THE CURSE OF BRAHMA (50 page)

The outlook on the battlefield was suddenly transformed as Airawat and Tantra led their men to the core of Ghora’s force. The asuras who had almost tasted victory in their mind were now faced with the immediate prospect of fighting a force much larger than theirs. Vasudev’s remaining men battled with regained fervour and the tide started shifting in favour of the men from Madhuvan.

Tantra was fearsome to behold as he chose to attack the three largest opponents on the battlefield. He charged, knocking two of them to the ground as his horse rammed into them. Tantra buried the point of his spear into the chest of one of the men, and as the second one struggled to get up, the veteran commander sliced his neck off with his sword. The third asura recovered quickly from the intensity of the attack and thrust his sword at Tantra’s torso, who brought up his shield to parry the blow. The sword slipped out of the asura’s hand.

‘Burn in hell!’ Tantra said calmly as he dug his sword into his opponent’s neck. The asura brought both hands up to his throat and tried to stem the rapid flow of blood, but he was beyond salvage. He stumbled and dropped to the ground.

Tantra turned his horse towards Airawat. The cavalry commander was valiantly fighting a large number of assassins who had him completely surrounded. Airawat fought bravely though his strength had been seriously depleted, owing to loss of blood from his new wound. Tantra noticed a change in Airawat. The normally quiet man fought with a passion that was awe-inspiring. His eyes burnt with a strange fury, and he ruthlessly hacked at the men attacking him, even as more of them kept coming at him. Tantra let out a whoop and rushed forward to support Airawat.

Airawat seemed oblivious to Tantra as he battled the enemy, with complete concentration. He seemed to be under some kind of a spell where the blood lust had subdued any other feelings he may have had. Finally, the assassins around him were all dead, lying in an ever expanding pool of their own blood. Airawat stopped swinging his sword, and gradually his body seemed to lose some of its tension. He took in deep breaths of air and felt the blood lust begin to leave his system. He became aware of Tantra staring at him anxiously, and he gave the veteran a grim smile. The two men looked around the battlefield. The serene meadow had been transformed into one huge deathbed of warriors from both sides. Bodies lay strewn all across the field. The entire enemy force had been annihilated. The three hundred and fifty Madhuvan warriors who had survived stood watching a private battle about to take place at the other end of the field. Airawat saw Vasudev face to face with an asura, preparing for single combat.

The colour drained from Airawat’s face as he noticed the tattoo on the warrior’s arms. The tattoo represented his fighting prowess. In the land of asuras, this tattoo was only worn by someone who had been accorded the status of an Asakya Sura; a warrior who was considered almost invincible. Even the terrible Zataka Upanshughataks were no match for a warrior of this stature. Airawat knew no one had ever fought an Asakya Sura and lived to tell the tale. And even though he had seen Vasudev’s incredible talent in sword fighting during his visit to Bateshwar, he wondered if the prince would prove equal to this opponent.

Vasudev faced the warrior who had killed Aniruddha and the tracker. He noticed the strange symbol tattooed on the right arm of his enemy. It had at its centre, a circle from which eight Trishuls emanated, pointing in different directions. Vasudev was incredulous. The trishul was the preferred weapon of the Mahadev. The significance of the eight trishuls did not escape Vasudev’s attention either. As a Bharatvanshi, he knew the relevance of the number eight. The loop in the number indicated that we always came back to where we started our journey of life; hence, existence was infinite. When rotated at an angle of ninety degrees, the number took on the sign of infinity, again proving the infiniteness of the universe. Vasudev wondered why this warrior carried on his body a symbol that indicated his respect for Lord Shiva, and why an asura would give importance to a number that was considered holy by the Bharatvanshis of Mrityulok.

While he found all of this immensely surprising, it was the eyes of the Asura leader that left him completely astonished. They looked like a much older man’s eyes set in the face of a child. They seemed to contain within their depths a lifetime of pain, and despite his rage at what the asura had done to his people, Vasudev felt himself inexplicably drawn to this man, in a way that was difficult for him to fathom.

