Chankya's Chant (28 page)

Quite unexpectedly, there was silence. The drums and bugles ceased. Alexander halted his battalions and rode up to Ambhi’s camp alone. ‘Horse shit! Why are these things not choreographed in advance,’ Ambhi muttered to himself as he ran down the stairs frantically to mount his own steed and ride towards the Macedonian divinity. Both horses slowed towards the final stretch, each of the riders not wishing to appear over-eager. Ambhi was wondering what Alexander would say to him.
Ambhi, I think you’re a great big bloodsucking leech. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. Fuck with someone else?

Trailing behind each rider were four or five other horsemen—bodyguards, interpreters, scribes and advisors.

At length, when they drew up before one another, Alexander spoke first. ‘Ambhi. I think you’re a great—’

Ambhi broke out in a cold sweat. Was Alexander about to humiliate him?

‘—friend of Alexander. I too extend my hand of friendship to you. Together we shall create a formidable alliance!’ declared Alexander through Sasigupta, his Afghan lieutenant who was playing interpreter. Ambhi heaved a sigh of relief. It was working out as planned— his moment of triumph. A grand alliance with the greatest warrior on earth!

Ambhi was at his humble best. ‘Why should we battle one another, O Alexander? It is evident to me that you do not wish to rob us of our food or water, the only two necessities of life for which intelligent men will feel compelled to fight. As for wealth, I have more than I can possibly use and I shall be happy to share it with you, O fortunate one!’

Both men having dismounted, Alexander embraced Ambhi and jokingly said, ‘Do you think that your courtesy, charm and impeccable manners will prevent a fight between us? You’re mistaken. I shall fight you, O Ambhi, to determine who can be a better friend and I promise you that you shall not have the better of me!’

The Jhelum was in full flood. Monsoon winds had lashed the Punjab landscape mercilessly, and the men and their equipment were soaked. An endless stream of thick muddy water flowed down the hills and made it impossible to walk even a few steps without slipping. There was water everywhere—in the river, in the rains, in the Macedonian army’s food, in their tents, even in their cooking fires! Damn the water!

Worsening the situation, Alexander kept insisting that they move several miles up and down the riverbank each day so as to keep the other side guessing about the possible crossing point. The brilliant military strategist in Alexander knew that every move made by his forces stationed on the right bank of the Jhelum was being shadowed by Paurus’s troops on the left bank. He also knew that the massive Kaikey forces—fifty thousand infantry, five thousand cavalry, three hundred war chariots and over two hundred war elephants—vastly outnumbered his.

He would need to play this game meticulously. ‘Seleucus!’ he called out to his trusted general.

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Seleucus, walking up briskly to Alexander, ignoring the aide who had been buffing his armour.

‘Can you look like me?’ asked Alexander in all earnestness.

‘No one can look like you, O lord, you’re divine!’ exclaimed Seleucus laying on a thick layer of buttery praise. He knew it had worked when Alexander smiled at him.
Flattery will get you everywhere
, thought Seleucus.

‘No, no. I mean from a distance. Suppose we leave the royal tent in place, leave the bulk of the infantry along with it, leave the royal pavilion untouched and have someone who looks like me parading every once in a while wearing my royal robes. Would it be enough to convince the other side that we’ve not moved?’ asked the ingenious tactician. Seleucus smiled. He knew what Alexander was thinking. It was the classic pincer move that he was famous for—leave the enemy open to attack on both flanks.

‘Better than me, would be Phillipos. He has more of your build, my lord. As I see it, we should be able to convince Paurus’s lookouts that we’ve not moved. The more critical question is, what then? How do we cross the Jhelum and where?’ asked Seleucus, knowing fully well that his boss already knew the answer.

‘Remember those rafts we used to build the pontoon bridge across the Indus? What if we cut them into pieces, carry them quietly to a spot some miles upstream and reassemble them there? We could then use the rafts to cross,’ explained Alexander.

‘Chopping up and putting together rafts for forty thousand men and three thousand horses? That’s impossible!’ spluttered Seleucus incredulously. His men were already complaining that they were wet and weary.

‘Ah! You and I shall take the entire cavalry of three thousand but only ten thousand of the infantry. The vast remainder will stay right here with Phillipos. Once we have crossed the river with our secret forces, we shall attack Paurus from the rear,’ explained Alexander triumphantly.

‘But he may turn around and attack us with his full might,’ argued Seleucus. ‘We’ll be vastly outnumbered, my lord. He has hundreds of elephants,’ he said nervously.

‘That’s the moment for Phillipos to cross, my friend!’ reasoned Alexander.

‘Either way Paurus would be compelled to fight on two fronts,’ rationalised Seleucus as the full import of his master’s strategy sunk in.

‘We’re being attacked,’ yelled the vanguard of Kaikey’s massive army. Like an echo, the message was relayed through a series of shouts until it reached the ears of the towering Paurus. His name was derived from
Purushottam
—
Supreme Being—
and he looked nothing less than that. Standing over six-and-a-half feet in height, the king had a radiant glow on his face that was accentuated by his curled and oiled moustache, in the typical fashion of Rajput warriors. He wore his military armour and regalia as though it were an intrinsic part of his royal personage. His muscles rippled with every move that he made, his chest puffed out with muscular pride. His fair skin was wet from the rains but each droplet clung to his frame as though it were in love with his body, refusing to let go of the physical contact. His jet-black hair hung down to his shoulders and was held in place by a ruby-encrusted helmet that covered half his face. He was the mighty Paurus. Having subdued the hill kingdoms of Kashmir, Mallayrajya, Kuluta, and Sindh, he was rightly entitled to the title of
Parvateshwar
—Conqueror of the Mountains.

