Of the Ānavas

“You are certain you want to do this?” Mahismanta asked. Dark skin, deep eyes and a hungry look on his face- his was the blood of Yadu and Haihaya. Anga looked to his brothers, who nodded. “We are certain,” he said. “There is enough gold and prosperity to the east, and lands that would seem magical to any of us.” “They say that the great sea is endless, that Aryavarta is the last piece of land before the Varuna Deva’s territory begins,” said Mahismanta. At fifty-eight he was the King of the Haihaya Yadavas, ruling with an iron fist from his city of Mahismanti.   Vanga chuckled without humor. It was no secret that the Haihaya Yadavas actively violated as much of the Veda as they could, defiling the Devas in twisted but imaginative ways.   “They say a great many things,” said Odhra, of sallow skin and small eyes like his Anava brothers. “But not all is true. Our Anava forefathers have travelled to lands as far as where the Sun rises from- the great sea is verifiably finite.” Of the six brothers it was Odhra who had grown into a leader, taking control of both his own town and the port city of Tamralipti.   “While none of us here are known much for sentiment, I would think that Girivraja holds a special significance to the sons of Anu,” said Mahismanta.  History had not forgotten that when the King Yayati had divided the kingdom among his sons, the black fortress of Girivraja was all that Anu had inherited.   “It would, but the special significance is beginning to cost us too much,” said Kalanga, youngest of the Anava brothers. “The trade and gold lie east for us and the Suryavanshi press down upon Girivraja. Given the Haihayas’ traditional distaste for the Suryavansha, we thought you would be pleased to accept the offer.” Mahismanta grinned and leaned back, rolling his eyes around the dark, dingy hall. Girivraja was a half-broken outpost, inhabited entirely by Kshatriyas employed in the Anava army. Bound on the south by forest and in the north by the Ganga, it was an impregnable barrier that had been carved into the mountains to protect the eastern borders of Aryavarta- a purpose it had long stopped trying to fulfill. In its current form it looked like a twisted, gnarly version of the old city of Videha. “Do I hate the Suryavansha so much that I would desire a wreck such as this?” Mahismanta asked rhetorically. “I must say, my dear cousins, that this does not smell good to me. You know as well as I do that I have no quarrel with the men along the Sarayu who call themselves Suryavanshi. The Suryavanshi have long been gone from my lands and are of no concern to my clan anymore.” It was true enough. With the end of the Sarasvati and Sindhu cities the Suryavanshi were no more to be found around Yadava and Haihaya lands. Odhra leaned forward to bring his face into the light. “When people compare the Haihayas to a pack of wolves, are these wolves not shrewd and intelligent?” Mahismanta frowned and said in a warning tone, “Careful what you mean, cousin.” “Careful what *you* mean, cousin,” said Pundra, the third youngest. “A lone wolf should behave when among ghariyals. Odhra merely means to make you see what you are clearly blind to. The Suryavanshi of Sarayu may be of no concern to you today, but you can bet they will be snapping at you tomorrow.  Where else is there for them to go once they have the Sarayu and Gomati? That is a dynasty hungry for conquest and notorious on legacy. Soon they will turn to Ujjayani and Ekachakra. And you must know the old saying- the Suryavansha never forgets, and it never forgives.” “Still not my problem,” replied Mahismanta nonchalantly. “The Haihaya Yadavas are south of the Vindhyachala.” The brothers looked among each other exasperatedly. Odhra said to the others, “We need not force Girivraja upon him. Any of the other Yadavas would accept it, and so might Purus of Hastinapura.” Mahismanta laughed mockingly and slapped his hands on the table. “Let us not play this game, cousins. The Purus have lesser reason to take Girivraja than me, and of the Yadavas it is only the Haihayas that can hold this fortress. Let us talk candidly. You cannot hold Girivraja because the Suryavanshi press down from Vaishali and your strength lies further south on the Ganga. Neither can you leave this fortress undefended, because if Girivraja falls your cities downstream are vulnerable. Thus you need a strong force to do the job for you, and that strong force is