Ghora looked around them. His eyes took in the carnage. All his men were dead. Companions with whom he had spent the last few months; thought of as family, all of them were gone. He had failed them as their leader. And he had also failed Ugra, the one man he had learnt to love and respect.

‘You are their leader?’ the harsh voice of Vasudev broke into his thoughts.

‘Yes, I am!’ Ghora answered, meeting Vasudev’s gaze. ‘Or should I say, I was…’ He left the sentence incomplete.

‘They got what they deserved,’ Vasudev retorted unforgiving. ‘And by Vishnu, you shall soon join them soon!’ he whispered softly, his eyes not leaving his opponent even for a moment.

Ghora smiled. It was a sad smile, but he appeared unruffled. ‘Then you shouldn’t waste time talking, should you?’ he said quietly.

Vasudev was astounded at the uncanny calm his enemy displayed in the face of such daunting circumstances. He wished he could know this strange man better, but too much water had flown under the bridge for that to happen now. The man would have to bear the consequences for what he had done.

Vasudev raised his sword. ‘Prepare to fight,’ he said, his eyes narrowing.

The two fighters circled each other, each looking for an opening in the other’s defense. There was none, on either side. Suddenly Vasudev thrust his sword at Ghora’s throat. The blow would have impaled him had he not moved adroitly out of the way. Vasudev pulled back his sword and stepped sideways. The dexterity with which Ghora had avoided his attack surprised him. Vasudev took a deep breath to calm himself. He didn’t want to waste his energy on ineffectual manoeuvres. He tried another approach. He made a feinting move, making it appear as if he was aiming for Ghora’s torso. Ghora appeared to take the bait and raised his sword sideways to parry the assault on his body, leaving his lower body vulnerable to attack. This is what Vasudev had hoped for. He relaxed his grip on the sword and in one fluid motion, lowered the blade aiming instead for the enemy’s feet.

Airawat, watching the fight closely, thought that Vasudev had the asura then, but in an unexpected movement, Ghora simply stepped aside. Vasudev’s sword missed the foot and pierced the ground. The impact jarred every bone in Vasudev’s body and he made a herculean effort to pull the sword back out again. In the same instant, Ghora brought his sword to Vasudev’s throat and a collective gasp went up amongst the onlookers.

‘You are dead, my friend!’ Ghora whispered, as a trickle of blood started from under Vasudev’s chin. ‘Make it quick then,’ Vasudev replied without a trace of fear.

To his surprise and the bewilderment of the entire Madhuvan force, Ghora shook his head. Pointing in the direction of Vasudev’s sword he said, ‘Pick it up. We have just about warmed up.’ There was a trace of amusement in his voice that both confused and irritated Vasudev. He had never fought a warrior who could move so fast and so unpredictably.

Vasudev pulled out his sword where it was wedged deep inside the ground. He acknowledged his adversary with a slight nod and the fight began again. This time it was Ghora who went on the offensive. In a series of lighting moves, he lunged at Vasudev from different sides, and his thrusts appeared to be everywhere at the same time. It took all of Vasudev’s skill to parry the unrelenting attack. Most fighters would make the mistake of coming too close to their opponents while attacking, and it would give a superior warrior the opportunity to seek an opening and move in for the kill. But Ghora was ensuring that with every thrust he made, his sword arrived at the fight before his elbow or his face did. This did not allow Vasudev any chance of striking back. Neither did Ghora stumble or falter while attacking, making it impossible for Vasudev to strike. His complete attention was concentrated in keeping Ghora’s attacks at bay and in trying to buy time, hoping the young man would tire soon. But Ghora appeared to be as fresh when they had started off. To his surprise, Vasudev found his own breathing grow ragged with the strain of having to defend himself continuously. And then, as suddenly as he had started, Ghora stopped his offensive.

