Gusts of wind blew up swirling clouds of dust into
the eyes of the people gathered to witness the sacrifice. A large piece of
ground had been marked and consecrated a year ago for the event. For the last
seven days, the crowd had gathered in the morning, most of them travelling by
foot from the city that lay to the south of the sacrificial ground. Every day a
sacrifice had been made before the thirty foot long pole known as the Indradhwaja, or Indra’s pole. This year
too, there had been little rain like the last one and that had only encouraged
the priests of Chedi to be more vocal about the need for the sacrifice. A large
platform of earth had been raised in the middle of which were burning three
huge fires. The king of Chedi sat by the middle one, facing east pouring
libations of clarified butter into the fire as the priests around him chanted
hymns to the god of gods. Away to his left, just beyond the edge of the
platform was a bamboo pole rising some twenty feet into the air. It was wrapped
in strips of red and white cloth as well as thin strings of gold.
As the fire crackled and burned sending stinging
clouds of smoke into his eyes, Vasu wondered how he had let himself be talked
into this. A year ago, he had been enjoying his life with his wife and their
three children with the fourth one on its way. He was still in the prime of
youth and had been happy and contented. At the edge of just twenty he had led
his own army east from the lands of his ancestors, the Kurus. He had crossed
the Yamuna and plundered the city of Suktimati on the eponymous river. The
Chedis had capitulated on the first day of battle itself. Vasu was an able
commander and a determined warrior, trained in the gurukula outside Hastinapura. He had not wanted to remain on the
fringes of the court of the Kurus however and had decided to found his own
kingdom. Chedi was not much of a kingdom before Vasu arrived, just a lose group
of villages surrounding Suktimati on the western bank of the Suktimati river.
There was no king and no army. His soldiers had broken through the ragtag bunch
of peasants and hunters who had armed themselves with primitive axes of stone
to fight the invaders from the west. The wooden palisade surrounding the city
stood no chance against his elephants, although there had been just ten of
them. The beasts broke down the wall and quite a few houses, before Vasu had
ordered a stop to the carnage.
He had rebuilt the city, with a strong mud wall
several feet thick surrounding it. There had been no king in Suktimati and
hence, no palace. He had a grand palace built for himself and brought his wife
and his year old son. Priests had chanted hymns and anointed him King of Chedi.
That was ten years ago. All that he had wanted was his own kingdom to rule and
he had obtained it. He settled down to enjoy his youth with his wife and his
children. But the priests were never content. They had seen his prowess in
battle and had known the plunder that was possible with his abilities.
Persistently they had tried to seduce him to battle, to further his conquests,
to expand his kingdom. But Vasu had not been interested. That was until the draught
of the last year. The rain god was angry warned the acolytes of Indra. A king
and a kshatriya should always look
for the benefit of his people, they had said. And the benefit of his people
demanded that he make sacrifices in the name of the god of rain and thunder. A
great sacrifice would be conducted to honour Indra and Indra himself had ordered
that the festival of Indra’s pole, the Indradhwaja
be celebrated in Chedi.
For a year every single morning, he had rode out from
his palace to the vast sacrificial ground to the north of the city where the
pole had been erected and had prayed to it and made offerings to the brahmanas
and the priests. The festival had culminated in the grand sacrificed that would
carry on for seven days. Every morning, afternoon and evening, sacrifices would
be made to the king of gods, while the king offered libations to the holy
fires. The priests of Suktimati had grown fat over the year even as the rest of
the city stood on the brink of starvation. Yet, they had not been satisfied. On
the first day of the seven day festival, they had prophesied that Chedi would
again be prosperous only if the king would ride out to war. The plunder of his
conquests would be offered to Indra, in the form of his priests of course and
then and only then would Indra be appeased and grant mercy on the people of
Chedi. “To war, to war!” had been the chant of the crowds gathered to witness
the sacrifice on that day and Vasu had found himself trapped. He had raised a
hand and silenced the crowd and then promised them that they would go to war
once the sacrifice was over. The smiling priests had then presented him with a
chariot which they claimed had been sent by Indra himself. The chariot was made
of a wood that Vasu had never before seen and was constructed in a strange
fashion. It seemed to be lighter than any of his own chariots, although he had
still not ridden it. The priests had proclaimed that Vasu would be invincible
in the Indraratha or the chariot of
Indra. The crowds had once again cheered and shouted for battle.
Another gust of wind blew the flames towards Vasu’s
face and the sudden blast of heat brought him out of his reverie. The chanting
of the priests was reaching a crescendo. Somewhere in the background, a goat
was bleating, the one that was to be sacrificed in some time from now. His
fourth son, a baby of ten months was bawling in his mother’s arms a few yards
away. Suddenly, Vasu wanted to flee the scene when the chanting stopped. The
chief priest had raised a hand and was pointing at the sky to the north. Vasu
saw a flock of white swans flying towards them from the north. As the king, the
priests and the spectators stared at the flock, it slowly circled around the
sacrificial ground descending until one by one, the swans landed near the
Indradhwaja. They were more than fifty in number, silently walking around the
pole, fluffing their feathers. And then, as suddenly as they landed they took
off again and rose to the sky heading south. The crowd stared in amazement even
as Vasu turned to the chief priest who had closed his eyes and seemed to be in
a trance. The flock of swans rose higher and higher as they flew south and soon
they had turned into specks in the sky. Vasu’s own hand had stopped in mid air
with a ladle of clarified butter as he had watched the swans, the butter
dripped from the ladle crackling into the fire and startling him. The chief
priest opened his eyes and stood up.
“The gods have spoken” he proclaimed in a high,
strong voice. “Indra himself has blessed this sacrifice with every man and
woman here bearing witness. It is the wish of the god of gods that Vasu, the
King of Chedi become the King of Kings on this earth. He has blessed the
chariot that he has sent down to help the king and has ordered that his pole be
carried into battle at the head of the king’s army, for it will strike fear
into the heart of his enemies and render them helpless against his attacks.”
The crowd cheered loudly. “Rise my king” said the priest turning to Vasu, “rise
and be known as Uparichara, the one who flies through the skies, for when you
course across the earth towards your enemies, they will verily feel that you
are a god descending upon them from the heavens bringing his wrath.” An acolyte
appeared from somewhere with a garland of lotuses in his hand. Vasu stood up,
towering over the shorter, bald-headed priest who had headed the sacrificial
rites. He bowed as the priest placed the garland around his neck.
“To
victory” shouted the priest, turning to the crowds.
“To war! To war! To war!” shouted the crowds.
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