Chapter 14 — Fire on the horizon
Year 63, Kaliyuga
Present day
Once out of the city walls, the riders sped to a brisk canter. Ahead of them, the path meandered slowly through small settlements and off into the distance, lay the forest. They reached the cover of the trees, they broke into a swift gallop, and rode west. The jungle path was narrow, but it was enough, the men knew the road well, and there was plenty of moonlight. Steadily they made for the hills, where the path grew more dangerous, and the jungle, denser. Mārthandan lead them without rest, for time was of the essence. Soon they turned north, closer to Pulithēvan’s camp.
Once into the hills, they had to slow down, the path was slippery with loose gravel. It was around midnight when they reached a small plateau, that sloped down to the forest ahead of them. Here they stopped and dismounted, and tied the horses away from the edge. Mārthandan, Ripunjaya and the captains walked to the edge and knelt down. Below them the dark jungle spread out.
“There.” one of the captains said in a hushed tone, pointing a little distance to their left. Wispy plumes of smoke rose above the dense canopy, with the occasional glow of a fire under it. It was Pulithēvan’s camp, shoddy tents just visible from the plateau. It seemed to stretch around a large area, with small clearings in places. Far away songs of inebriated men filled the night.
“They are drunk, sire.” said a captain. “It will be easy to subdue them.”
Mārthandan scratched the meagre stubble on his chin. “This is careless, and unlike Pulithēvan.”
“Why do you say so, prabhu?”
“Pulithēvan is a small time bandit. How did he get command of these many men? And this is either an open challenge, or a display of complacence and arrogance.”
“Could this be a simple enticement?” asked one of the captains.
“Indeed. But we are here, and it is futile to debate these things now. Ilarāyā, send out your rider to Vagaimāran. It is time.”
The captain nodded. He went back to his men, and soon, one of them speedily departed, going down the path to Solaipuram. Ilarāyan hurried back to Mārthandan, and all of them started to slowly make their way down the cliff slope. The loose scree made for a slow descend. Mārthandan led the group, the captains and Ripunjaya behind him, and the rest followed, in a single file.
They reached the foot of the hill and waited amongst the thick bushes for all the men to come down. Mārthandan ordered two of his platoons to separate and conceal themselves at the north of the camp, to act as a reserve force. The remaining men began to gather dried branches and tied cloth doused in oil at one end. The group now carefully advanced towards the camp, and the tents slowly came into view.
The tents were crude, made with hide, cloth and large leaves draped around a bamboo frame, and seemed as if put together in haste. Some undergrowth had been cleared to make way for the tents, and the jungle encircled them. Small fires blazed high in the clearings, with men in various stages of drunkenness around them, singing and dancing. Many more lay senseless on the ground, too intoxicated to move. The bandits did not notice the soldiers, and the sounds of the forest drowned any sounds that they made. The ūsipadai spread themselves at equal intervals, and soon they had formed a perimeter, covering the west and the north of the camp. They hid themselves in the thick bushes, and waited for instructions.
Mārthandan found a large fallen tree trunk and he and his captains settled themselves behind it. From here they could see most of the camp before them. He signalled to Ilarāyan to give the go-ahead, and Ilarāyan saluted, and quickly went back to the first man along the perimeter, and patted his shoulder. The soldier nodded, and made a chopping gesture at the soldier to his left. That soldier acknowledged, did the same to the soldier next to him and the command quickly travelled down the chain, and the soldiers readied themselves. They waited for one of the bandits to leave his group and come closer to the edge of the forest. They quickly stifled and dragged him into the undergrowth, where a quick death awaited him. The soldiers spent the next half an hour picking men from the fringes of the camp, and executing them in the dark. They pulled men lying near the tents, and killed them with a silent stab to the heart or a quick slit of the throat. Most men were unconscious, and when they did notice, a blade was already halfway into them. Every man removed from the battlefield was a step closer to victory.
Ripunjaya and Mārthandan waited with the captains, their swords drawn, and watched the drunken men disappear one by one into the night. The bandits had not yet noticed anything amiss, and continued their merrymaking. A song seemed to end, and one of the men dancing around the camp-fire stopped, and staggered to the edge of the clearing, close to the trunk where they were hiding. He coughed, and shook his head a few times, seemingly to clear his head of the alcoholic haze. With faltering steps, he tottered to a tree and was about to relieve himself, when a small glint through the bushes before him caught his eye.
Ripunjaya glanced at Mārthandan, the man seemed to have noticed them hiding in the shrubbery. The bandit peered towards the bushes, inching closer. He reached out with his arms and parted the leaves, and his eyes went wide. Looking back at him was a heavy-set man with an enormous moustache, and he was smiling. “Vanakkam,” the man with the moustache greeted. The bandit tried to shout to warn his comrades, but only a gurgling sound escaped his lips. Blood trickled out of his mouth, slowly staining his tunic. He tried to breathe, and a searing pain shot through his body. He looked down, and saw the tip of a sword sticking out from his chest, and his eyesight faded to darkness. His body went rigid, and fell.
