Aśvamedha

import { Lightbox } from 'svelte-lightbox' Ashvamedha- the Horse Sacrifice. A new ritual that had never been practiced in Aryavarta before, or anywhere else for that matter.  That would stamp his authority over the land- Rshi Vasishtha had insisted. And now Bharata was explaining it to his sons. “Ikshvaku had the right idea,” he said to them, “But his vision was too small. He willingly allowed the Sindhu to be his western boundary, and the Sarasvati his eastern. Perhaps nature played its part as well, for rivers were not as easily tamed in those days as they are now; and even now we are only mildly better. But the fact remains that today we need not limit ourselves such. Yes, crossing the Sindhu still remains a barrier, because the Suryavansha have made an enemy of the Dasas. But the Ganga and Yamuna are open to us, and I will not leave them to other, lesser men.” Suhotra nodded eagerly, agreeing with every word. “From the Sarasvati to the end of the Ganga, you must unite all of this land under one rule, father.” “That is too much for one man to achieve in his lifetime,” Sunahotra said, eyes narrowed. Then the younger son looked to his father. “But as a dynasty, we can unite this entire land.  Perhaps the entire sub-continent.” Bharata smiled at his sons, pleased with their comments. Suhotra possessed the brute strength, the arrogant confidence to wield mighty armies. Sunahotra possessed the tempered foresight, the calculated wisdom to run mighty cities. “It is not for me to decide what my successors will do,” he said to his younger son. To both he said, “But a lot depends on how far and wide our horse gets, does it not?” They smiled at that. Rshi Vasishtha selected a special composition for the Ashvamedha, the Nadistuti Sukta. He followed it up with a litany of compositions built around the Ashvamedha and its secondary rituals. Many of his pupils furiously set themselves to memorising the words emanating from his mouth, each carrying the name of Vasishtha, and each feeling blessed to hear additions to the Veda as soon as they were uttered. Veda- Bharata liked using that word. It felt complete, right, and well-knit to describe the conglomerate of hymns that the people of Aryavarta had composed in the centuries since Maharshis Vasishtha, Atri and others. But the word Veda itself was coined by the mystic Maharshi Angirasa, and propagated by his pupils- Medhatithi and Kanva. After finishing with the inaugratory prayers, Vasishtha gathered Bharata, his sons, wife, and a few trusted lieutenants into a close circle to discuss the sacrifice’s practices. Bharata and his wife had to sit by the Mahavedi for the entire six months, taking their food and sleep there, and retiring only briefly for ablutions. The same went for Vasishtha and his selected set of pupils that worked the five vedis. Two thousand of Bharata’s soldiers were selected to be the advance guard following the stallion. He selected Suhotra to head them, but made sure that he named Yamini second-in-command. The rear guard numbered a further thousand and was headed by Sunahotra. Bharata suggested the rear guard himself, his tactician’s mind seeing what Vasishtha’s spiritual could not. *Of what use is conquering territories, if we cannot hold them?* He had reasoned to the Rshi. *The rear guard will set up outposts and barracks at the places we conquer, making sure no one claims them after we leave.*   The advance guard was armed with two hundred grand chariots, the rear with a hundred. Bharata’s long experience of war had given him ample knowledge of the military strategies of other tribes. He knew the various battle formations and horse warfare tactics of the Suryavansha. He was well aware of Puru weapons, their strengths and their limitations. The Yadavas and their various clans were vulnerable to any organized, single minded attack. The rest were minor players, including the eastern Suryavanshi centered at Sravasti. And perhaps most important of all, his move had the backing of a Vasishtha Rshi- something even the Suryavansha were tradition-bound to respect. They could fight the army that guarded his ritual stallion, but they could not reject the authority of the Ashvamedha itself.   “I must take your leave now, Father,” said Suhotra, breaking into Bharata’s thoughts. It was time for the stallion to be set free, and his sons had come to take his final blessings.  Bharata embraced his elder son fiercely, never a father that shied from showing his emotions. At twenty-one, Suhotra was almost as barrel-chested as his father. *An age and build fit for a King*, Bharata marveled to himself. *And yet it is I who crown myself King, and send my sons to the very frontier.