One more time
The dust settled slowly in cadence with the tired clopping of horse hooves and the weary breathing of drained men holding the reins and walking beside their mounts. Watching this intently from far away is the setting sun - painting everything blood red. This was no brilliant red, this was a sombre colour - pithy with meaning and a precursor of darker times to come. The setting that the Sun lighted up was a war camp, getting ready for a siege, just outside a grand old castle. Wary groups of men murmured here and there around the various campfires. Empty gossip was making the rounds at the speed which only gossip could attain. An air of uncertainty lay over all edges of the camp but the centre. The centre of the camp had five brilliantly adorned and elegant tents - one of them, a command post. Each tent had its own flag and a loyal regiment standing guard. This was the only place in the camp where there was no unrest, no uncertainty and no expectations of doom. There was activity, even at frenetic pace, but it all seemed to welcome the brutally accurate practice of skills that is war.
The King was far away in his palace - the new king, that is. The vagaries of politics and its eternal deal making meant that the old King had moved on - one step closer to taking control of all of the land of Crickit. This army was but that of a single province - Hind.
However planning for the war is not something Kings do, as a rule. And as always that responsibility fell upon the minister, Chika, who was himself new. The minister's job was unenviable. They had suffered badly in their last war. They had tried to raid the lands of the gutsy Islanders but had been repelled, nay pummelled. All this, despite the presence of the experienced and war-savvy generals - all 5 of them. Minister Chika had to choose whether to engage the celebrated heroes against the enemy or to rest them in favour of younger and hotter blood. And this was no ordinary enemy. Nor was this going to be an easy and gay charge. It was going to be a siege and the raiders-to-be were the best in all the land of Crickit. There were few castles left standing when the Kangs charged. Chika had to weigh his options and see if some of the younger and impatient bunch with a lot of verve and dash could be fitted in at the expense of some of the qualities that the war veterans brought with them - such as experience in the middle, tactical nous and also the knowledge that they have struck fear in the hearts of the Kangs in the past. There were of course the usual assortment of courtiers who were yelling to do away with the 'old gits' and to bring on new blood. If only new blood won all battles... But Chika was no ordinary minister who had led a sheltered and shielded life all the way. He had once been in the middle of roaring bugles, thundering hooves and flashing blades himself. Perhaps it was foresight, perhaps it was kinship that he felt towards the older warriors or perhaps it was the glint that he could see in their eyes and the steel in their limbs that convinced him that the men of the hour were indeed the ones who had done all this before. Men who had held off the Kangs and even shown them a thing or two when they had raided Kang land. The young will get their chance soon, he said to himself. The veteran generals, on the other hand, did not have too much time on their hands. It was best to use everything that they had against the enemy. As long as they fought at the forefront and showed everybody that wielding a blade or a mace (as the case may be) was not yet beyond them, the enemy will tread carefully. And precisely that fact could provide an opening for them to shatter the Kang assault.
Right at the centre of the camp, apart from the tricolour that fluttered proudly over the command post, there were five other flags atop each one of the tents. These were the tents of the five generals - decorated men who had fought against everybody in the land of Crickit at one time or the other and ones who had tasted victory as well as defeat all over. Victory more than defeat, for the most part. The commander and senior most General Kumb's tent was right at the centre with its flag depicting a spiked and thorned mace being held and spun by a hand. Towards the right appeared to be situated what looked like the tent of the most influential of them all. General Sach's gleaming longsword gleamed and swung as if eager to take off a few heads. On the left of General Kumb's tent was an austere looking settlement. It was quietest here and a zen like quality seemed to permeate the atmosphere around this tent adorned with the flag of a broadsword crossed over a shield. This was the tent of General Druv.
On the other side of General Sach was a colourful and well decorated tent with a rapier flag fluttering about it in gentle curves and measured swings. General Laksh's abode - even in wartime was as graceful as ever. The last tent was off to one side past General Druvs'. It appeared to be hurriedly put up as if the Great Prince of Kol had come in on a hurry. Hurried or not, the insignia of the flashing Katana held in a man's left hand left no doubt that General Gang was here to fight.
