As soon as they reached the foothills of the mountains, they left Satyaki at the chariot and walked deep into the forest where no one would spot them.

And finally, Krishna broke the silence. “Karna, you are a man who has studied and practiced Dharma all your life. The wise say that you are greatest of givers; greater than even Lord Parjanya (Indra). They say that your knowledge of the Vedas is second to none; greater than even Yudhisthira. So why do your side with the sinner Duryodhana? We both know that the war is going to be fought in the future and the blood of many Kshatriyas is going to be spilt on our divine Aryavarta all thanks to Duryodhana’s ego.”

Karna sat down under the shade of a large banyan tree and replied, “My Lord; I may be the greatest of givers. I may also be well read in the Vedas but if there is anyone to whom I owe my life, it is Duryodhana. When the world censured me for a sutaputra, it was Duryodhana alone, who stood by me and made me the king of Anga. When Bheema mocked me that day during the tournament, and when Arjuna’s words were filled with contempt, it was Duryodhana alone, who stood up for me and offered his friendship. You know very well that I swore my life to my friend that very day and in his happiness alone, lies mine.”

“But what about Dharma? The code that you are supposed to protect?”

Karna looked at Krishna with a calm gaze. He was crystal clear in his thinking even though Krishna was trying to sow the seeds of doubt in his mind. “My Dharma is to my king just like yours is to the Pandavas. I have promised him that I will slay the Pandavas and make him the king of Aryavarta. Nothing can steer me away from the path that I have chosen.”

Krishna looked away for a second, “What if your parents advised you against going to this war?”

“My father Adhiratha and my mother Radha both know that I am a karmayodha (warrior of Karma) and they will back me up in any decision I make.”

Krishna looked at him and said very slowly, “But what if your real parents advised you against going to this war?”

A strange fever gripped his body as he looked at Krishna and he felt faint. “Who is my father? My mother?” he shouted aloud, hoping against hope that he would finally get an answer to that question that had troubled him, his entire life; the enigma of his birth.

Krishna looked at him with utmost pity because the lord knew the circumstances of his divine birth. After a long pause, Krishna finally said, “The time has come for you to listen to the most jealously guarded secret ever. The Sun God; Lord Surya whom you worship daily at noon is your father. Your mother is also the mother of five other great warriors, the likes of whom the world has never seen till now.”

“Krishna! It cannot be,” Karna cried out in despair as he sprung up to his feet, tears flowed down his cheeks; “I am but the son of a humble charioteer.”

Krishna shook his head in infinite sadness and continued, “But her heart still longs for that baby whom she set floating on the Ganges with that bright armor and those beautiful earrings, praying to the Gods that someone would take care of her child. She did not have any other option back then.”

The blue eyes of Krishna crackled with an unknown energy and his expressions, poignant. “Karna, my dear cousin; you are not a Radheya (son of Radha) but the eldest Kaunteya (son of Kunti). It is time for you to know the story behind your divine birth.”

And Krishna proceeded to tell Karna about his birth. Karna stood in stunned silence as Krishna continued his narration. He heard all the words but his brain refused to process any of it. He did not know how to react; his sworn enemies were his brothers and this secret had been kept away from him all these years all because a woman chose to protect her honor.

After Krishna finished his narration, Karna sat down in disbelief; the weight of what he had heard was too heavy for his feet. And his mind scrambled to make sense of it all. Karma had come back again to kick him in the gut like it had always done in his life; but this was its cruelest trick.

After a good few minutes, watching the fine sand particles slip and pour out through his fingers, Karna finally said aloud, “Karma is the great law of unerring, never-failing justice; the mysterious workings of which stretches from the innermost atom to the outermost cosmic space; from the birth of a thought to that of the universe. And it had done me over again. All my life, I have taken the blows of Karma and continued to move forward but this time, I don’t think I can stand up again. Why me? Surely sage Parashurama must have known through his accumulated tapas that I was a Kshatriya and hence cursed me. The strange irony is that sage Drona refused to teach me and sent me away because he thought that I was not a Kshatriya.”

Krishna came over to him and placed an arm over his shoulder reassuringly. “It is still not too late. Why don’t you join the Pandavas? You will be made king and your brothers will worship the ground you walk upon.”

Karna replied, “Alas Krishna, don’t mistake my pain for weakness. My loyalty to my king is greater than everything else in the world. A man has got to keep trying in what he believes in. Your dharma is to the Pandavas and mine is to Duryodhana even though I know that it is a lost cause!”

And he continued, “Krishna, my lord. In your love of the Pandavas, you have disclosed this secret to me. I am good at reading the omens and I can see the future. In my heart, I already know the outcome of the Great War. My lord, when you decided to side with the Pandavas, I knew that we had already lost the war. But promise me one thing. Grant me a boon.”

With tears in his eyes, Krishna replied, “And what is that?”

“Promise me that you will keep the circumstances of my birth a secret till I die. Yes, I see that happening as well but I will surely die trying. I can already see a legion of warriors going towards Lord Yama. The war is going to be fought and only then, will I be assured a place in the heavens. Only then will Karma stop following me like a rabid dog.”

———————-

The night before the 17^th Day of battle:

Memories were all that a man in his position could hope to hold on too. A refreshing cool breeze bearing the scent of roses wafted into the tent as the wounded man was lying down on his soft bed and the effects of which, were remedial to a certain degree. It was as if mother earth was doing her bit to bring some peace to the battlefield of Kurukshetra and the insanity of the last sixteen days of war.

It was close to midnight but the man could not go to sleep in spite of his weariness. The sixteenth day of the Great War had ended and it looked like the beginning for the end for his army; the great army which had started with 21 akshauhini. Thousands of warriors had fallen over the last 16 days!

Earlier in the evening, after his dinner, he had a taken a long bath, hoping that it would erase the pain, but it had not. Now as he lay still on his soft bed after consuming many cups of wine, he knew that the next day would bring about the battle that he had waited for his entire life and possibly, release from the wretched life that he had had to endure for so long.

His heart was heavy, full of pathos and he felt like he had a huge burden was on his shoulders. He was like a cobra, which in the last minute had been removed of its venomous fangs. The meeting that he had had with Krishna and his mother Kunti had not just dented his conviction to kill his own brothers, but it had also removed the hatred that he had harbored for the Pandavas. How could he hope to fight without hate?

His son Vrishasena walked into his tent at that moment; his son who was a splitting image of himself.

“Father, even I cannot sleep today. I am excited about tomorrow when you will meet the Pandavas and destroy them single handedly.”

“Oh, the sheer exuberance of youth is a like a delicate yet dangerous flower. What these kids lack in experience, they make up with passion,” Karna thought to himself. This was the first time that his son was in a major battle and Karna could see the same eagerness, fire and passion within him that he himself had had, many years ago.

“Yes, my dear son, we will win the war for our king tomorrow but that will happen only tomorrow. Time does not fasten for anyone; not even the Gods. Even Lord Indra cannot command Time. Go sleep now, you will need all your energy for the battle tomorrow.”

And after a warm embrace, his son left him alone. Karna could not bear to think of what would happen to his son in the coming days. He still could not sleep as his memories kept tormenting him. He knew that he would face the Pandavas the next day. He had promised his mother that he would spare the lives of Yudhisthira, Bheema, Sahadeva and Nakula but not Arjuna. The world would see the battle between the two great warriors. It was a fight, which they both had waited for. There was only space for one person in the world; one who could command the title of the greatest warrior!

He closed his eyes, desperate to get some sleep but yet again, his life; the memories flashed before his eyes!

———————-

For as long as he could remember, Karna had paid his respects to Lord Surya at noon without fail every day. Even before he realized that the Sun God was his father, he had instinctively shared an inexplicable bond with the Sun. At noon, he would perform the Surya Namaskara and pay his respects to his ista-deva.

One fine day in Hastinapura after Krishna had failed in his mission for peace even after disclosing to the world that he was an avatara of Narayana by showing his Vishwaroopa; Karna was performing his rituals on the banks of the river Ganga. The radiant Sun God blazed down upon the earth as if he was extremely angry. The air was stiflingly hot and dry and the Ganga seemed unusually sedate. When he opened his eyes, he suddenly spotted an old women standing under his angavastra which he had held out, shielding herself from the Sun, unable to bear the piercing rays of the Sun.

“Who are you?” he exclaimed, but then, suddenly when realization struck, he continued, “Wait, I have seen you before.”

“Where have you seen me before?” she asked, startled. That was not a response that she’d expected.

“You were the women who used to come in my dreams long back when I was a kid. It was the very same face, though you looked younger in the image that my mind conjured up. But then slowly, as time passed on, you rarely came to my dreams and then you stopped; maybe because you were busy with life.”

The old women started sobbing on hearing that. She covered her face with her hands unable to look at the handsome man standing before her. It had taken her many days of guilty contemplation to gather up the courage to finally meet the man; her own son.

He led out of the shallow waters and as they both sat down on the banks of the river, Kunti looked fragile, raked inside with internal conflict. Karna’s heart melted at the plight of his mother and he decided to let her know that he knew who she was. He had pictured this meeting in his head many times and thought of how he’d react, but one emotion which had never come to his mind until that day was pity!

“I know who you are,” he said. “You are Kunti devi; mother of the Pandavas and I will also put you out of misery.  I also do know that I am your son!”

She exclaimed in surprise, “How long have you known this?” unable to believe her ears.

“I have known this for a few weeks now. Lord Krishna told me everything.” It was a painful moment and as he rested his head on her laps as he could not bear to look at her directly.

She said, “My dear son, why did you not come to me after learning the truth?’

“A woman knew this secret all her life and she did not once come and claim her son. What did you expect me to do? I am pretty sure that you would have recognized me many years back during the tournament when I announced my arrival by challenging Arjuna.  Mother, I strode in like a lone lion, covered by my bright kavacha and kundala. You could have just stood up and claimed me back then and history would have taken a different course but you chose to remain a mute spectator that day. What do you want now mother?”

Kunti replied, “My son, I have come to reclaim you as the eldest rightful Pandava. Please come with me and join your brothers.”

There was a distant look on his eyes as he replied, “There was a time for that to happen but the woman kept mum as I was being insulted by her sons. Even then she did not speak and let the wounds fester till it burnt me from within. Surely, it is too late for that to happen.”

Had she come to reclaim him in this last hour or had she come to ensure the protection of her children? Was it truly love that brought his mother to him or was it all just fear wrapped in a cloth called love? He did not want to answer the difficult questions in his mind nor did he want his mother to answer them. He did not know and at that moment, he thought of his foster mother; Radha.

He could not bear to look at her as he knew that his words would further wound her. “Mother, I will give you a boonof my own accord in front of my chosen Lord Surya. At the end of this war; either way, you will still have five sons. I promise not kill any of my brothers except Arjuna. Our enmity is like the rivalry between the Devas and the Asuras during the churning of the cosmic ocean. Let the world know me as a Radheya and not as a Kaunteya.”

