'Greetings, Captain Pusan. The regent has asked for you to meet him in the Sabha as soon as possible.'
Pusan dismissed his squad and hurried to meet his father.
***
At Mahisi's residence, the Falcons were treated to a feast far beyond their expectations. After the intensive training session, the boys fell upon the food like a pack of ravenous wolves. There was venison stew served with unleavened bread, succulent catfish caught fresh from the river and grilled on coals, quail eggs and thick cream cheese. In keeping with their current standing as young warriors, they were also served a portion of watered-down wine along with the food. By the end of the feast, the boys were ready to pass out. They were escorted to their old dormitory where they had lived as children.
Paras waited for them to fall sleep before he quietly made his way back to Mahisi's hut. Unlike Mitra, who seemed comfortable with his celibacy, Paras had needs. Both he and Mahisi had this discreet arrangement that worked well for both parties.
***
It was still an hour before dawn when five horsemen led by Pusan made their way southwards from Aryavarta. Though still a few months short of his twentieth birthday, Pusan had developed a formidable reputation as a warrior. It was why his father had entrusted him with this task.
For the last few months, a lion had terrorised farmers in the southern lands. It had taken several horses and cattle and recently killed a young farmer and his wife. The people had named him Baldar, the strong one. Pusan had vowed that he would bring back the lion's skin and sit on it to watch the Spardha.
To the south, near the great swamp, the first rays of the sun revealed the animal, with its distinctive black mane, as he prepared to feast on a young heifer. Baldar was in his prime, yet he did not live in a pride. He preferred to live and hunt alone. The advent of the Devas into Gandhar had driven the lion prides further and further south beyond the swamps, yet Baldar had chosen to stay. He was the real master of this land and no human would take that away from him.
Although Baldar was big and strong, as his name suggested, his real strength lay in his cunning. An expert at camouflage, he had made his home in the treacherous swamp amongst poisonous snakes and giant crocodiles, and he chose his battles very carefully. This was why, in spite of numerous efforts by the Devas, no arrow, blade or spear had ever marked his tawny hide. Now, as daylight arrived, he dragged the carcass of the heifer back through the reed beds, well into the protection of the swamp.
Pusan and his band arrived at the spot where the lion had made the kill. The tracker read the signs and pointed in the direction of the reed beds. Pusan, on a magnificent black stallion, was accompanied by five of his closest cohorts, men from his own dal who had helped him win the last Spardha. Pusan gave the order for them to enter the swamp in single file. The tracker led the way on foot, hacking away at the reeds that grew almost to the height of a man. He was followed by Pusan.
As they made slow progress through the treacherous terrain, the mosquitoes began to attack and the men cursed as they slapped the stinging insects off their bodies. The tracker suddenly sensed something and gave the signal for them to be quiet. He heard the alarm call of a thrush--it was a warning that a predator was near.
The man was about to make the sign of imminent danger when suddenly, out of the stinking morass, Baldar rose like a primeval monster, covered with black, sticky mud. With one mighty blow of his paw, he crushed the skull of the tracker, and before the rest of the hunting party could react, he disappeared once again into the reeds. Pusan watched helplessly as the tracker lay in front of him, writhing in pain. There was nothing he could do for the man, so he drove his lance through his heart and gave him a quick and merciful death.
Now Pusan was confronted with the dilemma of going ahead without the tracker, a decision fraught with danger, or turning back and losing face at the Sabha. But Baldar took the decision out of his hands. He let out a loud roar that made the horses rear up in fright. One of the men was unable to control his steed and the animal bolted wildly across the swamp.
The horse had only gone a few paces when the black ooze started to slow him down and swallow him up. The more the horse and rider struggled, the quicker they began to sink into the mud. Pusan screamed for the man to get off the horse and lie flat on the quicksand with his limbs spread out. The others then threw him a rope and dragged him to dry land while his steed slowly sank into the dark depths of the swamp.
