The Boy From Pataliputra

by Rahul Mitra

  Believe me, comrades all of these thoughts are now running through his mind. They turn the blood to ice in his veins, they whisper into his ears. Look, just look at them—take a good long look at their spears and you will see the tips swaying, shaking, trembling like leaves.”

  Each eye in the battalion turned towards the far-off Greeks. It was true—the spear tips seemed to be swaying. Was it the wind . . .?

  “Do you observe how they shake? That is not the wind comrades—it is fear that makes them tremble. Now look at me! Enough of the enemy—look at me.”

  Reluctant eyes tore themselves away from the spectacle unfolding half a kos away.

  “Yes, the invader is afraid; he is scared for he is just as mortal as you and me! Remember that when you fight him today! Also remember that he is here for conquest, he is here, driven by a King’s greed while you—you stand today on your own land. You fight to protect what is yours. If you give way today, if you feel like running and saving yourselves, where will you run? Behind you are your own families, your lands, your livestock, and your cities. Where will you run to? How will you answer your families, how will you face your elders and your teachers? What will you tell your mothers when they ask you news of the battle? How will you face your ancestors when you go to the other side?

  We have our backs to everything we possess, everything that is worth loving, and everything that is in danger of being crushed beneath the boots of this invader, this infiltrator, this thief who has broken into our homes. Have you seen how lionesses fight when their cubs are threatened? Even the beasts of the jungle know how to protect their own, and you are after all humans!

  Also, remember, they are outsiders—they are not one of us. Remember their record: they carried out wholesale massacres at Maskavati, Ayurna and among the many villages of the Ashvakas and Ashvakayanas. So don’t be under any illusions my friends—this is a fight to the finish. There will be no quarter given. So steel your hearts comrades, and swear on yourselves that you will not retreat. Can you do that?”

  “We will,” shouted seven hundred voices.

  “Will you retreat?”

  “No!” came an answering wave of sound.

  “Utthisht Bharata!” shouted Acharya

  “Utthisht Bharata!!”

  “Utthisht Bharata!!!”

  “Utthisht Bharata!”

  Again and again and again, the answering waves rolled across the battlefield and swept over the ranks of the Greeks who were assembling.

  ***

  The phalanxes at the centre were thin and undermanned. Many detachments were yet to arrive. The horse archers and the Companion Cavalry were amassed on the right flank, next to the ravine. From here, the majestic figure of Porus, standing surrounded by his troops on an elephant of extraordinary size, could be clearly seen. There was a flurry of activity around him. The King was giving orders, and drums were being beaten.

  The knot of officers standing around Alexander were tense with anticipation. Their magnificent horses stood stiff-legged, shaking their manes in the wind, and the officers themselves seemed like carved statues, made out of shining metal.

  “Something’s up, my Lord,” said Hephaestion, addressing Alexander.

  “We don’t have enough men on the field . . .” observed Seleucus.

  Everyone knew what that meant. The Macedonian phalanxes were under strength and if Porus ordered a general attack now, he might scatter the Greeks like dust. Then he could mop up the rest of the battalions piecemeal, as they marched up towards the battlefield.

  “We’ll have to keep him busy,” Alexander said with a flick of his head towards Atheas.

  Atheas knew his orders. He saluted and left. His men were ready, neatly assembled in front of the Greek lines. Within minutes, a thousand horse archers took off from the Greek lines, the earth thundering under them. The first action of the Battle of Hydaspes had started. The Indian left flank, the two thousand heavy cavalry standing right next to the riverbank, and the chariots screening them were under attack.

  The Dahae came in wave after wave. One line of archers would gallop straight up to the Indian lines, let loose their arrows and turn back, even as another line of archers came up behind them. Death fell from the sky and pandemonium reigned among the densely packed masses of horses. Men fought for control over their horses, even as they held their wicker shields up with their hands.

  The worst of the punishment was taken by the chariots in front. Within minutes, the massive shields being carried by the shield bearers were studded with arrows, looking like giant pincushions. The Indian archers now let loose their own volley of arrows at the constantly moving targets in front.

