Rajiv Menon -- ThunderGod

by Rajiv G rtf txt Menon

  'With no wood to make a fire and no strength left to butcher their carcasses, I gave the order to slit their throats and drink their living blood. In my madness, I told myself that if their mere touch had given me these powers, drinking their lifeblood would turn us into supermen or even gods. As we drank to our heart's content, a deep sleep overcame each one of us. This is the way we found ourselves when we awoke. As for those beings, their bodies had vanished without a trace.'

  Uruk's savage face underwent a startling transformation and he started to weep. Mitra watched him in silence, amazed by his story. He scanned the creature's mind, looking for signs of deceit. There were none. Who were these beings? Why were they living on this remote mountaintop?

  'So do your men share your regret at their fate?' Mitra asked Uruk.

  The creature spat on the ground in disgust. 'They have become mindless beasts whose lives are governed by the thirst, for that is our curse. We have been forever dismissed from the light to skulk in dark corners and suffer this insatiable thirst for fresh blood.'

  Mitra realised that, for his part as the principal in the incident, Uruk had to carry the burden of his human conscience within this grotesque body. He felt only pity for this unfortunate creature as he asked him to continue with his tale.

  'We found another way down the mountain, a secret passageway through its depths. There we waited, fearful of the sun, all the while suffering the thirst. I blamed the chief for our plight and decided to exact a terrible revenge on him and his supporters within the tribe. But the village was more than two days' march from the mountain, with no protection from the sun on the plateau.

  'I waited patiently for months, till one day fortune finally favoured us. A mist descended on the plateau. We waited for the cover of night and then attacked our old village. However, I did not bargain for the bestiality of my companions. Once I unleashed them on the village, they proved to be impossible to control. The end of the carnage left not one male member of our tribe alive. They were all slaughtered, down to the last child. I selected a few young and fertile women and fed them with my own infected blood to turn them. We needed them to breed the next generation of the Pisacha.'

  Uruk took a deep breath, it was as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He had a faraway look in his eyes.

  'We have lived and hunted here ever since, never leaving this forest except once every four or five years, when the mist comes in and the entire plateau of Gandhar becomes our hunting ground once again.'

  He stood up and bowed his head.

  'My people lack the intelligence to see the futility of our present existence. But I have no desire left to live like this any more. So take my head, warrior, and avenge your brother.'

  Paras was calm as he said, 'I have no wish to go against the gods who have condemned you to this existence. But know this, man or beast or whatever you may be, if you ever venture into our lands again we will hunt down every last one of you. It will be like you and your kind never existed on this earth.'

  Mitra was pleased with the young warrior's restraint. He knew how much Paras wanted to avenge the death of his brother. He now stood up and addressed Uruk.

  'Let us now come to an understanding. The stream that flows through the western border of the Forest of Cedars marks the end of your land and the beginning of ours. Let that line never be crossed.'

  Uruk clenched his right fist and placed it on his heart, his savage face now almost serene.

  'The Pisacha will always honour this pact, Master.'

  He turned and leapt in the air, and then all they heard was the rustling of leaves as the mist and the trees swallowed him up.

  They rode back in silence, each man lost in thought at all he had heard and witnessed.

  'Do you think the Pisacha will keep their word?'

  Mitra took his time to reply.

  'It is not the Pisacha I worry about. It is us.'

  5

  It was the first hour after dawn and the clanging of bronze from Mitra's hermitage carried far across the quiet plain. In the little courtyard, Mitra sat with four young men watching a duel in progress. The boys were engrossed in the fight.

  Varuna, the oldest, was leaning back on his elbows, affecting disinterest, but following every move closely. Next to him, Agni jumped up and down, screaming encouragement. He had to be restrained physically by Mitra as he nearly fell into the combat area in his excitement. Vayu, the third boy, was physically the largest. His shoulders and neck were thick with muscle and belied his youth. He was a good-tempered lad with a sense of humour to match. He taunted the two fighters, questioned their manhood, and made ribald jokes. Soma, the youngest, was silent as he watched the two fighters carefully and studied their every move. His face was a picture of concentration.