So engrossed were they in the man's rescue that they failed to notice that the lion had crept up behind Pusan. The great beast sprang at the warrior. Fortunately for Pusan, the soft mud did not give Baldar the purchase to leap high enough. However, the claws of the great beast ravaged the hindquarters of his horse.
As Pusan turned to meet the threat with his lance raised, Baldar attacked again. This time his claws raked across Pusan's thigh and laid it open to the bone. Pusan gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the white-hot pain that shot through his leg. He thrust his lance at the beast and the spear grazed a heavily-muscled shoulder. Baldar quickly disengaged from battle and disappeared into the reeds.
Pusan looked at the wound on his thigh: the lion's claws had laid open the femoral artery. This meant that he needed to get help quickly or he would bleed to death. He bound his wound tightly using strips of leather from his saddlebags and reluctantly gave the order to turn back.
Baldar watched the men leave with the body of the dead tracker. He made no attempt to stop them; there was an unfinished meal that awaited him in the reeds. He had sent out a strong message to the men who occupied the northern lands. The marshes were his kingdom. The authority of man would not be recognised here.
***
Over the next few days, news of the failed lion hunt spread like wildfire through Aryavarta. Mitra was summoned to Vasu's house. When he got there, a worried regent met him at the door. Pusan lay inside surrounded by physicians. In spite of being sedated heavily, he was in agony and delirious with fever. While the physicians had been able to stem the loss of blood, they were unable to do anything about the infection in the wound.
The chief physician, a grizzled old man, turned to the regent, his head bowed in resignation.
'My lord, we are running out of time, so I must ask you again. Allow us to amputate his leg. That is the only way to save his life.'
Vasu shook his head. He was firm in spite of his grief. He looked towards Mitra and beseeched him with folded hands.
'My lord, save the boy's leg. I know you can. Please save my son, for I know he will take his own life rather than live the rest of his days a cripple.'
Mitra looked at Pusan. His once radiant face was pale and gaunt. He had lost a lot of blood; only his robust constitution had helped him survive this long. Mitra examined the wound carefully. The physicians had done their job well; they had sealed off the severed artery, cleaned and dressed the wound. But the claws of a carnivore carried all manner of dangerous infections. Mitra sniffed at the wound; he could smell the mild rot that had set in--it was gangrene.
He asked everybody to leave the room. Only Vasu's wife, Madri, was allowed to be present. He pulled out a bunch of tiny leaves from his bag; in the dim light, they shone with a pale green luminance. He chanted a mantra and crushed them in a bowl with some spring water. This was sanjeevani, a herb that was native to only these mountains; it was unknown yet to the physicians of the time. His master had revealed its secret to Mitra. It was said to have the power to bring a man back from the dead. He mixed the fresh paste with some warm water and administered it to Pusan. He asked Madri to feed Pusan the remainder of the contents of the bowl during the night and left.
The next morning, the Falcons were taking a break after a rigorous riding session when one of the slaves from Vasu's household rushed there with news for Mitra. Pusan's fever had broken; the physicians had examined him and discovered that the infection was now under control. Vasu's son would live, and keep his wounded leg.
Varuna was not too pleased
with their master's decision to save Pusan. He was the first to break the silence after they heard the news.
'I hope the Master does not regret his decision one day. Pusan is the only obstacle between Indra and the throne.'
Soma immediately jumped to Mitra's defence.
'What would you have him do, Varuna? Let the man die? Mitra will not let such a petty situation sway him from the path of his dharma.'
Varuna turned to Soma, his dark eyes flashing in anger.
'Petty! That man has boasted publicly that he will be the next chief of the Devas. Atreya and his Lions have been strutting around like the roosters in Mahisi's hen house ever since. If they win the Spardha, we will have to leave Aryavarta with our heads bowed in shame.'
Vayu laughed.
'Looks like our friend here is getting a little nervous before the competition.'
Varuna turned to him angrily.
'Nervous! Why don't you pick up your mace and I'll show you how nervous I am.'