With that final remark, he got up and walked away from his mother; not once did he look back. He could not bear to look back at the past; only the unknown future lay before him.

———————-

The 17th day of the Great War:

They were both caught in a circle of death as their charioteers expertly commanded their horses to move in what had become a circle with both of them stuck at the ends of an invisible diameter. It was going to be a fight to the finish and neither warrior was ready to back down. His armor felt heavy and wet as both blood and sweat poured down his brow. His bow was in a full arc as he released arrow after arrow. The space between them was full of arrows as Arjuna countered Karna’s arrows and vice versa. Karna was full of admiration for his younger brother, Arjuna who fought so valiantly. Even the armies on either side had stopped fighting to watch this epic battle. It almost looked like a battle between the gods.

The tempo of the battle was slowly picking up and both the warriors were totally in it. Karna was injured in numerous places where the armor was weak and so was Arjuna. In such battles, the trajectory of human emotions always remained the same; aggressive intent, anger, rage beyond care.  The tempo of their battle was slowly reaching the second stage.

Karna suddenly decided to invoke the Agni-astra to change the balance of the fight. As his arrow spitting fire descended upon his enemy, Arjuna dispatched the Varuna-astra to counter it. A great wall of water smashed into a wall of fire and the echo of which was heard all around Aryavarta and the shockwave injured many of the spectators standing around them.  Even the Gods had come out to the sky to watch the battle between the two greatest warriors in the world.  And they kept fighting; sending astras, counter astras, javelins, and mighty arrows till the tempo of the battle had risen to the third stage. It was also time for fate to make its own move.

Karna caught in this sea of emotions, decided to invoke the Suryastra but suddenly realized that he had forgotten the incantations to the missile. Fate had dealt its cruel hand again and Karna was reminded of his guru Parashurama’s curse. He did not have time to think about it as he had to continue fighting. His charioteer Shalya too, was attacked by Arjuna and Karna felt the rage burst out from within him. His eyes glowed red; much like the color of the setting Sun and he attacked Arjuna and Krishna with renewed vigor. His mind was weak with the efforts of remembering the divine incantations but his body kept releasing arrow after arrow like a machine.

Karna then realized that he still had the Nagastra with him. His sights were set upon the target as he steadied the powerful Nagastra with his mighty bow. He knew that it was going to be his final chance and if he missed now, everything would be lost!

As his charioteer steered the chariot around for another pass, Shalya shouted out aloud. “Aim for the chest; aim for the chest, not for the head!”

It was after all his younger brother Arjuna. Did he have it in him to slay his own brother? He had to make a painful choice.

Invoking the mantra, harnessing the divine powers of the astra, he shot the arrow and watched the projectile knife through the atmosphere at tremendous velocity, through tear drenched eyes………

————–

He was standing on the battlefield covered in mud, holding his dazzling bow in his mighty left arm. He bit his tongue in despair as he tried his best to remove the right wheel which had sunk into the mud. The pyrrhic war was coming to a close and he knew that his death would signify the beginning of the end. The curses that he had to endure early on in his life were coming back to haunt him and he knew that he was just another cog in the mysterious plan of the universe. As he kept watching, a spotless white chariot came into his view from the right side and the archer atop, readied to loosen another volley of arrows taking aim. He knew that it was the end; the writing was on the wall and he heaved a sigh of disappointment as he took one final look at his magnificent bow. He could not bear to part with it; the majestic bow given to him by his guru.

At that moment, he turned to Shalya and said, “Tell Duryodhana that I am sorry.” And with that, he closed his eyes, and dedicated all this thoughts to his chosen Lord Surya…………

PS: In the final epic battle between Karna and Arjuna in the Kurukshetra war; Karna almost kills Arjuna with the Nagastra. As the story goes, Karna aims for the head but thanks to Krishna who lowers the chariot by a few inches, the powerful missile strikes Arjuna’s crown and the man survives. But what if Karna aimed a little too high intentionally as he could not bring himself to kill his younger brother? An interesting thought! We can talk about it, write stories about it but we will never know the “real anguish” of the greatest hero in the Mahabharata: Karna!

Cheers to all! 

The ancient Perunninakulam Shivan temple, at the base of the Hill Palace in Tripunithara turned out to be the army’s temporary base and bustled with activity that eventful night as entire battalions of Nair soldiers and their feudal lords, made their way in from the south. The Kochi Maharaja had personally thrown his kingdom open to the forces of Dharma Raja, the Travancore king as they faced an invasion from the north! The namboothiri priests, said to be the most orthodox and conservative among all the Brahmin communities within Bharatham and followers of the very ancient Srauta theology were busy organizing the yajna, chanting slokas from the divine Vedas, invoking the blessings of Lord Indra and Rudra for the skirmishes ahead. Those were tumultuous times for the Travancore kingdom. Wedged between the sea and the Western Ghats, the specter of invasion loomed upon the kingdom from various forces, all involved in a power struggle.  The advances of the Mysore kingdom from the north and the growing power of the paranji forces from Madras were developments hardly encouraging.

The seventeen year old Krishnan Kutty Nair, cold to his bones, slowly walked into the camp to the sounds of the Vedic chants with his platoon after a brutal march that had lasted the entire day and slowly, a smile spread across his visage. The thought of a hot bowl of kanji was the utmost thing on his mind at that moment. He had spent the entire day manning the cannons and he was in charge of buffaloes used to move the heavy equipment. Amidst the long punishing march, the deluge from the rainclouds coming in from the Indian Ocean was the only thing that Krishnan Kutty Nair remembered! The rains had been the only steady thing in the last week as he and his battalion raced up north to Kochi from their capital, Padmanabhapuram. Their march had been slow that week, as the rains had made travelling difficult and the path slushy and they also had to setup cannon batteries, dig ditches along the way for defense at key locations. The water had seeped into everything; their clothes, their food, their cannons and their gunpowder but more dangerously, the cold water had sapped their energy as well. Many of the warriors had lost all their appetite for war and longed for a dry bed, where they could rest their tired souls. But it was in their karma to keep marching north! Many young warriors like him from various kalaris, had been pressed into service from all corners of the Travancore Kingdom as an even bigger storm brewed near their northern territory.

“Moving cannons was something that I did not sign up for. I just want to fight,” he sighed to his friend Ramanathan Nair, as they both sat down under a banyan tree just outside the walls of the temple. Even though he was caked with many layers of dried mud, Krishnan had ensured that his sword and his tobacco remained clean and dry for most of the day. His sword, a gift from his guru when he turned sixteen was his most prized possession and he was itching to use it. As he rolled his beedi, he saw that a group had collected inside the temple walls and a man, strode onto the stage like a tiger. Krishnan recognized him immediately as it was one of the heroes of the Travancore kingdom: Dewan Raja Kesavadas.

Dressed splendidly, the man said out loudly, “The Nedumkotta has fallen to those philistines from the north and if we are to protect our kingdom, our faith and our way of life, we have to win the battle tomorrow!”

As Krishnan Kutty watched on, the man droned on about how they had to win the war; about how they had no other option. It was his first experience of war of any kind and he loved every minute of it. It was something that he had trained for, his entire life. The atmosphere was electric with rising emotions and the air was thick from the smell of sweat and smoke from various bonfires as it spread through the entire area aided by a zephyr.

Their own unique way of life was under threat from a power crazy, marauding religious fanatic and Krishnan Kutty, the son of a low ranking Nair military man, had been the first in his kalari to join the Nair pattalam when the messengers riding south, came down to the capital bearing the news that the famed Nedumkotta had been breached by the forces of the infamous Tipu Sultan.

The Nedumkotta was a defense fortification built by their king, Dharma Raja, to protect the kingdom against invasions from the North. It started from the Krishan Kotta on the west coast, above Kodungallur, and stretched up to the Western Ghats and it had protected their kingdom up until then, against the onslaught of two rather poor specimens of humanity: Hyder Ali and later his son, Tipu Sultan. The Hindu, Christian and Jewish refugees who had flooded into the Travancore kingdom had many terrible stories to tell and the king, Dharma Raja had vowed to protect his kingdom and every asylum seeker from the ravages of war! Only a few months back, the Travancore army had repealed the Sultan’s first attempt to break down the wall but this time around, he had taken control of the wall and was determined to march south. Where the Sultan went, destruction followed!

After sometime, Krishnan Kutty, along with Ramanathan walked to the stall serving the hot kanji. As he walked through the camp, he could see the toll that war had taken on his people. Soldiers; the healthy, the wounded and the sick all crowded around the camp waiting for instructions and the dawn of another day.

After waiting in line for about 20 minutes, they finally got their rations and went outside the camp to their spot under the banyan tree and began eating when from the road ahead, a man walked painfully up to them from the darkness into light, slowly dragging his left foot.  The blood that had oozed out of his wound had long dried and the wound had festered with infection. The old man looked like he was fighting death with every determined breath that he took and there was enormous pathos written across his face. He had the look of a man who had lost everything dear to him and every step that he took was becoming harder.

At once, Krishnan Kutty ran up to the man and carried him over the last 20 yards; finally resting him under the banyan tree.

With a plea, the man cried out, “Please Sir; food and water?”

And at once, Krishnan Kutty gave the man his rations; or what was left of it.

“Where are you from?” asked Krishnan as soon as the man had finished drinking his kanji.

“I am from Chalakudy. Tipu Sultan raided and ransacked my village and I was one of the lucky few to escape even though I was injured and ever since then I have been travelling south, hiding during the day and travelling during the night. And I have not eaten for the last two days.”

Krishnan Kutty at once felt anger grow within him. War was supposed to be honorable; meant to be fought by equals! This raid of Tipu was not a war, but genocide! Suddenly, sensing something wrong, Krishnan Kutty turned back and spotted his friend standing about 10 paces away from him. Ramanathan looked like an angry cobra as he kept pacing back and forth.

“Now what is wrong with you?” asked Krishnan Kutty.

Ramanathan pointed furiously at the man and said, “How dare this old man walk up to the temple and desecrate this sacred spot? He is a…. the man is a pariah!”

And Ramanathan raised his sword and ran towards the man with the sole intent of attacking him. The poor man had no energy left in him and merely looked on with defeat in his tired eyes; tired because while the enemy had killed his family, his own people had killed his soul force.  It was the story of his miserable life and he sat there waiting for sweet release.

Just as Ramanathan was about to strike, Krishnan Kutty tackled him, using the man’s momentum to his advantage. And they both immediately stood up, swords in arms.

“I cannot let you do that,” Krishnan Kutty told him calmly, looking into his eyes.

“He is a vermin, not allowed here.” Ramanathan’s voice on the other hand was edgy and furious.

“What is the difference between you and Tipu Sultan?  You claim to have joined this army to protect our sacred way of life but this is a way of life which needs to be changed; has to be changed. So don’t even think about hurting his old man here.”

Just then, a voice full of authority and power, from the entrance of the temple boomed, “Stop fighting at once!”

