The fighting raged for half an hour as the tide of the battle tipped more and more against the Magadhans. But they fought on as no quarter was given either by Kartik or his army.

Slowly the screams of the dying lessened, and then were silenced as Surapadman’s army perished. Soldiers stopped their slaughter and stood quietly on the battlefield, leaning exhausted on their swords and panting. But Kartik did not slacken, pressing attack after attack on all those that remained standing.

Divodas tried to run as he approached Kartik, but his legs were weak and trembling, and he could scarcely manage more than a stumbling trot. He was covered in blood from a dozen small cuts, and a deep gash on his shoulder left his right arm dangling limply to his side. ‘My Lord,’ he called out, breathless and hoarse, ‘My Lord!’

Kartik swung viciously, the speed of his movement building formidable power in his curved blade. Divodas took the blow on his shield as his hand reverberated with the shock of blocking the brutal blow, numbing his left arm to the shoulder.

‘My Lord!’ he pleaded in desperation. ‘It is I, Divodas!’

Kartik suddenly stopped, his long sword held high in his right hand, his curved blade held low to his left, his breathing sharp and heavy, his eyes bulging with bloodlust.

‘My Lord!’ shrieked Divodas, his fear palpable. ‘You have killed them all! Please stop!’

As Kartik’s breathing slowed, he allowed his gaze to take in the scene of destruction all around him. Hacked bodies littered the battlefield. A once proud Magadhan army completely decimated. Divodas’ frontal attack combined with the rear cavalry charge had achieved Kartik’s plan.

Kartik could still feel the adrenalin coursing furiously through his veins.

Divodas, still afraid of Kartik, whispered. ‘You have won, My Lord.’

Kartik raised his long sword high and shouted, ‘Har Har Mahadev!’

The Brangas roared after him, ‘Har Har Mahadev!’

Kartik bent down and flipped a Magadhan’s decapitated head with his sword, then turned to Divodas. ‘Find Surapadman. If there’s life left in him, I want him brought to me alive.’

‘Yes, My Lord,’ said Divodas and rushed to obey.

Kartik wiped both his swords on the clothing of a fallen Magadhan soldier and carefully caged the blades in the scabbards tied across his back. The Branga soldiers maintained a respectful distance from him, terrified of the brutal violence they had just witnessed. He walked slowly towards the river, bent down, scooped some water in his palms and splashed it on his face. The river had turned red due to the massive bloodletting that had just occurred. He was covered with blood and gore. But his eyes were clean. Still. The bloodlust had left him.