mine.” Mahismanta gave his Anava cousins a satisfied smile. “Very well put,” accepted Anga, “but quite one-sided. Tell me what you think of this perspective- You were forced to cross the Vindhyachala and establish Mahismanti because there was no place in the Yadava Kingdom to accommodate you. North of you is the Vindhyachala and everywhere else is endless forest. You and your people have nowhere to go. For years you have been trying to make a place for yourself in the Ganga-Yamuna plains, but the Grand Bharata Kingdom has thwarted you. Finally when you heard of the Sarayu and free lands you thought that you could make your move, only to learn that the region was already claimed by none other than the Suryavanshi. This burns you, and it smears the reputation of the Haihayas. You need an outpost to commence your attacks and force your way into Suryavanshi lands, and that outpost is Girivraja.” Mahismanta’s easy smile had vanished, replaced by a cold, hard stare. “Do not make the mistake of presuming my motives,” he warned menacingly, “or I might decide to take Girivraja by force just for fun.” It was no idle threat, Mahismanta had done far worse to people far closer to him than the sons of Anu. But this was still the fortress of ghariyals, ruled together by the six powerful sons of the late King Bali. They stood up together now, forming a threatening ring around Mahismanta. “I warned you to watch what you say, cousin,” said Pundra, licking his teeth. Next to him, his twin Suhma mirrored the expression. There was a hungry, feral look in their eyes. “One does not step into Girivraja and threaten the Anavas,” Suhma said in a false, singing voice. It was a haunting, ominous melody. Mahismanta had heard of it, it was the voice men heard when they were about to meet their death at the hands of an Anava. *** “How would I know how many men?” Vanga snapped. “They’re just emerging out of the forest in droves.” “Damn him!” Odhra cursed. The Haihaya King Mahismanta had not come to Girivraja with a light force. News of Mahismanta’s death spread fast across the fortress, and the few Haihaya soldiers inside had died quick, vain deaths in their misguided attempts at duty and vengeance. That would have been the end of it, but then the viewing outpost shouted out that warriors were emerging from the forest. Hundreds of them were inside Girivraja now, aimlessly slashing and hacking through its caverns and dungeons. Mahismanta had parked what seemed like an entire contingent in the forest around Girivraja. “We must go, brother,” implored Anga, “Girivraja cannot be held, not today at least.” All around them the sounds of battle and pain echoed through the galleries.   “If we lose it today we lose it forever,” Odhra said. “The Haihayas have overrun this place. And they will not stop there, once they have Girivraja they will turn to Tamralipti and our Kingdoms.” “And we must remain alive to defend them,” said Kalanga, “Girivraja is lost no matter what we do, you’ve said it yourself. The Haihayas have overrun this place.” “He’s right, brother,” agreed Pundra. “The wolves outnumber the ghariyals today, and retreat would be the wiser thing to do. Let us get out of here before the Haihayas reach this chamber.” Odhra nodded and picked up a few maps, his expression angry and defiant. “I warned you that your games will get too ugly one day,” he said to Suhma.  He turned to the others, “His penchant for murder has lost us Girivraja.” “Temporarily,” said Anga as he led them out. “Let the Haihayas have it for now, it serves our purpose well. Soon they will smell Suryavanshi blood and turn north.”   *** Tamralipti. Confluence of Land and Water. This was where the forces of Agni, Soma and Indra gave way to the might of Varuna. From a great distance ashore his mighty statue would be visible, gleaming gold in the day and silver at night. Varuna stood tall and imposing, his shadow over the waters warning any malevolence to think twice before entering the port. The statue’s left foot was placed over an equally menacing figure, the makara- the great crocodile. Its jaw was wide open, sharp teeth sticking out ready to snap if the figure were animate. The makara was coated black and moss green, but its razor teeth gleamed as Varuna’s skin. Together, Varuna and his makara guarded the Anava capital of Tamralipti.   