  Standing under this hail of arrows with no clear orders from the King, panic and desperation were rising among the ranks of the cavalry. The five hundred cavalry of the Takshashila students too, was positioned on the left flank and confusion ran riot amongst them. Were they supposed to attack? Why was the King not ordering an attack? Had they marched all this way only to be mowed down by arrows? God, what was Maharaj Puru doing?

  Standing among the densely packed rows of horses, Aditya repeatedly patted Ashvaghosha, trying to calm him down. The boy on his right was muttering gibberish in some unidentifiable Prakrit. Charaka, who was standing right in front of him, looked back, his eyes popping out of his head. Arrows thudded into the soft mud all around them, as they peered from under their shields.

  And all at once, everything suddenly came alive. With wild yells replacing the terror of standing motionless, the Indian cavalry surged through the screen of chariots in front of them, charging straight at the horse archers. Aditya too, was carried along by the swelling tide. Yelling and screaming, they crashed into a body of Dahae who were unlucky enough to have been coming in for the attack at the wrong time. Many of these were literally swept off their feet, horse and all, and were then trampled underfoot by the advancing wave of Indians.

  There was the tremendous noise of two armies crashing into one another, the cracking sound of spears and javelins shattering upon impact, the yells and screams of terrified men, and the neighing of horses. All Aditya could see in front of him, was the densely-packed crowd of horse’s haunches and the confused masses of his own countrymen. The fight was raging all around him, and yet, he had not exchanged blows with a single enemy.

  Suddenly, the packed crowd of horses and men started forward again. The Dahae were giving way and were engaged in headlong flight. With whoops of rage and exultation, the mass of horses started chasing them off the field—the line opened up and Aditya suddenly found himself in front, shouting and screaming for all he was worth.

  In the centre of the lines, commanding a view of the entire battlefield, Maharaj Puru sat on his elephant. His hands were balled up into fists and his eyes glittered with excitement. Victory was almost within grasp.

  A huge tumult arose all around him, as the Indian soldiers saw the cavalry driving off masses of Greeks from the battlefield. The Maharaj gestured down to his officers—the two thousand cavalry on the right wing were to swing around behind the lines and reinforce the attack taking place on the left. From his vantage point, the King could clearly see that the Greek cavalry was outnumbered. At most, the Greek cavalry appeared to be three thousand in number, apart from the horse archers who were already being driven from the field.

  What the King could not see, were the three thousand additional cavalry under Coenus that had been kept off the field, and which stood crowded together on the strip of the riverbank, next to the ravine to the right of the Greeks. The high walls of the ravine on their left hid them from Porus’s view, and the path ahead for them was also open, for the Indian left wing was already in the thick of the fighting.

  Out in the field, the battle had become bloodier and more intense. The three thousand Companion Cavalry rode up to the aid of their beleaguered comrades. The two cavalries clashed in the middle, the Indians carrying the momentum forward with them. Two thousand horsemen from their right fla
nk, now reinforced the Indians, and their combined weight slowly started driving the Greeks back.

  The medical student Charaka was in the very thick of the fighting. Both his javelins had been shattered, and he was now down to the khadga in his hand. Holding it firmly in his right hand, he charged at a Yavana on horseback but at the last moment his horse stumbled on something, broke its foreleg and plunged headlong into the wet, slippery ground. Charaka was thrown over the horse’s head, and the Greek’s xyston sliced across his arm and his body slammed into the ground with terrific force. Lying sideways with his head resting in the mud, he saw another Yavana who had been unhorsed, come limping towards him with a crazed look in his eyes.

  Charaka scrambled desperately to his knees, and fell over backwards in terror, as the man slashed wildly at him with his sword. He was now lying on his back as the unknown Greek soldier loomed up over him, raising his sword overhead for a blow that could cleave him in two. Covered in mud and yelling like beasts of the jungle, the two men now engaged in a life-and-death struggle. The Greek xiphos descended with relentless force, and met the upraised khadga of the Indian with a clang. The Yavana pushed down upon his sword and Charaka’s khadga descended lower and lower.

