by Rahul Mitra
***
“Advance, Advance, Advance, Stop!”
Aditya stopped just in time and a wicked-looking khadga slashed through the air just inches from his chest. Everyone else had left, and only Aditya was being coached today.
“See, that’s his range. That’s the maximum his arms can reach and he can’t possibly go beyond that range.”
Shilajeet went into slow motion, swinging the blade lazily through the air to demonstrate. Aditya was just out of his reach.
“He can’t possibly get at you. At this point, don’t rush in; spend just a moment studying his position, so you can anticipate what his next move is.”
Aditya looked confused and Pandi explained further.
“Look at the axis of his body. Which way is his body turned? Everytime your opponent strikes you, his whole body has to be behind it—the angle of his attack will lie along the axis of his body, either the current position or the position he slips into, before launching the attack.”
“But how will I know?” protested Aditya.
“By observing his feet and his eyes. They will always tell you what his target and his“Okay . . .” Aditya screwed up his eyes and bit his lip.
“But, in order for you to form that mental picture, you need to be just outside his reach, so you can safely pause and take in everything. For that, you need to master range.”
“Okay.” Aditya nodded again.
“Now go back, and then confidently advance right up to the limit of his range.”
Aditya went back and started advancing towards Shilajeet, who was tracing intricate patterns in the air with the khadga in one hand. At the last moment, he flinched, and Shilajeet brought his sword to a dead stop just an inch away from his ribs.
“Overconfidence will kill you boy,” Shilajeet grinned. Aditya had closed his eyes, and Pandi was chuckling.
“He’s going to cut me up while I form a mental picture,” protested Aditya.
“Patience boy, patience! It will come with practice, don’t worry! But concentration—that’s important!”
“I am concentrating.”
“You can’t study him before the fight begins, Aditya. You have to be in the fight to understand it and control it. No one asked you to spend an hour studying him, but you have to practice this, till the feel of the fight comes to you within one-tenth of a kshan, like that!” Pandi snapped his fingers. “It should come without even consciously being thought of. Come on now, go back and try again.”
Again and again and again, Aditya was made to do the same thing as Shilajeet changed swords and then Pandi replaced him. Aditya was sweating purely from the tension and the concentration, and Pandi repeatedly questioned him, forcing him to think.
“What’s he going to do next?” he asked in the middle of an exchange. Shilajeet froze in position.
“I think he will charge me,” Aditya replied.
Shilajeet grinned and Aditya knew he had guessed right.
“What makes you think that?”
“His rear heel is half off-the-ground. He’s already pre-loaded it to advance.”
“Hmm, but what do you think he’s going to do, if he advances?”
“I think it will be an overhead strike”
“Okay . . . and what will you do if he does that?”
“I’ll move back a little.”
“Well, you could do that. But I would advise you to get out of the axis along which his blade is going to come down. Step forward and to your left, and as his heavy blade swings down to the ground, close in on him.”
“Okay, what if he slashes at me instead? Should I block him?”
Shilajeet demonstrated, slowly swinging his blade horizontally from one side towards Aditya’s middle.
“You could, but it would not be ideal. At this range, it would be better for you to move slightly back and let his blade go through. Once it passes you, slap it away and then close in for the kill.”
Pandi now stepped in to demonstrate. As Shilajeet’s blade came in from the side, Pandi imperceptibly stepped back. The blade slashed through empty air and as soon as it had passed his chest, Pandi slapped it away.
“See, just like that—let him swing the sword and then—slap! It’s on its way. His hands are now out of the way. That’s when you close in for the kill. Now, where do you think I should stab him?”
“On the neck?”
“That’s right, if he’s wearing armour, go straight for the neck; otherwise, just slide it into his ribs, like this—”
Pandi placed the point of his sword against Shilajeet’s ribs as he froze in position.
“Okay.”
Again and again and again, Aditya ducked, and weaved, and side-stepped, and retreated, while Pandi constantly probed him, pushing him mentally to absorb new concepts. It was like a mighty river in spate, and however much he wanted, he could only swallow and retain a few mouthfuls at a time. No sooner did he master one aspect than he seemed to mess up the things he had learnt earlier. He misjudged any number of times and at such instances, Shilajeet’s sword would come to stop just inches away from his body. The sharpness of the blade and seeming abandon with which Shilajeet was wielding it, added a very real danger to the proceedings and Aditya was sweating profusely. Most of the time, it was Shilajeet’s skill, rather than his own judgement, that saved him. Pandi would reprimand him using the foulest language, and then go over the finer points again.
Aditya was thoroughly enjoying himself.
direction of movement are going to be.”
The Attack
Snaking its way steadily up Uttarapatha, the caravan soon reached the borderlands of Magadha. This was particularly dangerous territory, as the entire area was in a state of upheaval and the writ of the government was virtually non-existent here. The mighty kingdom of Magadha was already rotting away from the inside.
