Ambush

Harsha's Encounter at Radha-Kund

The sun bathed the Deeg region near Govardhan in a golden glow as Prince Harsha stood at the steps of the Radha-Krishna temple. The faint echo of temple bells mingled with the soft murmur of prayers, creating an atmosphere of tranquil divinity. Harsha knelt in reverence, his hands folded before the idols of Radha and Krishna, their expressions serene and eternal. Around him, the temple courtyard buzzed with activity as pilgrims and priests carried out their rituals.

After a moment, he rose, adjusting his armor, which gleamed under the sunlight. "May the gods guide our path," he murmured, casting a glance toward the distant Radha-Kund. He descended to the sacred waters, taking his ritual bath. The cold embrace of the water sent a jolt of clarity through him. His mind, always restless, was now focused. Today, his leadership and vision would be tested.

As the convoy of carts and mounted soldiers moved through the winding paths of Govardhan's hills, the sound of distant hoofbeats broke the rhythm of their journey. A scout approached, his horse lathered in sweat and his face pale with urgency.

"Prince!" he called, halting before Harsha. "A large group is approaching quickly. They're armed and ready for battle—cavalry, archers, and foot soldiers. Their numbers range from 800 to 1,200."

Harsha's eyes narrowed, his mind racing. "Do they carry any flags? Did you see any sign of an elephant unit trailing them?"

The scout shook his head. "No flags, my lord. And no elephants. My companion is scouting another route and will return soon with more details."

Harsha inhaled deeply, his mind already forming plans. "We need the high ground," he said. "Commander, lead the cavalry to secure the nearest hill in the Govardhan range. Establish a defensive position and report back immediately."

The cavalry moved swiftly, tethering the supply carts to their mounts and riding ahead. Harsha followed with the foot soldiers, his voice rising above the noise. "Move! Move! We'll join the cavalry once they find a suitable position."

The Messenger's Fate and Harsha's Arsenal

On the hilltop, Harsha dispatched a messenger carrying the Survanshi Empire's flag—a saffron banner with a blazing sun at its center. "Go and determine their intentions. Return swiftly," he ordered.

As the minutes stretched into an hour, the tension grew. Harsha's scouts confirmed the enemy's swift advance. From the high vantage point, Harsha could now see the enemy force—a vast sea of armored riders, archers, and foot soldiers in tight formation. The messenger's absence was a grim sign.

"They're preparing for an assault," Harsha said, his voice calm but edged with determination. "Archers, to the front! Prepare the secret weapons."

At his command, soldiers revealed carts containing experimental longbows and specially crafted arrows tipped with small cylindrical containers. These were no ordinary weapons. Months earlier, Harsha had begun experimenting with the ancient art of black powder.

The memory of his work flashed before him. His knowledge of saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal—the three components of black powder—was unmatched in this era. Using heaps of animal manure collected from nearby villages, he had instructed his men to extract saltpeter crystals. Through trial and error, he had created a mixture potent enough to explode upon ignition. He crafted hollow arrowheads and pottery grenades filled with the substance, adding a pinch of mystery to his arsenal.

"Light the incendiary arrows!" Harsha commanded. Soldiers worked swiftly, their torches igniting the fuses of the arrows. The faint hiss of burning powder was soon replaced by the fiery streaks of dozens of arrows cutting through the twilight sky.

The first volley struck the advancing ranks, exploding on impact with blinding flashes of light and bursts of flame. Grass and fabric ignited instantly, and the enemy ranks faltered as chaos spread. Horses reared, their riders struggling to control them amidst the smoke and fire. Screams echoed through the valley as flames licked at armor and flesh alike.

Harsha's men cheered, their morale surging. "Hold the line!" Harsha shouted. His calm authority anchored his troops even as the enemy began to regroup.

The Cavalry's Charge

"Prepare the cavalry," Harsha ordered, his voice steady as he observed the enemy force from the hilltop. "They've been weakened, but they're not broken. Our next move will decide this battle."

His soldiers opened another set of carts, revealing more arrows and several larger black powder devices—earthen jars filled with explosive powder. Harsha turned to his cavalry commander, Shaurya. "Take these devices. Throw them at their front lines just before impact. The shock will scatter them."

Shaurya saluted. "It will be done, my prince."

The cavalry lined up at the edge of the hill, their steel-clad horses snorting and pawing the ground. Harsha gave the signal, and the riders surged forward, their lances glinting in the dying light. As they closed in on the enemy, the jars were hurled with precision. They exploded with thunderous booms, sending shockwaves through the air. Dust and fire engulfed the enemy's front lines, throwing their formation into disarray.

Harsha watched from the hilltop, his heart pounding. "They're breaking," he murmured. But even as the cavalry carved through the chaos, a horn sounded from the enemy ranks. From the rear emerged a fresh wave of soldiers, their discipline intact and their numbers overwhelming.

"Prince Harsha!" a scout cried, rushing up to him. "Another force is approaching from the east. We can't see their banner, but they seem hostile."

Harsha's eyes widened as he scanned the horizon. A second army, larger than the first, was closing in. The distant thunder of drums and the glint of steel filled him with a grim realization.

"We're surrounded," he muttered. Then, louder, "Archers, fall back! Infantry, hold the line! Prepare for a defensive retreat to the ridge!"

The sky darkened as the two forces loomed closer. Harsha's mind worked furiously, calculating his next move. The fate of his men—and perhaps the entire region—hung in the balance. 

End of Chapter 

to be continued...