The city was accessible only by sea. Travelers from Bharatavarsha had to sail down the Ganga and out into the ocean before curving back and arriving at Tamralipti’s port. From all but its southern side the city was surrounded by dense and unexplored forest. The Anava kings had never been lured by land as much as their cousins further east, it was open water and golden lands beyond that they had coveted.   The late King Bali once sat on the throne in Tamralipti. Before him it was Sutapasa, and Hema before him, and Rushadratha before that, all the way up several generations to Kalanara, the grandson of Anu. Much like the Suryavanshi Princeling Sindhudvipa had sailed his fleet down the Sindhu and into the ocean, Kalanara had taken his people down the Ganga to wild, lost lands that none in Bharatavarsha had ever heard of. He had returned more than twenty years later, both his father and grandfather having died of grief at the supposed loss of the family’s sole heir. King Kalanara had founded the city of Tamralipti and declared it the capital of the Naval Kingdom of the Anavas, but he did not live to see the completion of his grandest vision- the statue of Varuna and his makara.   All that legacy and opportunity was Odhra’s now. As King of Tamralipti he held the main Anava line, though the royal throne was now only a symbol of the old Anava Kings. He gazed at the Varuna statue now and felt the familiar wave of pride and sentiment overcome him. This was his home, the land where his forefathers had forged the dynasty’s destiny. That same destiny had fallen on his shoulders, but what had he done?  He had lost Girivraja to wolves, fled like a coward and disgraced the name of Anu. Anu had been younger than Odhra was now when he had carved Girivraja in a land infested with Rakshasas and other wild tribes. What a man he must have been, Odhra had often marveled to himself and his brothers. “We will get it back, brother,” said Anga solemnly, gazing at the Varuna statue too as their ship sailed towards the port. “We will get Girivraja back and restore Anu’s name.”   Odhra gave him a small nod, accepting the resolve. Odhra shared a mother with Pundra and Suhma, while Anga, Vanga and Kalanga had each been born to different mothers. But the twins had always gravitated towards each other, and Odhra had formed company with Anga. They even thought alike, often coming to the same decisions separately. And what they thought was rarely similar to what the other brothers came up with. “To what purpose?” Kalanga asked, having walked up to them to stand by the ship’s starboard side. “We have always said that our progress lies beyond Bharatavarsha’s coasts. Why would you even want to get Girivraja back?” Odhra chuckled without humour, well aware that save Anga none of the brothers had ever held an attachment for Girivraja. He could not explain to them why it mattered so dear, for how could one instill a sentiment in someone completely apathetic to it?   Kalanga waited for a response before shrugging and walking away. Odhra and Anga spent the remaining time in silence, as the shadow of Varuna grew larger and larger and the ship finally ported at Tamralipti. *** It was the greatest deforestation drive that Bharatavarsha had ever seen. From the south of Sravasti, the Suryavanshi had cleared the entire tract between the Gomati and Sarayu rivers. Only the odd jungles survived around cities like Ayodhya and Vaishali, and the former was now accessible by land as well. What was left of the mighty Naimisharanya was now between Kampilya and Prayaga, or around Mithila. Men roamed free where once they tread in fear of Rakshasas, and all of this had been made possible by King Ayuddha and his descendants. His grand city was capital no more, for his grandson King Kosala had carved his own fort on the banks of the Gomati. King Kosala’s father and grandfather had taken care of the Rakshasa problem, it was Haihayas and Anavas that he had to contend with.   That was all Vishnu knew about Kings, wars and Kingdoms, and it was already more than he actually cared to know. Life to him was simple- keep your head down and play between the rules. He had seen and learnt enough to know that rather than ensuring justice, laws and rules were simply tools for those clever enough to subvert them. It was something Kings had never understood while they wrestled and assassinated to become the public face of power.  