Krishnan Kutty and Ramanathan both looked for the source of the voice and it was none other than the Dewan; Dewan Raja Kesavadas! The man walked over to them, surrounded by his entourage and pointed out to Krishnan Kutty. “What this boy says is correct. We need to stick together if we are to repeal this invasion.” He then ordered his men to take the old man to the infirmary.

“What is your name and whose retainer are you?” the man asked Krishnan Kutty.

“Sir, I am Krishnan Kutty Nair, son of Sivadasan Nair. I serve in Aaromal Pillai’s regiment in charge of the cannons!”

The Dewan put his arms on the kid’s shoulders and led him into the temple. “You have a heart kid and I like that. From today, you will serve under me directly.”

As they both walked into the temple, the Dewan asked him, “So what are your thoughts about this fight?”

“Sir, I am itching to fight the invaders. But warfare in this modern age seems so strange with the cannons and the matchlocks. All I know is my kalaripayattui and the powerful thrust of my sword!”

The Dewan laughed out aloud and replied, “War is just not people fighting one another as it is taught in the Kalari. War is about propaganda, emotions, tactics, disease, confusion, cannons and more importantly hunger. You will learn that tomorrow but you now need rest!”

And Krishnan Kutty spent the night at camp, waiting restlessly for the Sun to rise like many others. He badly wanted to unleash his sword, his khadgam from its scabbard.

—————–

The army of the Travancore kingdom had collected on the southern banks of the Periyar River the next day on one of its important distributaries. Most of the strategists had agreed that this would be the place where Tipu would attempt his crossing and the scouting cavalry had only reaffirmed their theory. The Sultan’s army had been marching that day up to Aluva from Chalakudy.

“So what makes you think that the Sultan will try crossing here?” Krishnan Kutty asked the Dewan.

“The mighty Periyar River is in spate now as I had our men break down the dam at Bhoothathankettu and I also had our men destroy all the boats dispersed across the river. This is the only option left for that devil as he badly has to press on.”

“But why is that Dewan? Will he not wait for reinforcement or supplies?” asked the ever curious Krishnan Kutty.

“Two words: Disease and rations! He has a lot of the former in his camp and precious little of the latter. The devil has to press on if he wants to conquer our land and his ego will not let up. Get ready to use our sword. I think the time has almost come.”

“Why don’t we attack first?”

“We are too few in number to mount an offensive attack. But if we play our cards right, the Sultan will not be able to cross this river. ”

And just as the Dewan had predicted, the Sultan’s army began pouring on to the northern banks of the river. While the Travancore army was well set in its defensive position, the Sultan’s army swelled on the northern banks. Both the sides maintained their position till it was dusk. The emotions before the fight were increasing as they stood in battle formation. From the southern banks, the Travancore soldiers could see the Sultan on his raised palki, ordering his troops around and organizing his cavalry. There were now thousands of soldiers on either side.

And then it began…….

The Sultan encouraged by his superior numbers ordered the first attack. Krishan Kutty stood on the front line under the able commander Kali Kutty Nair as the cavalry, followed by an initial wave of infantry bore down upon them. The fighting was fierce as the Travancore soldiers managed to hold their line against the horses.  Krishan Kutty was in the midst of things as he used his sword and his superior training to pick the ragged soldiers out. He was in his own zone and he even kept count amidst all the blood, gore and death. The matchlockers in the Sultan’s army were rendered ineffective as the battle was going on beyond their range and the rains. And finally, after a deadly fight, the initial wave was repelled by the Travancore army and it gave them confidence. They quickly retired to their defense position and cheered on as the Sultan’s forces retreated. Krishnan Kutty ran up to the Dewan, who watched the proceedings from a safe distance to congratulate him on the victory.

“So will the Sultan attack again today?

The Dewan smiled at him and replied, “I don’t think the Sultan is going to attack us again.”

“And why is that?”

“Kid; there are many things that you need to learn about warfare. When you punch an enemy, you’ve got to follow that up with a finishing blow. While you were busy fighting delivering the initial blow, I was delivering the finishing blow. We have struck a deal with the British convincing them to declare war on the Mysore kingdom. I also had bribed messengers deliver the very same news to the Sultan and that the British army had starting marching east from the Madras cantonment! The Sultan has to turn back to Coimbatore now; he has no other option.”

Krishnan Kutty looked at the Dewan in complete awe. He had much to learn from the genius but with a twinge of pain, he looked at his sword. He would not get to use it again!

Seeing this, the Dewan said, “As long as we stick on to the old ways of war, we will lose. Hold on to your sword as it will remind you of who you are. The way of warfare might have changed but the way of the warrior never changes. The sultan might attack tomorrow, he might come back after a few months or he might never threaten us again in his life, but as long as we remain prepared, we will not be defeated. Hold on to your code!”

Krishnan Kutty slowly went to the banks of the river which was covered in bodies. He looked at the cold water flowing calmly and realized the truth in the Dewan’s words. Countless men had split their blood on this sacred soil but the code of the warrior never changed!

He sheathed his sword; his khadgam looking at the northern banks of the river. His fate had changed in the span of a single day and he wondered if the Sultan would mount another attack in the future….

PS:

1. The Sultan eventually retreated to his kingdom and never returned to Travancore. After his second unsuccessful bid to conquer the Travancore kingdom, he never got a chance to look south ever again.
2. This is a work of fiction based on historical records (at least based on my research) and the title in Malayalam means “The Sword”.
3. The Travancore kingdom, even though it eventually became a tributary of the British Raj, paved the way for the creation of the modern state called Kerala. The land, which was back then steeped in age old beliefs would eventually throw away all the vestiges of feudalism in the 20^th century and forge a new Malayalee identity thanks to the efforts of countless people.
4. The remains of the Nedumkotta can still be found in many places in Kerala.

A specter of total annihilation seemed to haunt them all as the slushy terra-cotta mud weighed down the army as it defiantly marched east; hoping to reach the very edge of the world to catch a glimpse of the mighty ocean, which would extend to eternity. Strange forces were at work that day; evil omens in that strange land which the army did not like.  Maybe it was just hallucinations at play; maybe those were the early signs of mental trauma but for many soldiers, the stress was real; for they had been marching with their king for the last eight years from the cool temperate climate of the Mediterranean to the hot tropics of India. Many had given up all hope of seeing their country and their loved ones again; and many had turned to religion for they feared death! They had performed many sacrifices that day to please Zeus and Poseidon; but the heavens did not seem to care about them. They had never seen rain like that before in their lives. The dark swollen clouds moving in a north-easterly direction managed to hide the Sun but not the heat; which took its toll on the foreigners who were not used to it.

The young king Alexander; descendant of mighty Hercules himself on his father’s side and the great warrior Achilles on his  mother’s and emperor of the Hellenic, Egyptian and the Persian world,  had sent his scouts ahead, swift horsemen recruited from Bactria as he marched his army through the wet jungles of India. The light cavalry unit of 7000 men from Central Asia had become a useful asset to his army especially in this terrain. He did not seem bothered by the sweltering heat, the incessant rain or the distress in his army as he wore his red cape and famous golden helmet with youthful arrogance but his weary commanders were! They knew that their composite bows and their spears would get completely damaged by the rain and their Mediterranean bred horses tired by the heat but no one had the courage to tell the king that they longed to go back home! Apparitions of various family members seemed to haunt the men and they even took to drinking the Indian rice beer which they did not like. There were the beginnings of discord in the ranks and the commanders were aware of it but choose not to see it. The last battle that they had fought on the banks of the Hydaspis (Jhelum) had only dented their air of invincibility when they got introduced to the Indian style of warfare, which placed heavy emphasis on the battle tank of the ancient world; the fearsome elephant and scythed chariots said to have been invented by Ajatashatru, the founder of Pataliputra! 

Actually, everything about this land seemed strange to the Greeks, from the flora to the fauna; from the people to the culture. When Omphis (Ambhi) surrendered without a fight and invited the Greeks into great city of Takshashila, they found the customs and the culture of the land to be radically different from their own.  In one of the cultural capitals of India, the Greeks found many people who lived in the city but who were not possessed by it. Many monks, some of them naked roamed the city, but enjoyed none of the material pleasures that the city had to offer. The Greeks called them the gymnosophists! The Greeks stayed in the city for five months where they met many intellectuals from all walks of life! One of the naked monks whom Alexander had befriended was Calanus (Kalyana) who had taught him the basics of Indian philosophy and had promised to introduce Alexander to his guru, Dandamis who lived in the east near the Hyphasis (Beas) river. 

Even the bizarre tactics shown by Porus (Purushothama), the Paurava prince who ruled the land between the Hydaspis and the Hyphasis had stunned him.

“I still can’t understand why the man waited for over two weeks on the eastern side of the Hydaspis River, waiting for us to make our move. It was his land, the topography and the logistics favored him but still he did not fight,” asked Alexander to his favorite commander Coenus as they marched at the head of the army.

What Alexander did not know at that time was that this particular battle of his would become legendary and his tactical brilliance studied by many generals in the future; right from his planning and executing the crossing the Hydaspis River, at the middle of the night seventeen miles north of base camp!

Coenus was a war veteran who had been serving in the Macedonian army from King Philip’s time. “Maybe he was just afraid,” he answered.

“I don’t think it was that. I can sense courage in a man and Porus had it even when he was defeated!”

“But you shouldn’t have given Porus back his kingdom,” replied Coenus.

“If there is anything I respect; it is dignity and honor in a man! And even though we defeated him and killed his son in battle, he never really lost that courage. I could see it in his eyes. He asked me to treat him like a king, which is exactly what I’ve done.”

“But don’t you think you are being idealistic?”

Alexander laughed out loudly on hearing this and replied, “Even though Zeus is with us on this journey, we do need our earthly allies so far east. Omphis and Porus are two of our main allies now on the eastern side of the Indus River.”

At that moment, Alexander’s new monk friend, Calanus who was riding with the two men said, “Forgive me but I could not help but overhear your conversation about Porus. Maybe the man did not attack first because he did not want to fight and be the cause of much bloodshed!”

Alexander turned his favorite horse Bucephalus around. “But that man was a king! A king has to fight and conquer territories!”

“A king is a king no doubt; but it does not mean that he cannot be humane! Maybe it was all meant to be. Who can question niyati (destiny)?”

Alexander was amazed at the response of his friend. “But then why fight if all things are up to destiny? Surely that it is a fatalistic approach to life? It does not solve any of the problems in life!”

“I am an ajivika. My beliefs are very simple; not only are all things predetermined, but their change and development is all just a cosmic illusion of the mind. Problems are relevant only when the mind perceives them as issues which need to be addressed.”

Alexander shook his head in disappointment. “You Indians and your philosophies; you have the Jains, the Buddhists, the Ajivikas, the Vaisheshikas, the Samkhyas, the Nyayas, the Mimamsas and the orthodox Brahmins. Who is right?”