The two warriors paused to stare at each other. Vasudev knew the other man was playing with him, wanting to reduce him to an exhausted wreck before he made an end of him. He tried to feel his sword but his arms were too tired to have any sensation left in them anymore. They hung limp at his sides, drained of energy and strength. Incredulously, the man facing him hadn’t even broken into a sweat. He just continued to stare at Vasudev, as if he wanted to give him time to regain his energy.

Vasudev thought of his impending marriage with Devki, and how she would react when she would hear about his death.
It will break her heart
, he thought. The bile rose into his throat and he spat out the disgusting fluid.
I can’t die, not like this…not without seeing Devki
, he resolved. The thought seemed to give him superhuman strength and he felt the apathy fade from his body, as his limbs regained their vitality.

Ghora noticed the change come over his opponent. He prepared himself for what he knew was going to be the last round of the lethal fight. Vasudev didn’t wait for Ghora to go on the offensive this time. He realized he had made a terrible mistake in allowing his opponent’s unnatural skill to get him rooted to the spot. It was the worst thing a swordsman could do. He started moving lightly on the balls of his feet, much as a boxer would. It was a technique he had learnt from his physical training instructor when the latter had taught him the essentials of hand-to-hand fighting. The dancing movement allowed blood to circulate freely through his lower limbs and also served to confuse an opponent about any intended move. He made a few light lunges towards his adversary, making sure he used his body weight rather than his arms to power the thrusts. The change in technique helped Vasudev control his breathing better and he found the tiredness had all but deserted him.

Finally, Vasudev decided to use a technique he had learnt from one of his tribal friends during his younger days. It was an unconventional move and even classic fighters were unaccustomed to it. Vasudev remembered his friend had bested even their instructor with this style as the trainer had been caught unawares due to the unusual technique.

While a fighter of Ghora’s calibre would possibly adapt to it in no time, there was bound to be a brief period of uncertainty. Vasudev intended to use that moment of hesitation to his advantage. He began to circle Ghora, slow at first and then rapidly. As the pace increased, he jumped in the air in an unpredictable move and attacked Ghora sideways from top. Ghora was just in time to defend the blow to his head. By the time he had recovered, Vasudev had begun circling him again, even faster, dancing all the while on the balls of his feet. And again, he jumped in the air and attacked. This time the assault was aimed at Ghora’s neck instead of the head. Yet again, Ghora deflected the blow, but this time Vasudev’s sword almost nicked the skin off the side of his throat. Ghora felt a slight trickle of blood begin to flow, but it was inconsequential. His attention was focused completely on Vasudev who was circling him faster than ever now. This time Ghora was prepared for the blow, and as soon as Vasudev made the move to leap up, Ghora brought up his sword to deflect the intended blow. Only this time around, Vasudev did not leap up in the air. He lunged to the side, and before Ghora realized that he had become the victim of a feint, Vasudev had dug the sword sideways into his thigh, severing Ghora’s femoral artery.

Ghora stared in disbelief at the man he had been fighting for the past one hora. He had fallen for the most common ruse in swordsmanship—a feint. But the style had been so different that he had not been prepared for it. The blood gushing out of his thigh sapped his energy and his legs revolted against the weight of his body. He staggered to his knees, the sword falling to the ground. He looked up to stare at the man who had finally vanquished him. Vasudev stared into his eyes. He saw no fear there; possibly some regret, but he couldn’t be certain.

‘Why did you not kill me when you had the chance?’ he asked abruptly. Ghora smiled. ‘Is this necessary?’ he asked, coughing blood.

‘It is necessary to me,’ Vasudev said, knowing the man would die soon if the blood loss was not stemmed immediately.

Ghora shook his head resignedly. ‘My men were all dead. There was no point in killing you. It wouldn’t have got them back!’

Vasudev’s voice shook in frustrated anger. ‘Then why, dammit? Why did you have to fight me?’

‘Because I knew you wouldn’t be at peace till you had killed the man who was responsible for the deaths of your people,’ Ghora rasped, his praana leaving him rapidly. ‘And because I would have rather died fighting a warrior then be killed by those men,’ he said pointing towards the Madhuvan force, moving towards them.