Rajiv Menon -- ThunderGod (10 page)

'My lord, I don't think it's wise to remain here any longer. Let us march on and hope that we meet up with the scouts along the way.'

***

The green forests were soon left behind as the trail once again snaked upwards. The smiles now started to disappear as the strain of the climb began to tell on the faces of the Devas. Mitra, now satisfied that all the immediate threats to Indra's life had been removed, once again began to ride out alone on scouting expeditions. On one such trip, with the caravan at least a day's journey behind him, he topped a rise and reined in his horse. Ahead of him the mountainside was covered with a thick blanket of snow.

Mitra alighted and looked around for an alternate route. Across the snow, he noticed some movement. It was a horse. From the look of its saddle trims and reins, Mitra knew that the horse belonged to one of the missing scouts. He called out to the animal; it neighed as it heard his voice but stood its ground. Mitra thought perhaps its rider was lying around nearby, hurt. He started to lead his horse carefully across the snow. It was hard and slippery; the horse wasn't too happy with the situation and whinnied its displeasure.

Mitra was halfway across the snowfield when he heard a loud sound, like thunder. He looked to the heavens, expecting rain, but the sky was clear. Then he heard it again and looked up at the face of the mountain. The entire slope that he was standing on was breaking away and starting to slide down the mountain. His horse panicked and tried to bolt back. Mitra turned to grab it but he was too late, the ice slid under the animal and knocked it off its feet. He watched helplessly as the hapless creature tumbled down the mountainside.

The block of ice Mitra was balancing on was travelling at a good speed now. He looked ahead, rapidly surveying the situation and saw fairly stable ground to his left. There was a ten-foot gap in between which was increasing very quickly, and Mitra knew he needed to act fast. He took a couple of paces back, ran forward and took a long desperate leap. He landed on the stable block of ice with a couple of feet to spare, but there was no time to celebrate as this block too broke away and hurtled down the slope.

Mitra struggled to retain his balance; he knew he had to stay on his feet if he wanted to survive. Ahead to his left, he saw a fairly large boulder protruding out of the snow. He timed his jump to perfection, hit the ground and rolled on his shoulders twice to reach the boulder. As he rested his back against it and looked up, he saw a gigantic wall of ice rushing towards him. He hugged his knees to his chest, tucked his head down and prepared for the inevitable.

When he came to his senses, Mitra found himself buried in a tomb of ice. Both his shins were broken from the impact of the avalanche. He managed to create a little space to move his right hand and started to claw at the snow with his fingers. As his hand brushed past his ribcage, he felt a stab of pain as though somebody had inserted a dagger into his side. He realised that he had broken a couple of ribs. He slowly reached towards his waist for his dagger. He felt the hilt and smiled with relief--now he had a fighting chance. He drew in his breath as he pulled it out of its sheath. His broken ribs grated against each other and caused him to cry out sharply.

Mitra took a moment to survey the situation. It was only the intense physical conditioning from his tapas in the Himalayas that had kept him alive till now. It would not be long before the intense pain and the cold rapidly drained his energy. He had to get off this slope and quickly. As a seer, Mitra had no great attachment to his body; he saw it as a vehicle for his soul. Death was not something he feared; to him it was merely the culmination of one journey and the start of another. But now he forced himself to stay alive, if only for the sake of the boy Indra. He gritted his teeth and started to dig.

A few agonising hours later he broke through the surface of the snow. The night sky was clear, filled with a billion stars. Their astounding beauty gave Mitra another reason to stay alive. As he dragged his broken body out of what could have been his tomb, he realised that both his legs were broken. He would have to use the strength of his arms to pull himself up the slope and back towards the trail. Using the dagger like an ice axe, he dragged his broken body across the snow.

Mitra tried to get his mind off the excruciating pain that coursed through his body and made slow but steady progress up the slope. He had to find some kind of shelter soon or he would not live to see another sunrise. After five hours, he was completely exhausted. He could no longer feel his arms. He took a few moments' rest. By his estimate, the trail would be another two hours' climb from his current position. He wiggled his fingers and rubbed his hands together to keep them warm, but the break was only causing his body to freeze up again, so he grabbed the hilt of the dagger and started to climb again.

He had only gone a few more paces when, somewhere high on the mountain, he heard another loud, cracking sound. He forced himself to a sitting position, pain shooting through his broken shins as he looked around frantically for some shelter. Then he saw something that gave him a sliver of hope.

Ten paces up and to his right, there was a deep crack in the ice. From his current position it looked just about big enough to offer a man shelter. All exhaustion was forgotten as the adrenaline kicked in and Mitra started to move. After a few excruciating minutes, he reached the crack and fell through it, rolling into a cave below. He screamed both in pain and triumph--he was alive. Another cracking noise came from the outside and Mitra saw tons of ice sliding over the mouth of the cave. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off into blissful oblivion.

A cold draught of air woke him up in the morning. He noticed that it was coming from the back of the cave. It could only mean one thing; there was another way out. Curious, Mitra started to pull himself in the direction of the draught. As he made his way, he realised that this was not a cave but a tunnel, probably created by running water.

A few paces inside, the tunnel started to slope downwards. It was wide enough for Mitra to lie down across it. He now tucked his arms into his sides to protect his shattered ribcage, and rolled down the tunnel. By the time he got to the end of it, the ground had levelled out again. Mitra crawled out to the mouth of the tunnel and peered outside. What he saw made him forget his pain. He laughed, till he had tears rolling down his cheeks.