With a broad smile, Calanus replied, “Maybe we are all wrong! Maybe there is no God; a position maintained by our illustrious Charvaka brothers. It does not matter what discipline we follow but what matters is how we follow it.”

Sensing that he had confused Alexander enough, Calanus added, “Wait till we reach the Hyphasis River. My Guru will answer all your questions for you. Have patience my friend!”

And they kept marching on for next few hours till evening, when finally the army reached the banks of the Hyphasis River and set up camp along the river bank. Seeing the magnificent spread of nature around him, Alexander said to Coenus, “This country, the Sapta Sindhu is truly blessed to have so many mighty rivers. I am eager to see the legendary Ganges River to the east.”

Later in the evening, the men had cooked an assortment of wild game from the jungle accompanied by bread and rice for the evening feast. As Alexander enjoyed a piece of roasted peacock leg along with his Grecian wine with his other commanders, Coenus walked into the camp, looking distressed.

“My king, the scouts are back. They say that across the Ganges lie the Nanda kingdom of Magadha and the Gangaridai kingdom of Anga, both of whom having put aside their differences have amassed a massive army of eighty thousand horsemen, two hundred thousand footmen, eight thousand chariots, and six thousand fighting elephants on the eastern banks of the Ganges! The scouts have already passed on the news to the army and the men are afraid!”

In his inebriated state, Alexander took another bite of peacock meat, “With Zeus’s blessing, we will march on and we will conquer them. What is life without a good fight? What is life without honor in battle?”

Coenus unsheathed his sword, “My king, the blade has seen action alongside you for the past eight years but will continue to do so; but please think about our men! An army which fears is not an army worth having. I am merely suggesting what our men have been thinking for a long time but have been afraid to say it to you.”

Coenus waited for a dramatic second and said out aloud for all the commanders to hear, “Maybe it time for us to turn back and go back home!”

On hearing this, Alexander violently got up from his cushioned seat and walked out of his tent only to see his men waiting outside; their faces grave.

“Lord Zeus is with us on this epic march! I have fought alongside you guys riding first into battle! We will surely defeat all our enemies!” He shouted out aloud for his men to hear.

Clearly there was dissent in the ranks and for probably the first time Alexander, felt it! Many of his faithful soldiers started shouting at the same time and he did not know what to do. Many of the men threw down their arms and said that they’d had enough! The last thing that Alexander had expected was a revolt from his very own army. He tried talking to the men; but the man’s voice was overrun by the fear of thousands!

Without looking back, Alexander quickly walked back into his tent, followed by his commanders. The air was full of tension as his men waited outside the emperor’s camp as the commander tried to talk Alexander into retreating.

Even after an hour of negotiation, the king did not back down; his ego not letting him do so! Just then, in the heat of the moment, Calanus walked into the tent slowly with an old fragile Gymnosophist.

“Alexander, meet my guru Dandamis,” he said.

Alexander at once got up from his seat and ushered in the guru, paying his respects to the old man.

“So what was all this heated discussion about?” asked Dandamis as soon as he was seated.

“My men want me to turn back and go back home but I want to continue marching east,” replied Alexander

“But why go east?” Dandamis asked innocently.

“I want to conquer the whole world.”

Dandamis smiled on hearing this. “Why do you need the whole world when all you need is about three paces of land to rest your body upon?”

His warped mind did not like to admit it; but he wanted everlasting glory like Achilles. “I want immortality, everlasting fame and riches.”

“Immortal we all are; we just need to realize it. A man on the path of immortality has no thought of pleasure or riches. He loves the divine and accepts death whereas you love pleasure, riches and conquest. You fear death and despise God! Surely you are on the wrong path!”

With that, the old man walked out on the emperor as he looked on; a frail old man walked out on the greatest emperor of the world!

Ceasing the opportune moment, Coenus hastily added to the emperor, “My dear King; the men long to again see their parents, their wives and children, their homeland. This might well be the last opportunity to do that!”

After a moment of consideration on seeing Coenus’s desperation, Alexander walked of his tent, raised his glass of wine and said to the men who had been waiting outside. “We all go back to Greece tomorrow morning!”

PS: This is work of fiction. What history reports is that Alexander was forced to turn back once he reached the banks of the Beas River due to an army revolt and along with him on his return journey to Babylon was an Indian monk called Calanus. There are also many stories about how the man met various monks in India including Chanakya . This is just another take on all those tales. Takshashila, during the Axial Age (800 BC-300 BC) was one of the greatest cities in the world; the center of Indian socio-political change and a hotbed of Indian philosophy! I am pretty sure that there must have been a lot of exchange of ideas between the ancient Indians and the Greeks.

The legend of Alexander lived on in the Indian subcontinent in many forms; the South Asian name “Sikander”, the Indo-Greek kingdoms and art, which lived on for the next three centuries in the North Western part of the Indian subcontinent; the cultural exchange (many interesting parallels between Greek and Indian mythology) and unfortunately, also the high prevalence of Thalassaemia in certain South Asian ethnic groups!

“Man, this highway is a wreck,” exclaimed Kumbalam Hari who sat on the passenger’s seat, throwing his hands up. “I think I will need to throw up if this continues for some more time.”

The driver of the vehicle, Tony Kurushingal smiled on hearing this as he deftly put the car into fourth gear. The delicate constitution of Hari’s stomach was legendary. Epic paeans had been written about various incidents involving his friend.

Tony replied, “Don’t complain aliya. The poor roads do not stand a chance against the alternating seasons of monsoon and humid summer coupled with very poor structural engineering designed to keep the water on the roads instead of letting it escape into the clogged drains.”

“I dream of the day I’ll see a perfectly reasonable stretch of highway in this state.”

 “We may never live to see that day. A good road in Kerala is to KSEB, what the sight of a happy soul is to a dementor. Maybe it reminds them of their own inefficiency. I don’t know,” Tony replied shrugging his shoulders. “But rest assured; they will dig it up within 24 hours. If only they showed the same zeal in producing electricity!”

Conversations like these were commonplace in every part of the state. Though they had planned to leave Trivandrum by 6 AM; it was finally 9 AM before they started on their journey to Cochin; human performance rarely matched up to human aspiration. Tony knew that the shocks on his weather-beaten Maruti 800 would take a beating right throughout the 220 kilometers on the dreaded highway 47 but it was a drive that he’d always enjoyed.

“So how is work coming along?” Tony asked, knowing that his friend worked long hours in his office in Technopark.

Hari’s expression turned sour as he replied, “Aliya, why did you have to remind me of work on a Saturday! I wish I had Kumbakarnan’s life. Eat, sleep and not worry about anything else except the occasional duel. Life would’ve been perfect!”

“Such a life can only exist in stories and mythology. Don’t yearn for something that cannot exist.”

Hari, at once pointed an accusing finger at Tony. “Don’t call them stories or mythology. We already have the right term for the Mahabharatham and the Ramayanam; ithihasam or history.”

“Yeah right, and God created me on the seventh day when he took rest!”

Hari shook his head as he turned his massive frame towards Tony. It took some doing for the man who was over six feet tall and weighed a healthy ninety kilos to do that in the cramped Maruti 800 seat.

“Seriously dude, it’s not funny. Our ancients were an advanced lot. There can be no other plausible explanation for many of the concepts discussed in the books like pushpaka vimanas, nuclear warfare, epic weapons, test tube babies and so forth.”

Tony looked at his friend with a mischievous smile, “Have you ever considered the fact that the dudes who authored those texts might have been high on soma or on something worse? There is no physical evidence to back your claims and that is the simple fact!”

Hari shook his head even more vehemently this time. “Aliya; drunk or not; stoned or not; they could not have written about all these advanced things 2000 years back without having the technology.”

Tony shifted perceptibly in his seat on hearing this, ever watchful of the road ahead. “I could actually give you a theory which is actually more probable than yours.”

“And what is that?” asked Hari intrigued.

Tony switched off the music system that had been playing old Malayalam songs and then he lifted his free hand up, pointed to the ceiling and said, “Time travelers from the future!”

“That is by far the stupidest piece of -”

“Or maybe alien travelers who stopped over on some epic intergalactic journey,” added Tony as an afterthought.

“- stupidest, stupidest piece of science fiction that I’ve ever heard!”

“And why is that? Actually, if we are talking purely about probability; my theory is much more probable than yours. Just think about it. Human flight was thought to be impossible until the Wright brothers proved them wrong. Space exploration was just science fiction until we put a satellite into space. We once believed in a steady state universe until Mr. Hubble came running along with his telescope. So don’t say that it cannot exist.”

It was Hari’s turn to smile, “Aliya; don’t tell me that you’ve started drinking before sundown? It’s an unhealthy habit!”

Tony stopped the car in front of a small thatched roadside thattu-kada and they both stepped out of the car for a much need break.

After ordering two kattan chayas, Tony replied, “Human conditioning has taught us to accept certain things as valid and certain things as not but it is all in the human mind. Today’s science fiction might well be tomorrow’s science, maybe even the Holy Grail; the perpetual motion machine. Common sense would dictate that it is not possible according to the laws of physics!”

Hari scratched his head and asked with a sheepish grin, “What is a perpetual motion machine?”

Tony burst out laughing. “Mone; nee annu engineer (You are the perfect engineer)! Go check wiki later!” 

“So what are you trying to say now?” asked Hari.

“It is a very simple idea. Take all those stories from all the religious texts as mere stories and not as facts. All those prophets were probably great reformer in their times but we should not add the concept of divinity to their stories or lives. Many of the problems that currently exist in this world; the fundamentalism in thought and action can be solved the day when we all become moderate in thinking.”

Hari said, “Well, I’m not a fundamentalist!”

Tony took another sip of his chaya and replied, “All believers in the divine are fundamentalists in a certain way even if they don’t realize it. For e.g.: I believe in religion A or B. My philosophical system is the best; My God is better etc”

“But it all comes down to this question. How did this universe begin? Life?” 

Tony replied, “Scientists now predict that our universe originated out of nothing. Positive energy in the universe cancelled out by gravity which can be taken as negative energy. But more importantly, it is not God who created man. It is in fact the hominoid race who created God.”

“And why is that?” asked Hari.

“Ego! We are special because we are the chosen race; chosen people! God was created the minute our hominoid ancestors evolved to ask the basic question: What is life? Who are we? The answer logically had to satisfy the human ego back then.”

The breeze from the Indian Ocean came in hard at that moment bearing in the smell of salt and fish and from the spot Hari and Tony stood; they could see a beach in a distance and a group had collected on the shore.

After Hari finished his chaya in silence, he said “Let’s stop this discussion now. There is only one thing that I am really interested in at the moment.”

“And what is that?”

“It looks like the fishermen are coming from the sea now. Let’s see if we can buy some neimeen and make a wicked fish-fry tonight!”

“Kollam aliyaaaa!” And they both started laughing as they walked to the shore.