* Suhotra looked uncomfortable under his father’s warmth, the young son trying to be a grim warrior. He gave his father a curt nod and marched out, not once looking to his brother. Sunahotra stepped forward after his brother left, looking equally the warrior despite being a year younger. Bharata had consciously steered away from favoring either son, but he had to admit that Sunahotra was the apple that fell closer to the tree. Yet as Vasishtha counseled so many times, it was primogeniture that ensured the survival of the Suryavansha for so many years, while the Somavansha split and scattered till its name was barely remembered. Sunahotra wrapped his arms tightly around his father, returning every bit of the warm embrace. Bharata smiled widely, and understood that no words needed to pass between him and his younger son. Sunahotra stepped back, bowed and touched his father’s feet. Bharata frowned with unfamiliarity. “What is that?” He asked. “Something the Suryavanshi do, as Rshi Vasishtha tells me,” Sunahotra replied. “It is a mark of respect, Father. You are as a Deva to me, for you have given me life and sustenance. I touch your feet to receive your blessings, because that is the only part of you I am truly worthy of touching.” Emotion overcame Bharata, and he felt bold tears run down both his cheeks. He pulled his son back and embraced him again. “May Indra, Varuna, Agni, Surya and all the Devas be with you, my Son,” the King-to-be blessed. Sunahotra stopped just at the curtains and turned back to say, “I promise you father, we will spread your banner to the four corners. There will come a time when this entire land will be known by your name. We will name it Bharatvarsha.” *** “This spot looks all right,” Yamini said after five days of hard riding. The stallion was young and strong, blessed with a natural endurance that steered him fast and far. He took his meals faster, and needed no more than three to four hours of rest each day. Countless times, Suhotra wondered what would happen if they came across enemy soldiers in their tired, sore and sleepy states.   “It would seem so,” he agreed. The Ganga narrowed near this stop, losing its speed before pacing up again as it rushed to meet the Yamuna. A short distance ahead of them was a small but dense forest populated by mango trees. Both horse and man smelled them, and lusted for that sweet, juicy fruit. Beyond those mango groves lay the river crossing- Makarandi. Makarandi could easily be populated by random, scattered fighters from various tribes. It would be best to give their men and horses some rest before reaching there.   Yamini gave the signal and the party came to a slow, trudging halt behind them. Numerous groans of relief wailed out, along with a few strategically sounded curses. Two riders rushed forward to bring the stallion to a halt. The horse had happily ignored the fruity goodness that lined along its left, and extended across the Ganga to the east. It took a zigzag route for the first couple of days, before realizing that it was bound by rivers on either side, just in time before Yamini lost her patience and steered it herself. In the five days that he rode with her, Suhotra had come to realize that while the woman held a fierce and inviolable loyalty to Bharata, she had nothing but indifference for the Veda and its many codes. There was an air of indifference about her even when she talked about Rshi Vasishtha.   They met with no resistance along the journey, which was to be expected- given the recent cataclysms. All of the surviving Somavansha and Puru power conglomerated around Plaksha and Haradvara, now fighting among themselves after they ousted Bharata. The Yadavas lay to the west of the Yamuna, and they would not be encountered as long as the stallion continued its path roughly south-east of Bharatpura. Things would get interesting closer to Pratisthana, where random bands of tribes could be found in disarray since the earthquake. Beyond that, with both the Suryavanshi and Anavas roaming freely, there could be nothing but speculation. Suhotra tried to imagine how things would have been any different six hundred years ago, before the time of Ikshvaku. All the progress and prosperity brought by the early Kings of Aryavarta lay negated along the banks of Ganga and Yamuna. This time the stallion rested for a full hour, heavy and lazy after the mangoes it was deliberately fed. But sooner than anyone would have liked, they were off again, only Yamini’s eyes glinting excitedly. Before they left, Suhotra erected a flag to mark this area as an outpost. Roughly half a day behind them at this point, his brother’s contingent would come upon the flag and know that they were to leave men behind there. Before the horse and Suhotra reached the