The effects of this decay, which in reality had only started over the past twenty years, had still not manifested themselves in popular consciousness, for Magadha had a long-standing reputation as the pre-eminent state in India. Its star had been on the ascendant for more than two hundred years. Blessed by nature with fertile soil and an abundant supply of elephants, the kingdom had built up formidable armies, which soon swallowed up the janasanghas of Kashi, Kosala, Kalinga, and more recently, the kingdom of Vatsa of which Kaushambi was the capital. Yet, under the rule of the cruel and despotic King Dhanananda, things were rapidly going downhill. His Majesty was extremely unpopular, internal rebellions had multiplied, and central control was fragmenting. Trading caravans had become easy prey for ambitious warlords and rebels, each of whom was busy building his own private army.
Magadha’s neighbours, the allied confederacies of the Panchalas and Kuru-Panchalas were fomenting trouble in the outlying provinces and anarchy prevailed over the entire stretch. Throughout the time that they were in these lands, the caravan remained in a state of high alert. The extra vigilance exercised by Pandi and his men paid off, when finally one day, they were attacked.
Thanks to the scouts, the caravan had been forewarned and when the attackers thundered in on their horses, they found a travelling camp that was ready and expecting them. Archers hidden in the bullock carts suddenly shot arrows at the attackers, who lost three men even before they could close in on their prey. Four more of them were killed in the melee that ensued, and a sudden charge on their flanks by over thirty horsemen, drove them off the field. Pandi and his men then gave pursuit, chased them down, stripped them of everything, and confiscated their horses. As a result, many more people were now riding horses in the caravan.
The fight was over almost before it began, and Aditya saw no part of it. He did not have to wait long to see action though, for the next attack that took place, was a major one. It caught them unawares when they were just a few days’ march away from the great city of Indraprastha. They had made it safely through the turbulent frontiers, and had crossed Panchala janapada when it happened.
***
The moon hung low in the sky, heavy and full, seemingly close to bursting. It cast its milky whiteness across the overgrown, half-wild fields, the river in the distance, and the caravan, which was parked right in the middle of this forbidding wasteland. Wolves bayed in the distance. A stray moonbeam glinted on something metallic for a moment, as the tender green leaves of the scrub shimmered in the soft light. Then a dark, heavy cloud passed slowly over the moon and shadows came to life on the ground below. A sinister shape seemed to glide through the swaying grasses one moment and melted into the patchwork of light and shade the next.
The winds rustled through the grass and mixed with the faraway howling of wolves to create an unsettling effect. Save for this, there was no other sound anywhere, except for the low murmur of the voices of sentries, floating on the winds that blew across the desolate plains. It was the second prahar of the night and even the fires in the camp had burnt themselves out.
Suddenly, shouts were heard in the darkness from amid the grass, arrows whistled through the air, and the sound of hoof beats blended with the howling of the wind. Exultant cries resounded all up and down the line, and they were almost instantly answered by other calls coming from the direction of the caravan.
“Attack! Kill! Cut! Kill! Kill!”
“Attack! Attack! Attack! Attack!”
“Help! Help! They’ve come! They’ve come!”
The sleeping camp was under attack.
***
Aditya and Rishabha were one of the ten pairs of ‘buddy’ groups who had been posted on sentry duty. Aditya had been lying down in his kambala, talking, when the world suddenly erupted.
“Attack—it’s an attack!” A single plaintive cry ripped through the darkness to their right, and was instantly taken up by sentries, up and down the line. In an instant, pandemonium let loose. The night exploded into a thousand blood-curdling yells, and the galloping of horses. It was impossible to tell if it was the work of ten men or a thousand.
“Run! Run!” Aditya caught hold of Rishabha’s hand and set off like a rabbit. Arrows thudded into the ground around them, and the sound of hoof beats mixed in with their own panting and pounding of their feet on the ground.
The rush of wind to his body brought home the fact that he had left his kambala behind. A sudden terror gripped Aditya.
“My khadga? Where’s my khadga? Where’s my khadga?” he shouted and then suddenly realized that he had it gripped tightly in his right hand.
Meanwhile, Rishabha seemed to be echoing him, babbling a mélange of all sorts of gibberish.
“Run, run, run, help, attack, attack, Pandi, Shilajeet!” he shouted at the top of his voice.
Behind them, dark shadows galloped in separate clumps. Groups of horsemen were attacking the camp from many different directions. Some of the attackers seemed to be making straight for them. They were still at least thirty meters away from the carts. Aditya wheeled around, sliding the sword out of the scabbard.
“We have to make a stand.”
“No! Get behind the carts, come on!” shouted Rishabha.
“Nooo, we don’t have . . .”
The moon had slipped behind the clouds and everything was covered in inky black darkness. Aditya could barely see a lone shadow galloping after them. There was only one horseman attacking them!
Only a moment, just a kshan to get it right! What had his guru told him about range? Aditya recollected and took a deep breath. He centred himself, tightening his grip on the khadga. The moon came out from behind the clouds. Attacker and prey set their sights on each other. Time seemed to stop—all of eternity hung in the balance.
“Nooo . . .!” echoed Rishabha’s voice from somewhere far away.
The horseman came charging down upon him. Aditya remained perfectly still. The bandit lunged outwards as he charged, his khadga slicing through the air towards Aditya’s head. Rishabha watched in horror from behind. Ever onwards came the khadga, and yet not a muscle moved in Aditya’s body until finally, seemingly at the very last moment, he dropped into a powerful squat. As the wicked-looking blade passed just inches above his head, he sprang up in the air and slashed at his attacker with a vicious backhanded stroke. Blade hacked into flesh and the attacker slumped in his saddle.
