‘Your Highness,’ said Kanakhala, adding a Brahmin voice of reason to the battle cry of the Kshatriyas. ‘May I suggest an alternate?’
‘An alternate?’ asked a surprised Daksha.
‘Please don’t get me wrong,’ said Kanakhala. ‘I understand the rage of the entire nation over Mandar. But we want vengeance against the perpetrators of the crime, not all of Swadweep. Could we try and see whether a scalpel might work before we bring out the mighty war sword?’
‘The path you suggest is one of cowardice, Kanakhala,’ said Parvateshwar.
‘No Parvateshwar, I am not suggesting that we sit like cowards and do nothing,’ said Kanakhala politely. ‘I am only suggesting a way to see whether we can get our vengeance without sacrificing the lives of our soldiers and other innocents.’
‘My soldiers are willing to shed their blood for the country, Madam Prime Minister.’
‘I know they are,’ said Kanakhala, maintaining her composure. ‘And I know that you too are willing to shed your blood for Meluha. My point is that can we send an emissary to Emperor Dilipa and request him to surrender the terrorists who perpetrated this attack? We can threaten that if he doesn’t, we will attack with all the might at our disposal.’
His eyes scowling with impatience, Parvateshwar said, ‘Request him? And why would he listen? For decades, the Swadweepans have got away with their nefarious activities because they think we don’t have the stomach for fight. And if we talk about this “scalpel approach” after an outrage like Mount Mandar, they will be convinced that they can mount any attack at will and we will not respond.’
‘I disagree, Parvateshwar,’ said Kanakhala. ‘They have mounted terrorist attacks because they are scared that they cannot take us on in a direct fight. They are afraid that they cannot withstand our superior technology and war-machines. I am only looking from the standpoint of what Lord Shiva had said when he had first come here. Can we try talking to them before we fight? This may be an opportunity to get them to admit that there are sections in their society who are terrorists. If they hand them over, we may even find ways of coexisting.’
‘I don’t think Shiva thinks like that anymore,’ said Parvateshwar, pointing towards the Neelkanth. ‘He too wants vengeance.’
Shiva sat silently, his face expressionless. Only his eyes glowered with the terrible anger seething inside.
‘My Lord,’ said Kanakhala looking towards Shiva, her hands folded in a namaste. ‘I hope that at least you understand what I am trying to say. Even Brahaspati would have wanted us to avoid violence, if possible.’
The last sentence had an effect on Shiva similar to a torrential downpour on a raging fire. He turned towards Kanakhala and gazed into her eyes, before turning towards Daksha. ‘Your Highness, perhaps what Kanakhala says is right. Maybe we can send an emissary to Swadweep to give them an opportunity to repent. If we can avoid the killing of innocents, only good will come from it. However, I would still suggest that we begin war preparations. We should be prepared for the possibility that the Chandravanshis may reject our offer.’
‘The Mahadev has spoken,’ said Daksha. ‘I propose that this be the decision of the war council. All in favour, raise your hands.’
Every hand in the room was raised. The die had been cast. There would be an attempt for peace. If that didn’t work, the Meluhans would attack.
‘I have failed again, Bhadra,’ cried Shiva. ‘I can’t protect anyone in need.’
Shiva was sitting next to Veerbhadra, in a private section of his palace courtyard. A deeply worried Sati had invited Veerbhadra to try and bring Shiva out of his mourning. Shiva had retreated into a shell, not speaking, not crying. She hoped her husband’s childhood friend would succeed where she had failed.
‘How can you blame yourself, Shiva?’ asked Veerbhadra, handing over the chillum to his friend. ‘How can this be your fault?’
Shiva picked up the chillum and took a deep drag. The marijuana coursed through his body, but did not help. The pain was too intense. Shiva snorted in disgust and threw the chillum away. As tears flooded his eyes, he looked up to the sky and swore, ‘I will avenge you, my brother. If it is the last thing I do. If I have to spend every moment of the rest of my life. If I have to come back to this world again and again. I will avenge you!’