conflict ahead of them, he erected another flag further south-east along the Ganga. *** “Behind you!” Yamini shouted in alarm. Suhotra ducked and swiveled, just in time to see a spear swish through where his head was moments ago. Before he could react any further, Yamini’s dagger whooshed by and pierced the offending soldier’s throat. Yamini moved on even as the man fell, apparently deciding that she was done with the dagger. Suhotra picked up his sword and shield and followed her, keeping his back to her even, though he knew by know that the woman needed no guarding. “Where did you learn to fight like this?” He asked, as men kept battling and dying around them. “Where does all good war come from?” Yamini asked in reply. “The Suryavansha, who else,” she answered herself. “While the Somavanshi tribes have split and fought amongst themselves, the Suryavansha have taken on Dasas, Druhyus, Yadavas, Shakas, Pramshavas, Nagas, Purus and many more. Their experience and knowledge of war is beyond par.” “Yet it is the Suryavansha who are now scattered and broken,” Suhotra countered, angry that she was so blatantly admiring the enemy. “And we forge a new kingdom.” “It is not forged yet, my Prince,” Yamini said softly, “And we must live this day out first.” Pratisthana, the old and glorious capital of King Pururava, had endured more than four centuries and no less than ten kings. But nothing remained of that city now, save a small citadel at the north-east end. For yojanas around Pratisthana was only chaos and savagery. Tribes were reduced to warring clans, petty and malicious. There were no rshis to be found, no mystics or even farmers of any kind. Only the small citadel survived as evidence of Pratisthana, and the battle concentrated around it. The wild tribes sensed that the presence of the Bharatas was a bigger danger to them than each other, and they united their strengths. The Ashvamedha stallion had been scurried away to safety, protected by an elite guard that would defend it with its life. The elite guard was trained by Bharata himself, and Suhotra had seen enough of those sessions to wish that he could have those men with him in battle instead. He concentrated hard on his training; trying to remember every small facet of the martial arts he was taught. He left his own sword behind, pulling weapons out from corpses, and holding them as long as he had to use them as projectiles. Somewhere during the battle, he was separated from Yamini, though he knew that she would be safer without him than the other way around. A wild tribal ran at him, roaring in challenge. His yellow eyes and the faded insignia on his armour identified him as a Suryavanshi. This was not a Sravasti Suryavanshi though, but a rogue from the western one. Suhotra held a light, swift sword in his hand for the moment, and he hungrily swiped it in the air left and right as the Suryavanshi charged. When the brazen man was close enough, Suhotra leapt to the left, shifted the sword to his right hand and slashed hard, neatly slicing the man’s cheek. It wasn’t near enough a fatal blow, and the man turned back enraged. He swiped the blood dripping off his cheek, and snarled in menace. Suhotra saw a vision of the erstwhile and legendary Suryavanshi warriors- dangerous and brutal in battle. Then the vision was replaced by what really faced him- nothing more than a savage. No doubt, he would have been a warrior once, but the years since the earthquake, and the disarray of the western Suryavanshi had bereft him of all his training. The Bharata prince grinned and crouched, tauntingly swiping his sword in the air. He used the weapon with his left arm, and with his right he gestured to the Suryavanshi, unmistakably inviting him to charge. It was an advantage inherited from his father- his left-handedness. Opponents always expected his swing to come from their left, his weapon in his right hand. But it came at them from the opposite direction, all the arcs and swings too inverted for them to adjust in the heat of battle. The left-handedness also gave him a unique ambidexterity- one imposed by a world that forced him to do several activities with his right hand.   The man obliged Suhotra’s challenge and ran at him again, and it was impossible to know whether he was grinning or grimacing. Again Suhotra leapt at the last moment, but this time he feinted left and jumped away to the right. The Suryavanshi anticipated the feint, and when Suhotra rose in the air he found the man’s sword pierce straight at him, cutting through the left of his ribs. He screamed in pain, and when he fell back to the ground the sword sliced out of him, shredding his skin and tissue. Agony spread through him, and the sight of his blood gushing out threatened to throw him into blackness. At the same time, his father’s words came to his mind, amid the pain. *When you are down, when the enemy has bled you- that is when he will underestimate you the most. But think, my son! This is precisely the moment you can use to your advantage.