'Come on then.'
Vayu, still smiling, reached for his weapon.
Soma hurriedly stepped between the two.
'Save your strength, my friends, we need it for the tournament tomorrow.'
Indra had been quiet all this while. He now stood up and spoke. His voice was gentle, but there was no mistaking the determination in it.
'If it is my destiny to be the raja of the Devas, no man is going to take that away from me.'
Paras, who had been setting up the targets for their archery practice, called out to them. Indra picked up his bow and twanged the string. The sound resonated through the tense atmosphere and diffused it. The Falcons readied themselves for their next round of training.
***
It was late in the evening when Mitra got back from the house of the regent after checking on Pusan. The young man looked rested and well on his way to recovery. Mitra sighed as he thought of the consequences his action would have on the future of his young ward. The past few weeks, Mitra had spent a fair amount of time in Aryavarta. There was open talk now of Pusan being the next chief of the Devas. Some of the seeds of discord that had been sown by the former high priest Susena had taken root and grown among the populace.
The laws of leadership among the Devas were simple: the chief of the tribe had to be of pure blood, and his right to the throne had to be acknowledged by the former chief or the Sabha. Daeyus had endorsed Indra's right to the throne. But his bloodline was questionable, because they did not have a clue as to the identity of his mother. In addition to this, Vasu's able administration and Pusan's performance in the last Spardha had won them many admirers among the influential members of the tribe.
While Daeyus' deeds of valour were remembered on special occasions by nostalgic veterans and bards, it was the prosperity that Vasu's short reign had brought that the common folk appreciated. Mitra realised that if Indra was to ever sit on that throne, they would all have their work cut out for them.
As he approached the hermitage, he spotted Indra sitting outside by the fire and staring out into the distant horizon. The boy saw Mitra and stood up to greet him. The rigours of his training had chiselled his body to perfection. It was built for speed and endurance, and those were Indra's strengths in combat. His long, blond hair was swept back from his face and tied in a loose braid. His blue eyes had that piercing intensity which reminded Mitra of his father. His features were more delicate though; Mitra assumed he had inherited this from his mother's side. While Daeyus had not revealed her identity, the boy's aura and the perfection of his features told Mitra all he needed to know about his mother.
'It is late Indra, why haven't you gone to bed like the others?'
'I could not sleep Master, my mind is troubled.'
Mitra put his arm around Indra and led him back to his hut.
'What is it, my boy?'
Indra stopped and turned to him.
'I have to win. That is the only way I can be chief of the Devas.'
Mitra looked into the boy's eyes and saw the quiet determination in them.
'You will, my young falcon. Now apply your mind to what you have to do tomorrow and give your body some rest. I will see you in the morning.'
Mitra watched the boy trudge back reluctantly to his hut. He knew Indra would have rather stayed and asked him a hundred more questions.
The old sage's heart swelled with pride as he thought back on the years. He had watched Indra grow from a spoilt little boy into this strong young man, bred for greatness. He sighed as he looked up at the stars. They told him that the journey for Indra was about to begin, and it would be a long and arduous one.
***
Aryavarta was decorated like a newlywed bride for the Spardha. For the next five days, life would come to a standstill in the city. The area in front of the Sabha had been cleared and an arena built for the martial contests. It was now decorated with festoons and colourful banners. The various dals had their own dugouts where the contestants could limber up and await their bouts. Behind them were enclosures for supporters to cheer their heroes as they arrived for the contest.
The Falcons entered the arena to an extremely muted reception. They looked splendid enough in their tunics of purple with the silver falcon emblazoned on them.
Varuna, who was well versed in the politics of their world, was the first to come up with a reason.
'What do you expect? We are a bunch of orphans being trained by an Aditya. Why would they switch loyalties from their old dals and support us?'
Agni jogged up and down impatiently.
'Who cares about support? Let's just go ahead and do what we have to do.'