  In desperation, Charaka started kicking him again and again and again, trying to push him away, even as his own khadga was being forced down upon him. At the last moment, one of his kicks landed on a fresh, open wound that the Yavana had received on his thigh. The man staggered back and the force of the sword pushing down on Charaka relaxed. In that one instant, Charaka had brushed his sword aside and driven his own khadga, deep into the man’s groin.

  Warm, sticky blood gushed out all over his hands, the upraised sword in the hands of the Yavana fell to the earth, and the man stared straight into Charaka’s eyes, as his soul departed his mortal body. Time seemed to stop as the man slowly died, impaled upon Charaka’s khadga. As the still warm body toppled to the ground along with his khadga, the medical student got up on his feet and then staggered backwards, horrified. Blood covered his hands and he was not even sure if it was his own or someone else’s. Charaka’s head started swimming and his knees were trembling. The stench of fresh blood was overpowering.

  Then, right in the middle of the battlefield, with life and death struggles going on all around him, Charaka crumpled to his feet. He had fainted.

  It was at that very moment, that Coenus and his three thousand men made their move. They had been waiting for some time in the narrow passageway between the river and the ravine. They now, thundered down this passageway towards the Indian lines. There was no one to stop them.

  They emerged into view just before the Indian lines at the point where the slope coming from the Greek end, merged into the flat land on the Indian side. Circling around, they charged up the slope, crashing into the Indian cavalry from behind. Four thousand Indian horsemen were now hemmed in from both sides by a six thousand-strong force of Greek cavalry.

  Aditya, who was right on the frontlines in the very midst of the fighting, had no way of knowing what was going on at the back. He had already killed three of the enemy and was now battling like an automaton, charging, swearing, and shouting like a madman. He speared a Yavana soldier right in the face, smashing his nose in. Blood spurted out of the man’s face as they jostled together on horseback. When he jerked his spear loose, the man toppled forward, falling off his horse and Aditya immediately urged Ashvaghosha over the poor fellow, trampling him into the mud.

  Men were screaming and dying everywhere. A light rain had started up and the ground was a mush of mud, blood, sweat, and other unholy bodily fluids. Those who had been unhorsed, staggered around in the mud, while mounds of bodies built up in places where the hottest fighting was taking place. Aditya saw one of the Indian students go down on his hands and knees to pick up the Takshashila University flag. The boy started waving it around, rallying his comrades forward; shouting hoarsely in a voice that was swallowed up by the all-pervading din. Within minutes, he was killed by a Yavana horseman who speared him straight through the heart.

  The Yavana in turn, was swiftly killed as two other Indians pounced on him. A desperate struggle broke out over a triangular piece of cloth, that lay covered in mud. Aditya too, plunged into the struggle shouting like a madman, spearing everything in sight. The Greek and Indian lines had become blurred and overlapped each other in places, the fighting growing bloodier and more desperate with every second. One of the Greek horsemen was literally swept off his feet, as his horse reared up and fell over on its side, toppled by the weight of Indian horses pushing forward. The Greeks in front of them, started to break ranks and flee, and the victorious Indian students now poured into the gap, shouting in exultation.

  Meanwhile, unknown to Aditya, Coenus’ sudden attack had caused the Indian line to crumple in on itself. Men had suddenly been attacked from behind and many had been killed right in the act of turning their horses around to face this new danger. Panicked soldiers at the rear, now pushed forward against their own countrymen. Under the crush of the attacking Greeks, multitudes of men and horses were pushed together in a dense crowd at the centre. The Greeks under Coenus were hacking their way through masses of horsemen, who had no room to manoeuvre.

  Waves of panic now rippled through the Indian lines.

  “We’ve been betrayed!” someone shouted.

  “Surrounded on all sides!” hollered another.