  In the middle of the courtyard, fourteen-year-old Indra circled his opponent warily. He held his sword steady, pointed at his opponent's head, and peered over the rim of his shield as he looked for a weakness in his defence. His adversary, Paras, watched his younger opponent carefully. They had been sparring for an hour now and neither had been able to create an opening.

  Indra was quick on his feet as he launched an attack. He darted forward with a couple of swift lunges and forced his opponent to give ground. Then he launched himself high in the air and brought his sword down hard in a chopping motion. Paras took the blow high on his shield; the impact jarred his arm. He could not but admire Indra's stamina as he continued to take evasive action.

  Indra realised his opponent was getting tired and did not let up. He continued to follow him as he rained blows on his shield. Finally, he got the opening he was waiting for. Paras, now exhausted, dropped the hand that bore the shield slightly. Indra's eyes lit up: this was exactly what he had been waiting for. He lunged forward eagerly.

  Even as he shifted his weight forward, he realised that his more experienced opponent had baited him, but it was too late. His momentum carried him forward, unchecked. Paras though prepared for the manoeuvre, was still taken by surprise at the speed of the strike. At the last minute, he twisted his body out of the way and swung his shield. The blow was late as the blade passed through his defences, but the bronze shield caught Indra on the wrist and forced him to drop his sword. In a flash, Paras leaned in and tapped Indra on the shoulder with the flat part of his sword. The contest was over.

  Paras realised how close Indra's blade had been to his exposed flank and heaved a sigh of relief. Although they were using training swords, that blow could have given him a painful injury. Mitra was the only other person to notice what a close call it had been for the young warrior. Indra threw his shield aside in anger and stormed off. His wrist hurt, but he resisted the urge to massage it. Soma was about to go after him, but a stern look from Mitra made the young boy sink right back down. Paras bowed, left the combat area and took his place on the side.

  Mitra now called Varuna and Vayu to the arena. Their weapon of choice was the mace. As the two of them faced off, Vayu had a big smile on his face. He shrugged his massive shoulders, warming up as he watched his adversary. Varuna just stood, face expressionless, mace at the ready; his dark eyes were inscrutable as he stared at his opponent.

  Indra was now outside the courtyard as he heard the maces clash together, announcing the beginning of the next duel. He let the tears of disappointment flow down his cheeks. He could not believe how he had walked into that one. He'd had his opponent right where he wanted him, and then he had handed over the victory on a platter.

  While all these thoughts were racing through his mind, he heard movement nearby. He turned sharply in the direction of the sound and hurriedly wiped his face. He realised that it was coming from the shrubbery that fenced Mitra's courtyard. He rushed towards it, reached in and dragged out a screaming, protesting girl.

  'Sachi! What are you doing here?'

  The girl was beautiful, with delicate features and skin the colour of pale ivory. Her long, black hair fell straight and cascaded down to her hips
. She turned to him, her dark eyes flashing.

  'I am the regent's daughter. I go where I please.'

  As Indra let go of her, his tone became gentler.

  'You cannot be here. If Mitra sees you, you will be in a lot of trouble. What do you want anyway?'

  'I came to see the champion of the next Spardha in action, and I have to say, things don't look too good,' she laughed.

  Indra was about to protest angrily when he looked at her and realised she was teasing him.

  'Oh, be quiet. Go home. You have no place here among warriors.'

  He turned and walked away with her laughter ringing in the background. Sachi was the girl who was to be his bride. Mitra had named her Indrani and fixed the alliance when she was born. Sachi was the name her family had given her, the name she would use till the day she married him. They had been playmates since childhood and although at times she talked too much, Indra loved to spend time with her. But now, with the trials so close, it would not do for Mitra and his companions to see him hanging around with a girl. He made his way back to the courtyard and quietly took his place by the side as he watched his two friends in action.

