War is a smell – a smell of filth, a smell of sweat, a smell of flesh, a smell of blood, a smell of death; war is a stench that never goes away.
Prince Abhik stepped out of the water after a brief swim, and sat on one of the stones surrounding the lake. He could still smell the sweat and the blood and now that he was clean, he craved for more.
He dived back into the dark green water. Deep under, he closed his eyes and held his breath, savouring the stark silence and trying to remember the rush he felt in the battlefield. When he resurfaced and opened his eyes, his bodyguard was waiting for him.
Abhik tried to recall the bodyguard’s name. “Always remember the names of your bodyguards,” his father used to chastise him, “they may be willing to save your life, but make sure that they are also willing to give theirs while doing so.” But no matter how hard he tried, Prince Abhik could never remember their names – with their feral attire and face tattoos, they all looked the same to him.
“What is the matter?” Abhik asked.
My prince, there is an urgent dispatch from the war front,” said the guard.
Abhik nodded. He got out of water and changed into his armour. Meanwhile, the messenger arrived.
“What is so urgent that you could not wait?” asked Abhik. He could see the anxiety on the messenger’s face.
“My prince,” the messenger blurted out, “a large number of Lasati ships and tribal boats are now docked at Jarodha, preparing to sail. We have information that their first attack will be at Bassban.”
“Finally!” Abhik chuckled. “I was getting bored with these small skirmishes.”
He felt happy with himself. His prediction that Bassban will be Lasatis’ first point of attack had came true.
Not that Lasatis had a choice. Sitting over a hill overlooking the coast, the fort of Bassban gave a broad view of the sea and surrounding area – so no invader could enter Jivavarta without first capturing the fort. Such details did not matter to Prince Abhik – he had made a prediction that had come true, and he knew that his war council would be duly impressed.
Abhik was right. When he entered the war room, his war council was eagerly waiting for him. The council was made up of warriors from across the Jivavarta empire, reputed to be the bravest of the brave, and their faces were flush with excitement at the news.
He felt supremely confident, and for the moment assumed the glory of his forefather Tasvak, the great emperor and unifier of Jivavarta. Taking a deep breath, he outlined his strategy for tackling the invaders.
“It is decided then,” he concluded. “We will move to
Bassban and send the barbarians back to where they came from.”
Abhik looked at the men before him, and waited for someone to speak. Nobody spoke a word. As usual, they all stood mesmerized, staring at him.
Attractive people are often unaware of the power their good looks give them – they attribute it to their skills. Abhik attributed the council’s silence to his superior leadership.
“My prince, I . . . ,” somebody spoke hesitantly. It was a young warrior from the Rongcha province. “I think that we should let our naval troops reach first, so we can surround the invaders from all fronts.”
“What for?” Abhik sounded annoyed. “This is our home turf, and we have such a large army. Did you forget how we thrashed those tribals from Jarodha just yesterday?”
The members of the council thumped the table enthusiastically in Abhik’s support. The Rongcha warrior could have countered, saying that fighting the Lasati army is not the same as fighting a bunch of tribals – but he sensed that raising such doubts was futile and joined the others in thumping the table.
The meeting was over, and as Abhik walked out he had all but claimed victory – nothing could stop him now.
“It’s time, my prince,” his bodyguard reminded him.
It was time for the evening prayer, and the priestess, Monk Mudita, would be waiting for the prince to initiate the ceremony.
Mudita!” he whispered to himself. With the mere mention of the name, Abhik’s face softened and he broke into a smile.
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