Veerbhadra turned towards Sati sitting in the distance, a worried look on his face. Sati got up and walked towards them. She came up to Shiva and held him tight, resting his tired head against her bosom, hoping to soothe Shiva’s tortured soul. To Sati’s surprise, Shiva did not raise his arms to wrap them around her. He just sat motionless. Breathing intermittently.
‘My Lord,’ cried a surprised Vraka, as he stood to attention. So did the other twenty-four brigadiers, with respect to the Neelkanth who had just been announced into the war room.
Parvateshwar rose slowly. He spoke kindly as he knew the pain Shiva still carried about Brahaspati’s grisly death. ‘How are you, Shiva?’
‘I am alright, thank you.’
‘We were discussing battle plans.’
‘I know,’ said Shiva. ‘I was wondering if I could join in.’
‘Of course,’ said Parvateshwar, as he moved his chair to the side.
‘The essential problem for us,’ said Parvateshwar, trying to quickly bring Shiva up to date, ‘is the transport links between Meluha and Swadweep.’
‘There aren’t any, right?’
‘Right,’ answered Parvateshwar. ‘The Chandravanshis followed a “broken earth” policy after their last defeat at our hands a hundred years back. They destroyed the entire infrastructure that existed between Meluha and Swadweep. They depopulated their border cities and moved them deeper into their empire. Forests grew where cities and roads used to be. There is no river that flows from our territory to theirs. Basically, there is no way for our huge, technologically superior, war-machines to be transported to the borders of Swadweep.’
‘That was their aim, obviously,’ said Shiva. ‘Your superiority is technology. Their superiority is their numbers. They have negated your strength.’
‘Exatly. And if our war-machines are taken out of the equation, our one hundred thousand strong army may get inundated by their million soldiers.’
‘They have a million strong army?’ asked Shiva, incredulous.
‘Yes, my Lord,’ said Vraka. ‘We can’t be absolutely sure, but that is our estimate. However, we also estimate that the regulars in that army would not be more than a hundred thousand. The rest would be part-timers. Essentially, people such as small traders, artisans, farmers and any other without influence. They would be forcibly conscripted and used as cannon fodder.’
‘Disgusting,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘Risking the lives of Shudras and Vaishyas for a job that should be done by Kshatriyas. Their Kshatriyas have no honour.’
Shiva looked towards Parvateshwar and nodded. ‘Can’t we dismantle our war-machines, carry them to Swadweep and reassemble them?’
‘Yes we can,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘But that is technically possible only for a few. Our most devastating machines which would give us the edge, like the long-range catapult, cannot be assembled outside a factory’
‘The long-range catapult?’
‘Yes,’ answered Parvateshwar. ‘It can hurl huge boulders and smouldering barrels over distances of over a kilometre. If used effectively, they can soften, even devastate, the enemy lines before our cavalry and infantry charge. Basically, the role that elephants used to play earlier.’
‘Then why not use elephants?’
‘They are unpredictable. No matter how long you train them, an army often loses control over them in the heat of battle. In fact, in the previous war with the Swadweepans, it was their own elephants who were their downfall.’
‘Really?’ asked Shiva.
‘Yes,’ answered Parvateshwar. ‘Our ploy of firing at the mahouts and generating tremendous noise with our war drums worked. The Chandravanshi elephants panicked and ran into their own army, s
hattering their lines, especially the ones composed of irregulars. All we had to do was charge in and finish the job.’
‘No elephants then.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Parvateshwar.
‘So we need something that we can take with us and which can be used to soften their irregulars in order to negate their numerical superiority.’
Parvateshwar nodded. Shiva looked into the distance, towards the window, where a stiff morning breeze caused the leaves to flutter. The leaves were green. Shiva stared harder. They remained green.
‘I know,’ said Shiva, looking at Parvateshwar suddenly, his face luminescent. ‘Why don’t we use arrows?’
‘Arrows?’ asked a surprised Parvateshwar.
