Chapter 15 — Ambush
Year 63, Kali yuga
Present day
The rider hastily dismounted, and ran to Mārthāndan, gasping. He bowed low, shaking. “Prabhu! Woe has befallen us! We are undone! The Chancellor has betrayed us—Karkottai is lost!” he cried, and fell at Mārthāndan’s feet. The soldiers around started to murmur, anxious. The word quickly spread through the ranks, and the whispers slowly grew clamorous.
Mārthāndan picked the messenger up by his shoulders. His hands shook as he grasped the breathless rider. “Calm yourself, soldier. Tell me now, what has happened?”
“The baron Semmalvarāyan entered the city with a great host at midnight. I was tending to the horses in the stables when he attacked. With little effort, he was able to storm the palace, and has taken the royal family hostage. The few remaining platoons at the barracks were taken by surprise, and could not fight back to any great effect. He has burned all of the barracks down!” he stopped to catch his breath. “I saw the traitor Thiruvāsagan come down the steps and embrace the baron. I escaped with a horse through one of the smaller gates and made for the Solaipuram fort. But even that stronghold has been overrun by Rāyan’s men, and most of our soldiers killed. I chanced upon a guard half-alive, and he told me about your whereabouts, and I rushed here as soon as I could.”
Behind them, Pulithēvan laughed. “You have been given a taste of your own medicine, Mārthanda! Here begins the Thattān decline, you arrogant fools!”
“Quiet!” Vagaimāran struck him across the face.
The soldiers around them started to despair. Some started to pray, and a few fell to their knees. Mārthāndan raised his hand, silencing them. He took Vagaimāran aside, and spoke to him in a hushed tone. “Mārā, this is a grave situation indeed. Semmalvarāyan has planned this well. He has chosen the right time for his attack. The bulk of our army is spread by our campaigns across the land, and what was left in the capital are here with us. He will no doubt come for us here. We must take our men to safety. If he has already taken Solaipuram, he will reach here soon. We must live to fight another day, and be wise about retaking the city.”
“Right you are, Commander,” the General agreed. “What of this vile bandit?”
“Take him with us, he may of be some use to us later.”
Vagaimāran opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. The time to debate was not now. “Let us make for Siththarmalai. Semmalvarāyan’s men might not find us there.”
“Indeed, we shall make for the hills. Gather your men, we move now.”
Vagaimāran strode briskly to the disheartened soldiers, and Mārthāndan then turned to his captains. “Men, we cannot offer fight to Semmalvarāyan with such a small force. Let us make for the hills. There, we shall regroup, and plan our revenge. For now, we ride hard to Siththarmalai.” The captains nodded, and shouted orders to their respective platoons.
Now Mārthāndan spoke to Ripunjaya. “Son, take two dozen men with you, and bring the horses down from the hill. Vagaimāran and I shall ready the men by the time you are back. Once we reach the mountains, the caves will offer us shelter for the time being. Go!”
Ripunjaya nodded, and gathered up a platoon of the ūsippadai and made their way up the grassy rise. They quickly untied the steeds, and guided them carefully down the path. By then,Vagaimāran had formed his men into narrow columns, and was readying to march. The soldiers were still whispering to each other nervously, but followed orders.
As they prepared, the air was rent by a shrill battle-horn, and faint beats of a marching beat rose slowly. The soldiers looked around in confusion. Once again the horn sounded, and down the road came a band of cavalrymen, in full battle gear. Two of them carried banners, a ochre flag that flew wildly in the wind. Mārthāndan shielded his eyes from the low sun and squinted. The bright flag bore an ox pulling a broken plough.
Semmalvarāyan’s army, rank upon rank, followed the riders. And like a river overflowing its banks, spilled onto the plains. They quickly spread into wider arrays. The captured men of Pulithēvan’s seized the opportunity, and started to flee. Some of them were hacked down by the distressed soldiers as they tried to run past. Another melee started to break, and then yet again, a battle horn sounded. The soldiers turned in dismay to see another division of Semmalvarāyan’s men approaching from the north. Great siege machines steadily rolled towards the plain where Karkottai’s men stood rooted in mixed fear and anger. They were being surrounded, with the forest, still on fire, and the river on the other direction.
“What now?” asked Vagaimāran. “They outnumber us heavily, and are better armed. Into the forest? They will be slow to follow us there.”
“Nay, Vagaimārā! We will lose our men in the trees.” said Mārthāndan, calmly. “Look at their northern division. They have siege weapons, and their infantry few and far between, marching at a snail’s pace. They are spread out so as to not impede the movement of the machines. We attack that front-line and ride past.”
Vagaimāran shielded his eyes from the rising sun. But he quickly realised Mārthāndan’s strategy might indeed work. The southern division was stronger, cavalry and the feared yānaipadai, their elephant corp. The northern division was canonnry, protected only by a few platoons of foot soldiers. He turned to Mārthāndan. “No wonder you are called madayan Mārthāndan!” He laughed. “I have never gambled in my life, but today seems like a good day!”
Mārthāndan was not smiling. His face was like stone, staring at the enemy marching closer. He took his ūsippadai to the front of their ranks and stood ready, eyes red with anger. He and Vagaimāran formed their men into a wide array, horsemen and the stronger units in the front, and narrow ranks of infantry following behind. The men, though unnerved, took courage in their commander’s resolve, for he had not once let them down. Ripunjaya remained close to Mārthāndan, and watched a captain let fly Karkottai’s banner, and the golden tiger bared its teeth in the wind. Vagaimāran blew his horn, and the horses reared at its loud report.
They charged. Mārthāndan and Vagaimāran rode at the front, with the captains and Ripunjaya following. Behind them was the infantry, sprinting close behind to stay in the cover of the cavalry. Two more platoons of the ūsippadai brought up the rear, and offered protection to the men before them.