Vayu was his pleasant self as he went towards the audience enclosure and acknowledged whatever little support they had. The people from Mahisi's farm and orphanage had gathered behind their dugout, along with a few slaves. He swung his mace in a series of breathtaking moves, causing a cheer in their small ranks. Soma ignored the crowd and concentrated on limbering up.
Indra looked about him and then called for his friends to gather close in a huddle.
'Falcons, by the end of these five days, each of you will be carried in glory, on the shoulders of these very people who ignore you now. I, Indra, son of Daeyus, swear this. Now let's put on a show they will not forget in a hurry!'
'Yeah!' they cried in unison and pumped their fists in the air.
Their modest support cheered them lustily. The Falcons now settled down to do their warm-ups and awaited the arrival of the other dals.
The Wolves walked in, brightly attired in green and yellow, amidst rapturous applause. Nala, a young man with a growing reputation as a peerless archer, led them. They acknowledged their considerable support and settled down.
Now the crowd erupted in jubilation--the Lions had entered the arena. In their flamboyant colours of red and gold, led by the magnificent Atreya, the defending champions announced their arrival with a breathtaking display of acrobatics.
The applause took a few minutes to die down. When it did, Vasu stood up to address the gathering from the steps of the Sabha.
'Devas! It gives me great honour to present to you the Spardha. To the participants, I say do your dals proud and always remember that this is a contest. The very opponents you face in competition today you will fight alongside in battle tomorrow. So fight with honour and follow the rules. Good luck and may Surya shower his blessings on you all.'
The announcer then took over and informed the crowd that they would start with the equestrian events, which would take place in a large meadow on the outskirts of the settlement.
***
Aryavarta resembled a ghost town as nearly every able-bodied man, woman and child left to watch the equestrian trials. In his father's home, Pusan woke up from the effects of the painkilling potion given to him. His family had left him in the care of an attendant and gone to watch the Spardha.
Pusan was thankful for the peace and quiet. He had gotten weary of the anxious faces hovering around him a
ll the time. He cursed out aloud at his fate. He had failed in his task to kill the lion and now he owed his life to Mitra, someone he despised almost as much as he did Indra. Just then the attendant entered with news of a visitor.
'Master Makara is here, my lord.'
Pusan was surprised to hear that his old tutor had come to see him. Makara rarely left his home outside the settlement. In his own words, there was no place in Aryavarta for true men of god. He asked the attendant to usher him in with the utmost respect.
During the reign of Daeyus, Makara had been one of the rising stars of the Deva priesthood. He was being groomed by Susena as his successor. Unfortunately for Makara, on the death of his mentor, Mitra took over the duties of priesthood and the Deva clergy suddenly found themselves totally redundant.
Makara's pride did not allow him to eke out a living performing household rituals like the other Deva priests. Instead he retreated into the shadows, away from public life. He then waited and watched for an opportunity to restore the Deva priesthood to its former glory.
In order to make ends meet he was forced to work as a tutor for the children of the wealthy and influential families of Aryavarta. At long last the opportunity he craved presented itself--he was made tutor to Pusan, son of Vasu.
Now years later he entered the bedchamber of his ward. Pusan watched his old tutor as he made his way into the room. He was surprised to see how kind the years had been to Makara. His shaven head and eyebrows along with his kohl-lined dark eyes gave him an ageless androgynous look. Tall and thin, he dressed and carried himself just like his mentor, Susena. Garbed in the white and gold robes of the old high priest, he cut a fine figure as he sat at Pusan's bedside and greeted him.
'I am glad to see that you are well, boy. The rumourmongers of this town had written you off a while ago.'
'I wish those rumours were true, Master. I have no desire to live. I have failed my father.'
Pusan got no sympathy from Makara.
'Stop your whining, boy! I told you a long time ago to give up trying to please your father. He has no time to laud your achievements. He is too busy being a slave. He was a slave to Daeyus, now he is a slave to Mitra and he will die a slave to Indra.'
Rajiv Menon -- ThunderGod Page 10