  Varuna, unruffled, was stalking a tired-looking Vayu, staying close to his bigger opponent and not giving him an opportunity to swing his mace. He had not even broken into a sweat. When he was able to get close enough, Varuna used a series of quick jabs and short swings to knock his bigger and stronger opponent off balance. Vayu's armour was dented in several places and his shoulders were bruised. His breathing was ragged as he staggered and fell.

  Varuna hung back and waited for him to get up, Vayu rose and immediately swung his mace. Varuna deftly sidestepped the blow. Vayu cursed under his breath as he went after him, aiming one massive blow after another at his elusive opponent till finally, exhausted, he stood there gasping for breath. Varuna moved forward and goaded his opponent with his weapon, taunting him. With a huge grunt, Vayu raised his mace and swung it. Varuna stepped back as the blow landed in front of him and then quickly moved in. He stepped on the shaft of Vayu's mace as it hit the ground. Vayu lost his grip on the weapon; Varuna struck a light blow on his back causing him to fall over. The duel was over.

  Varuna offered his fallen opponent his hand to help him get to his feet. Vayu laughed as he grabbed it in an arm lock and wrestled Varuna to the ground. The two of them then got to their feet and made their way back to their seats, smiling.

  Agni rushed to the combat area even before Mitra could call him. He was mortified to hear that he and Soma would be wrestling. He started to protest.

  'But Master, I cannot wrestle this runt--it won't be a contest.'

  Mitra smiled.

  'If you concentrate a little, you might defeat him.'

  Agni laughed loudly.

  'Defeat him! Hah! I will teach him a lesson he will not forget.'

  Soma, lean and muscular, built like a whiplash, was already in preparation for the bout. He anointed his arms and legs with animal fat and watched his opponent quietly. Agni got more and more impatient as he waited.

  'Oh, come on Soma. This fight is not going to last as long as your preparations.'

  Soma now stretched his limbs and took his time; he knew this would irritate Agni further.

  Finally, after what seemed to Agni like an eternity, Mitra announced for the fight to begin. Agni rushed in. He hoped to use his superior height and build to good effect. Soma was prepared; he crouched low and did not allow Agni to get his arms around his lean frame. Agni tried to grab his shoulders, but Soma wriggled away--the grease on his body making it difficult for Agni to get a grip. The two of them circled around for a while, prompting Vayu to shout, 'Come on ladies, this is a duel, not a dance.'

  Agni paused to catch his breath and gave Vayu a dirty look. Soma darted in and pushed him, causing him to lose his balance. Vayu hooted with laughter.

  Agni's temper came to the fore. He hissed, 'I'll get you, you little weasel.'

  He rushed forward, arms raised. Soma stayed low and slapped his hands away. Agni tried again, only to get the same result. The slaps served to infuriate him further. Soma noticed that his friend's face was going red and almost matched the colour of his fiery hair.

  Agni bent his head and charged at Soma, who showed superb agility; he leapt in the air and, using Agni's head as leverage, vaulted neatly over him. Agni's charge nearly carried him into the spectators, who laughed at him. Even Indra, in spite of his surly mood, had a big smile on his face. The laughter of his companions drove Agni into a blind rage, he turned and charged again.

  Soma was revelling in the moment and did not expect the same move again. He was a little late to step aside, and one flailing arm caught him with enough force to knock him off his feet. With a growl of triumph, Agni leapt on to his fallen opponent. Soma saw him coming and raised his legs in the air. His feet caught Agni on his chest and Soma used the momentum of the bigger boy against him and threw him over his head.

  Agni did a somersault in the air and landed hard on his back. The impact knocked the wind out of his sails. In a flash, Soma was on him. He used his knees to pin the shoulders of his opponent to the ground. Mitra called the end of the fight and Soma was lifted off his feet and carried by a jubilant Indra for a lap of honour. It was not often that the slightly built Soma prevailed in a one-on-one encounter with his friends.

