Skandagupta III, King of Gujarat, king of the bejeweled throne, holder of the conch shell of Vishnu, guide and leader of the nation of Gujarat. Twelfth in the line that had come to power after that fateful day when Chandragupta Maurya committed the final actof suicide, after he saw that he had failed his people.
He shuddered slightly. He would be expected, and would do, the same if he brought Gujarat to naught in this new age. No, that was not quite true. Only if he shamed Gujarat would he be expected to embrace the knife. There was only honor in fighting to the last. He had set his mind. If they would not negotiate, it would be a fight to the death.
Think they can dictate terms, do they? Think they can just make us give up, after we won, do they? He had taken to muttering these days. Muttering to himself, thinking up new plans in his sleep. He trained for battle by day and dreamt of battle by night. All was war, all was blood. Some said the time of apocalypse was near. Some said that soon Kali would ride forth across the Earth, scattering peoples and nations, slaying all who came into her path. Who would not go crazy in times such as these?
He fingered the pearls set in gold on his throne. Imported from Sinhala in the south, the throne was studded with diamonds, emeralds, opals, and pearls. So sad that his great-grandfather, the vain Ghurji, had spent so much on it. At least his son, Skandagupta I, had not inherited his bad traits...
Instead he had his own set of bad traits. Impulsiveness, recklessness, that which had led to several follies on that fateful day. If only they had given battle on the Indus. If only... If only... The terrible ifs accumulate.
Much blood had been shed in the war. Much blood was to be shed. Resolute though he was, strong though he was, he still mourned inside for the deaths of his people.
*************
Sir, message, said a runner, curtly.
Skandagupta took the message in hand, broke the wax seal of the king of Persia. He looked on the letter inside, and sighed. It is begun, then. They will not accept anything less than our total defeat and humiliation. He took a wine glass, slugged down the drink and then added, Fools.
He looked down on the wine glass. Remarkable, the way he could empty them in such short time these days. It was not good for his health, and his wife hated it. But at least he did not drink while leading his forces into battle. That much he knew he should not do.
A lot had changed in under a month. His messages had been returned remarkably fast, and they were dire in tone. He had looked for compromise wherever possible (while still retaining honor, of course), negotiated with the Akkadian and Persian emissaries for days on end, even said that he would agree to the Dravidian proposal that would hurt his nation much more than it would hurt Persia. For weeks he had searched for a diplomatic solution. He regretted every person that had died for the honor of Gujarat. But he would persevere.
He snorted softly. They see no sense. They act as if nothing happened. As if my grandfather did not defeat them. They live in a world of wishful thinking. As do I. As do we all. He hoped his karma was not destroyed by these acts. He hoped, but he did not believe. He would pay for every one of those acts. Every single one, and would come back as something lesser. He wondered if the theologians were right. Did the slippery slope come one step at a time, or for atrocities such as he committed, would they just throw him down a few levels? I wonder if I will be born as an Untouchable. Such a cruel irony that would be, for a king who only wished for his peoples honor. Such cruel, hopeless irony.
Perhaps, though, diplomacy could ease such harm?
To: Akkadia, Persia, Canaan
From: Gujarat
We ask you one last time, will you consider changing your terms for peace to such that will not ruin our nations honor? If an honorable end to this conflict can be found in peace, we would sign it immediately.
. Any takers?
