetly on the fringes of this assemblage of nobles.
“Food, Divodasa . . . food! I want peacock,” shouted the King to him. He was the Maharaj’s personal assistant, a man known to be even more refined and cultured, than the highest nobles of the land. He immediately glided off in as graceful a fashion as possible, to the makeshift kitchen, which had been set up near the riverbank.
The royal cooks had already anticipated the King’s favourite breakfast as soon as they got the news of the Yavanas having crossed. Rich cakes, sweets, and curried dishes of peacock and fowl were being prepared. Servants rushed around, laying out aasanas, and serving dishes on runners on the carpets in the Maharaja’s tent. Preparations were sped along by the Maharaj’s frequent admonitions to Divodasa.
“Call Pururajkumar and General Vasudhana. Let them quickly have some food. There is time enough till the cavalry forms up,” shouted the Maharaj. It was obvious that this man loved to eat well.
***
On crossing over at dawn, Alexander gave his men time to rest and have a solid breakfast. Adequate supplies had been brought over; the wet, tired, and hungry men were served freshly-baked bread and broth; fires were lit wherever possible, and everyone recuperated from the excesses of the night.
The Greeks had seen the scouts dashing off from the lookout post, and knew that they had been spotted. But Alexander was in no great hurry. Any army that Porus sent, would take its time to arrive and he wanted his soldiers well rested for the battle. Meanwhile, scouts were sent in every direction to bring information on the enemy’s movements.
The Greek army rested for a solid three hours, and then resumed the march with Alexander’s favourite Companion Cavalry in the lead. Last night’s rains had reduced the ground to a soggy mess, which was further churned up by the hooves of thousands of horses. The infantry, weighed down by equipment and struggling through the mud, soon found themselves lagging behind.