The day after the sacrifice ended, Vasu had called
for a council of his generals. There were four of them, and he looked at them
as they took their seats on either side of him in the small court in his palace
that he had reserved for meetings. Babhru
was tall and stooping, well into his middle age. He was a distant uncle of Vasu’s
on his mother’s side. A fierce warrior with the mace, he had wide shoulders and
a bald pate with grey hair flowing down from the temples in thin curls. Raghava
was equally tall and built like a bull, with bulky forearms and a hairy chest.
His thickly bearded face had a constant frown, which made him seem perpetually
angry. He was the only one among the four of them who was from Chedi. Born as a
woodcutter’s son, he had killed more than twenty of Vasu’s soldiers in the
Battle of Suktimati ten years ago. Then there was Padmaketana, lean and wiry,
just a couple of years younger than Vasu and the youngest among those present.
He was a skilled marksman and Vasu’s right hand man. The man most important
among the four was Paijavana, a short, stout man with a cheerful countenance
and mischievous darting eyes that never missed a thing. He could speak more
dialects than any other man that Vasu knew and had travelled far and wide. He
had many spies in his employ throughout the lands and it was he that opened the
conversation.
“The young Kuru king has taken a wife” said
Paijavana. “You would have known Shantanu. He is still as impetuous as he was
when he was a child.”
Vasu nodded. Shantanu had been a constantly bawling
brat of six when Vasu had bid farewell to old King Pratipa.
“I hear” continued Paijavana, “that his wife is
almost twice his age.”
“That brat’s uncles would have thrown a fit” grumbled
Babhru.
“They are old and weak. My king, the time is ripe if
Hastinapura is to be picked. Shantanu is too busy with his new found trophy and
there are no warriors of note in Hastinapura.”
“I will not turn against the Kurus” said Vasu firmly.
“Kurujangala might be rich and prosperous, but they provided for me in my
childhood. Old King Pratipa was as close, a father to me as my own long gone
sire. I will not turn against his son.”
Paijavana turned quiet.
“What of Magadha?” asked Vasu.
“Magadha?” bellowed Babhru. “What is there in
Magadha?”
“Cattle” piped up Paijavana, “the greatest horde of
cattle east of Panchala and the greatest horde of gold east of Kashi.”
“Girivraja cannot be felled. Many have tried to break
the knot in the mountains and as many have failed.”
The scowling woodcutter’s son spoke. “Afraid, old
man?”
“How dare you, you arrogant brute? Come to the arena
and I will show you a thing or two about my fear with my mace.”
“Silent” said Vasu.
“Correct me if I am wrong, my king” said Paijavana,
showing a wide smile of perfectly shaped white teeth. “I believe you have an
eye on the east.”
“I do. The east is relatively weak, but for Magadha. Surround
Girivraja and plunder Anga and Kikata. The valley of Girivraja is abundant, but
I do not think it is abundant enough to feed their cattle for a whole year.
They will need the grazing fields to replenish once a cycle is through. They
have to bring their cattle out of the knot in the mountains and we will not
allow them to do it. They either let their cattle starve and starve with them or
they let us take as many of their cattle as we want.”
“And as much gold too” said Padmaketana in a low
voice.
“I do not want to conquer Magadha, just plunder
enough to appease the gods and their hungry priests.”
Babhru nodded.
“Why my lord that is an excellent thought” exclaimed
the spymaster.
“It is done then.”
“As you wish my lord” said the woodcutter. “I will
make sure you have an akshauhini
ready by winter.”
“And I will take care of the arms, horses and
elephants” said the young archer.
“Good” said Vasu. “Let us plunder enough to shut up
Indra and his priests once and for all. I do not want to go to war again.”
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