Rajiv Menon -- ThunderGod (6 page)

In the temple, the high priests of Baal watched spellbound, their hearts filled with superstitious awe, as Mitra, divine energy coursing through his body, brought down the forty-foot statue of the god with one well-aimed kick to its chest. That was enough for the defenders of Ur; they laid down their weapons before Mitra in surrender.

Daeyus, who had been assigned to the rearguard, did not actively participate in the battle. He was with the troops still garrisoned outside the walls. A movement on the hillock caught his attention.

Silhouetted against the full moon was the man with the matted locks, dancing with a trident in one hand and a rattle drum in the other. The hill seemed to shake with every step of his wild, yet rhythmic dance. His laughter seemed to echo all around as the tongues of flames from the burning city rose high and licked the night sky. Daeyus did not speak to anyone about what he'd seen; he could scarcely believe his own eyes.

Later, at the victory celebrations, the chiefs of the various tribes gathered to divide the spoils of war. Raja Mitra shocked the gathering by announcing that he was abdicating his throne. He appointed his brother as the new raja of the Adityas. He then divided his share of the spoils among the kin of his men who had fallen in battle and rode off alone in the direction of the rising sun.

Daeyus was brought back to the present by the announcement of Lord Mitra's arrival. He smiled as the old man approached; Mitra still carried himself with the air of a military man.

'Once a soldier, always a soldier,' Daeyus thought to himself, noting that age had not slowed the old warrior down one bit. He went down on one knee and bowed his head in respect.

Mitra took him by the shoulders and raised him to his feet. His grip was still strong.

'Greetings, Raja Daeyus! Time is running out so I must come straight to the point. You and your clan are in grave danger. Even as we speak, Shalla marches against you at the head of a sizable, fast-moving force.'

Daeyus was stunned. From any other source he would have dismissed this as slander. It did not make sense to him. Why would Shalla make a move against him?

'There is no time to be lost, my king. You must break camp and get ready to march.'

The tone dispelled all doubt from Daeyus' mind; he went outside and barked urgent orders to his men. The hustle and bustle started around the camp as the raja's orders were passed on. He returned to Mitra.

'Should we take the south road, my lord? It will be easier on the wagons and the livestock.'

'No! They will be expecting that. They will ride us down in no time.'

Mitra drew a line on the ground towards the northeast.

'We will make for the Amu Darya River here and ford it. From there we can make our way through the Pass of the Wolves, and if fortune favours us, it will be a two-day journey from there into the Cloud Mountains where we will be safe.'

***

Shalla cursed out loud as he rode at the head of his cavalry. His generous posterior, now used to the silken cushions of his throne, ached from the days of hard riding. However, he had used the time in the saddle to evaluate the situation. Perhaps a political advantage could be extracted from this campaign. His spies, who were scattered across the land in the guise of merchants, had brought him news that more and more tribes were leaving their northern lands near the Caucasus Mountains and moving into Central Asia. These newcomers were not content living as pastoral nomads and soldiers of fortune. One of them had occupied the land called Mycenae and was now building city-states there to rival his own.

Shalla knew that it would not be long before Daeyus also began to harbour such ambitions. By wiping out the Devas, he could send a strong message to the arriving northern tribes, to avert their avaricious gaze from his beautiful city. He ignored the pain in his arse and screamed at his captains to increase the pace.

***

Sunrise found that the caravan had made steady progress through the night. The constant drizzle, though unpleasant, would sufficiently obliterate their tracks and buy them a little time. Daeyus rode ahead alone, using the time to collect his thoughts. He had always been a pragmatic man when it came to religion. As long as the will of the gods did not conflict with what he thought was best for his people, he obeyed it. If not, the priests were asked to reinterpret gods' will to go along with the raja's plans. Susena's interpretations of the omens had angered him then, but now he could not but help think, what if the high priest was right? Daeyus dismissed the thought even as it entered his mind. Indra was his son. His flesh and blood. For better or for worse, that was the way it would always be.

He tried to bring his thoughts to the immediate threat that was closing in on them. Shalla's duplicity was unexplainable but not altogether surprising. The Elamite king was known to shift allegiances and turn friends to foes to suit his needs. Daeyus did not share Mitra's optimism on the success of their present endeavour. It would be impossible to outrun the Elamite cavalry with wagons and herds of livestock. Shalla might be a pompous ass, but he commanded an extremely efficient fighting force, and they would be riding hard. The Devas could not allow themselves to be caught on open ground to be picked off by the enemy archers and then be ridden down by their vastly superior numbers. He rode back to the lead driver of the caravan and instructed him to pick up the pace. He looked around for Mitra, but the seer had gone ahead on a scouting mission.

***

Shalla arrived at the deserted Deva campsite in a rage. He looked at their sacred sacrificial pit, the only indication left of their presence in the area. He cursed the rain as he parted his tunic and urinated copiously into the pit. The outriders he had dispatched had returned one by one. The Devas had not made the obvious choice and taken the south road, which meant that they expected to be pursued.

Shalla suddenly had a feeling that this was not going to be as easy as he had expected. He turned to General Druma.

'You have ridden and fought with these barbarians before! What do you think they will do?'

Druma carefully weighed his options; to hazard a guess and be proved wrong would not be a good idea at this moment. Shalla was looking to vent his anger and frustration on somebody. Druma was too crafty an old fox to fall prey to that. He looked east, pensively. The arrival of the last outriders at that moment saved him. They had found the caravan tracks heading towards the river Amu Darya. Shalla screamed in triumph and ran for his horse.