He kept falling, head first through the dark tunnel frozen in time and space with only the Lord’s image in front of him. The immobile, blinding light of the Lord seemed so far away, yet looked as if it was within an arm’s distance. The harder he tried to reach it; the more he accelerated, the further away his target seemed to slip away. Chanting the Lord’s name again and again, he kept at it with intense concentration; the only tangible support system left in his current world. A primordial world created by his mind; a cosmos fashioned out of non-dual perception; a reality born out of Nirvikalpa Samadhi.

The sanyasin, of noble countenance sat on the cold rock boulder near the edge of a cliff with his eyes closed, dressed in nothing but a saffron robe; deep in penance on the pristinely beautiful mountains of the eastern Himalayas. The mattress that he had fashioned out of kula grass provided a measure of comfort against the frigid cold. He had not yielded to the elements of nature or the needs of the human body. It was his 2^nd day in penance and nothing had broken his single minded determination.

His fine, almost delicate features betrayed his noble lineage and a calm, serene look on his face only added to the remarkable brilliance which seemed to radiate from him. His shoulders were remarkably broad for a man of his stature and he almost seemed to flaunt the multiple scars that his body carried; a sordid reminder that he had taken part in multiple battles. His arms were abnormally thick compared to the build of the man with the muscles in his right shoulder slightly more pronounced than his left, which all pointed out the fact that he was a warrior of the highest order; a maharathi well versed in the art of dhanurveda. Besides him on the rock boulder, wrapped in pure silk were his weapons, which included his magnificent bow Gandiva, his two inexhaustible quivers; which were a gift from the Gods and a majestic sword, tempered from the finest wootz steel in all of Bharatavarsha.

Prince Arjuna, son of Pandu, sat there praying to Lord Sankara as he wanted the lord’s favorite weapon; the Pashupatastra for the Great War that he knew would soon erupt like a raging volcano, engulfing the entire civilized world. It was the fifth year of the exile for the five brothers, the Pandavas and he knew that he had to get the lord’s weapon to make him truly invincible against his arch nemesis, the greatest fighter in the world who was protected by his divine kavacha and kundala: Radheya

Suddenly, his thought stream was broken by a disturbance nearby and he was forced out of his transcendental state. He was livid and opened in eyes only to spot a wild boar creating a ruckus nearly. Angered that the boar had wasted his efforts, he picked up the Gandiva in one fluid motion and was ready to let loose, a deadly arrow aimed for the boar’s throat, when the animal bolted away from him.

Picking up all his weapons, he gave chase to the boar. The boar was fleet footed, as if it was aided by some divine power but Arjuna was up to the challenge. And thus he gave chase for about 5 minutes, until both of them came upon a clearing in the woods. It was his chance! In a fleeting second, he released an arrow which found its target. But at the same time, another crescent shaped arrow from the opposite direction lodged into the boar as well! And the boar fell dead.

As he looked around, a hunter made his way out from behind the bushes.

“That boar is mine,” Arjuna said loudly.

“Sorry to burst your bubble arya (nobleman), but I shot it first,” the hunter replied calmly and held his bow out for the man to see.

Arjuna laughed loudly in disbelief and held out his jewel studded bow, the mighty Gandiva, which glowed like the Sun itself, out for the hunter to see.

“Do you think that an arrow released from this great bow will lose to yours?”

The hunter calmly pointed to him and replied, “Is that a challenge?” trying hard to control his smirk.

It was a standoff, and Arjuna took a closer look at the hunter. He was a kirata; people who lived on the fringes of the Kuru Empire, way up on the mountains. The man was of Mongolian stock; heavily built and dressed in a tiger’s fur. He almost reminded Arjuna of the warrior saint Parashurama.

“If it is a fight you’re looking for, you will get it,” warned Arjuna in riposte. “But tell me something hunter. Why are you so eager to meet Lord Yama?”

The hunter had a hearty laugh. “A man is born alone and he dies alone. He merely experiences the good, the bad and the consequences of his karma.”

“Only the faint hearted depend on karma; not me!” Arjuna replied defiantly.

The kirata’s penetrating gaze was almost overpowering. “Arya, think twice before you release an arrow from that mighty bow. The bow and the arrows in your quiver are mere material objects now. But the moment, you release an arrow from that mighty bow; it ceases to be just another arrow but becomes a part of your prarabdha karma. So choose your next action well.”

Quick as a flash, Arjuna released an arrow aimed directly for the man. But his anger turned to amazement as the hunter, showed extreme dexterity in dealing with the arrow.

He had only seen such brilliant skill in a few people on earth: Radheya, Ekalavya and his guru, Drona!

While he marveled and appreciated the hunter’s skill, he knew he had to win the fight! And thus, they started fighting! Separated by a mere fifty meters, Arjuna released arrow after arrow aimed at the man, but could not pierce his defenses. Slowly with every passing second, he realized that he was losing the encounter with the hunter, who was fluid in action but still retained that winning smile. The kirata matched him arrow for arrow.

It hurt his ego more than his anything else! And Arjuna decided to move onto the divine astras to fight the kirata. Suddenly, he found it perplexing that he had forgotten the sacred incantations of the divine astras. It had never happened to him in his entire life! The divine incantations should have come naturally to him like breathing. As he fought against the rising tide of arrows, he quickly grew weak by his efforts to remember the incantations!

And suddenly, his quiver ran dry; his divine quiver crafted by the Gods themselves ran dry! But he had little time to think about it! Picking up his sword, he ran towards the kirata, who only seemed to grow in stature as Arjuna approached him.

Arjuna’s eyes gleamed red like hot embers of coal and his face looked an unhealthy pale color as cold fury was written all over it. Hot tears like molten lava streaked down his cheeks; as his eyes were transfixed upon the enemy; the kirata who was fighting like Lord Shiva himself.

The kirata was as skilled with the sword as he was skilled with the bow. Arjuna never had a chance to penetrate the kirata’s defenses. The kirata always seemed to be a step ahead of him with his swordsmanship and his footwork! Arjuna’s technique seemed forced and stifled when compared to the graceful kirata, who almost seemed to dance! Finally after a couple of minutes, the kirata managed to subdue Arjuna and cut the hilt of his sword. Arjuna fell back to the ground, senseless, because of the shock of defeat.

When Arjuna opened his eyes, he still spotted the kirata standing over him, with the very same smile and it infuriated him. But he knew what to do. On the very spot that he fell down; he fashioned a lingam out of mud, soaked in his tears and placed a garland over it. He then proceeded to pray to Lord Sankara for his divine grace. When he opened his eyes after a minute, he found the garland missing!

As he looked around, he was startled to find the garland around the shoulders of the smiling kirata and that was when realization struck; when the truth sunk in!

As he rushed to fall at the Lord’s feet, he realized the simple truth. He did not need to gain the Pashupatastra to become truly invincible!

All he needed to do was shed his ego.

(Sketch from an ancient Portuguese manuscript)

1600 AD, MarakkarKotta (Marakkar’s Fort):

The canons occasionally blazed from the northern side of the fort breaking the tranquility of the early morning, done more to intimidate than injure. It was a reminder to the people inside the fort that they had no escape. The air was full of smoke, the smell of gunpowder but more importantly, fear! If it had not been for the heavy stone walls of the fort, the enemy would not have played the waiting game.

The majestic fort stood on the banks of the MooradRiver; a massive stone complex, built by the late Kutty Ahmed Ali (Kunjali Marakkar I), admiral of the Arabi-kadal. The admiral had always been an advocate on the importance of a good defense and there was not a more impressive fort built on the mysterious land, said to have been reclaimed by Parashuraman’s mighty axe.

The Portuguese fleet on one side with their heavy battleships on the Moorad River and the army of the king of Kozhikode on the other; the situation looked bleak for the people inside the MarakkarKotta, for people still loyal to Mohammed Ali (Kunjali Marakkar IV), the current admiral and the great grandson of Kutty Ahmed Ali. The army of the Admiral was a motley mix of mercenaries who had come to serve the admiral; Hindus, Muslims and Christians who had all come in search of something exciting instead of the banal. They were men who had thrown away their mundane lives in exchange for glory and riches. They were men of the sword; neither religion nor caste separated them as they lived the sailor’s life with impunity. They were all armed to the hilt and ready for a fight; all waiting for the admiral’s command.

The Marakkar stood casually with one foot resting on the walls of the fort, coolly assessing the situation; an aura of supreme confidence as if this brush with defeat and death meant little to him. His mere presence inspired confidence in his men. Dressed in a sailor’s tunic, the man held his golden sword casually and those electric eyes coolly took in the entire scene. Legends said that his ancestors had come to Keralam from the Egyptian coast many generations back as traders and it showed in his sharp features and his olive skin, which looked distinctly different from the rest of his men.

Vikraman, a brooding beast of a man, stood along with his admiral assessing the situation biting his finger nails, supervising the troops and desperately searching for an opening, any weakness which they could use to their advantage. He was one of the admiral’s closest friends and he had spent over ten years of his life with the admiral. Built like a bull, he was dressed in heavy armor, which gave him an imposing look.

“So what do we do now admiral? The men are waiting for your command,” Vikraman asked.

“Let’s see if the paranji (Portuguese) fleet backs down. I am not worried about them as yet and our walls are strong. But I definitely am worried about the army on the other side. Right now, they are just waiting, ensuring that we do not escape. But if they also jump into the fray and lay siege, then we will not have much of a chance. Our resources are already stretched thin.”

Wringing his hands in frustration, he added as an afterthought, “Why didn’t our spies report this to us? The king could not have bought them off.”

Vikraman’s thoughts went back to a time over ten years back when he had first met this legendary man! They were younger and adventurous back then and at Kozhikode, the coastal port town, the admiral had invited him, a young teenager to join their expedition to protect the trade routes between Hindustan and the Arabian Peninsula from the paranji fleet. Vikraman had grown up on the streets of Kozhikode; an orphan who had to fend for his own self from an early age and the lessons that he learnt early in his life were some of the most important.Kozhikode was then a bustling little port and people from all corners of the known world came over for trade including the Arabians, Africans and the Europeans.

After joining the admiral, he had worked his way up the ranks and now, was one of the admiral’s most trusted aides.  He could only marvel at the changes that had happened over the ten years. The paranji had come over as traders but increasing tried to assert their will over the people and the Kunjali Marakkars had led most of campaigns against them. The Kozhikode king along with the others had initially supported the Marakkars, but the current Marakkar had lost the king’s approval and started acting as a free agent. Vikraman, at times, compared himself with Karnan; who never left his king’s side.

Just then the Marakkar said, “Damn; my sister should not have visited now.”

“Where is she now?” asked Vikraman, intrigued. He had never seen any of the family members of the admiral, who all lived to the north near the village called Thallasery.

Just then, a woman came up the stone steps leading up to where they stood. One look at her, and Vikraman’s knees went weak. She was the most beautiful woman that he had seen in his life. He had travelled all over the western coast of Hindustan, been to the Arabian Peninsula and the Maldives, but he had never seen an apsara quite like her. Her dressing was simple and elegant but Vikraman found it hard to look past her beauty!

