A Warrior's Tale

A short story on someone receiving credit for something they didn't do

Zoora was not a fighting man. Being from an illustrious line of warriors, it was expected for him to follow in the exalted footsteps of his forbearers. Unfortunately, he had no desire to fight. Zoora preferred the life of an ascetic and was usually found steeped in prayer. This was his escape from the machismo displayed by the other men in his family.

War drew closer. The neighboring kingdom of Rayapura was threatening the borders. Zoora’s father Virasena called him aside one day. “I know you don’t like to get into battle. But, our family reputation is on the line,” he said, almost apologetic in his tone. Virasena was the only one who understood Zoora. Not even his mother did. She often ridiculed his unwillingness to fight and called it cowardice.

“I understand father,” Zoora bowed. “I will not let you down.”

Virasena smiled, but it was a sad and weary smile. “Hopefully, someday we will all live a life of peace,” he sighed.

When the war came, it did so with little warning. Rayapura had an immense army. Their king, Matsa was a large brute of a man who no one wanted to meet in single combat. He had made a coalition with the other two kingdoms on the border of Zoora’s kingdom of Mirapura. Both Matsa’s allies, the king of Hamunapura and Kirapura brought their formidable forces to the war. The three armies advanced pincer-like upon the little kingdom.

King Mahadeva of Mirapura was a brave man, yet pragmatic. He called in Virasena, his senior-most general and the chief of the army.

“What are our options, wise general?” he enquired.

“Your highness, we will deploy our horsemen on the west to counter the Hamunapura army. They are mostly foot soldiers.”

“The eastern front will have our special archer regiment. They will hold the Kirapura soldiers for a while, he added.

The king thought about the strategy. “What about the Rayapura army that is marching south towards us?”

Virasena smiled. “My son Zoora will lead the swordsmen there. It’s a narrow pass outside the city and the Rayapura army will be squeezing through the pass three abreast. We will wait outside the pass and pick them off as they come out.”

For the first time in many months, the king allowed himself an iota of relief. There seemed to be a glimmer of hope. Mahadeva was a good king and knew what would happen to his subjects if Matsa captured them.

As Virasena predicted, the enemy armies advanced as he had predicted. Zoora forced himself to lead the swordsmen regiment to the pass. The morning matched his gloomy mood though he showed nothing outward. The soldiers could not feel his despair.

They arrived at the pass around 5 a.m. The summer sun had started showing its presence despite the thick and heavy clouds.

Zoora had ten soldiers scale the rocks on either side of the pass. They would shoot into the mass of soldiers that would soon fill the narrow passage.

His wingman helped him with his armor and headgear. The chainmail felt heavy on his body but Zoora’s mind was elsewhere. He closed his eyes in prayer.

In the distance, the thundering roar of men on foot became louder. The clouds had cleared as the sun cast its rays upon the mountains. Zoora opened his eyes. A young archer stood next to him. Zoora had never seen him before.

“Who are you?” he asked with mild interest.

“Chitrasena,” the youth responded with a big smile. Zoora marveled at the youth’s exuberance. What did he know about war and death? That smile would be wiped off pretty soon, he thought smugly.

As expected, the pass constrained the movement of the Rayapura army. They tried to get in four at a time and realized they couldn’t. The bowmen on the top had already started shooting into the mass of humanity below.

“Let’s go,” Chitrasena exclaimed cheerfully. Zoora, taken by surprise, followed him. The youth transformed once the battle started. Zoora had not seen anyone so skilled with the sword. He almost forgot to fight watching in fascination as Chitrasena’s sword became a blur of silver and red as he cut soldiers down on all sides. In no time, the Rayapura army was routed. The Mirapura soldiers looked on in wonder as the few survivors of the rival army retreated in fear.

Zoora turned around to extend his admiration to Chitrasena. He was nowhere to be found. His soldiers looked confused when he asked them about the young man. “There was no one else with you, commander,” one man said. The others nodded.

“He fought with me, how did you not see him?” Zoora was irritated. “He won the battle for us.”

“No sir, you fought off the Rayapura army singlehandedly,” another man with a broken arm insisted.

The soldiers carried Zoora on their shoulders back to the city much to his disgust. His protests were of no avail.
On the other fronts, the Mirapura army had beaten off the two armies, and for now, Matsa returned to his kingdom to lick his wounds.

The victories did nothing to quell the questions in Zoora’s head. Who was that man? How could no one else have seen Chitrasena? Where did he come from?

Virasena looked proudly upon his son as Zoora walked into the king’s court. King Mahadeva stood up to adorn Zoora’s neck with a chain of gold with a pendant of charging horses, the emblem of Mirapura.

The guilt was overpowering. Zoora did not want recognition for something he didn’t do. But who would believe him? What could he do? In exasperation he looked over the king’s head. A painting on the wall caught his eyes. He gasped.

“Your majesty, who is that boy?” he whispered pointing behind the king.

The happy face of the king changed. “That was my son, Chitrasena,” he said his voice dripping with sorrow. “He died in a hunting accident when he was sixteen.”