Druma followed his king, still lost in thought. He had fought many a campaign alongside the Devas. He had also been present when the first intelligence reports of the Deva strength had arrived. Daeyus had three hundred soldiers, of which about two hundred and fifty were new recruits who had not seen any action. Druma had not shared in the general amusement that went around with this piece of information. These numbers could not be more misleading when it came to measuring the true strength of these men. The Elamites were about to corner an angry lion; the results might just not turn out according to plan.

***

Daeyus stood in the narrow cleft between two massive cliffs. This was the Pass of the Wolves. At its narrowest point, four men could ride through, shoulder to shoulder. In the distance ahead, Daeyus could see the thick clouds that gave the mountains hidden behind them their name. Slowly the wagons and livestock made their way through the narrow confines of the pass. Daeyus now assembled his fifty veterans. He asked them to pick up their battle gear and say goodbye to their families. The men obeyed without question. Daeyus kissed his son's forehead and gave him back to his wet nurse. He was afraid to prolong the physical contact lest it make him weak.

Mitra silently watched the exchange between father and son; he put his hand on Daeyus' shoulder reassuringly. The raja turned to him.

'He is in your care now, my lord, as are my Devas. I know they will thrive under your wisdom.'

Mitra's face did not betray his emotions. He clasped the king around his shoulders.

'Farewell, Daeyus. May the gods heap their glory upon you.'

Daeyus then called Vasu and asked him to assist Mitra for the rest of the journey. He also appointed him regent and guardian of Indra's legacy till his son came of age to take his place at the head of the Devas. Vasu accepted the honour with little joy. He would rather have taken his place alongside his raja. Both men knew this would be a fight to the finish, and Vasu could not think of a better way to end his illustrious military career.

The fifty veterans watched the caravan snake away down the path. One of them, a brave but dim-witted fellow, Atar, remarked loudly, 'But they haven't left any horses for us. How in Surya's name are we going to join them after victory?'

His comment brought a smile to the raja's face.

'We will ride back on the horses of the Elamites after we have slaughtered them all.'

Cries of affirmation rose from fifty throats. Daeyus continued on a more serious note.

'Men, you have done for me more than any raja can ask of his soldiers. We have fought many battles. Savoured many sweet victories together. But today we do not fight for wealth, women, power or glory. Today, we fight for survival. Survival of our clan! Our future! And our way of life!'

The men banged their swords against their shields. Most of them had families in the departing caravan. They knew exactly what had to be done.

'I do not promise you a glorious victory. For all you know we will die here unheralded, unsung. No bards to record our valour, no survivors to recount our deeds. But these Elamites will remember us. They will remember this day for the rest of their lives. They who have lived under the shelter of our blade, will now feel its edge. Fight well today men, for tomorrow we will dine with the gods.'

He raised his sword high in the air and fifty voices screamed out in unison.

'YEEEE-AAAH!'

***

Captain Nehat heard the cry as he crossed the great river in haste, at the head of three hundred cavalry. They had ridden like the wind to get here ahead of the main force. His orders were to engage the enemy and slow down their escape. The battle cry could mean only one thing: that the Devas had decided to stop running and make a stand.

Nehat looked on at the Pass of the Wolves with a certain degree of trepidation. He had been through this region a couple of times before and had sufficient knowledge of the terrain. The Devas had chosen their spot well. The pass with its overhanging rocks and narrow passageway was perfect for an ambush. He was in a dilemma. His instincts told him that he should wait, but the king's orders had been clear. The young officer did not want to be the one responsible for the caravan getting away. He did not hesitate. Leading the charge into the dark recesses of the pass he found that the passage narrowed at the centre, which forced the cavalry to slow down. Then it widened again. The overhanging rocks afforded little or no light in there, enhancing the already sinister atmosphere within the pass.

As they exited the narrow passage and tried to pick up speed, the Deva line hit them. Two rows of ten warriors each, standing shoulder to shoulder with spear and shield, charged at the horses. Nehat felt his horse collapse under him with a spear thrust in its chest. He fell to the ground, his leg pinned under his dead horse.

From the overhanging rocks, a stream of arrows poured into the rear of the Elamite cavalry. Nehat watched in stunned silence as his men dropped like flies all around him. With a superhuman effort, he freed his leg and crawled into a corner from where he had an uninterrupted view of the mayhem that was being unleashed.

Daeyus had given specific instructions to kill the horses, knowing as he did so just how difficult it would be for his men to carry out his order. There was nothing a Deva soldier loved more in the world than a good horse. They prized it above even a beautiful wife. Now, perched precariously on ledges, his archers strived to carry out his bidding.

As the men and horses at the rear of the column fell, the Elamites were trapped with no room to manoeuvre their steeds. Now Daeyus led twenty of his men who had been waiting in reserve through the line into the confused throng, screaming encouragement and swinging his battle-axe. When the bloodlust waned, Daeyus looked around him; the three hundred-strong Elamite cavalry had been butchered down to the last man and horse.

Covered in blood and gore, Daeyus and his men looked around at the carnage with grim satisfaction. There had been no fatalities in their ranks; five men were wounded, but still able to wield their arms. But the Devas did not exult in their victory--they all knew that this was only the beginning.

One of the men found Nehat hiding inside the slashed underbelly of one of the horses. He had scooped out its innards with his bare hands and crawled into the cavity. There he had spent the last couple of hours crouched in terror, watching the men in his command being systematically hacked to pieces. He could not speak; he stood there and stared at the raja with a blank expression on his face. Daeyus was a great believer in the impact of psychological warfare. He looked into the man's crazed eyes and realised that this soldier would be far more useful to him alive than dead.