“Brother,” she asked; “What is the situation here?” Just like her brother, her voice commanded an innate respect.

Their eyes met and Vikraman felt the spark of desire singe his heart.  It had never happened to him before in his life and he felt mildly unsettled. As the Marakkar explained the situation to her, all Vikraman could do was look at her. He could not take his eyes of her!

Suddenly, the Goddess turned to him and as recognition flooded through her visage, she asked, “Are you Commander Vikraman?”

“Yes, I am!”

“I am Ayesha. I have heard a lot about you, including your exploits at the Lakshadweep Islands.”

Vikraman smiled and replied, “I hope he has left the bad parts out.” And they had a laugh about it.

“Vikraman; hold the fort. I need to speak to my sister in private,” the Marakkar said and went below to his quarters along with his sister.

For the next couple of hours, Vikraman stood there on watch, but his mind was not in it. The girl kept flashing before his eyes and he found it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.

Around 2 PM, he was invited to dine with the admiral and they sat around the table; the Marakkar, Ayesha and Vikraman. Lunch consisted of a simple rice broth filled with meat and a lot of fruits.

After the meal, the Marakkar said, “Vikraman, I called you over to have lunch with us because I have a request to ask of you.”

The Marakkar walked up to the window, with his back turned on Vikraman and continued, “We both know that it’s the end of the road for us. We just have a 2 day supply with us and then we are out. I am thinking of surrendering.”

Vikraman, at once jumped up and said, “You just have to command us. We can take this fight to the finish! Our men will gladly lay down their lives for you! We cannot surrender to these barbarians.”

The Marakkar looked at him with a sad smile and said, “Vikraman, you are young and temperamental. These men have been with me for many years now and I do not wish to be the cause of their deaths. Allah would never forgive me for that.”

Vikraman put his hand up in exasperation, “Oh, here we go again.”

Just then, Ayesha interjected, “Commander; do you not believe in God?”

In the heat of the moment, Vikraman had completely forgotten about her!

Vikraman looked at her and replied, “I believe that consciousness ends with death. The Atman ends when the heart stops beating. I am a Carvakan.”

At that moment, the Marakkar walked up to him, clasped his shoulders. “Do me this favor for old time’s sake. I am going to surrender this evening. They probably just want me and not our people. I want you to rescue Ayesha and take her to our ancestral home in Thalasherry. She will be protected there.”

In the years that he had known the admiral, he had never seen the Marakkar make a request before.

“Ok, I will,” Vikraman replied wiping away a tear from his eye. As much as he hated to leave the Marakkar’s side, he knew that he had no other option but to obey.

“As you know, we have a secret passage under the fort from this very room, which opens upstream. Get her out of here as soon as I raise the white flag.”

There was an outcry among the men as soon as they realized that the Marakkar was going to surrender. But they knew better than to disrespect him. They all waited patiently for nightfall; for dusk and at 6 PM, Vikraman and Ayesha slipped through the trapdoor as soon as they saw the Marakkar raise the white flag. The image of the Marakkar would remain etched in his memory throughout the rest of his life! With one last glance, he slipped through, followed by Ayesha.

The passageway was constructed when the fort was built and had never been used until then. It had become home to a vast number of insects and ancient cobwebs covered the dark tunnel. The walls of the tunnel were damp as water trickled down and Vikraman used his torch to clear the way for Ayesha. As Vikraman knew, the tunnel ran for about a mile underground before it opened into a clearing near the banks of the river.

He had to stop thinking about the past and start thinking about the future. Hand in hand, they inched forward in the tunnel, hoping that it had not caved in. Inch by inch, step by step, they eased forward through the slush as the insects crowded around them; the intruders who had disturbed their peace. Ayesha’s face by completely covered with her robe to protect her from the insects and her eyes glowed red thanks to the torch flame that he carried. He was not claustrophobic but as they walked forward, he felt the heat within him escape from every pore of his body due to the oppressive humidity!

His love was turning into reverence minute by minute, an obsession and he could not do anything about it. He could not let anything happen to her! After about 50 minutes, they burst out into the open under the moonlight sky

Vikraman took a deep breath, the clear air clearing his head and they both sat down on the banks of the river. From a distance, they could spot the brightly lit fort.

“So what do we do now?” asked Ayesha after a few minutes after regaining her breath.

“We eat first and then start moving upstream towards the mountains. Taking the coastal route will be suicidal now,” Vikraman replied and they both had their dinner; some bread and fruits that they had packed with them.

And they started on their journey, inland, away from the barbarian fleet!

They walked steadily upstream for the next couple of hours as it was still enemy territory; their fears adding fuel their internal resolve until it was time to sleep.  Vikraman had his sword unsheathed for any emergency. Finally at around 11 PM, exhausted, they both sat down under a huge banyan tree.

“Commander, will my brother be ok?” Ayesha asked. It was the first time she had spoken during the long trek. It was a question asked more out of human despair than anything else.

Vikraman feared the worst but he could not bring himself to answer that question. He looked away as his eyes were filling up. Ayesha at once came over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. And he knew that he had to tell her that he loved her, even though the moment was all wrong.

Ayesha said, “I know that you don’t believe in God but I do! Allah will take care of him.”

Vikraman looked up at the moon and said, “I never said that I don’t believe in a higher power.”

“So what do you believe in?” she asked, clearly confused.

“Advaitham,” he said, “What I believe in is Advaitham.”

He then said, “I also have a confession to make. Right from the moment I saw you, I have been madly in love. I cannot think of anything else.”

Her expressions remained unchanged as he delivered those words. Without saying a word, she then embraced him and gave him a passionate kiss which lasted a full minute.

Vikraman felt intoxicated and lost all his weariness. Nothing else in the world mattered to him at that moment.

“But what is Advaitham?” she whispered softly into his ears. Her warm breath felt like hot embers of coal.

He looked at those beautiful eyes, those full lips and replied, “It is spiritual state of mind when two people cease to be two different people but become one. It is that state of mind when the future of our souls is intertwined in a single path by fate or accident. It is that state of mind where the world becomes a mayam (illusion). It is that state of mind when physical quantities like time, distance become irrelevant and rules set by man are rendered meaningless. It is a quintessential existence closer to the supreme where one remains incomplete without the other. Neither Life nor death can separate us now.”

The twinkle in her eyes suggested that the night was not yet done and that she was impressed. Sleep would have to wait; the entire cosmos would have to wait for them that night!

With a smile, Vikraman said, “Lokham dvaitham; pranayam advaitham.” (The world is dual; love is non-dual)

PS:

1. This story was written based on a conversation that I had recently. And in that conversation, I ended up classifying true love as “Advaitham” (based on Advaita-Vedantam). And this post is to make sense of what I said that day.
2. The Marakkars ruled the Arabian Sea in the 16^th century leading many of the campaigns against the Portuguese. They are our heroes who organized the first naval defense of our country against imperialism.

Major Riyas Mohammad sat on the beachfront leading to the famous Calangute beach in Goa, nursing a cold beer in a thatched hut. The cool breeze that came in from the sea had a tinge of salt in it; and he could hear the sea from a distance. The waves did not just break on the sand, they drenched his heart as well and a feeling of bliss permeated throughout his entire body.

It was the holiday season and with just a few hours left for the New Year and the whole town had a festive cheer to it. A lot of tourists, both Indians and foreigners had come into Goa to usher in the New Year and party hard.Goa was such a place where people could live in the moment and not bring in any emotional baggage!

Major Riyas Mohammad was no different. He had also come in to do the same as well. He just had to get away from his life; his work and his troubled past for atleast sometime. Working for the Research and Analysis Wing (RAW) had been his dream, right from childhood but as he took another sip of the beer, he realized that it had also scarred him for life.

It was not the long work hours; it was not the time when he had been undercover; it was not the failed marriage. He considered all that to be a sacrifice for his country. But working for the RAW had sucked away his ability to empathize with anyone or anything. All that remained was a black heart, devoid of any emotions.

Which was precisely why, he had come over to Goa leaving all his emotional baggage behind! He almost looked like a hippie or a wandering monk; with his scraggy beard, dark brown hair which had been gelled back and those green eyes. He was dressed in a white kurta and his wiry frame was small but one could not mistake the fact that he was in great shape, thanks to years of training. His looks carried the genes of both his parents; his desi looks and his square jaw thanks to his Malayalee dad and his brown hair and those green eyes betrayed his mother’s Iranian heritage.

“I really think that it is time for dinner now,” and thinking of the Goan fish curry made his mouth water.

He paid the bill and started walking to his hotel. There were drunken people all over the place, enjoying their moment with destiny; hoping that the New Year would bring in the cheer!

Just then, his phone rang. Not the normal phone, but the secure one reserved for work! He was dismayed! The last thing that he wanted now was a call from office but in his line of work, it could not be avoided. He was one of the best agents in the department.

“Identity yourself,” said the caller on the other end.

“Riyas Mohammad,” he replied knowing that it was his boss, the inscrutable Mr. Sameer Sharma and then proceeded to give his security code.

“It is a chilly evening and I don’t want you to catch a cold. Why don’t you head out to your hotel room? We have arranged for some medicine for you.”

And the call went dead! There was a sense of urgency to his boss’s tone and he knew that he had to get back fast.

Riyas walked back to his hotel room as fast as he could without drawing attention and slipped into his room after checking that there were no intruders inside. It was something that had become an involuntary habit; just the same way that he slept with a gun under his pillow. On the bed was a package marked “Burn after reading.”

“Aliya, so it is the next mission. Why am I not surprised?” he thought to himself and opened the file, which had small tablet pc in it.

He hit the play button after entering his code and his boss’s voice crackled into life.

“We have received information from the IB that at 11:30 PM tonight, a hit has been planned at “The Shack” night club in Calangute. We don’t know who the target is nor do we have any information on who is planning the hit. Over the last couple of years, we have been receiving reports of a shadowy group who specialize in high profile assassinations and we have reason to believe that they are in this as well. Find and negate the threat!”

“Perfect,” said Riyas as he lit a cigarette and contemplated on the implications of the message. No longer was it a perfect evening for him! He looked at the watch, and it was already 9 PM and he only had just over two hours before it would go down. He quickly shaved, showered and put on some decent clothes, cleaned his gun and drove down to “The Shack” situated near the Calangute beach. His fish curry would have to wait!

“The Shack” had a reputation for being one of the best nightclubs in town; catering to the rich and the famous. Built near the beach, the club had an airy feel to it with its large expansive windows and loud music. The party had already started by the time Riyas reached the place and there were a lot of people, both inside and outside. The police too, were out on the streets, which was a good sign.

He was stopped outside by a bouncer.

“20,000 Rs, Sir for entry,” he said.

