The Blue Warrior

A small man with curly brown hair, trimmed short was staring at the flame burning in the brazier. His grey eyes flaked with green stared at the dancing flames aimlessly. They haven’t returned yet. He thought about the outriders he had sent to scout and look for enemies, when he was brought to his senses by a deep voice which followed heavy footsteps. “Lord Commander Bharat?”

“Yes, Balram.” the small man by the brazier turned towards the man who walked in. He was tall and muscular, his hair close cropped and his eyes stark black and life. Finally. Lord Commander thought.

“The pathans have made camp 30 miles south of the west!” he said in a flat voice, “The host is large and heavily armed.”

The small man turned back and began staring aimlessly into the brazier flame. Lord Siva, help us. He prayed. They had been fighting the holy war for over half a decade, dancing with the Pathans, running faster than the Barbarian Mongols and strategically avoiding the advanced Romans. But now they had their back against the wall, the Himalayas and the enemies of the Trimurthi were closing in on them. “Sir?” Balram pulled Bharat to his senses.

“You may leave!”

Suddenly a man dashed into the canvas tent of Lord commander, his iron mail clanking as he moved, “Sir The Mongols are marching on us from the North!” he said breathlessly, “I came as swiftly as my horse could carry me!”

“Leave. Both of you!” Bharat said softly. When the two outriders had reached the flapping curtain door a third man ran into them. He was sinewy, with long face and even longer hair and his eyes were icy blue.

“Sir?” he called out from the door.

“Yes Captain Rohit, what unfortunate tidings you bring?” small man asked as soft as a whisper.

“The Romans, sir. 300 men on horseback are marching on us. They have some weird weapons in the arsenal. Longrange, if I have to guess.”

“Leave, all of you, right now!” he commanded firmly this time and the three captains walked out of the canvas tent into the cold, moonless night. The camp around them slept and only sound they could hear was crackling of dried leaves in the fire, howling of some wolves miles away, hooting of owls and sentries talking to each other in hushed voice to spend their time.  Quietly the three went into their respective tents and tried to have a goodnight’s rest, for they knew come tomorrow they had a battle to die in.

In the faded canvas tent, Lord Commander Bharat sat cross-legged in front of a black stone craved into a conical shape, the Siva Lingum. His hands folded in a Namaste and his grey green eyes closed. He whispered softly, “Om namah Sivaya!” All bow to the Lord Siva. Mahadev, protect us from the heretics, I pray. “Om namah Sivaya!” he repeated the chant softly till the first rays of dawn burst out from the behind the mountains in the east.

The camp woke up, metal clinked with metal, humans chatted; empty vessels made noise, smell of cooked meat hung in the atmosphere. But the camp was dead, the news of approaching enemies spread like wildfire. The soldiers sat glumly and swallowed bits of food, thinking about the families they left behind. Captains tried to motivate them, but impending death enervated them.

Lord Bharat walked out of his tent, wearing a white dhoti and a saffron tunic. His eyes gleamed in the warm morning sun. He walked quietly towards the east, towards the towering mountains. Eyes followed him wherever he went, praying him to protect them. I’m sorry, I turned you all down. He thought as he waddled each step towards the soaring mountains.

Suddenly, a jarring, monotonous sound boomed from the south end of the encampment. Before the Lord Commander and his soldiers could make out what was coming for them from the south a brassy horn blew at the western front, followed by a deep, low blast of horn echoing in the north. Lord Commander sensed Panic in the atmosphere and to ease the tension which hung like a guillotine knife “Soldiers, prepare yourselves! The enemy is at our Gates, and before they ram in through we’ll burn them to dust!” he commanded in a firm voice. He unsheathed his sword from its leather scabbard, took an iron shield from his soldier and began beating metal with metal, in slow rhythmic manner. Gradually the entire camp followed his lead and the metallic clangor cheered the spirits up. “Today we attain Swarga!” he said pointing his sword towards the heaven, “Om Namah Sivaya!”

It was mid afternoon when, his soldiers had fallen into a turtle formation. The strong infantry formed the walls of the turtle. In the centre were skilled archers. The cavalry formed the flank of the turtle.  Lord Commander was in the right flank on his black Persian Destrier. The enemy arrived, first from the south. Romans firing it’s cannon and sending the turtle to chaos. Before long, the Mongols and the Pathans dashed into the left flank.

The formation broke apart, quickly. The blood river, flew slowly across the cold land, and cacophonous moans of injured soldiers made the atmosphere glum. “Om Namah Sivaya!” chants could be heard everywhere. Somewhere loud. Somewhere faint as a whisper. Massacred continued; suddenly a bright beam of light flashed in the icy wall of Himalayas. An eerie percussive echoed and slowly grew louder in decibels. All eyes were on the bright white light, when it started descending down the Himalayan slope and rushed towards the battlefield.

The spooky percussion grew and then it stopped abruptly. The light dimmed as it reached battleground and a silhouette came into vision. A tall man with matted hair, tiger skin slung across his waist and wielding a trident in one arm and a longsword in the other, stood smiling. “You are not alone!” he said in a soft ghastly voice.

He lifted his trident and trusted it hard on the ground which trembled feverishly. Few men lost balance, he then pointed his sword towards the sky and a thundercloud gathered above him. Lightning struck his sword and turned icy violent as it buzzed with the charge. Slowly he moved the sword towards the roman army and moment later they fell to the ground baked crisp by electrocution.

He turned west where pathans were already fleeing the battlefield, he dashed towards them, lightning fast and in a frenzy killed them all, his trident impaling them. Not long after massacring the Pathans he made a run towards the north, where Mongols went to their knees and surrendered peacefully to the Lightning Lord.

Lord Commander galloped his horse towards the Lightning Lord but before he could reach him and thank him for saving his men, Lord disappeared as fast as he had descended down the slopes to help them.  “We are not alone!” he whispered softly, with a smile creasing his war-wisen face.

“To Mahadev we all bow,
In reverence low.
The Lightning Lord,
The Mighty God.
Destroyer of Evil,
Bringer of Good will.
For you we crave,
Har Har Mahadev"