  Vayu continued to taunt Agni as he helped him to his feet. Agni took it in his stride and smiled as he dusted himself and called out to the victor.

  'One of these days I'm going to knock that crafty little head right off your shoulders with my mace.'

  Indra went to Paras and clasped his shoulder.

  'You fought well, my friend. Please forgive my behaviour. I should learn to be more graceful in defeat.'

  Paras smiled. 'Don't worry, my prince. The way you fight, you will not have to worry too much about defeat.'

  Mitra called for their attention.

  'You have acquitted yourself well, my boys, and as a reward I would like to inform you that Mahisi has arranged a grand feast tonight. So enjoy yourselves and don't stay up too late as I expect you here at dawn for your riding lesson.'

  The announcement was followed with hoots of appreciation. In the last seven years of training and study, they had been forced to get used to Mitra's cooking. Though their teacher was extremely skilled in a lot of disciplines, culinary science wasn't one of them.

  Just as they were gathering their things and preparing to leave, Mitra made one final announcement.

  'Just so the ones who lost don't feel they got away scot free, they can carry the victors on their backs to the feast.'

  A groan escaped from Indra's lips, at the thought of hauling Paras all the way to Mahisi's farm.

  ***

  Mitra sat down and lit his hemp pipe as he listened to the sound of excited voices recede into the background. For the last seven years, he and Paras had trained these boys and honed their martial skills. Indra's companions had been handpicked from Mahisi's orphanage, their fathers had fought and died with Daeyus at the Pass of the Wolves. These boys had now sworn a blood oath of allegiance to Indra. Their fate was now inseparably bound to his.

  The boys had their own distinct personalities, yet they seemed to get along very well together. Now, in a week, their skills would be put to the ultimate test. It was time for the Spardha.

  For a tribe that had been at peace for several years--something quite unusual given the way of the Devas--the Spardha assumed great significance, allowing young warriors to assess their true potential in combat and win some glory.

  The rules for the tournament were simple. The best young warriors were chosen to represent their groups or dals. These groups were pitted against each other in the various disciplines of skill and combat. The top two dals would compete for the trophy. They would also nominate one warrior from their group for the ultimate face-off to decide who would be the individual champion. This was the prize that Indra wanted above everything else.r />
  The natural thing for Indra to do would have been to join his father's dal, the Lions, but Mitra had advised against it. The Lions were now led and trained by Pusan, Vasu's son. Pusan was the reigning champion of the Spardha and the foremost warrior amongst the Devas. He had his own ideas as to who should be the leader of the tribe, and it did not include Indra.

  Mitra knew how important this victory was for his young ward's future, and he'd made the decision to start a new dal. Their symbol was the swooping falcon, which was emblazoned in silver on a purple banner that now fluttered proudly on a pole in Mitra's yard.

  While the older dals, like the Lions, the Bears and the Wolves had a faithful following, a large alumnus and a number of candidates to choose from, the Falcons had a pool of only five young warriors. But Mitra was not just training them for a competition, but for a life of war. He did not want these boys to just win the Spardha. He was training them to conquer the world.

  There was great anticipation in the clan regarding this Spardha. During Daeyus' time, it had been an annual affair. But now, in times of peace, it had been three years since the last tournament. The enthusiasts and the punters hung around the training areas, trying to assess the potential of each of the dals. While there was enough information available on the other dals and the candidates they were likely to field, the Falcons were a mystery as they trained and lived away from the settlement at Mitra's hermitage. They had not participated in the last tournament, preferring to watch from the sidelines as Pusan and his Lions took the prize.

  In the Lions' training yard, Pusan had just finished putting his wards through the wringer. They stood before him, led by his protege Atreya. Pusan gripped his shoulder proudly.

  'Well done, my champion. Once again the Lions will devour the opposition in this Spardha.'

  Atreya, his muscular frame covered with sweat, raised his training sword high in the air and led the boys in their war cry.

  'Victory to the Lions!'

  Just then a messenger rushed in and bowed low.