They made straight for the line of catapults on the enemy’s ranks, where the troops were most spread apart. The horns grew louder, and the clash of shields filled the air as the enemy hastily formed ranks in defence, just two deep, and wide, assuming that Mārthāndan wanted to capture the siege engines. They were support infantry, armed with mostly small swords, and few spears and no bows. The men knelt on the ground, pikes at the ready, swordsmen behind them, blades drawn.
Mārthāndan and Vagaimāran spread their horses further apart, and the riders behind them followed suit. The cavalry’s ranks widened further, and Mārthāndan urged his mount to go faster. To stand your ground against a cavalry charge was foolishness, and to be attempted by a lightly armed soldier, even more so. One of the pikemen faltered, and dropped his spear and shield. He ran, and quite a few of them followed. The enemy front-line broke. Mārthāndan saw the opportunity, and turned Dheeran towards the now widening rift. The loyal steed smashed through the gap, and Mārthāndan cut down three soldiers who stood rooted in fear.
Mārthāndan did not stop, and continued crushing his way through Semmalvarāyan’s retreating soldiers. Vagaimāran was close behind, slashing at the soldiers like a man possessed. Some of Rāyan’s men tried their best to remain in formation, but the advance was fierce and relentless. Mārthāndan’s column was wide, and they overwhelmed the helpless men like a raging river. The infantry followed in the ūsippadai’s wake, hacking madly at the quickly scattering soldiers. The rearguard slowly spread and flanked the infantry ahead of them, safely shielding them from the enemy’s half-hearted response. They wedged into the enemy’s siege array, and advanced further down the division. The ranks grew thinner as the soldiers ran.
Mārthāndan’s riders took the wounded and those unable to walk onto their horses, and continued to withdraw from the battlefield. The plains gently sloped up and down, the ground grew rocky, and in the distance, stood the hills where they sought refuge. Ripunjaya turned back, and the sight discouraged him. Rāyan’s army was now readying the siege weapons, turning them around towards the soldiers of Karkottai. Ripunjaya caught up to Mārthāndan. “Look! They are readying the catapults!”
Mārthāndan did not turn back. “Indeed. They would be fools not to.” he said, pressing Dheeran forward. The horsemen had to slow down and match their marching speed, and many were wounded, and were unable to run. Mārthāndan spread his troops out, and ordered able riders to dismount, and instead offer the horses to the wounded and the weary. Two and even three to a mount, they pressed on, other soldiers sprinting as hard as they could beside. Mārthāndan and Vagaimāran also dismounted, choosing to run instead. Behind them, the catapults were loaded with loose rocks and other debris from the field, and the attack began.
Small boulders fell about them, shattering into smaller stones and a quite a few found their mark. Large clouds of dust rose from the dry ground, quickly enveloped them, greatly hindering their vision. The horses reared in fear, and started to trample those around them. The men cried in anguish, some collapsed as the rocks continued to rain around them. Mārthāndan’s platoons were slowly pulling ahead, but were losing men in the chaos.
Semmalvarāyan’s generals waited patiently for the fleeing men to tire, and their rested cavalry stood ready behind him. He would chase them beyond the slopes, it presented no challenge. He waited for his engines to disable as many as they could, he knew Mārthāndan and his trained army were no easy foe, hurt or otherwise. They were using smaller projectiles to gain the advantage of range. Their catapults moved slowly, and reloaded the bucket as they slowly ambled forward. They stopped only to loose the missiles, and rolled again immediately.
Ripunjaya also dismounted and weaved his way through the falling rubble. The billowing dust obscured his sight, and could hardly see a few feet in front of him. Around him the men faltered, shouting and crying, pulling the horses along. He could see Mārthāndan and Vagaimāran just ahead of him, spurring the men forward. They only had to reach the hill slopes before them, where the machines could not climb.
A large rock fell to Ripunjaya’s side, sending up a plume of dust. He tried to shield his face from the flying debris, but it was too late. A big stone struck the side of his face, and he fell on the ground, gasping for breath. All sound fell away, and blood flowed profusely from the gash. His vision became blurry. He tried to stand up, but it was agonizing, his head throbbed with pain. He was suddenly overcome with an incredible thirst, his throat seemed dry as a bone, and felt like it was covered in sand. He knew the meandering Vellaru was somewhere close, and he could quench his thirst with its cool water. He tried to open his eyes, but instead only saw a haze of crimson, and the dust sent up by the falling boulders did not help.
Mārthāndan and the captains were nowhere to be seen, he saw only men running and cowering, trying to avoid the rocks that rained from the sky. He stumbled towards the river, and the low gurgling of the Vellaru grew louder as he neared the muddy banks. Men lay motionless on the grass, killed either by Semmalvarāyan’s machines or crushed by the frightened horses. He tried to step over them, but tripped, and fell onto a fallen soldier.
Ripunjaya started to crawl towards the water, but was quickly losing consciousness, the pain starting to overwhelm his senses. He could now hear the running water, just a few feet away. He struggled on his elbows to the riverbank, and reached the edge. The river had cut a deep natural embankment, and the river flowed a couple of feet below the edge. Ripunjaya reached out, but the water was just beyond his grasp. He edged closer, and stretched out with his arms. The edge was slippery, and the caked mud gave way under Ripunjaya’s weight. He slid head first into the drink, quickly slipping under the surface. The deafening cries of the men, the falling rocks and the neighing horses all went silent, and the water felt cool against his burning skin. The flowing river turned him on his back, and through the surface he saw a face with a large moustache, arms outstretched and mouth open. He felt no will to respond, the silence was strangely calming, and his eyes closed slowly.
On the bank, Mārthāndan watched helplessly, and the swirling currents swept Ripunjaya out into the open waters.
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