“What? 20,000! This is day light robbery,” replied Riyas but he paid up grudgingly. As every good Indian, he carefully saved the receipt so that he could bill it on the department later.

The dance floor was crowded as expected. The neon lights flickered incessantly and there was little space to move around. There was chaos all around, and he knew that it would be difficult to figure things out inside. So he ordered a beer and walked to a corner of the hall, where there was a slightly elevated platform. From that position, he could watch the entire dance floor and the bar. The best that he could do in the current situation was to see if he could observe anything, which seemed out of place; anything which broke the ordinary pattern.

It was 11:00 already and he focused on the crowd; observing every single person and assessing them. Ten minutes passed; fifteen and Riyas got a gradual picture of the club. People came in; people left but he could identify the people. It took immense concentration on his part and a pattern emerged; people who were the jocks; people who were drunk; people who were rich and people who were cheating.

Suddenly he spotted a man, who was standing in a corner, totally oblivious to the music and the crowd. He was a handsome man dressed in a suede leather jacket and tight jeans. The jet black hair was gelled back and he looked composed, which seemed totally out of place in the club. There was also something about the man, which interested Riyas. Confidence such as this could only stem from military training. He stood with natural elegance and a comfortable ease, which very few people possessed.

Riyas had nothing else to go on but that man. He was not sure but it was the best lead that had under the circumstances. Riyas also kept looking around desperate for any other lead but he could find anything.

It was 11:30 PM and the man started walking to the centre of the dance floor and from his jacket, took out a syringe and hid it in his right hand! Riyas knew that he had to move fast but without alarming the guy and so, he blended into the crowd and moved, discreetly towards the man.

He still did not know who the target was!

They had both reached the centre and Riyas was within an arm’s distance away from the man, when the man made his move. He took his syringe and was about to inject the person in front of him and Riyas had to move fast. As fast as he could, he reached out and grabbed the man’s right hand just in the nick of time!

The frenzied crowd around had no inkling of what was happening as they danced around the two stationary men, who both stood rooted to the spot. The assassin looked at Riyas in confusion but recovered instantaneously. With his free left hand, he lashed out at Riyas and got him square in the jaw. Any other man in Riyas’s position would have fainted at that moment but not Riyas who had taken many such blows in his life. He reeled back but never left his grip on the assassin’s right hand.

Fighting a conventional fight was out of the question in the crowded club and maybe, the man thought that Riyas had backup and so, he dropped the syringe and pushed Riyas away before fleeing to the door. Riyas at once followed, literally pushing people away as he chased after the assassin. There was supreme chaos as they both made their way to the door but finally they were out and the man started running towards the beach and Riyas followed.

The man was quick, but Riyas was not a slowcoach either. As he pursued the man, Riyas also called in for backup and asked the police to cordon off the club. As soon as the assassin reached the water, he stopped running; turned back and Riyas stood about 10 feet away from him.

Riyas had to say his usual line. “Dude, I am with the government. Drop your knife and surrender. Then it might work in the interest of both of us.”

The assassin, looked at Riyas in the eye, and shouted out aloud in Arabic, “I, descendent of Hassan-i-Sabbah, having pledge my life to the ancient order, will kill you.”

“Man, this is getting crazy. Arabic here in India,” Riyas thought to himself. He had a working knowledge of that language.

The assassin then took out a mean looking knife from his jacket and the hilt of the knife was made of solid gold. With a war cry, he charged at Riyas. Riyas could have ended the contest with his gun in a matter of seconds but he wanted to bring in the man alive.

The man slashed right across Riyas but he was a second too late, because Riyas had ducked under the blow and aimed a punch to the man’s stomach. It was a perfect blow, one which would have stopped many in their tracks but not the man. He clearly was trained. And so, they fought on. Both were equally matched and skilled but the man had the upper advantage with his knife while Riyas was unarmed. Riyas, with his quick feet was just able to stay out of reach from the man’s knife. They were both testing out one another in a bout of strength and they both knew that only one would survive.

The next time the assassin charged, Riyas sidestepped to the left after feigning to the right, and he had a clear advantage, which he used to grab the man’s right wrist and jumped up, and landed a powerful round house kick to the man’s jaw. He knew at once that he had connected properly as he could hear a crunching sound as the assassin’s jaw broke. The man lost his grip on the knife, staggered back, and rolled over.  With blood oozing down his chin, the assassin took one quick look at the knife on the sand and then looked at Riyas again, but this time, it was different. There was fear in those eyes and Riyas knew that he had to do something before the man did something foolish.

As Riyas started running towards the man, the man took out a pill from his jacket and swallowed it. He was dead in a matter of seconds.

“Shit! I should have stopped him.” Suddenly fire works filled the sky and he looked at his watch!

The New Year had started, literally with a bang for Riyas. With the adrenalin racing through his veins, he was in no mood to celebrate the New Year. He placed a call to his boss on the secure line and explained to him what had happened.

Sameer listened in rapt attention to what had happened and said immediately, “Just wait there, I will send someone to pick you up. I will have a plane waiting for you at the Goa Air base.”

Riyas asked, “What about the body?”

“Bring it along with you.”

Just before Riyas cut the call, he added, “One more thing. Find out who Hassan-i Sabbah was.”

The Indian defense forces were not known to be efficient but Riyas was surprised to find himself in Mumbai at 2 AM, just two hours after the call with his boss. He knew that his boss must have pulled many strings for this to happen. Sameer was in office when Riyas got in, and asked Riyas to relax while they did a postmortem of the body. And Riyas poured himself a cup of coffee and waited in Sameer’s office.

After about 15 minutes, Sameer walked in, “We have reason to believe that the assassin belongs to secret clan, which operate within India.”

“Did you find any evidence on the body?” asked Riyas.

“This is what we found tattooed on the body near his hip bone. It was really miniscule, but we have enlarged it”. Sameer took out a file from his bag and showed Riyas a photograph.

Riyas had no idea what it was. “What the hell is this building?”

“I have my research team working on this as we speak. I also did my reading up on Hassan-i Sabbah. Here is the interesting thing. Hassan-i Sabbah was an ancient warrior in the Middle East; leader of a group called the Hashishins; a band of ruthless mercenaries who killed for money. The English word ‘assassin’ originated from them. They lived in their base Alamut from 1092 AD to 1265 AD until the Mongol invasion. It is further said that the Hashishins then moved into South Asia to escape from the Mongols. Isn’t it fascinating to think of the possibility that the descendents of that man started their business here in the subcontinent as well?”

“Here is another fascinating thing. They were Shiites; and as we know, they are a minority here in India, so finding that building should not be difficult.” 

“Who was the target at Goa? I never got a chance to follow up on that,” asked Riyas.

“We have that covered as well. It was Industrialist John Mathai’s son there. The assassin probably had the contract to kill him, but we also need to figure out who gave the contract.”

Just then, Nilay walked into the room. A short man with a pudgy frame; he was one of the best researchers in the entire department. Riyas had often relied on him for information.

He said, “I have reason to believe that this is an obscure Imambara in Lucknow. I ran this building against all the Shiite architecture in India and this came up immediately. This mosque has been in disuse for the last 100 years.”

Riyas looked at Sameer and with a broad grin said, “What are we waiting for? All I need is an NSG (national security guard) team waiting for me in Lucknow.”

Now this was something that he really liked!

By 6 AM, Riyas found himself with his NSG team in their headquarters in Lucknow. They went over the blueprint of the building and also discussed their plan of action.

“Gentlemen, this is how it’s going to work. We will barrage our way in and hope to shock the enemy into submission even before they realize it. We will take them all in for questioning but if they fight back, you go in for the kill,” said Riyas.

By 6:30 AM, they had reached the decrepit Imambara. There was not a soul in sight and the building had a ghastly look to it as the morning mist had just started to clear.

The chief commander of the NSG squad came up to Riyas and said, “Our heat sensors have picked up activity inside the building and we have secured all the exit points. Let’s roll.”

And they stormed the building. The team split into subgroups as soon as they entered the building, and made their way in. Riyas always preferred to work alone and climbed the expansive stair and made his way up, with his gun ready in hand. His nerves were on edge, ready for the slightest intuition of threat.

He could hear the staccato of gunfire from below and realized that his team had engaged the enemy. Cautiously, he made his way up, and just then, a middle aged man, burst out from one of the rooms. He had also heard the gunfire.

“Freeze,” Riyas shouted.

The man stopped in his tracks and looked at Riyas. There was not an iota of fear in his persona, and that really troubled Riyas.

Riyas had to say his usual line and wondered why he always had to keep up this futile charade. “Dude, I am with the government. Surrender now. Then it might work in the interest of both of us.”

The man smiled and said in Arabic, “I, descendent of Hassan-i-Sabbah, have pledged my life to the ancient order. Surrender is not an option.”

And he switched to Hindi, “I don’t know how you guys found us. Our order has survived the Mongol invasion in the Middle East, has survived the Mughals, the Marathas and the British in India. We both know that it does not end here.”

And then he charged like a crazy elephant, directly for Riyas!

Riyas had no other option but to pump bullets into the man! At that moment, the chief commander of the NSG squad came running up the stairs with his group.

He said, “We have secured the building. The enemy forces would not go down without a fight but we have captured a few alive whom we can question.”

And then, he ran down again to rejoin his team.

Riyas then became acutely aware of an overpowering silence that had filled the room and he then slowly walked up to the dead man.

“Enemies will rise and enemies will fall. Heroes will rise and heroes will fall. If there is one thing I know, it is that it never ends! Not for people protecting this country; not for people who walk in the path of dharma!”

PS: This is a work of fiction and the third in the series which involves Major Riyas Mohammad. The previous two are “The Roman Hoard”, “The Lost Rihla”.

Warning: Long post!

It was 6 PM and Major Riyas Mohammed was in his office, with a big pile of papers in front of him and he hated every minute of it. It was peak summer in Mumbai and the climate did little to alleviate the feeling of extreme suffocation and the dusty ceiling fan on top was just an ornamental piece in his miniscule room.

It had just been over a month since his exploits in Kerala, where he had solved a major case involving the naxalites for which he had received a Medal of Honor, all done in secrecy. Yet another medal, which he could not show the world!

Yes, this was his world; the shadowy world of Research and Analysis Wing (RAW) where victories were often celebrated in mute secrecy and failures, signaled to the whole world by the 24 gun salute.

Dead men never did talk!

As he looked at the huge pile of papers which he had to process before the end of the day, a sigh escaped his wiry frame. RAW operated this “office”, under the cover of an export business and hence, the facilities available were barely adequate.

“No, no, no! I am not meant for this,” he swore out loudly and cursed his boss who had decided to give him a desk job for sometime, away from the action. The many cups of tea and his cigarettes did not help in alleviating the crushing disappointment that his life had become.

Just then, his phone rang. It was his boss, Mr. Sameer Sharma on the other line.

“Riyas, come into my office,” said the curt voice and the line went dead. His boss was not a man who engaged in friendly chit chat. As Riyas walked to his boss’s office, he felt a familiar tinge in his spine. His intuition said that it was his next assignment.

