[A.H.] Built of Bones

[GrouchoMarxist JohnLennonist]

PROLOGUE:

I am Subandhu Jadhav, who shall be a cartographer.

I used to say this to Vishnu every day. Dharma was clear, my duty, the divine law was set. But I was mistaken. For now I know that to visit my path to Brahman and achieve inner peace, I must set fire to the world. Ashoka, great king he was, drowned in blood before his Enlightenment. But now I face a different situation: I would drown the world in blood to avenge India.

Many generations ago, the Arabs came here for the first time. At first, they were a friendly people. War broke out, but war is the nature of man. But then they came. The Mughals. The ones who oppressed my people for too long, the ones who killed my father. My mother committed suicide in her pain. Only Shahaji, my brother, remained alive of my family. He is the cartographer, now. And in this world, he seems to be my only true friend...

So now my Dharma is truly clear. I am to rid the world of Azam Shah. The bastard who rules over our people, presses his "Allah" on us, and who led the armies that killed my father. I saw that about fifteen years ago, when I was but a strapping young apprentice at ten. The Europeans would later tell me that this date was "1707, the year of our Lord".

In the fifteen years since that day, I kept my cartography, but I began changing the maps as well as making them. Since then, I have gained favor in the eyes of the growing Maratha Empire. In my tenacity and quick wit, I took over for a dying maharaja and captured Hyderabad in a single night. As each week goes by, there is talk among the people of making me emperor, as my military record grows. I expect it soon. But I have made many enemies, as well. I am the envy of greedy ones, and I cannot allow them in my way. I must conquer the Mughals, I must avenge my parents, and I must not allow my brother to sully his hands with blood. I and the Mughal Empire will be the only sacrifice.

So now, here I stand. The year is 1719. Azam Shah has avoided death for too long. Under mine and others' military might, we are breaching the Mughal Empire much faster than expected. The northern Afghans, Persians, and Kurds have rebelled and taken back much of their land. We, the Maratha, have conquered much as well. The great kingdom of Mysore has joined us. And now, I, at the front line, stand outside their last major city. Delhi.

With this victory, I can solidify my hold on the Maratha Empire. I will surely be the grand maharaja. I can protect my brother for all of his life. And even if Azam Shah escapes, I shall bring him to his knees and kill him; he will be in my territory, he will not hide forever.

So here I stand, outside the gates of Delhi. Warriors from across India have gathered. Eager Europeans have even joined the front in small numbers, wishing for trade. Even the Dutch, who have traveled from Ceylon, far as it is.

Before I can fire the cannon to destroy the walls, however, the gates open. The Mughal armies stare into us. We stare into them for a moment, and they close the gates again.

"Fire the cannons! Unload all your powder!" I shouted three times, in Marathi, Dutch, and Portuguese. I had wasted no time in learning rudimentary phrases from the Europeans.

There is no fear. Only certainty. Certainty in Vishnu, who will preserve my army. Certainty in Shiva, who will destroy the Mughals'.

But most importantly, certainty in Brahma, who shall create my new world. Yes... I see the cannon for a few split seconds, swirling through the air to reach the gate.

And it shall be built of bones.

[Katsumoto]

Wow this was excellent, very well written, I can learn a lot from this, haha. Love the ending, very epic feel to it. Well done.

[GrouchoMarxist JohnLennonist]

CHAPTER I

I turned to my left.

My officers were approaching from out of their tents, seeing the vast spectacle of Indians armed with European weaponry. Cannon roared, and I stared in awe at the devastation. Before long, the gates had been blown apart. Then all became silent.

My army stared into the Mughals' faces, unwilling to make the first encroachment. I rallied my officers into a circle of the plain I stood upon, then told them to get ready, they knew my battle plan. The gates were large enough, as my spies and scouts had faithfully shown me. So now, I, the leader of the Maratha Empire's forces, would be at the front line. I willed the officers who had not gotten ready to their stations. One man remained; Aditya Roy. I did not have friends in my line of work, but if I could, he would be my very best.

Aditya was a calm man, a peaceable man. That's why his parents were so surprised when he became a soldier. He was no Kshatriya, as well. He was a Pariah, the underclass of civilization. But he did not fret; he believed this was his place, that he deserved it, as is the natural state of karma and samsara. He was not a devout Hindu, however; rather, he was a wise cynic. He recognized the problems of society and did not let them frighten him. He had devoted his life to changing the world, even in his laid-back attitude. When asked why he held an ambition so alien to his personality, he always shrugged.

"I follow the flow of Brahman, and Brahman leads me this way," was all he would say, his face smiling, his joy showing. But Aditya was not smiling now. War, even after fifteen years of experience, had not become anymore joyful. In war, he had ranked himself up through the system, from just a young warrior sent to die with knife, to now the highest ranked Pariah in all of the Maratha military. He had committed as well as seen every atrocity known to mankind.

"You best move to the elephant, sir," he said, pointing towards our giant war elephant.

"Cut the formality, Adi. Just know that if I die, keep my brother safe," I responded, his face in rare seriousness. His dark brown eyes seemed almost grey in their horror. Powerful leaders like myself were not to go onto the front lines. And usually, I would agree. But today was a special day, a special battle. I would cut Azam Shah's throat open. I climbed up the makeshift ladder as the elephant was brought out of its wagon, it being irritable and bloodthirsty. He nodded to me as I climbed, then ran to his soldiers.

The Mughals had prepared cover for themselves, insuring to not be cut down by muskets. They had prepared their walls to wear down most of our artillery munitions. The only way to attack the Mughals before the new munitions arrived would be to use the blades of swords and bayonets. But I had prepared for this, and in my gambit to overcome it, would risk my life.

I prepared myself on the back of the elephant, its handler with me. A musketman stood next to me, as well. We were to charge the staring force with two elephants in order to break the ranks of the Mughals and allow our troops to close in on them in their disarray. I called forth for the handler to begin. He responded with a hand motion to the other elephant.

"Sir, shouldn't we ask for their surrender before the battle?" asked the musketman. He was a young man, probably celebrating his sixteenth birthday soon. And like most his age, he was naive to war. I gave him no reply, and the elephants charged off.

I heard shots of powder go off continuously, as if the world were about to blow up. But not yet. It would not blow up yet. The elephants collided viciously into the infantry of the Mughals, but, as expected, the overwhelming firepower was simply too much for the elephant next to us to take. His great girth fell, bring down that which he was carrying. Fine powder. A fine powder the Mughals recognized all too well. All battle stopped. In the silent fear, the crew of my elephant hurriedly got off of the gigantic creature and pored the powder of our own... a fuse.

Quickly, I lit the fuse, and the Mughal soldiers realized the depth of what was happening. The crew of my elephant ran like the wind, taking refuge in an abandoned ashram. A moment later, destruction came. Marathi was screamed all across the city, as my soldiers charged and took upon the Mughal warriors. The young musketman stared in horror at what he had just taken part in. Stepping outside of the ashram, he picked up a severed limb, stretched far from his body, and began to weep. I put my hand on my shoulder.

"I am sorry, young one. But the quicker this war is over, the quicker that Azam Shah's head sits upon a spear, the closer we are to insuring this will never happen again." I put out my palm, offering him a way up. He took it.

"We m-m-must h-h-h-ead back to the tr-tr-tr-tr-oops..." the young man stifled in his tears. I put my hand to his back to help him walk in his mental agony, and we stepped forward, so that we may head back to our soldiers.