by Jamila Gavin
One by one, the Pandava brothers were stripped. Then they demanded that Draupadi too be stripped.
“Please no!” wept Draupadi. “Neither the wind nor sun has ever seen me naked.”
But they took hold of the end of her sari and began to unwind it.
Draupadi called upon the decency of the Kauravas, but they laughed. She called upon the god, Krishna, to save her dignity. Miraculously, as they unwound the sari from her body – on and on – there was no end to it.
Ravens cawed, asses brayed and a jackal howled disturbing the white-clad Brahmin priests at prayer. At the sound of such terrible omens, they cried, sorrowfully, “Swashti, Swashti! So be it: it is their karma their fate. Amen!” The old blind king and father of the Kauravas also heard the howling, and asked what it meant. When he heard how his sons had humiliated Draupadi he was overcome with the shame. He knelt before Draupadi and begged her forgiveness. “Ask me whatever you will, and I will grant it,” he said.
“Free me from slavery. Free my husband, Yudhishtritha, and his brothers, so that we can go forth and regain our fortunes by our own mighty deeds.”
This wish was granted. Draupadi followed the Pandava brothers into exile in the forest, unbinding her hair as she went, swearing that her hair would fall loose until the Kauravas were slain. Only when her hands were steeped in their blood, would she tie up her hair again.
Hatred burned on both sides; most of all the hatred between Karna and Arjuna. They swore blood and vengeance, no matter how long it took.
Desperate to bring an end to bloodshed, Krishna secretly revealed to Karna the truth of his birth. “Your father is the sun god, Surya, and your mother is Kunti, mother of the Pandavas. Karna, you fight your own brothers! Now will you stop this war?”
Karna reacted bitterly. “My mother, Kunti, abandoned me to the river. I was found by a chariot driver who I have always called father, and his wife, mother. They loved me and cared for me, and nothing can change that. I promised friendship and loyalty to the Kauravas, and I cannot break that promise.”
“Alas,” cried Krishna, “then the war goes on. It means ruin. The earth will be disfigured by corpses, and the animals will howl at the blood-red sky. You will fight your brothers. Understand this, Karna, I am on the side of the Pandavas. I will be Arjuna’s charioteer.”
“Then we will both make the sacrifice,” replied Karna, “and I know we will meet again at the end of our journey.” So Krishna and Karna parted never to meet again on this earth.
So began the battle of eighteen days.
A plain fluttering with flags from end to end was the battleground. Karna, with the Kauravas faced his brother, Arjuna and the Pandavas.
Lord Krishna held the reins of Arjuna’s chariot horses. They both gazed down upon the field.
“Drive me between the lines so that I may view my enemies,” said Arjuna.
Krishna gathered up the reins of the five horses as if they were the five senses, and galloped along the line. Arjuna recognized his kinsmen, his own flesh and blood, fathers, grandfathers, uncles, nephews, sons and grandsons. With a terrible shudder, the warrior’s bow fell from his hand. “I have no stomach for this war,” he cried. “Ah, Krishna, what must I do? I seek no victory. What victory could this be against my own kinsmen? O day of darkness! How have we come to this?”
Krishna answered, “What you see is not the truth. You are not fighting mortals, you are fighting evil, and you must win. Death is just throwing off an old garment to put on a new one. Trust me, Arjuna, for I, Krishna, am the Light!”
At each pale dawn, the warriors faced each other. At each red sunset, the battlefield was running with blood. Funeral pyres burned as bright as day. On the seventeenth day of the war, so many fathers and sons had died, including the young son of Arjuna. Heart-broken, Arjuna took on Karna in mortal combat.
Arjuna’s arrows fell upon Karna like summer rain, but the arrows of Karna fell upon Arjuna like stinging snakes. Suddenly Arjuna’s bow string was severed. He was unarmed and helpless. “Karna!” he called. “Remember the laws of combat. It is forbidden to strike a man without his weapon.”
But Karna continued to fire arrows ruthlessly till Arjuna fell.
