The Rajaputras: The Sons of Kings
1120 AD, the Punjab, India
I am a warrior. There is no turning back from the path of one born into the Kshatriya caste, we are the defenders of our people, and the protectors of the gods. My name is Krishna Kumar Sensolanki, and tomorrow, I will go forth into battle for the good of my people. I am lucky enough to be given a chance to make my people proud on my eighteenth birthday, the day that we Kshatriyas come of fighting age. My sword glints in the sunlight through the window of my chamber, as if baying for its first taste of blood. I see my comrades outside in the training area, readying themselves. I join them. We Rajputs are master archers, our longbows surpassed by none in distance, but the true passion of the Kshatriya is the sword. We all carry a scimitar-like blade, and a shield emblazoned with the symbols of our clan.
Mahmud of Ghazni, I curse his name. He has already sacked one village, and is on his way to another. But we march to intercept him at noon, and he will not make it to his destination before I have his entrails hanging off the end of my curved khanda, by Kali I swear it. For the first time, I start to have misgivings. My fellow soldiers whisper that his army is double our own's size, and his slave army tears enemies to pieces. But we'll see how these mountain tribesmen and peasants fare against our mighty elephants. Too late for second thoughts now, though, I see green banners on the horizon.
Disaster! As we reach our enemies, I see that they are bloodied and less than fifty in number. We are ordered to hold back, and our general steps forward. They jabber wildly in their language, but the general seems to understand. They were attacked by the Ghorids in a pass and obliterated. This is bad news, for we know that if what these men say is true, we cannot hope to stand agianst Muhhamed of Ghor. While we are deciding on what to do next, a messenger runs forward. A rebel army has mobilised near Mumbai, and we must assist. I may have missed my chance today, but my sword is crying out for blood, and it will not be long before its lust will be satisfied.
2 days later
We outnumber the rebels two to one, and destroy them easily. Our elephants carved a bloody path through their peasants, and my homeland is safe. But yet more bad news arrived after our victory. We are to launch an assault on the last rajput rebels alive, but their city has walls fifty feet high and gates of solid steel. Their leader, Raja Kumiri, has an army equal to ours, and knows how to use it with deadly efficiency. Our leader knows next to nothing about tactics (though there is a rumour going around the camp that he once beat a tiger in a wrestling bout!). We are faced with a problem, but orders are orders, so we once again set off on the march north. I am not sure how much more exertion we can take. And the Ghorids are slowly finishing off the Ghaznavid cities to the Northwest, so we don't have much time...