Ripunjaya pulled the sword out of the bandit. He stepped over the limp body before him, slowly crept to the bushes beside Mārthandan. Quickly two soldiers dragged the body further into the undergrowth.
“That was quick. Well done, son.” said Mārthandan and patted him on the back, eyes still on the camp.
Ripunjaya turned back to the camp, and Pulithēvan’s men were still laughing and dancing, oblivious of the impending attack. The eastern sky began to lighten, turning to a deep amber. In the far end, at the other side of the camp, a single torch lit up in the fast-approaching dawn, and the man holding it waved it slowly high in the air.
Mārthandan stood up and signalled to his men on the perimeter. One by one, the soldiers lit their torches and waited for Mārthāndan’s command. Mārthandan lit his own torch, and threw it high in the air. It flew in a graceful arc, and landed atop one of the tents. The fabric caught fire instantly, and engulfed the tent. The other soldiers hurled their torches, and they all found their mark. They had taken care to set alight the tents on the western end of the camp, and the platoons on the northern flank flung their lit branches on the tents closest to them. The bandits would in panic run east, away from the forest and the fire and into the open field.
By this time, one of the bandits had noticed the fire, and shouted to wake his comrades. They too saw the rising flames, and the alarm sounded. Soon, the scene turned to complete chaos, with men running from their tents, half-clad and disoriented.
The fire leapt from tent to tent, turning to ashes everything it touched. They ran wildly, and the ūsipadai stood ready, swords and daggers drawn, to cut down stray men who managed to stagger into the tree line. The flames consumed the unconscious, and burnt to cinder those too late to come to their senses. The rest fled outside, and the fire drove them east, through the small stretch of forest and into the plains.
In this open expanse, they faced a new enemy, the awaiting army of Vagaimāran. Few of the bandits kept their nerve, but many cried in anguish at the sight before them.
Vagaimāran did not attack, he sat calmly on his horse—hasty decisions seldom won battles. The bandits looked back, only to find the raging inferno barring their escape. To the north and the west, Mārthandan and his ūsipadai were gathering, coming out of the trees swords drawn. A few regiments of cavalry from Vagaimāran’s force joined them, and their numbers slowly grew. Behind them, the flames had spread to the nearby trees, and quickly became a raging inferno.
Unable to escape, they hurriedly formed ranks, armed only with small knives and a few swords. Ripunjaya could see their enraged chief shouting orders at his men, and hesitantly they responded. Those with weapons stood facing the enemy, trying to clear their drunken minds. They formed weak columns, twenty wide and six deep.
Vagaimāran had assembled his battalions with his infantry in the middle, and strengthened on both sides with cavalry. This was designed to entice the bandits to attack his centre, which they would consider the weakest point, allowing them to be flanked by men on swift horses easily.
With a fierce cry, Pulithēvan and his few remaining men fell on Vagaimāran’s troops. What followed could only be termed a massacre. Pulithēvan’s men were cut down like plantain stalks, and the soil quickly turned a dark crimson with their blood.
Vagaimāran rode his way through the mass of fighting men to Pulithēvan. Though hurt badly, the bandit fought like a cornered beast. Vagaimāran needed him alive, and allowed Pulithēvan tire himself, patiently and expertly driving the bandit away from the horde. Pulithēvan, soon exhausted, fell to the grass and lay there until Vagaimāran’s men picked him up and knelt him before their General. Behind them, the battle had ceased, the Pulithēvan’s men had either been killed or had given up arms in hopes of amnesty. Chatriyanīdhi1 dictates that those who offer submission must not be harmed, and were rightfully spared. They all sat on the ground, shaking.
Vagaimāran walked up to Pulithēvan. “Loathsome vermin!” He pulled the kneeling bandit up by his long hair. Pulithēvan’s face was covered in blood and he drifted in and out of consciousness. Mārthandan and Ripunjaya had now joined him, and stood behind the Vagaimāran.
“Where is Seeralan’s son? How did you amass this many men? Why are they gathered here?” asked Vagaimāran, his voice wrought with anger. “Answer me, scum!”
Pulithēvan mumbled something inaudible, and Vagaimāran persisted. He held Pulithēvan’s head back, and slapped him.
“A diversion.” croaked the bandit. He laughed, coughing and spitting blood. It was the laugh of a man who had lost all hope, and had accepted his unfortunate fate.
Vagaimāran stood up, trying to grasp Pulithēvan’s reply. Mārthāndan’s eyes filled with anger, and his hands shook in rage. A few of the soldiers shouted, and they all turned to see a lone horseman, galloping hard towards them. “Treason!” he shouted from afar, breathless. “Treason and betrayal!”
Far in the horizon behind him, an immense pillar of smoke rose high in the dawning sky, and Karkottai burned.
Read next—
chatriyanīdhi: The code of the warrior, the laws of battle.