‘How can that be?’ Paurus asked his prime minister, Indradutt. ‘Hadn’t your lookouts told us that Alexander’s army continues to remain stationed across the Jhelum right before our very eyes?’

‘Yes, my lord. In fact, Abhaya’s spies also chatted with the local farmers who told them that Alexander had surveyed the river yesterday and had blurted out that the river was just too deep and wide to think of an immediate crossing,’ answered Indradutt.

‘O Indradutt, my trusted advisor. We’ve been tricked by that crafty devil. Tell the charioteers and archers to swing around and teach Alexander a lesson that he will never forget!’ thundered Paurus, as monsoon rains continued to lash down on him. Indradutt nodded and went over to convey the message to the commander-inchief who was in utter panic. His chariots were slipping in the smooth clayey soil and they had already lost several of them. The archers’ two-metre highbows—monstrous weapons that could shoot spears instead of arrows— needed firm ground on which to be anchored and in this weather firm ground was an impossibility.

Kaikey’s elephants were their biggest strength. Desperate to relieve the rear that was bearing the brunt of the attack, Paurus commanded that the elephants be called into action. As the giant pachyderms lumbered towards the terrified Macedonian forces, they were suddenly attacked by axes and spears hurled by horrendous catapults. As the hatchets and lances began to meet their mark, the tuskers went wild and, in the ensuing stampede, trampled Kaikey’s own battalions. Just when things couldn’t possibly get worse, news came in that the attack from the rear had been carried out by only a small contingent of Alexander’s troops and that the remaining troops commanded by Phillipos were now crossing the Jhelum and attacking the front.

The valiant Paurus seated on the howdah of his elephant towards the centre of the battlefield then received devastating news. Both his sons had been killed, one defending the tail and the other the head of Kaikey’s army. With nothing left to lose, Paurus asked his mahout to charge towards Alexander so that he could put a spear through the invader’s heart. It was the opportunity that Alexander had been waiting for. He ordered his phalanx to move and surround Paurus and his personal battalion. The mayhem that followed was pure butchery. Rivulets of blood flowed down the banks to meet the mighty Jhelum as thousands of Kaikey’s soldiers were massacred.

Having pulled out a javelin piercing his right shoulder, the brave Paurus, now weak from loss of blood, staggered off his elephant and was instantly surrounded by Alexander’s men who took him captive. The magnificent and proud warrior had lost none of his dignity as he was brought before Alexander who was flanked by Ambhi. ‘How shall I treat you, O Paurus,’ asked a bloody Alexander with the swagger of a victor. Ambhi smiled smugly—this was going to be fun.

‘Treat me, O Alexander, as befits a king!’ replied Paurus as he stood in chains before his subjugator, defeated but not dispirited, wounded but not vanquished, chained but no less proud.

The stately answer brought a smile to Alexander’s face. ‘For my own sake, I would do that, O Paurus,’ said Alexander, and the smile disappeared from Ambhi’s face. ‘Ask for any boon and it shall be yours,’ said Alexander grandly and Paurus replied, ‘All that I want is included in that request.’

Alexander was not immune to acts of bravery, chivalry and stateliness. He walked up to Paurus, embraced him, and said, ‘From this day on, you’re my friend, my ally. I give you back your kingdom and your lands. Make peace with Ambhi and rule in my name!’

The tearful Paurus threw away the last vestiges of his reserve and made peace with Alexander and Ambhi.

Chanakya was sitting with Chandragupta on the floor of his hut eating
poha
—flattened and roasted rice. ‘What have we achieved, wise teacher?’ asked Chandragupta, baffled by the sudden turn of events.

‘Everything that we wanted,’ said the Brahmin taking a handful of poha from the leaf.

Outside the hut, there were sounds of men going through their mid-morning drill. The official supervising them was calling them a bunch of sissies for not running fast enough, jumping high enough, hitting hard enough or throwing far enough. He pushed them harder each day. He wanted a small but extremely effective and overwhelmingly powerful force—one that would be able to capitalise on strength, speed, flexibility and surprise.

Ignoring the harsh and sometimes unholy language being used by the drill sergeant outside, Chanakya calmly continued. ‘Alexander defeated Paurus. Paurus lost twenty-three thousand troops. He’s now a mere vassal of Alexander. We could never have achieved that by ourselves,’ reasoned Chanakya.

‘But we’ve created a stronger Alexander,’ exclaimed Chandragupta, popping some more of the spicy rice mixture into his eager mouth.

‘Exactly the opposite, dear Chandragupta. Alexander’s men were tired and weary even before the battle with Paurus began. The Jhelum victory came at a very high price. Our undercover operatives tell us that Alexander’s men are refusing to march further. The world could not stop Alexander’s advance but a single battle with the courageous but foolish Paurus has halted him in his tracks!’ laughed Chanakya.