As soon as he entered, his boss motioned him to sit down and asked, “What do you know about Ibn Battuta?”

Riyas smiled at his boss. Was this going to be the start of another crazy adventure like the last one, where he had uncovered a Roman ruin in the middle of Kerala? Why did stuff like this keep happening to him?

“Well, he was the greatest traveler of the ancient world. He was a North African who travelled all over Asia, including our country,” he replied.

“What do you know about his voyages in India?”

“Not much,” replied Riyas.

“The dude travelled all over the Indian subcontinent. He initially started from the north of the Indian subcontinent, travelled to the south and from there to the Maldives. And from there, he travelled to Bengal and from there, on to Indonesia. From South East Asia, the dude later travelled to China and finally went back home and it was there that he finally wrote his epic book called the ‘Rihla’.”

Sameer leaned into the table and in a more sober tone continued, “That is common history; now onto a myth. As the story goes, on his travel from Chittagong to Indonesia, he set sail with three ships full of treasures. But on the journey, they ran into some rough weather and two of the ships were separated. His ship somehow managed to reach Indonesia but the other two ships were never spotted after that and were presumed to have been lost at sea.” 

“Ok,” replied Riyas.

“Now tell me,” said Sameer. “What do you know about the North Sentinel Island?”

“Well, I know this one,” replied Riyas. “It is a small island in the Bay of Bengal, which is home to Sentinelese; the last remaining un-contacted tribe in the Indian Republic who have rejected and often attacked anyone who has tried to contact them. It is our policy is to leave them alone and let them live in the way they have been living for the last 50,000 years. They are the descendents of the first great migrants out of Africa.”

Throwing his hands up, he also added, “But what I don’t understand is why you are giving me GK lessons at six in the evening? Why don’t you just cut to the chase?”

Clearing his throat, Sameer replied, “As you know, we make it our business to track and obtain intelligence about the various drug cartels operating in and around South East Asia, especially within Burma which has been without a proper functioning democracy for many years now. Once in a while, they use many of uninhabited islands which belong to the Indian Republic as a base for their operations. One of the stories that we picked up recently was that a band of smugglers, due to some unforeseen circumstances were forced to dock at the North Sentinel Island for a few hours. As the story goes, the Sentinelese tried to attack them but the smugglers were able to hold them off.”

“The story gets hazy here but one of the smugglers saw something interesting there and was able to steal it from a native. Once they got back to Burma, they realized that it was pure Gold and had many archaic Arabic inscriptions on it describing the tales of Ibn Battuta written in his own words; worth a ton on the black market. It now seems likely that the man had written his own records even before reaching Africa. Our intelligence agents picked this story up when they had gone to a collector. Our intelligence reports further suggests that the smugglers are planning a specific expedition to the North Sentinel Island soon. But this time around, they are going in with heavy firepower. And we need to stop them before they wreck the island.”

“Can’t we just send in our destroyer and our MARCOS (marine commandoes) to deal with this?” asked Riyas.

“Unfortunately we cannot. The last thing we want to do is to draw attention to the Island and encourage more mercenaries to search the island and the human rights commission will never accept our plea to search the North Sentinel Island. The island is sacred to the Sentinelese and off limits to everyone. Moreover, it will also be a diplomatic disaster with the Burmese.” 

“So what do we do then?” asked Riyas.

“This is where you come in,” replied Sameer. “We will airdrop you into the island under the cover of night and your mission is to find out if there is really any lost treasure within the island, and protected by the Sentinelese. You have to really find out if there is any truth to that ancient myth. I need the best man for such a sensitive job; one who can blend into the night without being spotted.”

“So when do you want me to leave?” asked Riyas.

“Right now,” replied Sameer. “And one important thing, you are under order to not hurt or maim the Sentinelese.”

“Sounds sweet,” replied Riyas; “So you want me to go to a remote island; find the hidden treasure if any; be a moving target to the natives and expect me to report back to this office by tomorrow?”

Sameer signaled that the meeting was over and handed him a dossier. “Just come back alive! A car is waiting outside as we speak. You will be flown to our Air Force base in Chennai and from there to the Island. You will find all the details of the mission in this file. And in Chennai, you will find all your equipment.”

On the flight to Chennai, he went over the file and learnt about the basic topography of the island, the coral reefs and studied more about the natives, including their weapons. As he read more about the Sentinelese, he found it fascinating that they were still living in the Stone Age.

At 8 PM, the plane landed at the Air Force base in Chennai and Squadron Leader Vetrivel, an impressive Kargil War veteran with an equally impressive moustache was waiting for him on the tarmac.

“I have read the report and the sensitive details of the mission,” Squadron Leader Vetrivel said as soon as they were in his office. Riyas liked him immediately. Just like Squadron Leader Vetrilvel, he was also a man who did not like wasting time in stupid chitchat.

“We will rendezvous with the INS Trishul, our Naval destroyer about 10 miles away from the Island, which is out patrolling that area and you will have one of the ultra stealth, modern jet skies, which we can borrow from the navy. There is a risk of someone spotting you from the beach but we don’t have any other option. The Sentinelese settlements are on the northern side of the island and hence, we will drop you on the South. As soon as you are done, just activate the homing beacon and we will find you. You will also find all the non-fatal firearms that you will need out here.”

Riyas spent the next fifteen minutes getting ready for the mission. As he looked into the mirror in the locker room, as he was applying a special black paste all over his face, he could not but help notice his light green eyes and his tousled brown hair speckled with shades of grey. He was 35 but he knew that he could never settle for a desk job. It was not in his character; his self destructive streak! The combat fatigues that he wore now were a part of him, like the great Karna’s Kavacha.

Squadron Leader Vetrivel had personally volunteered to drop him and pretty soon, they were in the air, flying out to the Andaman Islands in a helicopter.

At about 10 PM, they landed safety on the helipad of INS Trishul. It was really dark and the water was warm and still. Riyas started riding out to the island without wasting time. Using GPS co-ordinates, he was able to make his way to theIsland, past the protective coral reef cover and docked at the beach.

He knew that the island was a tropical paradise but ironically this was going to be the most difficult mission in his life. He could not risk being discovered and he did not wish to stay till day break. The palpable tension was something that he lived on and so cautiously, he blended into the surrounding thick foliage after hiding the ski. 

The island had a total area of about 72 square kilometers and he had to trek for about 5 to 6 kilometers to reach the main settlement. Absolutely nothing was known about the Sentinelese or their customs.

As he made his way cautiously through the woods, all he had was a single question. “Would they have guards on duty at night?”

He knew that he would find out soon enough! Inching forward like a snail, he knew that he had to bring all his experience to succeed in this mission. His eyesight had gradually adjusted to the lack of light but he knew that the Sentinelese would have sharper senses, trained thanks to years of living in the wilderness. The loose sand and the thick bush cover made it even more difficult for him to walk through without making noise.

Finally, at 3:12 AM, he reached the main settlement of the natives, a huge clearing in the middle of the woods. A big bonfire was burning in the middle of the settlement which had about 30 to 40 huts in total, which were spaced generously and there were 7 men around the fire. All the wooden huts were evenly distributed and mostly of the same size.

“Looks like it is their job to keep the fire burning,” Riyas thought to himself and he found it strange that the men, just sat there in silence without talking. Even though, he had seen videos of them before, nothing prepared him for this. They looked so different!

He spent a good 15 minutes in reconnaissance to ensure that there were no other guards on duty. The progress on the mission was excruciatingly slow, but he did not have any other choice. The last thing that he wanted to do was to let the natives know that they had an intruder amidst them!

Just as he finished his reconnaissance around the settlement, he noticed a hut on the northern side which was constructed differently. It did not have the same square pattern as the other huts and it was significantly bigger than the others.

“Could this be their temple?” he wondered and decided to investigate. He took out his gun, which had been fitted with a special magazine and crawled to the hut, hidden from the view of the men around the bonfire.

Once he reached the hut, he slipped in through the open door and he saw the most amazing sight!

It was the decrepit remains of a huge ship broken into many pieces; the total length of which was about 30 feet! A small fire was burning in a corner which illuminated the whole ship giving it a golden hue and in front of it, was a huge stone carving, presumably a God. After looking around to ensure that there was no one else but him in the hut, he tiptoed to the ship and was amazed at what he saw.

Huge wooden boxes filled with solid Gold bars!

“Man, we have hit the jackpot,” he thought to himself and the Arabic inscriptions on the gold bars were mesmerizing to look at, as it almost seemed to dance in front of his eyes thanks to the flickering flame! It really was the lost Rihla; an account of Ibn Battuta’s travels in his own words!

His mission was complete! All he had to do was to get back alive and so carefully, he slipped out of the hut and retraced his steps.

The journey back to the beach also took a long time, after which he activated the homing beacon.

In a minute or two, he could hear the chopper and so he walked over to the open beach. And in sometime, he could make out the chopper as it approached him.

Suddenly, his instincts told him to duck down, which he did and an arrow screamed past his torso. Yet again, he was saved by his instincts. He rolled over and looked back! The seven men were standing about 20 yards away!

“Shit, they followed me all the way back here and I did not even know about it! They are good!” he said under his breath.

After the briefest interval, the seven men charged shouting out aloud, all armed with a knife.

He blocked; he rolled; he ran; he disarmed them; he grappled with them; he did everything in his capacity to not harm the men. He knew that he only had to hold them off for a few more moments and suddenly, a huge flash light beamed down upon them from the helicopter.

The men froze in their tracks, clearly confused and that all he needed. He ran towards the chopper and grabbed the ladder. And in a couple of seconds, he was airborne again, away from the island and from the Sentinelese!

He climbed into the chopper, helped by the MARCOS and it was a short flight back to the destroyer.

He could not believe that he had made it out alive! It was almost dawn and so, lighting a cigarette, he stepped out onto the deck.

“What is our government response going to be to the hidden treasure?” Squadron Leader Vetrivel asked him.

“I just hope we do everything to protect the people; from the smugglers and more importantly, from us as well. I hope that we do not take ‘civilization’ to them! They have done remarkably well for the last 50,000 years without it.”

He then placed a scrambled call to his boss to make his report. As soon as he was done, he spent the next quarter of an hour watching the Sun rise, marking the beginning of another brilliant day.

“But would it be just another day for the Sentinelese?” was the burning question in his mind.

PS:

1) This is a work of fiction and the second story which involves Major Riyas Mohammed. You can read the first one: “The Roman Hoard”.

2) The Sentinelese are the last remaining “un-contacted” tribe in the Indian Republic and they live in the remote “North Sentinel Island”. I just hope that we don’t interfere with their natural habitat or their lives. Check this video out.

3) Ibn Battuta was the greatest traveler of the ancient world before the invention of the Steam engine. He travelled for many years and visited many places but there are no records of him having composed his “Rihla” before going back home.