The Vanguards

Nokkhottro isn't a star in the sky and neither it's a fallen star. It's a port, a garrison, and a city. That morning a ship waited in the jetty, not a merchant ship but a handsome vessel of the royal navy. Its clean deck and polished railings glowed in soft morning light while the royal pennant fluttered in the breeze. On the deck, the soldiers and the sailors stood in attention while below the deck the oarsmen waited in patience. None had to wait for long, for soon a man walked up the gangway aboard the ship. He had the uniform of a soldier but he had the aura of a commander, he took a few moments to quietly survey the ship and then nodded to the sareng (helmsman). Without any instructions, uttered or signaled, the ship sprang into life. The gangway was removed, the ropes were untied, the oarsmen pushed the ship into the current, and it started to cruise as gracefully as one can imagine. The sareng adjusted the rudder and the oarsmen started their steady, measured, rowing, before long Nokkhottro and the shoreline dissolved into the horizon. The commander stood at the railing, silent and erect. He gazed towards the east, a shoreline would appear somewhere over there, at some point. The rhythmic splashes of the oars and soft fluttering of the pennant melded with the quietness of the day in the middle of the endless expanse.

Although they hadn't made any sound he knew two lieutenants have appeared behind him. He turned. Don't push the oarsmen, it's no use hurrying, he said to the sailor. I will rotate them regularly, the sailor replied. Has it got stuffy down there, the commander inquired. No, we have kept the shutters open for a cross breeze, the sailor informed. Nevertheless, let them rest on the deck while they are on break, the commander instructed. The sailor simply bowed in acknowledgment. The horses are calm, the soldier said when the commander looked at him. Bring them on the deck in the afternoon, the commander said. They are intelligent beasts and it will only help us if they are aware of what we are facing, he concluded. The soldier nodded, and the supplies are well stored, he added. The commander nodded. It was past midday when the watch on the top of the mast yelled, danga (land); he was pointing in an eastward direction. The commander shaded his eyes with both hands and squinted, after a few long moments he could distinguish a vague outline. Flanked by his lieutenants, he marched into his cabin. He sat down on the floor in front of a low table and motioned the lieutenants to sit.

Where are we, he asked the sailor, after unrolling a map on the table. The sailor placed his finger on Nokkhottro, mumbled some calculations, then dragged his finger to a south-easterly point, in the Matonggini. The commander carefully scanned the eastern shore and then placed his finger on a northerly point, we have to be here, we are off course; he said. The moment they got outside the cabin the sailor bowed and left for the helmsman. He pointed the intended direction to the helmsman who survey the barely visible shoreline, did his own mental calculations, then gave the sailor some instructions. Now the sailor ran to the lower deck and conveyed the instructions to the lead oarsman, who in turn shouted instructions to the oarsmen. The rhythm changed in an instant. Oarsmen on one side held the oars like rudders while those on the other side switched to a different style. Slowly and smoothly the ship started to turn, the lead oarsman kept running up and down the aisle and kept checking the bearing through the shutter-windows. Hold, he shouted once the course was matched; again both sets of oarsmen reverted to their rhythmic rowing. On the top deck, the commander and the soldier were staring towards the east; we will land tomorrow morning, he said to the soldier.

The darkness was melting, but the dawn wasn't breaking yet; just the darkness getting lighter. The commander woke up to the sounds of hooves on wood, the horses are being brought up on the deck. He continued to enjoy his cozy bed; a blanket on the floor and another for protection from the chill, the pagri (turban) he wore during the day has been unfurled and carefully folded for a pillow. But after mere minutes he got up and came out on the deck. The fresh, frigid, morning breeze blew away whatever drowsiness he had. The shoreline was now a mere hundred yards away, but everything was nothing beyond a vague outline in darkness before dawn. A couple of the horses shuffled softly, they aren't used to being on a ship. The commander softly patted or gently rubbed the flanks of the horses; don't worry, soon you will have dry, hard, land under your hooves again, he softly mumbled. At the breaking of the dawn, a boat was lowered from the ship, the man at the front had a very long bamboo pole and he kept dipping the pole into the river at regular intervals. As the boat got closer to the shore the pole kept dipping less and less. At the deepest it's barely more than a man's height, the soldier has appeared beside the commander. And the crocodiles won't bother before they warm up around midday, the commander smiled.

The Sun has risen by now, but it wasn't more than a dull, reddish ball. A portion of the railing has been removed and the horses and their mounts were lined up around that opening. The commander clicked his tongue and his horse jumped into the river without hesitation. It struggled in the deep water for a few moments, the commander kept talking softly to his steed and soon it calmed down and started to swim to the shore. The commander heard splash after splash and knew that his squad is following the suit. Once on the ground, the soldiers immediately formed an arc facing the forest. They were wet from the waist down and the chilly wind was troubling, they stood resolute and alert. The commander observed them for a few moments, then signaled to the ship. The sailor, who was standing by the railing, got the message and shouted instructions to the deckhands. Within moments boats were being lowered from both sides of the ship. Once half-a-dozen boats were lowered, they started to load supplies on the boats. The process went like clockwork, smooth and swift; and though many instructions were being shouted from both sides, there was barely much noise.

Soon, the loaded boats, each rowed by half-a-dozen oarsmen, started racing for the shore. As soon as they made land the oarsmen started to unload in the same smooth, swift, manner; barely any instructions were needed. Once the unloading was complete, one of the oarsmen approached the commander, it was his lieutenant, the khalasi (lead sailor). We will make one more round, he informed the commander. How many men will you leave here, the commander inquired. Twelve, the sailor informed. Hmm, the supplies will be just enough for three days, the commander's eyes were quizzical. The supplies are safer on the ship, his deputy said plainly. The commander looked satisfied and he nodded. He watched the boats return to the ship then he turned and scanned the forest, even in the clear light of the day, it looked like an impregnable wall. But it was the little village on his right that interested him most and he was still keenly observing whatever movements he could discern from the distance when the second round of unloading had finished. I wonder when have they spotted us, the sailor said to himself. Not long after we spotted the shoreline, the commander replied.