Ikshvaku lived and died on the battlefield while the traders and miners in his Kingdom lived prosperous, nourished lives. When Rajavasa and Vitabhya were abandoned, Trigarta and Madra went on. Kings raided Pratisthana and then Prayaga, bringing them to ruins while Ekachakra prospered just a little upstream. Dynasties were destroyed and ‘royal bloodlines’ lost but the great barter economy of Bharatavarsha never faltered.   It was an economy he had given all his life to, becoming one of the largest traders in the Suryavanshi Kingdom. Goods passed through his estate and moved between Kapisha and Tamralipti, Mithila and Dvarika and even Haroivaha and Anga. He had centers at all the major trade nexus points- Navapari, Plaksha, Kampilya, Ujjayani, Kashi and Tamralipti. The economies of scale had helped immensely, he now owned his own fleet that had only recently set off from the coast of Tamralipti. In a couple of years those ships should return with unheard of profits from the far-eastern lands.   His business had brought him to Vaishali today, an outskirt city of the Suryavanshi Kingdom. Vaishali was under the shadow of war, with the Haihayas and Anavas both lingering around Girivraja and Anga. But war was profitable, war brought scarcities that he could benefit from. Metal was already a precious resource, with the usual inventories depleted in the making of weapons and armour. Vishnu was selling bronze and copper at four times the normal rate all across the sphere of war- which extended from Vaishali to Tamralipti. Food grains’ demand was at a war-time high, with thousands upon thousands of soldiers to feed along with all their horses and elephants. Vishnu was not an inconsiderate man, he sympathized for those who suffered and grieved during war. But profit was profit and a man had to make his living. Besides, didn’t the rishis go around saying that a man simply had to conduct his work and leave the rest to rta, the natural order?  There was a term for this law, but he could not place it.   Vaishali was a dusty, grimy town. The rapid deforestation had left immense natural damage in its wake. Sand and soil had been thrown loose all along the banks of the Jahnavi, leaving a perennial pall of dust in the air. Now, with armies camped all around and soldiers regularly engaging in both war and practice, the air in Vaishali was almost brown. Vishnu made his way towards what looked like the marketplace, searching for the face of his usual trade contact. Soldiers milled around in full armour, their weapons and shields clashing into people as they pushed past.  It was a scene like any other war camp, and Vishnu had seen it several times before. It was only after searching for his contact for a long time that he noticed that something was different.   There was none of the usual noise of shouting, brawling, rowdy soldiers. The men here were disciplined, grim folk who were actually marching somewhere instead of idly strolling through the market looking for trade. There were no calls from women of night, inviting these soldiers to spend some of their profits instantly. As soon as Vishnu had decided that something was amiss here, the crowd jumped aside and made way in the middle of the path, people exclaiming at being pushed and jostled aside. Vishnu stepped into the crowd as well and looked to the direction of the approaching sound.  Dozens of men were riding in on horses, all looking like they had an urgent mission to tend to. Dust flew into Vishnu’s nose when the men rode past, lodging into his ears and hair.   No sooner had the dust settled that the next set of men came riding through, following by another. Then came the host of chariots, gleaming golden and regal. The men on these chariots were unlike those Vishnu had ever seen- tall and imposing like real Devas on earth, a strong, determined look in their eyes and armour that shone as bright as their rathas. Vishnu stood mesmerized, in complete awe of the sight in front of him. The last ratha was the largest, and on it stood a man who was unmistakably the commander. He had the air of confidence that the leader of a large, capable force inevitably had, and his armour was the most intricate. Vishnu was so lost to the spectacle in front of him that he failed to notice people bending their knees to the ground as the chariot passed by. He felt a strong tug from below and followed suit. “Show your respect,” hushed the man next to him, angrily. “The King of Vaishali passes by.” Still dazed, Vishnu asked, “Where is he going?” “To war,” the man replied. “The Anavas finally make their attack.”