“Yaaa! Take that you bastard! Take that! Take that!” Rishabha’s cries punctuated by the sounds of clashing steel, now filtered into his ears. The force of the attacker’s charge had carried him forward, where Rishabha was now furiously attacking him.
Aditya sprinted up behind them, and without a moment’s hesitation, plunged his khadga forcefully into the man’s side. The sword sliced smoothly through skin and bone and organ—thick, warm blood squelched out onto the blade, and with a muffled groan, the man toppled backwards off the horsThe two friends stared at each other for a moment. Aditya’s khadga was shaking, dripping with blood, while Rishabha stood shivering with excitement. A constant stream of gibberish issued from his mouth.
“To the carts!” said Aditya. His throat was dry, and his voice hoarse. He noted with surprise that it sounded different even to him.
“Yes, yes, to the carts! To the carts! Attack, attack! Quick! To the carts!” repeated Rishabha.
***
Somewhere inside the camp, Pandi crouched behind one of the carts. Five of his soldiers bunched up behind him as he peered into the darkness with his khadga gripped tight in his hands. From what he could make out, it looked like a well-planned attack; their defenses were being probed at many different points along the perimeter.
It was standard practice for the mercenaries to sleep in their armour while travelling, and all of them had scrambled out of their sleep at a moment’s notice. They were confused, but ready.
“Stay out of range of their weapons. Try to get them to the ground,” said Pandi.
“For goodness’ sake, where are the archers?” asked someone.
Their standard procedure was for the archers to sleep, spread out all over the camp, and now there was only one archer in their group.
“Forget about the archers,” hissed Pandi, “you focus on yourself first and they’ll do what they have to.”
The single archer in the company had already strung his bow and was peering out from the side of one of the carts. The ghoulish racket, the yells, and the screams rushed onwards towards them like a storm. It seemed as if they intended to hit the carts and blow them away with the force of their onslaught.
“Here they come, boys!” shouted someone.
“Steady.”
“Steady.”
“Get them to the ground!”
Arrows were now whistling through the air, horses neighed, and someone cursed loudly from the darkness outside. The attackers were right at the gates, a crowd of silhouettes swarming about.
The force of their onslaught was dispersed by the solid carts in front of them. Yet, like a river breaching its boundaries, individual horsemen started pouring in through the numerous gaps between the carts with their terrifying battle cries.
A horse came sailing through the gap towards their left. Pandi sprang up and swung his sword in a vicious slash at the rider. The horse staggered for a moment—a deep gash spurted red bubbling fluidin its flank—but it kept going, bolting straight towards the middle of the camp.
They were in a better position for the next one. As it jumped through the gap, Pandi swung up with his sword. He had timed it perfectly. The khadga sliced straight into the beast’s belly as it landed, impaling itself with the force of its own dash. Neighing in agony and terror, desperate to get away, the horse now fell over on its side, and went crashing down, pulling Pandi on top of itself and crushing its own rider underneath. Pandi’s sword was still stuck in the beast’s belly and even as he reached for his dagger, one of his men had already stabbed the attacker in the throat. Blood spurted out onto Pandi’s face as the man’s cries died in a gurgle of his own gore.
Pandi now wrenched his sword free and spun around. Two carts down the line, a number of horseme
n had ingressed. There was no one there to stop them, and they hurtled down mid-camp, intent on spreading confusion and terror.
“Plug the gap! Plug the gap!” he shouted like a madman as he sprinted towards the spot. A number of horsemen were milling about the opening.
The moment he got there, he was beset by two of them. His feet struck a body lying on the ground—must have been killed or trampled—he thought, as he got into a fighting position to fend off his attackers. His face was still splattered with blood.
***
Meanwhile, in another section of the caravan, Shilajeet and his men had secured some of their horses. The men stood together in a compact body—four of Pandi’s mercenaries and eighteen of the merchants. The two archers accompanying them had performed brilliantly, and overwhelmed by their stiff resistance, the attackers had left this group alone.
The terrified horses were being calmed down. Some of the men were furiously working to attach the bits and reins onto the steeds.
“Come on! We’ll get them from behind,” hissed Shilajeet.
Soon, fifteen chargers were mounted by battle-hardened men, who went out one after the other, jumping through the gaps. They would circle around the perimeter and wipe out any pockets of horsemen fighting outside.
***
Aditya crouched behind one of the carts.
“How many of them?” someone hissed in the darkness.
“Hundreds, thousands, millions . . . how would I know, man?” panted Rishabha from behind him.
Crouching in front of them were two merchants with tousled hair and groggy expressions. From everywhere came the screams of mortally wounded men, the sound of hoofbeats and khadgas clashing, but all around them was complete silence. No one spoke, and there was no sound, except for the low groans coming from somewhere nearby.
A lone horse pawed the ground and whinnied on the other side of the carts. It stood around confused, blocking the narrow opening between two carts and then dashed off into the darkness.