“Finish him off!” cried Karna. His charioteer tried to drive the chariot round, but a wheel got stuck in a rut. Arjuna hauled a crescent-bladed arrow from his sheath and flung it, striking off Karna’s head.
With the Kauravas in disarray, the Pandavas thundered on, sweeping all before them. They took their revenge; drank the blood of their enemies, and danced on their entrails.
All 100 Kaurava brothers were dead. Draupadi, her hands dripping with the blood of those who had humiliated her, tied up her hair.
The war was over. Now, the Pandavas looked for purification. They made sacrifices and bathed in the sacred waters, they brought back peace and prosperity and waited for the day when, one by one, they would make their different ways to Heaven to be welcomed by Lord Krishna and Lord Indra.
Also waiting was Karna and the Kauravas. They embraced and wept for joy.
Here in the celestial city, finally purified they could at last forget their quarrel.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH
Hephaistion had already reached the River Indus and bridged it with a pontoon constructed by dozens of boats. It was sturdy enough to carry an army. He had successfully made a treaty with the Rajah of Taxila, who had given him many gifts of silver, sheep, oxen and elephants, including a contingent of men to join Alexander’s forces. This was not just friendship, it was to have Alexander on his side against a rival rajah called Porus.
Leaving Roxane in Balkh to join him later in India, Alexander descended to the banks of the Indus. He was welcomed as conqueror and entered the capital of Taxila to be greeted by its rajah, Ambhi, and given a vast supporting army in return for retaining his kingdom.
Travelling round, exploring and familiarizing himself with the area, Alexander began to hear of new philosophies. He was fascinated by naked men with shaved heads, who the Greeks called “gymnosophistai,” or naked philosophers, but who were priestly Brahmins. Painfully, through various translators, he tried to learn and understand. He had always loved philosophy, and was constantly seeking out people with whom he could discuss ideas. So when he was introduced to a Hindu philosopher called Calanus, he was pleased to meet a man who he could talk to, listen to, and respect. Calanus in turn was fascinated by Alexander, who told him all about Greek ideas, systems and philosophies, and was persuaded to join Alexander’s entourage. Their friendship was so great that Calanus stayed with Alexander throughout the rest of his campaigns.
MONSOON
Alexander’s force was now enlarged by 6,000 infantry and 5,000 horsemen. With these troops, he marched towards the banks of the River Hydaspes which flowed between Taxila and the kingdom of the Rajah, Porus.
He lined them up on the banks of another big river, to fight another large scale classical battle.
But this was India. The monsoon had started.
Alexander didn’t know about the monsoon. He had never been stopped by weather conditions before. His men had endured terrible heat, the extreme cold of mountains and desert – and plenty of rain – so warnings about Indian rain seemed unimportant.
He didn’t know that the rainy season in India meant heavy lashing rain, without stopping, for three whole months. His armies became convinced that it would never cease. And then there were the snakes: huge poisonous snakes which the rains brought out from their crannies and hollows; snakes in the river, snakes hanging from the branches of trees, snakes in the undergrowth, little snakes who could hide in a slipper, and whose bite could kill within hours. So many of his soldiers would die from snake bites. The land they had heard of in legend was full of wondrous jewels and fantastic customs; of naked holy men, and funeral pyres on which women willingly threw themselves. But the heat, the incessant rain, the discomfort, the insects and disease – and the snakes – they
didn’t expect these and were appalled.
However, there was a battle to be fought and, once again, Alexander rallied his men for Jehlum on the Hydaspes river.
THE BATTLE OF HYDASPES
The swollen river flows fast.
The rain falls incessantly.
A wall of war elephants lines the riverbank, their unnerving trumpeting defying Alexander and his horses to cross. Behind the elephants, the Rajah Porus has lined his vast army of some 300 war chariots, 3,000 cavalry and as many as 50,000 infantry. They watch as Alexander roams up and down the riverbanks looking for a suitable crossing. Sometimes contingents of soldiers punt out on rafts, looking as if they might attack, but always out of bow-shot of the Indian archers.
