The old man was deep in contemplation as his chariot went past the walls of the small keep. As he it slowly approached his destination he stretched a bit and prepared to disembark, taking off his hat.
As he got off a servant came to his aid and helped him off. He couldn't help but feel old, age slowly starting to get the better of him. The guard at the gate of his manor stepped to the side and opened the door for him to enter, instantly getting a blast of warm air.
He stepped into the warmth of his manor, walking down the steps and settling himself on the couch. As he got comfortable, a young man walked into the room and seated himself on the couch opposite Jnaneśvara.
"Ah, Pārśva how was your journey to your cold homeland? I do hope that you were given no trouble in your travels through the realm of the Yavana Rajan?"
The man tried to comprehend for a few seconds before replying to the old man in broken Gandhari.
"My journey was comfortable, Damara. There was no lack of attendance to my needs and the food was good." the young man faltered, bringing a smile to Jnaneśvara's face. The young boy he had raised had become a man. Though he could still work on his Gandhari grammar.
"Well then my son, I hope that in your ten year education at Takṣaśilā you have learnt something. The reason I called you back to Kashmir is because I need your architectural expertise. All other thinkers in Takṣaśilā refuse to consider the roving horde of Mlechchas to our north a threat and our king acts headstrong out of his malice for the nobility." he explained to Pārśva, the brilliant mind slowly taking it in, thinking of a reply.
"Lord, you know that I not consider anyone Mlechcha. All is equal if they live peaceful, our lord Mahavira has said. But if they wish to kill I shall help you protect souls from the north man. What you need me to design?"
He called for someone and a man arrived with a few tied rolls of paper. He thanked the servant and took the paper, unrolling it and handing it to Pārśva. He had it written in Paiśācī [1] so the boy would be able to comprehend it better. He watched the youth study the paper carefully, noticing that his adoptive son looked quite intrigued.
"In the Arthashastra [2], the venerable Kauṭilya wrote about six different kinds of forts and gave many variations of each of them. What your asking me to make is known as guha-durga [3] in Sanskrit, a secluded outpost. It is not common design. I can definitely draw one, but why there a need to make so cut off?" he questioned, looking up from the piece of paper.
Jnaneśvara took a sip from his cup, thinking about how he should answer. The boy had never had a head for warfare or strategy, instead more interested in numbers and such. How could he explain the power of a horde to him? To see a charging dust cloud of ferocious horsemen could break the morale of any man, even if they would outnumber the Mlechchas.
He leaned into answer, wearing a grim look on his face. "My boy, this is an enemy unlike all others we see in recent times. They fight like a shadow, coming and going like a strong wind, leaving a trail of flames and misery in their path. If we fail to defeat them in open ground we will need a safe place to retreat and carefully plan our next move. We will need a fortification which is impossible to reach if defended well and large enough to house a two hundred men."
"It can be done, but it will take time. Also you will need to spend lots of money and resources. If it is fine with you I will look for good site, so I'll survey region soon?" Pārśva said heaving and rising from his seat. He rolled up the papers and put them in his cummerbund.
Jnaneśvara looked up to see how his son had changed. He hadn't seen him for five years, and ten years before that. The boy had always been so engrossed in his studies, before he knew it he had become a man. "Oh and Pārśu, the Ṭhakkura [4] of Gallāta has invited me to a leopard hunt. I would like it if you could join us then, once you have settled on the plans, you know?"
Looking at the desperate look in the old man's eyes, Pārśva smiled and shook his head. "You know I cannot do that sir. You forbid me from taking putting on the garb of an ascetic and I listened, now allow me to live some of the vows set by divine Mahāvīra. You know well I cannot kill an animal."
"Oh well, I hoped I would still be able to persuade you. I have heard that in the foothills of the Himālayas, the area of the old Mālla kingdom, this little tradition of yours is starting to grown in popularity again [5]." the old man sighed, obviously crestfallen that he could not spend time with his heir in these late shades of his life.
He then tried to struggle out of his comfortable seat and the servant standing in the rushed to aid him up. Once he was back on his feet he put his arm around Pārśva's shoulder and slowly shuffled up the few steps of the room into the manor's main courtyard. He then stopped when he was in the centre of the courtyard to admire the finely cobbled pavilion on the floor. He remembered when he had paid the Yavana artist to come and design the beautiful mosaic floor depicting the lord Iṇdra fully ornate on top of his mount Airāvata.
"My son, you are my heir, future ruler of this little fief in the mountains. Throughout my life I have strived to do only one thing; make sure the people in my domain never have to fear the evils of war and they never go hungry. I have used methods which have forever blackened my kárma. Up in these mountains we have lived prosperous lives. Promise me you will continue to protect this land once I have been sent for another birth." he pleaded in a sad tone.
Pārśva saw the sadness in his eyes and kept his hand on the old man's shoulder. "I promise, I will be just Damara of Khapula. I promise with my heart." the young man vowed keeping his other hand on his chest.
"Good, then let me suggest you something. One krosha [6] from here there is a mountain which is reasonably flat enough for construction. Why don't you go and survey it? It might be what we are looking for."
Pārśva then bowed and took his leave, walking through the courtyard doors back into the compound, leaving the old Jnaneśvara alone in the compound. He kept looking at the mosaic as drops of rain started to fall and thunder rumbled like a horde clattering hooves in the distance.