Archery was the battle art of the most elite Kshatriyas, used for one-on-one duels. However, since one-on-one duels could only be fought between warriors of equal chosen-tribes, this skill was reduced to only a demonstration art of the crème de la crème. Archers earned huge respect for their rare skill, but they were not decisive in battles. There was a time when bows and arrows were crucial in war strategies as weapons of mass destruction. That was the time of the daivi astras. Many of these astras were usually released through arrows. However, with the ban on daivi astras many thousands of years ago by Lord Rudra, the effectiveness of archery units in large-scale battles had reduced drastically.
‘How can that reduce their numerical superiority, my Lord?’ asked Vraka. ‘Even the most skilled of archers will take at least five seconds to aim, fire and execute a kill. He will not be able to kill more than twelve a minute. We have only one hundred Kshatriyas who are of the gold order of archers. The rest can shoot, but their aim cannot be relied upon. So we will not be able to kill more than one thousand two hundred of our enemies per minute. Certainly not enough against the Chandravanshis.’
‘I am not talking about using arrows for one-on-one shooting,’ said Shiva. ‘I am talking about using them for softening the enemy, as weapons of mass destruction.’
Disregarding the confused expressions of his audience, Shiva continued, ‘Let me explain. Suppose we create a corps of archers of the lower Kshatriya chosen-tribes.’
‘But their aim wouldn’t be good,’ said Vraka.
‘That doesn’t matter. Let us say we have at least five thousand of those archers. Suppose we train them to just get the range right. Forget about the aim. Suppose their job is to just keep firing arrows in the general direction of the Chandravanshi army. If they don’t have to aim, they can fire a lot more quickly. Maybe one arrow every two or three seconds.’
Parvateshwar narrowed his eyes as the brilliance of the idea struck him. The rest of his brigadiers were still trying to gather their thoughts.
‘Think about it,’ said Shiva. ‘We would have five thousand arrows raining down on the Chandravanshis every two seconds. Suppose we keep this attack on for ten minutes. An almost continuous shower of arrows. Their irregulars would break. The arrows would have the same effect like that of the elephants in the last war!’
‘Brilliant!’ cried Vraka.
‘And maybe,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘If the aim doesn’t matter, we could train these archers to lie on their back, hold the bow on their feet and pull the string back nearly up to their necks and then release. As long as their feet are pointed in the right direction, it would work.’
‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Shiva. ‘Because then the bows can be bigger. And the range longer.’
‘And the arrows bigger and thicker, almost like small spears,’ continued Parvateshwar. ‘Strong enough to even penetrate leather and thick wood shields. Only the soldiers with metal shields, like the regulars, would be safe from this.’
‘Do we have our answer?’ asked Shiva.
‘Yes, we do,’ answered Parvateshwar with a smile. He turned towards Vraka. ‘Create this corps. I want five thousand men ready within two weeks.’
‘It will be done, my Lord,’ said Vraka.
‘What do you want to talk about, Shiva?’ asked Parvateshwar, as he entered the metallurgy factory. He was accompanied by Vraka and Prasanjit, as per Shiva’s request. Vraka had reluctanly left the archery corps he had been training over the past week. However, he had been motivated to attend with the expectation of another brilliant idea from the Neelkanth. He was not disappointed.
‘I was thinking,’ said Shiva, ‘we would still need an equivalent of your stabbing ram to break their centre. The centre is where I assume their general would place their regulars. As long as they hold, our victory cannot be guaranteed.’
‘Right,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘And we have to assume that these soldiers would be disciplined enough to stay in formation despite the barrage of arrows.’
‘Exactly,’ said Shiva. ‘We can’t transport the ram, right?’
‘No we can’t, my Lord’ said Vraka.
‘How about if we try to create a human ram?’
‘Go ahead,’ said Parvateshwar slowly, listening intendly.
‘Say we align the soldiers into a square of twenty men by twenty men,’ said Shiva. ‘Say we have each one use his shield to cover the left half of his own body and the right half of the soldier to the left of him.’
‘That will allow them to push their spear through between the shields,’ said Parvateshwar.
‘Exactly,’ said Shiva. ‘And the soldiers behind use their shields as a lid to cover themselves and the soldier in front. This formation would be like a tortoise. With the shields holding against any attack, much like a tortoise’s shell, the enemy will not be able to break through, but our spears will cut into them.’
