The majestic white beast was descending gracefully down the slope. A couple of horsemen, bows and arrows distinguishable against the solemn sky, had appeared and halted to watch the proud horse below them. The animal’s coat glistened, highlighting its powerful muscles and wild beauty, as steady rain drew a thin curtain of mist over the hill. Concealed in a thick cluster of trees that carpeted the entire foot of the hill, we were watching. Behind us, the faint sound of the raging river was audible.
We knew this was the special horse, personally picked for the royal sacrifice by the King. For almost a year, the animal had been wandering wherever it pleased, watched from a distance by the King’s soldiers, who made sure no one harmed the horse when it crossed into neighboring lands and fought any party that dared to challenge the right of the King’s horse to trespass. We’d already been to the capital and seen the grand sacrificial house and fire altar. We knew that daily ceremonies were going on, in anticipation of the horse’s return. For weeks, we’d been following the beast, getting close enough for it to become familiar with our presence but not so close that we’d be noticed by the soldiers or worry the fledgling princes who, for amusement, came out to leer at the horse now and then.
The Ashvamedha horse lifted its head and let out a defiant neigh when it caught sight of the men on the peak. The beast spun impulsively and broke for the shelter of trees, where we were awaiting our opportunity. Get a rider on the animal’s back and plunge into the raging river. Even the most spirited horse could be broken quickly, given the right conditions.