Alexander was up to his old tricks again, taking his time, looking intermittently as if he was ready to attack, then looking indecisive, wearing down the enemy with puzzlement, boredom and complacency. Wagon-loads of food came to and fro into his camp, giving the impression that he was bedding down to wait for the end of the rainy season when it would be easier to cross the surging river.
But while Alexander distracted his enemy with all this activity, he himself was exploring up-river, looking for a suitable crossing place.
He reached a city called Jalalpur on the banks of the river, and there he saw an island in the middle, creating a narrow channel between it and the banks on either side. The island was heavily wooded with deep gullies – perfect for hiding an army.
Alexander set about further confusing his enemy. By day he created a sense of bustle and preparation as if his troops were preparing to attack. By night, he lit fires as though they were encamping till the rains had stopped. This went on day after day and night after night, so that one minute, Porus was braced for attack, and the next, relaxed, as he became convinced that Alexander couldn’t get his army across the river during monsoon.
However, Alexander heard that Porus had sent for re-enforcements from another rajah, Abisares, and he knew he mustn’t allow the two armies to join up against him. So at last he put his plan into action.
Under the command of one of his generals, Craterus, he left the bulk of his army openly in view of the enemy, even having a man dressed like himself to appear from time to time in the King’s pavilion.
Meanwhile, secretly, and piecemeal, Alexander had his flotilla of boats carried up river to Jalalpur. With a force of 5,000 horses and 10,000 infantry, he took up position opposite the island, leaving Craterus with a second contingent to join him later, once Porus had been engaged in battle.
Alexander intended to attack from behind. When Porus turned in response, Craterus would, as instructed, cross the river and attack him from the front and break up his mighty war elephants. Porus would be caught in a deadly pincer, turning one way into Craterus, the other into Alexander.
Of course, it was impossible to keep such large troop movements secret for long. Indian scouts went galloping back to Porus to tell him that Alexander was crossing higher up river. Porus immediately dispatched a force of 2,000 horsemen and 120 chariots with archers, hoping to attack Alexander while he was crossing the river.
Headed by Porus’ son, they rode as fast as they could, but arrived too late. The main body of Alexander’s men had already crossed the river, and the Indians were no match for the Macedonian army. They were soon in disarray, heavily out-numbered, and out-fought. With their chariots bogged down in the monsoon mud, they fled, leaving 400 dead, including Porus’ son.
Now Craterus was on the move and beginning to cross the river. Porus had to decide whom he should fight: Craterus or Alexander? Fatally, he chose to turn towards Alexander’s contingent. He marched upstream with an army of about 20,000 infantry, 2,000 horses, 180 chariots and 130 elephants. They found a sandy plain where the earth was firmer and the chariots wouldn’t flounder. His battle line stretched for four miles, divided into battalions of infantry each guarded by a war elephant in front. On each wing he stationed his cavalry masked by his war chariots.
As usual, Alexander had a plan: he would send a division led by one of his generals, Coenus to steal round the back of Porus’ right wing where, out of sight, they would be ready to encircle him. Alexander would then attack the left wing. When Porus turned to meet this attack, Coenus would charge in across the enemy lines and attack them from behind. The other battalions – the phalanx and Guard Brigades – were instructed not to attack until the Indian horse and foot soldiers had been thrown into confusion.
Now Alexander was ready. A thousand mounted archers launched themselves against the Indian left wing, overcoming most of Porus’ chariots.
Alexander himself then charged into the centre, forcing Porus to do exactly what he wanted him to do. Sitting on the top of his royal elephant, Porus ordered his right wing division to come in.
With his fresh troops, Coenus broke cover and galloped in from the rear, trapping the Indians. The plan looked so clean and easy when drawn on paper or marked in the sand – but it was dreadful in reality. Wounded and maddened elephants crashed about as Alexander surrounded them, attacking them with spears and arrows, javelins and scimitars. The wounded elephants retaliated by stamping soldiers under foot, impaling them on their tusks, and hurling them to the ground with their trunks. In the confusion, Indian and Macedonian alike were trampled.