*   Suhotra grunted and pressed his right arm to the wound, helplessly trying to stem the flow of blood. *Find one last breath in you,* Bharata urged in his head. *Heave yourself up and surprise the man. Thrust your weapon one more time, just when he expects your spirit to give up.*   The Suryavanshi walked to him now in an idle gait, dragging his sword along the ground. Around him, the chaos continued as usual, no one noticed that the Bharata prince was close to his end. *No!* Suhotra said to himself, adamant. He kept his eyes to the ground, watching the Suryavanshi feet walking closer. Surreptitiously, he gripped his sword. At his angle, the grip was awkward, but one right swing was all he needed. The Suryavanshi raised his sword as he neared, swinging it high in a threatening, foreboding arc. Suhotra waited, afraid of reacting too early- or too late. The blood was still pouring out of him in spurts and threatening to bring him to drowsiness. He blinked rapidly and widened his eyes, looking down at the ground where he just might meet his death after all. Then, just when he thought the time was right, and an eye-blink before the Suryavanshi slashed his sword down, Suhotra roared in pain and swung out the sword arm. It lodged itself into the man’s waist, whose eyes widened in surprise. Suhotra continued to roar, the pain at his own waist beyond unbearable now. The man brought his sword down, but his swing was weak, and Suhotra evaded it in time. He pressed harder, cutting further into the Suryavanshi’s torso. Blood gurgled out of the man’s throat, and his eyes drooped as the life ebbed out of him. Suhotra continued to cut through, finally bringing his sword out from the other end. He was grimacing the whole time, and blood spattered inside his nose and mouth to leave a metallic taste. After the Suryavanshi fell, Suhotra found an isolated corner behind a tree and brought out his healing kit. There was a small but sharp needle in it, along with some threads, wraps and herbs. He made sure to keep his voice down while he painfully stitched his gash up, before wrapping it and picking himself up on his sword. He picked out some herbs and chewed them slowly, allowing their juices to rinse through his mouth. Then, the elder son of King Bharata took a deep breath before stepping out and walking back into the battle. His father would have been proud of him. *** Pratisthana, a city as important to the Somavansha as Avisari and Rajavasa were to the Suryavansha. But both dynasties had now abandoned their erstwhile capitals. Sunahotra had never imagined such a chaos, he never knew that man was capable of doing this to man. Countless corpses were around him, their stench unbearable and vision grisly. Scavengers flew high in the air, waiting for the humans to depart before they descended and clawed through to a full belly. A few groans and cries for help peppered the air, and Sunahotra charged his men to look for survivors. He instructed them to be indiscriminate about it, for the field was a scatter of men from numerous tribes- Suryavanshi, Yadava, Haihaya-Yadava, Druhyu, Puru, Alina, Anava, and Bharata. He felt small, young and powerless amid the death, unable to comprehend why. His mind went to the Veda, full of Suktas that talked of a majestic universe- an Ideal Mandala. Yet even the Veda, despite finding reverence across Aryavarta, was not able to prevent this destruction. More than half a day had elapsed since they arrived at Pratisthana. A white flag had been found near a citadel to the city’s north-east, and a wounded but recovering Bharata soldier was slumped by its side. He informed them of the battle that preceded their arrival, before assuring them that the stallion, Suhotra, Yamini and a large part of the advance guard continued forward after fighting their way to victory in Pratisthana. But what victory was this, the younger son of King Bharata wondered to himself. Pratisthana was no more a city than a graveyard, and perhaps more deathly. The young Bharata prince promised himself that when the Ashvamedha was done, when his father was King and when all this land was theirs, he would found a city that established the ways of the Veda in practice, not simply in rituals and sacrifices. This was the gift he would give to his descendants. Then he gathered his forces together and followed in the path of his brother, for Suhotra still followed the stallion- and the Ashvamedha was not yet done.