Jadar reached for each man's cup individually and placed them in a row alongside the tray, together with his own and that of Vasant Rao. Then he laid his own cup on its side on the tray and slowly drew his heavy sword from its scabbard. With a fierce swing he sliced the cup in half. Then the next cup, and the next, until all were destroyed. The men watched him spellbound.
"Assemble your ranks in the bazaar at midnight. In full battle dress. I will address them. And at dawn, we march."
Jadar rose and as quickly as he had come disappeared into the darkness.
Battle gear—helmets, buckles, pikes, swords, muskets— glistened in the torchlight as Jadar rode a fully armored war elephant slowly down the center of the main bazaar. The bristling infantry, arrayed in rows on either side, watched him expectantly. A midnight muster was unheard of. But rumors had already swept the camp telling of the pending marriage of the queen's daughter to Allaudin. All knew Jadar had been betrayed. And with him, all of them as well.
Then they noticed carts following him, with barrels of wine from Jadar's tent. When the prince reached the center of the bazaar, he raised his arms for silence.
For a moment all that could be heard was the neigh of horses from the stables, and the cries of infants in the far reaches of the camp.
He began in Urdu, a hybrid camp tongue of Persian and
Hindi, his voice ringing toward Abul Hassan's Muslim troops.
"Tonight we are many." Jadar paused deliberately. "But in battle the many are nothing. In battle there is only the one. Each of you is that one." Again a pause. Then he shouted in a voice that carried to the far hills. "Is there a Believer among us tonight who would fight to the death for our victory?"
A roar of assent sounded from the men.