But unlike Darius, Porus didn’t flee the field. He charged in on his elephant, even though it was futile. The Macedonians locked shields and closed in.
Then began the most fearful butchery. Crazed by the conditions; the blood, rain, mud and corpses, fleeing horses and maddened, trampling elephants, Alexander’s men slaughtered thousands of Indians.
Rajah Porus fought to the bitter end, but at last, wounded and losing blood, he rode slowly away. Alexander chased after him on his horse and caught the Indian king, a man of heroic looks, seven feet tall, sitting on a giant elephant.
“How do you wish to be treated?” demanded Alexander.
“Like a king,” replied Porus.
Alexander respected the valiant way Porus had fought and led his army. He left him in charge of is kingdom in return for an alliance with him.
So Jehlum was won.
DEATH OF BUCEPHALUS
Roxane came to join Alexander, pregnant with their child. But there was sorrow, too. Alexander’s wonderful, black horse that he had had since childhood, Bucephalus, his steed of the past thirteen years, his devoted companion who would let no one else ride him, was dead. Not because of wounds in battle – Alexander had always cared for him, and loved him as much as any living creature – but from exhaustion and age. He was 30 years old.
Once again, Alexander founded a city. This time, he called it Bucephala.
India was full of curiosities. Alexander was fascinated by its people, their forms of religion, their strange practices and extraordinary gods. There was so much to intrigue, mystify and disturb; so many mysteries and tales of magic, astrology and fortune-telling, interpreting every detail of life.
Alexander’s teacher, Aristotle, had told him that somewhere beyond the Indus, he would come to the end of the world. He believed that the Indus joined up with the Nile, and that there was an ocean to the east – part of the great Stream of Ocean which he believed encircled the world. Alexander thought that if he could reach this ocean, he would be able to sail all the way back to Alexandria in Egypt, and then home.
But he still only had the vaguest idea of the size of India. If Aristotle was right, the end of the world was just over the river. There, he had heard, was a vast expanse of water, which was the eastern ocean on which they could sail back to Egypt.
Fired with enthusiasm, his army now reinforced with 5,000 Indians and dozens of elephants, Alexander continued pushing further east, crossing rivers, and subduing cities. It was only when they arrived at the Hyphasis River that the truth became clear. To reach the ocean they must cross the river and endure a twelve-day trek across the Thar Desert.
But then Alexander learnt that the grea
t expanse of water beyond the desert which he thought was the eastern ocean, was not the sea, but another river, the River Ganga, whose breadth at that point was three to four miles wide. Furthermore, on the other side of the Ganga was another hostile rajah to be fought. This was Rajah of Maghdah, head of the powerful Nanda dynasty, whose huge army included 2,000 chariots and 4,000 elephants. Alexander was beginning to realize that India stretched on and on. Porus had told him about other fabulous empires to be conquered. More explorer now than military leader, Alexander was curious. He wanted to go on.
DISCONTENT
Alexander’s men were aghast. For the first time since they had left home, there were serious murmurings of discontent. Sullenly, they made it clear they did not want to go any further.
Alexander tried to encourage and inspire them. “Are we to go home just to sit in comfort, guarding our houses, and doing nothing more than repelling a few tribes on our borders? We have come further than Heracles. Look how much we have conquered. Come now, and add the rest of Asia to what you already possess. Those of you who want to go home, go, but those of you who stay with me will have riches beyond any ambition and will be the envy of those who return.”
His men were unimpressed. They were utterly weary after eight years of continuous warfare and the endless slog across miles and miles of flat Indian plain. Their horses were footsore, the proud uniforms in which they had started out, had long ago fallen into tatters, and they were forced to wear thin Indian garments. They felt like ragamuffins. Worst of all, they had endured rain, rain, rain. The monsoon had washed away all their vitality, and snakes and disease had tested their loyalty to the utmost. Stubbornly, they refused to go on.
When Alexander heard their grumbling, he lost his temper. “All right, go home!” he shouted at them. “Go home and tell everyone how you abandoned Alexander in the midst of his enemies,” and he stomped away to sulk in his tent, as Achilles had once done.
