Rajiv Menon -- ThunderGod (3 page)

Numa watched this awe-inspiring display of strength and noticed the demoralising effect it was having on his men. He leapt off his horse, sword raised high in the air. Daeyus saw the movement from the corner of his eye and was ready. He turned towards the Saka chief and raised the spear. The weapon caught Numa in mid-flight right in the solar plexus.

Daeyus lifted the spear high in the air. Every muscle and sinew in his arm strained from the effort and a primal scream rose from deep within his throat. The battle stopped momentarily, all eyes on the mighty raja, his face and body splattered with blood as he continued to hold Numa on the point of his spear in an incredible display of raw power. Then he thrust the blunt end of the shaft into the sand.

The Saka watched in horror as the body of their chief jerked at the end of the weapon. Slowly, Numa's torso slid down the length of the spear, his agonised screams renting the air. All the fight seemed to leave the Saka. They jumped off their mounts, prostrated before Daeyus, and begged for mercy.

***

The prisoners and their captured mounts were taken back to the oasis where the young and strong were separated to be taken to the slave markets of Ecbatana. The older men, along with the wounded, were given a few horses and their freedom to return home. Daeyus saw the fear in their eyes as they thanked him for his mercy and left. They would spread the message far and wide across the Karakum. It would be a long time before the Scythians challenged the authority of Elam again.

It was well over six months and the beginning of winter by the time Raja Daeyus reached the Devas' camp at the southwestern end of the desert. He and his soldiers were given a hero's welcome and a great feast was organised to celebrate the victory. The festivities went on for a week.

The first two days were devoted to the sacrifice; eleven bulls were slaughtered to honour the Sun God Surya and their ancestors for granting them victory. Then the high priest called out the name of each man who had fallen in battle. A goat was sacrificed for every dead warrior to help him on his journey to heaven where he would dine with the gods. After the sacrifice, the great feast began. The meat was barbecued in a huge, fiery pit and served with watery wine and unleavened bread.

After everyone had eaten and drunk to their heart's content, the bards came in. To die in battle was the ultimate honour for a Deva. The bards chose the most heroic stories from the battles and immortalised them in song. Then the wine got stronger and the music more frenzied as the dancing girls took over. Now the celebrations descended into endless hours of debauchery and sexual excess. Just as it was in battle, the raja took the lead in all the revelry and carried on till the very end.

It was another two days before Daeyus recovered and started to attend to his administrative duties. The gold from the sale of the horses and slaves was first used to compensate the families of the soldiers who had lost their lives in the Scythian campaign. Then the survivors of the campaign were rewarded for their bravery and their individual acts of heroism were recognised.

Over the next few months, through the winter, Daeyus paid particular attention to the training and rebuilding of his vastly depleted army. Fortunately, the Deva way of life provided him with a highly-trained and motivated group of young reserves to choose from.

Deva boys were weaned away from the comforts of parental love at the tender age of eight, divided into groups called dals, and put under the tutelage of an accomplished veteran, usually someone just retired from active service. The boys lived together in a boot camp. Their early military training included being tied to the backs of running calves and shooting arrows at stationary targets. They were also taught wrestling and fencing with wooden swords. All manner of sport was encouraged through their early development, with particular attention to archery, riding and combat.

When they were eighteen, they would compete amongst themselves, and the most promising young men would be taken into the reserves from where they would vie for a place in the raja's sena of five hundred. The rest would be put in charge of the security of their vast herds, till they distinguished themselves in the next trials.

Daeyus personally supervised these Spardhas, or trials of strength. The disciplines were archery, riding and combat. The competition was fierce; contestants fought tooth and nail and gave it everything to finish on top. The winners were given the biggest honour a young Deva warrior could hope for, a chance to ride into battle with the raja.

Daeyus also took a great deal of interest in the building and upgrade of his arsenal. He spent a lot of time with his weapon smiths, testing new weapons and giving suggestions to improve existing ones.

By early spring, he was able to devote time to his other great passion: horses. He had spent a few years on a breeding programme where he had introduced bloodlines from the Arabian Desert into his own collection of fine horseflesh. Now the pride and joy of that effort stood before him.

The young black stallion snorted and stamped the earth in annoyance as Daeyus approached him. He was as dangerous as he was beautiful. He had nearly killed the groom who had last tried to put a saddle on him. The man lay unconscious in his tent with a cracked skull.

As Daeyus approached the corral, he called out to him. The stallion recognised the voice; he had heard it from when he was a young colt and learnt to respect its authority. Daeyus walked towards the creature, saddle in hand. The horse whinnied nervously and tried to run. It took the combined strength of four men to hold the ropes and keep him steady. Daeyus asked the men to let him go. The horse bounded around the corral a few times and reared up in front of Daeyus in a gesture of intimidation. The raja was unfazed; he went up to him and spoke gently in his ear. The stallion bolted. Daeyus was patient and made repeated efforts to calm and cajole the young horse. Slowly the stallion began to calm down and at long last he shifted about restlessly and reluctantly allowed himself to be saddled.

As soon as the saddle was secure, Daeyus did not waste a moment. He grabbed the horn and leapt lightly into the saddle. This was too much for the young horse to take; he reared up on his hind legs and kicked backwards as he tried to dislodge the rider. Daeyus let the horse buck and weave its way across the open field. He continued to call to him in soft tones. Finally, the stallion decided to do what he did best. He moved from a canter into a fast gallop, his great mane flowing out behind him. Daeyus gave the reins some slack and the horse started to pick up speed. Soon the scenery around was a blur as they flew across the open plain.