  Shouts of terror arose from the rear as men and horses pushed and heaved against each other at the centre, looking for an opening to escape. They started running back to the Indian lines, seeking shelter among the elephants and infantry.

  “Run for it, we are surrounded!” raged someone to Aditya’s right.

  Aditya, who had been driving the Greeks before him, suddenly realized that he was alone. The students around him had started turning back. Hordes of Greeks swarmed all around. Fending off repeated attacks by a Greek who seemed hell-bent on killing him, Aditya spurred Ashvaghosha around, slipped through a gap, and ran for his life, joining the crowds of panicstricken horsemen fleeing back across the field they had just charged over.

  He saw a student, looking confused, and yet stubbornly maintaining his ground despite everyone retreating all around him.

  “What’s happening?” he shouted.

  “Run! You idiot, run!” came the reply

  “We are surrounded!” shouted someone.

  The student dithered till the very last moment, and finally joined the flood of Indian horsemen who were retreating. The Indian cavalry had been routed.

  ***

  Puru, who commanded a view of the entire battlefield was livid with rage. His plan was falling apart right in front of his very eyes. Why hadn’t someone spotted the Yavanas hiding next to the riverbank?

  He fumed and cursed his mahout and the shield bearer, but knew that the fault lay with him. He should have taken the ravine into account. By hiding his forces, Alexander had tricked him and now he was being forced to roll the dice. The beaten and disorganized units of the Indian cavalry sought shelter behind the elephants, and their rout was rapidly spreading panic through the ranks. If he dithered at this crucial moment, his army might crumble away right in front of his eyes.

  Puru leaned over to the officers and bodyguards who surrounded his elephants, and gave the orders. Trumpets and drums indicated the time for a general charge, and the infantry and elephants now joined the attack. The men shouted their war cries, the elephants trumpeted, and a great commotion rose up to the heavens.

  On the other end, the Macedonian phalanxes were lined up. Soldiers closed the line, huddling shoulder to shoulder; hundreds of sarissas swooshed down from the vertical to the horizontal position, and the phalanxes now became a closed wall of shields. As many as six spearpoints projected out from every opening between two shields. The officers gave the orders and the phalanxes started forward, ambling first and then breaking into a light run as they went downhill, sarissas pointed forward. The two armi
es were charging towards one another.

  Private Philotas himself was on the frontlines, part of the very second row of his phalanx. A huge elephant was charging straight towards them. On cue, the soldiers braced their sarissas against the ground with the spearpoints pointing upwards and crouched under their shields.

  The last thing that Philotas remembered was the ear-splitting trumpeting of the elephant.

  He regained consciousness after an indefinite interval. As he came to, he realized that he had been thrown clear by the shock of the impact, and there was a persistent ringing in his ears. His hearing was gone. He tried to get up, but found that his leg was twisted under the body of his mate, Lysimachus. Blood was splattered all over his groin. His head started spinning.

  “Oh Apollo the far-seeker, anything but that! Apollo, Persephone, Panacea, anything but that, please!” he moaned as he gingerly felt the injured area. His tentative touches slowly increased in vigour as he realized that the blood was from Lysimachus. An intense elation now surged through every cell of his body.

  “I can do it, I can do it! Oh, mother of god, I can do it!” he announced to no one in particular. This discovery breathed new life into him; the ringing in his ears cleared and the familiar sounds of the battlefield took over.

  “Come on, lads—up with you! Come on!”

  The words came floating up to his ears as if from far off. He saw the enomotia Karanos trying to rally the battered remnants of their regiment. Karanos looked stunned and blood was pouring out of his nose. All around him were dead bodies. The elephant had torn right through the phalanx, crushing soldiers with its feet and throwing them with its trunk. The Indian infantry had poured in behind the elephants and hacked, crushed, and speared many of his compatriots. He was lucky to be alive.

  He looked around the battlefield and it looked like the fighting had moved on. A particularly desperate struggle had ensued, a little way to their right.

  “Come on, lads! Form up!” yelled the bloodied and helmetless Karanos, waving his sword about as if it were a baton.