It is a long dusk today - the Sun giving the warriors extra time to make sure they understand what they are getting into and maybe even giving them some time to pause and see whether they have to go on fighting. Soldiers on horseback and on foot all over the camp are in different stages of readiness. Many have just come from a battle exercise which should keep them limbered up. And many here and there are loitering around the grand area around the Generals' camps in the hopes of getting a glimpse of the heroes. In truth a lot of the people were not sure whether the veterans had it in them to go to battle again, but hope was eternal in their eyes. They just needed the tinder of belief to help fire up their courage. Something which they hoped the heroes' appearance and actions may provide to their tired hearts.
Before the Sun set, their wish was granted. As if on cue, the generals walked out, almost fully decked out and held parley before the commander's outpost. Here were old friends who had seen many die beside them but have always come out - sometimes scarred but never broken in mind - ready to do battle again and again. The easy relaxed manner in which they conversed with each other came as welcome relief to the soldiers gathered outside. An almost audible sigh of relief rang out through the bunched men. As long as the generals' believed, so would they. This feeling was by no means unanimous. There were still nervously tittering groups which were worried whether the age of these men would expose them in the battlefield and cause irreparable harm to Hind's cause. Some of them closest to the august group caught smidgens of conversation. It looked as if the Prince of Kol had something momentous to say. The rest of the men seemed to be nodding their heads at him and patting his shoulders. But presently there were guffaws of laughter too from the whole group. The Prince of Kol, whatever else he may be, was not the supreme role model throughout the land and for this reason there were equal numbers of backers as opposers to his will and rule. The conversation seemed to revolve around a light hearted challenge that the Prince of Kol made about getting everybody to wish him well and give him cheer as he rides into battle tomorrow. The others knew that this was no mean task and that even though there were people who knew the Prince's graceful Katana still had magic, there were still many others who were not quite smitten by the left handed elegance of the Prince. But the Prince really seemed to mean his challenge and after a few more warm moments with his partners, he stepped out in front to make an announcement.
"Soldiers and friends, tomorrow we start a battle which will etch us into the history of this land. We have only two choices - to best or be bested. But that comes only at the end. Our place in the front pages of the history book is determined not by the mere result but by our sheer bloodymindedness and dedication to the cause of Hind. All I will ask of you is to fight together, shoulder to shoulder, proud of each other and of our land. I do not want to get lost in the back pages of history because of lack of commitment, effort or courage. If we go down, we go down fighting - to the last man. But then why talk about going down when it is the Kangs who are quivering at the knees at seeing all our flags bunched together. Come lets teach them all a lesson, shall we"? (huge roars greet this somewhat saucy spiel). And as an afterthought, the Prince of Kol, still with twinkling eyes said, "Tomorrow I ride one more time, soldiers, one last time. Whether I come back from this war or not, my Katana would have fought its last war. It is time that I ride into the sunset that we see here (pointing to the glorious setting sun, now almost a burgundy colour)". And then, just as spontaneously as he came forward, he stepped out of sight and after a smile and a nod at his fellow generals, he whisked past the flaps of his tent, leaving everybody spellbound. Just as the other generals were thinking about whether or not the Prince had made good on his challenge, the vast soldier force erupted with roars, "To the Prince!", "With the Prince in life or death" and "One more time, one last time" and even "Make the Kangs' the Prince's last dinner". The generals knew who had won and they departed with good humoured smiles, knowing that life is not all bad on the other side of the sunset. While darkness will come, never has it been permanent. There will be light - for them after their retirement and for Hind too after the retirement of these war veterans. It will take time but there has never been any permanent night just as there has never been any permanent light.
Tomorrow when the army of Hind meets the Kangs in open battle led from the front by the five Generals, their banners flying proudly above the armies and their favourite weapons brandished at the enemy, it will be no mere quixotic tilting at windmills. It will be a battle led by men on weathered but not weather-beaten mounts who are wielding weapons in their old but not yet infirm hands, driven by an unfailing belief in their cause to Hind and a complete confidence in their skills. And the soldiers knew that whenever in a day the dusk is long, the night is very short. It is as if the dusk has stolen time from the night to get the soldiers into battle quicker. To the battle one more time goes the venerable army of Hind and to the battle together one last time goes the quintet of warriors who have held together their land's army for almost as long as one can remember. This is a battle which will be fit for the Gods themselves.
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