***

Behind a rocky outcrop, a man squatted on his haunches and puffed on a pipe made of horn. The sticky sweet smell of cannabis lingered in the air. He finished his pipe and carefully peered around his sanctuary. In the distance, a black stallion bearing a rider approached. For over a month the man had patiently kept a watch on the Deva camp, staying out of sight of their patrols and scouts. Now, finally, he could see an opportunity.

The man held one end of a long bow between his toes and bent and strung the weapon with his powerful arms. The bow was made from the horns of an ibex and reinforced with strips of wood. It required all his strength to work it. He carefully checked the tension on the string. His eyes were the deepest black and his pupils had narrowed into pinpricks as he focused on the task at hand. From an ornate quiver, he pulled out a shaft made of the finest bamboo. The arrowhead was wrapped in soft leather, which he now carefully unravelled. He handled the arrow with extreme care as he checked it for balance. It was perfect.

A few hundred yards away from the man, the rider reined in his horse to allow it to drink at a little pond. The man narrowed his eyes as he estimated the distance. It was about three hundred yards. It would take a tremendous feat of marksmanship. He took a little fine sand between his fingers and let it run through them as he checked the direction of the fickle wind. He smiled as he noticed a gentle breeze blowing away from him, in the direction of his intended target. Clearly the gods were on his side. He placed the arrow on the great bow, the hard muscle in his chest strained with effort as he pulled the string back to his ear and focused on the target.

At the stream, Daeyus wiped down the flanks of the stallion and the horse whinnied with pleasure; both the raja and his mount were completely oblivious to the mortal danger he was in.

The man aimed for his victim's broad back, slightly to the left of his spine and below the shoulder blade. The bowstring sang in his ear as he let the shaft fly. The arrow had been fletched with the feathers of a Golden Eagle he had taken down in the Gobi Desert. It now flew true, in a lazy arc towards its intended target.

In her sanctuary in the jungle, a heavily pregnant Gaia sat up with a start. She let out a sharp cry.

As he tended to his mount, Daeyus suddenly felt a tremor as the earth shook around them. The stallion reacted sharply and reared up on its hind legs. Daeyus, who was holding on to the reins, was knocked off balance. The arrow that was intended for his heart, struck him high on the shoulder.

Daeyus struggled to control his steed as he felt an intense burning sensation in his shoulder, a pain unlike any he had ever experienced. It was as if somebody had slowly pushed a red hot metal rod into his back. He tried to shut out the pain as he gritted his teeth, grabbed the saddle horn and hoisted himself onto the horse. The stallion galloped away like the wind.

Daeyus struggled with the reins, trying to steer the horse towards the camp. He felt the left side of his body slowly start to go numb and realised with some degree of consternation that this was no ordinary arrow.

He felt something rise in the pit of his stomach as his body broke into cold sweat. This was something way beyond his understanding. He slackened his control on the reins. The stallion seemed to gallop with some purpose as if guided by an unseen force. Daeyus gripped the saddle horn with his good hand and closed his eyes as he tried to shut out the intense fire that coursed through the left side of his body.

The Marksman watched as the horse bore his victim away in the westward direction. He was not unduly perturbed; the goddess had treated the arrowhead with a potent poison before she had handed it to him. His victim would still die, only now it would be a long and painful death.

Gaia sat in a meditative trance as she willed the horse bearing her mortally-wounded lover to come to her. The forest nymphs or Apsaras had come to her aid and now prepared for the arrival of the wounded raja.

Daeyus opened his eyes and saw he was in a dark wood. His horse had stopped and was stomping its feet, clearly uncomfortable with its surroundings. Daeyus raised his head and found himself face-to-face with a strange creature--it had the head and body of a man, but its legs and ears were that of a goat.

It was a Gandharva, a woodland spirit. The creature beckoned to the chief to follow him. Daeyus weakly kicked his heels against the flanks of the stallion and the horse slowly moved forward. For the second time that day, Daeyus felt darkness envelop him.

The Gandharva and the Apsaras helped Gaia get Daeyus to a bed made of soft branches of conifer and covered with flowers. They laid him face down on it. Gaia stripped off his clothes and examined the wound. She reached into her pouch and pulled out a smooth, round pebble, the colour of alabaster. The pebble had been energised with moonbeams, the source of Ishtar's power. Gaia had recognised the handiwork of the moonchild. She murmured an incantation in a long-forgotten language and placed the stone over the wound.

The Apsaras watched in fascination as blue veins began to appear in the stone. Gaia had to shoo them away to quell their excited chatter. Alone with her mortal lover, she laid her head gently on his good shoulder and felt his life force slowly return. Gaia ran her hand over her swollen belly and sighed deeply.

***

Daybreak found Mitra at the western border of the land called the Valley of the Five Lions. He had been on the move for nine months now, and every instinct in him compelled him to hurry. The mountain breeze blew his long hair back over his shoulders. It was the colour of the purest snow, yet his face had only begun to show the early signs of age. His white beard was also long, lying well below his chest. His eyes were dark and fierce and his gaze hawk-like. He rode bareback, holding on to the flowing mane of the wild mare.

He had ridden all day and all night for months now, stopping only to change horses. Yet he felt no exhaustion or thirst or hunger. Years of tapas had conditioned his body to sustain itself for long periods of time.

Ahead on the trail, he saw an old shepherd warming himself in front of a little fire. Mitra slowed his mount and scanned the man's aura for any untoward signs, but it seemed normal. The shepherd folded his hands in salutation.

'Greetings, Master Mitra! Please come and share some of my broth.'

Mitra was startled. How did a common shepherd know who he was? He examined the shepherd's aura a little more closely. The man watched him with a mischievous smile; Mitra now saw it flare brightly at its edges. This was a sage of considerable prowess, he had masked his aura and Mitra had fallen for the ruse. Embarrassed, he greeted the shepherd with bowed head.