Free The Thirteenth Day by Aditya Iyengar

could lose their suppleness if they got wet.
    Man’s capacity for killing his kin, and the imagination he was willing to put into it, never failed to surprise me.
    At an almost reluctant pace, the armours were coming on. First, the breastplate made of iron or bronze, if the warrior could afford it, and hard wood or animal bone if he could not; then came the plates for the arms and shoulders. Thigh and shin armours were a luxury for most. Helmets would be strapped on at the battlefield. Protecting the faces, but more importantly, concealing fear in their shadows.
    The first chariots began to leave for Kurukshetra, slowly, so as to not tire the horses.
    Our Indraprastha Chariot Corps was the main fighting force from our own kingdom and consisted mainly of heavy chariots. Both the Kauravas and Pandavas were partial to these chariots that were borne by four horses and could carry multiple people depending on their girth. Each functioned like a mobile tower that anchored platoons of foot soldiers, shielding them, acting like a barricade from which they could launch sorties. Arjuna had decided that this was not a battle for lightly armoured chariots that could zip across the field. The battle, as he had envisioned it, would be a slow one with ground taken an inch at a time.
    The chariots were almost exclusively manned by nobility with elephants. While elephants were treated as an object of reverence, prided by the general public for their ability to change the course of battles, the real celebrity belonged to the chariots. Boys all over Bharatvarsha dreamed of being chariot warriors. Playing in little box carts with visions of glory in their heads, with the weaker or younger ones relegated to serving as horsemen, or worse, foot soldiers. Men without a warrior lineage or backgrounds would spend vast sums of money trying to get admitted into the Indraprastha or Hastinapura gurukul and be a part of the Chariot Corps. A lot of them had found their way to the battlefield. Not many would leave.
    As princes of the kingdom, it was assumed that we would tread the chariot’s planks in war, and for the most part, it was an accurate assumption; except in the case of Bhima who had whimsically decided early on that he would fight on his feet, much to Guruji’s and Grandsire’s disgust. Eventually, as a compromise, Bhima learned the ways of battle from the less exalted vantage of a horse-drawn car, but was never very comfortable with its speed. As one of our two best fighters, he was often required to fight in different sectors during a single day. For that purpose alone, Bhima tolerated a chariot to take him in haste across the field. But once he had reached his destination he would always get down and fight like a common foot soldier.
    The chariots trundled towards the field in greater mass now, warriors manoeuvred their vehicles closer to familiar faces. Mostly, a general understanding prevailed that no one would speak at this hour. The last few moments of silence before battle, maybe forever. The metallic cluck of chariot wheels played in the background along with the steady tramp of feet and the occasional trumpet of an elephant.
    The Great War of Kurukshetra had a schedule to keep. Fighting began a few hours after dawn, when there was sufficient light for us to see who we were killing; and ended late in the afternoon, when the sky began to turn purple; which it did sooner these days given that it was nearing winter. There would be no breaks during this period and troops were generally called in from the centre or reserve to replace soldiers in the front line who had been fighting for too long.
    Dhristadyumna came up to me with a young man who bore his features.
    ‘Yudhishthira. This is my brother, Kumara. I’d, er, like him to flank your chariot today with Yudhamanyu and Uttamaujas.’
    I had seen a few of his other brothers before. Uttamaujas and Yudhamanyu had been given strict instructions to stay close to me. They didn’t talk