Outside, the sun had just begun to rise over the distant hills on the horizon. Bathed in its golden light were miles and miles of green grasslands interspersed with wooded thickets; a wilderness paradise of unparalleled beauty. It was the plateau of Gandhar. Mitra lay on his back and said a silent prayer to the Sun God. Their long and arduous journey was about to come to an end.

4

It was a sun-kissed afternoon on one of the beautiful open meadows of Gandhar. Mitra took his mare through her paces as he headed south across the endless grasslands. In front of him on the saddle, his tiny fingers clutching the flowing mane of the steed, sat Indra, now a boy of four. His curly blond hair billowed in the breeze, and his cheeks were red, flushed by the thrill of the ride. He was screaming in excitement.

'Faster, Mitta! Faster!

Mitra indulged him by digging his heels gently into the mare's sides. As the mare increased her pace, it only served to excite the child more.

'Faster, Mitta! Mysi told me my father could ride as fast as the wind. I want to ride as fast as the wind, Mitta.'

Mitra laughed.

'You will one day, my prince. But not today, I'm an old man and I'm scared.'

The boy was quiet as he digested this piece of information. After some thought, he spoke.

'Don't worry, Mitta. When I'm king, you will ride with me into battle. We will ride like the wind and destroy our enemies.'

Mitra laughed. Growing up with Mahisi and her constantly gossiping women folk, had helped the boy's vocabulary immensely. But Mitra hoped Indra didn't pick up on every conversation those women had; some of it could make even the crudest of warriors blush.

'I shall wait eagerly for that day, my prince. Now we must slow down, the mare is tired and she needs to drink.'

'Okay, Mitta.'

As the mare slowed down to a walk, Indra stroked its neck and hugged it.

Mitra led the horse up a slight rise in the land from where they could get a view of the terrain ahead. The child was quiet as he watched a herd of antelope speeding into the woods away from them.

Ahead lay a stream and a thicket of woods, beyond which, as far as the eye could see, was a wetland teeming with crocodiles, poisonous snakes and other dangerous creatures. It had been four years since Mitra had ridden this far south. He had come here during their first summer in Gandhar to mark the borders of their land. The wetland marked the southern boundary of Aryavarta; that was the name Mitra had given their settlement.

He alighted from the horse and gently led it down to the stream. There he helped Indra down and watched as the child ran around in excitement. He sat down under the shade of a tree; his hip ached a little from the long ride, a reminder of his encounter with the avalanche. It had taken him three months to recover from that ordeal.

Mitra had chosen to live away from the settlement, a little further upstream along the banks of the river. He built a little hut there and soon had a garden to grow his herbs and vegetables. After the first year, he left the administrative duties of Aryavarta in the capable hands of Vasu, and spent his time doing tapas. Any spare time he had, he spent at Mahisi's home with Indra, telling and retelling the old stories of the northern tribes.

He suddenly remembered the child and looked around for him. There was no sign of the boy. A worried Mitra got to his feet and called out to Indra. A rustle in the nearby bushes drew his attention and he saw the child walk out carrying what looked like a big bundle in his hands.

'Mitta! Mitta! Look what I found.'

Whatever it was, it was alive and had Indra tottering under its weight. Then suddenly, it let out an indignant little growl. Mitra's eyes widened with surprise as he realised what it was--a lion cub. It looked no more than a week old by the size of it. Mitra drew his sword and looked anxiously about. The last thing he wanted was to be confronted by an angry lioness. The child now sat down and hugged the cub tightly to his chest. Mitra went up to him.

'You must let it go, my prince; a lion cub cannot be your pet.'

Indra held the cub closer to his chest.

'No! He is mine. I found him.'

Mitra knew how stubborn his little ward could be, so he tried a different approach.

'The cub's mother must be looking for him, my child, you must let it go.'

Indra was not ready to buy that.

'But it was alone when I found it. What if it has no mother or father, like me? Please Mitta, I will look after him well.'

At this point, the lion cub took matters into its own hands or paws. It struck out at Indra's hand and scratched him on his forearm. The child let out a sharp cry and let go. The cub ran into the bushes. He turned to Mitra, fighting back his tears.

'Why did he do that, Mitta? I only wanted to be his friend.'

Mitra took the child in his arms and gave him a hug.

'He will never be your friend, my child, the next time you see each other, one of you will kill the other.'

Indra broke free from the hug and said indignantly, 'Kill each other? Why?'

'Because, one day, you and he will want the same thing: to be king of this land.'

Mitra watched the child silently absorb this piece of information.

The sound of an approaching rider stopped the conversation going further. It was one of the young warriors assigned to protect the prince. The man alighted and bowed formally.

'My lord, the lady Mahisi has sent me to request that you and the prince return immediately.'

Mitra was puzzled at the urgency in the man's voice.

'Why? What seems to be the problem, young man?'

'It is a mist, sir. It has risen out of the east and threatens to cover the whole plateau.'

Mitra picked up the child and hoisted him on to his mount. As the two of them rode back, Indra was unusually silent, lost in thought.

***

The young herdsman stood on a little grassy knoll and called out in a low voice to his cattle. The mist was coming in thick and fast, visibility was already very poor and the herd was still a long way from the stockade. The young man strained his eyes as he looked for the lead bull; once he got his attention, the rest of the herd would fall in line.

From his elevated position, he could see the blanket of mist approach and soon it was all around him. He called out again to the lead bull. There was no response. The boy was worried at this rather uncharacteristic development, he wondered if he should use his horn and sound the alarm. Just then he heard a loud bellow; it was the bull.