‘And we could have the strongest and most experienced soldiers at the front to make sure the tortoise is well led,’ said Prasanjit.
‘No,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘Have the most experienced at the back and the sides. To make sure that the square doesn’t break in case the younger soldiers panic. This entire formation works only if the team stays together.’
‘Right,’ said Shiva, smiling at Parvateshwar’s quick insight. ‘And what if, instead of the usual spears, they carried this?’
Shiva raised a weapon that he had designed and the army metallurgy team had quickly assembled. Parvateshwar marvelled at the simple brilliance of it. It had the body of a spear. But its head had been broadened. On to the broadened head, two more spikes had been added, to the left and right of the main spear spike. Assaulting an enemy with this weapon would be like striking him with three spears at the same time.
‘Absolutely brilliant Shiva,’ marvelled Parvateshwar. ‘What do you call it?’ ‘I call it a trishui.’
‘Prasanjit,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘You site in charge of creating this corps. I want at least five tortoise formations ready by the time we march. I will assign two thousand men to you for this.’
‘It will be done, my Lord,’ said Prasanjit with a military salute.
Parvateshwar gazed at Shiva with respect. He thought Shiva’s ideas were brilliant. And the fact that he had come up with these tactics despite his profound personal grief was worthy of admiration. Maybe what the others say about Shiva could be true. Maybe he is the man who will finish Lord Ram’s task. Parvateshwar hoped that Shiva would not prove him wrong.
Shiva sat in the royal meeting room, with Daksha and Parvateshwar at his side. Two legendary Arishtanemi brigadiers, Vidyunmali and Mayashrenik, sat a distance away. A muscular and once proud man stood in front of Shiva, his hands together, pleading.
‘Give me a chance, my Lord,’ said Drapaku. ‘If the law has been changed, then why can’t we fight?’
Drapaku was the man whose blind father had blessed Shiva in Kotdwaar. He had been a brigadier in the Meluhan army before the disease which blinded his father also killed his wife and unborn child. He had been declared a vikarma along with his father.
‘First, how is your father?’ asked Shiva. ‘He is well, my Lord. And he will disown me if I don’t support you in this dharmayudh.’
Shiva smiled softly. He too believed this
was a dharmayudh, a holy war. ‘But Drapaku, who will take care of him if something were to happen to you?’
‘Meluha will take care of him, my Lord. But he would die a thousand deaths if I didn’t go to batde with you. What kind of a son would I be if I didn’t fight for my father’s honour? For my country’s honour?’
Shiva still seemed a litde unsure. He could sense the discomfort of the others in the room with this conversation. It had not escaped his notice that despite the repeal of the vikarma law, nobody had touched Drapaku when he had entered.
‘My Lord, we are outnumbered heavily by the Chandravanshis,’ continued Drapaku. ‘We need every trained warrior we have. There are at least five thousand soldiers who can’t battle since they had been declared vikarma. I can bring them together. We are willing, and eager, to die for our country’
‘I don’t want you to die for Meluha, brave Drapaku,’ said Shiva. Drapaku’s face fell instantly. He thought he would be returning home to Kotdwaar. ‘However,’ continued Shiva. ‘I would like it if you killed for Meluha.’
Drapaku looked up.
‘Raise your brigade, Drapaku,’ ordered Shiva. Turning towards Daksha, he continued, ‘We will call it the Vikarma Brigade.’
‘How can we have vikarmas in our army? This is ridiculous!’ glared Vidyunmali.
Vidyunmali and Mayashrenik were in their private gym, preparing for their regular sword training.
‘Vidyu...,’ cajoled Mayashrenik.
‘Don’t “Vidyu” me, Maya. You know this is wrong.’
The usually calm Mayashrenik just nodded and let his impetuous friend vent his frustration.
‘How will I face my ancestors if I die in this battle?’ asked Vidyunmali. ‘What will I answer if they ask me how I let a non-Kshatriya fight a battle that only we Kshatriyas should have fought? It is our duty to protect the weak. We are not supposed to use the weak to fight for us.’
‘Vidyu, I don’t think Drapaku is weak. Have you forgotten his valour in the previous Chandravanshi war?’