‘True,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘But they will be stranded far from their base with no ships. I had learnt at Panchavati that there is no road between Maika-Lothal and the Narmada. It will take them at least six months to march back to Lothal through those dense impenetrable forests. I’m hoping that on seeing the size of our decoy fleet, Sati will commit at least one hundred thousand men to attack us. And with those hundred thousand enemy soldiers stuck in the jungles of the Narmada, our army would become vastly superior numerically; a ratio of almost four to one. We could then attack and probably take Lothal.’

Dilipa still hadn’t understood the entire plan. ‘But many of our own soldiers will also be in the decoy fleet, right? So we’ll have to wait for them to come back to Karachapa and then...’

‘I’m not planning on using our decoy fleet to engage in battle,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘So we’re not going to load them up with soldiers. We’ll only keep a skeletal staff, enough to set sail. We will not commit more than five thousand men. Imagine what we can achieve. Only five thousand of our men, including the commandos, will leave Karachapa but we would have removed nearly one hundred thousand of the enemy men, leaving them stranded in the jungles around the Narmada, at least six months away from Lothal. And not a single arrow would have been fired. We can then go ahead and easily march in to capture Lothal.’

‘Brilliant!’ said Bhrigu. ‘We will move towards Lothal as soon as our ships leave for the Narmada.’

‘No, My Lord,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘I’m sure Sati has scouts lurking in and around Karachapa. If they see four hundred thousand of our troops marching out of the city, they will know that our ships are thinly manned and will therefore understand our ruse. Our army will have to remain hidden within the walls of Karachapa to convince them that our attack on Panchavati is genuine.’

The customs officer at Karachapa frowned at the merchant ship manifest. ‘Cotton from Egypt? Why would any Meluhan want cotton from Egypt? They are no match for our own cotton.’

The customs procedure in Meluha was based on a system of trust. Ship manifests would be accepted at face value and the relevant duty applied. It was also accepted that, on random occasions, a customs officer could cross-check the ship load if he so desired. This was possibly one of those random occasions.

The officer turned to his assistant. ‘Go down to the ship hold and check.’

The ship captain looked nervously to his right, at the closed door of the deck cabin, and turned back to the customs officer. ‘What is the need for that, Sir? Do you think that I would lie about this? You know that the amount of cotton I have declared matches the maximum carrying capacity of this ship. There is no way you can charge me a higher custom duty. Your search will serve no purpose.’

The Meluhan customs officer looked towards the cabin that the captain had surreptitiously glanced at. The door suddenly swung open and a tall, well-built man stepped out and stretched his arms as he lazily yawned. ‘What’s the delay, Captain?’

The customs officer held his breath as he recognised the man. He instantly executed a smart Meluhan military salute. ‘Brigadier Vidyunmali, I didn’t know you were on this ship.’

‘Now you know,’ said Vidyunmali, yawning once more.

‘I’m sorry, My Lord,’ said the customs officer, as he immediately handed the manifest back to the captain and ordered his assistant to issue the receipt for the duty payment.

The paperwork was done in no time.

The customs officer started to leave, but then turned back and hesitatingly asked Vidyunmali, ‘My Lord, you are one of our greatest warriors. Why isn’t our army deploying you at the battlefront?’

Vidyunmali shook his head with a wry grin. ‘I’m not a warrior now, officer. I’m a bodyguard. And also, as it now appears, a transporter of royal fashions.’

The customs officer smiled politely, and then hurried off the ship.

‘Why the delay?’ asked the Egyptian.

Vidyunmali had just entered the hold below the lowermost deck, deep in the ship’s belly. The only porthole, high in one corner, had been shut tight and it was unnaturally dark. As his eyes adjusted, he was able to see the countenance of about three hundred assassins sitting with cat-like stillness in a huddle.

‘Nothing important, Lord Swuth,’ said Vidyunmali to the Egyptian. ‘A stupid customs officer got it in his head to check the ship’s hold. It’s been taken care of. We’re sailing past Karachapa now. We will be in the heart of Meluha soon. There’s no turning back.’

Swuth nodded silently.

‘My Lord,’ said the captain, as he entered quietly with a shielded torch.

Vidyunmali took the torch from the captain, who was followed by two men carrying large jute bags. They left the bags next to Vidyunmali.

‘Wait outside,’ said Vidyunmali.

The captain and his men obeyed. Vidyunmali turned towards the Egyptian.

Swuth was the chief of the shadowy group of Egyptian assassins that Vidyunmali was escorting back to Devagiri. The sweaty heat of the closed ship hold had made Swuth and his assassins strip down to their loincloths. Vidyunmali could see the several battle scars that lined Swuth’s body in the dim light of the flaming torch. But it was the numerous tattoos on him that drew his attention. The Meluhan brigadier was familiar with one of them: a black fireball on the bridge of his nose, with rays streaming out in all directions. It was usually the last thing that his hapless victims saw before being butchered. The fireball represented the God that Swuth and his assassins believed in: Aten, the Sun God.

‘I thought that Ra was the Sun God for the Egyptians,’ said Vidyunmali.

Swuth shook his head. ‘Most people call him Ra. But they’re wrong. Aten is the correct name. And this symbol,’ said Swuth, pointing to the fireball on his nose, ‘is his mark.’

‘And the jackal tattoo on your arm?’ asked Vidyunmali.

‘It’s not a jackal. It’s an animal that looks like a jackal. We call it Sha. This is the mark of the God I am named after.’

Vidyunmali was about to move on to the other tattoos, but Swuth raised his hand.

‘I have too many tattoos on my body and too little interest in small talk,’ said Swuth. ‘You’re paying me good money, Brigadier. So I will do your job. You don’t need to build a relationship with me to motivate me. Let’s talk about what you really want.’

Vidyunmali smiled. It was always a pleasure to work with professionals. They focused all their attention on the work at hand. The mission that Emperor Daksha had tasked him with was difficult. Any brute could kill, but to kill with so many conditions attached, required professionals. It needed artists who were dedicated to their dark art.

‘My apologies,’ said Vidyunmali. ‘I’ll get down to it right away.’

‘That would be good,’ said Swuth, sarcastically.

‘We don’t want anybody recognising you.’

Swuth narrowed his eyes, as though he’d just been insulted. ‘Nobody ever sees us killing, Brigadier Vidyunmali. More often than not, even our victims don’t see us while they’re being killed.’

Vidyunmali shook his head. ‘But I want you to be seen, only not recognised.’

Swuth frowned.