Chapter 233: How Can One Be Both a Whore and Put Up a Chastity Arch

How do you control Indian prisoners? It's actually quite simple — just pick out the Kshatriyas from the army.

As for the remaining Vaishyas and Shudras, as long as you don't kill them, these people are very easy to manage.

You can even give them a bit of grain and let them manage themselves.

As for the Brahmins, this class is still quite rare in India at present.

That's inevitable — not every clergyman can be a Brahmin. If that were the case, what would be the point of the Kshatriya class?

This bloody battle at the Khyber Pass was completely unworthy of its name.

Plenty of blood was spilled — of the thirty thousand soldiers of the Shahi dynasty plus more than ten thousand laborers, those killed, those who fell to their deaths, those who fled into the deep mountains and vanished, those trampled by war elephants — altogether more than four thousand people.

For a feudal army of over forty thousand in total, that's quite a lot.

At the same time, real fighting did take place. Zhang Zhao led his men against the war elephants, and at the mouth of the valley Yin Yaozi led a full frontal assault.

The elite troops drawn from the Shunyi Left Army lost over a hundred men, and the Khotan palace guards suffered several dozen casualties, so it cannot be said there was no battle.

But taken as a whole, it hardly qualifies as a bloody battle.

This battle looked lively enough, but in reality it didn't even match the intensity of the pursuit battle beneath the walls of Suyab. The Indians' combat strength was poor to begin with, and they were also charged by their own war elephants, so their defeat came all the faster.

Peshawar — this is the first key city beyond the Khyber Pass. Once Peshawar is taken, the entire Indus River valley will be thrown wide open for me, Great King Zhang.

Zhang Zhao gazed greedily at the scene before him. How beautiful it was!

An endless great plain, distant cooking smoke drifting faintly, and in the fields the newly harvested rice piled into little golden hills.

The moment one emerged from this mountain pass, the moist air brought a refreshing coolness to the face. Even better, this was the Little Ice Age, so the Indian subcontinent was not as hot as in later ages — the climate in early September could be called extremely pleasant.

"Please, my king! Your Majesty knows I do not wish to kill anyone — I only want wealth. As long as you cooperate a little more and get the gates of Peshawar opened, you can return to Udabhandapura and go on being your king!"

Zhang Zhao handed the rope in his hand to a dark-skinned fat man — none other than Karmamaha's son, Bahmamaha.

This pair's routine was already thoroughly practiced; the Nalanda Fort at the mouth of the Khyber valley had been opened by their combined efforts.

Karmamaha's expression was extremely ugly. Having his son lead the king along like a dog to call at the gate — whether or not the gate opened, their family's reputation was ruined.

From now on they could only go further and further down this dark road, and Karmamaha did not want that.

Zhang Zhao sneered coldly. He knew exactly what kind of man this old fox beside him was — he was a wretch.

A wretch who wanted to be a whore and still put up a chastity arch — he had betrayed the king, yet still wanted to keep a good name. Heh!

By comparison, his son Bahmamaha was a bit more of an honest scoundrel.

"General, do you think they can get the gates of Peshawar opened?"

Zhang Zhao pointed into the distance and asked. A few hundred meters away, Madanapala was wailing and speaking with a helmeted commander on the wall, both of them apparently quite agitated, since the rise and fall of their voices carried clearly.

"I think they probably won't get it open. Peshawar is the most important city beyond the valley mouth, and I believe the defending commander will very likely refuse to open the gates for everyone's safety!"

Karmamaha worked hard to hide his reluctance and said flatly to Zhang Zhao.

Clap, clap, clap! Zhang Zhao gave a few neurotic claps. "General, if they can't get this city gate open, guess what I'll do?"

A shadow of gloom flickered across Karmamaha's face, followed by a hint of tension.

"What will the Khagan do? Surely he won't kill my son?"

Old bastard! Ptui! Zhang Zhao spat at Karmamaha inwardly.

This old dog had been subtly steering Zhang Zhao's emotions toward his son all along — it looked like a case of sacrificing the rook to save the king, perhaps intending to sacrifice his son to preserve the family's reputation.

In the India of this era, loyalty and good faith still mattered a great deal — after all, the Kshatriya class was also a warrior class.

Apart from the lunatics of China's Five Dynasties, who came up with their military democracy, warrior classes in all times and places have valued loyalty and good faith — even if only for show.

"General, I won't kill your son. But I will kill your grandson, and then tell your son it was because you angered me that I did it.

And after that, I'll give your son a little extra power."

Without any courtesy, Zhang Zhao tapped the old Indian on the shoulder with the riding crop in his hand.

"Last night I summoned Bahmamaha. He is very proud of his son — I'm told this grandson of yours is an exceptionally outstanding young man.

He also said that you don't much care for this eldest son of yours, and prefer the younger one.

Just imagine — when Bahmamaha comes back and learns of this, and at the same time has power in his hands, what will he do?"

Karmamaha froze for a few seconds, then the look he turned on Zhang Zhao became extraordinarily colorful. This Gur Khan was trying to stir up mutual slaughter within his family!

And it was very likely to succeed, because the eldest son had long grumbled about Bahmamaha's favoritism.

"I am willing to go to the front and help persuade them to surrender. I beg the Great Khan's permission!" Karmamaha caved at once, volunteering to go call at the gate and urge surrender himself.

"Excellent! The boy is teachable!" Zhang Zhao said to the nearly fifty-year-old Karmamaha in the tone one uses with a small child.

"Remember, be obedient. Otherwise no one can guarantee the wealth and safety of you and your family."

Only after the old Indian bastard had gone far off did Guo Tiance ride up a little closer to Zhang Zhao.

"Great King, this old Indian is not honest. Why not just cut him down with one stroke? Why waste effort on him? We already have the Shahi king in our hands!"

Before Zhang Zhao could answer, Ma Yaozi chuckled and looked at Guo Tiance.

"Guo Hucao, tell me — what did we come here to do?"

"I know that — to reap some benefits!" Guo Tiance put it rather euphemistically, not directly saying they had come to plunder.

"Exactly. In this Shahi kingdom of India, thirty percent of the wealth is in the hands of the king's clan. If we keep this king, how are we supposed to dig three feet into the ground?"

Bai Congxin also came over to join the fun. As a former bandit chief, he was quite expert in such matters and saw at once what Zhang Zhao was thinking.

Guo Tiance nodded in sudden realization. Right! We came here to plunder — how could we pick the fattest sheep as our partner?

A fat sheep like the Shahi king was of course meant to be devoured to the last scrap.

While the few of them were chatting idly, the Shunyi Left Army and Shunyi Right Army behind them were preparing siege equipment.

But at that moment, the gates of Peshawar creaked open. It seemed the combined face of Madanapala and Karmamaha was effective after all.

"Move! Into the city!" Zhang Zhao waved his hand — but he himself did not move. Instead, Yan Jin led three thousand men into the city first; only after everything was secure would Great King Zhang enter.

Just as Zhang Zhao's extortion in Bukhara and Samarkand was a technical craft, plundering in the Indian region was also a business requiring careful handling.

First of all, it was already September. Even at the fastest possible pace of advance, he could not finish plundering the entire Hindu Shahi kingdom before October. In fact, even the wealthiest regions alone probably could not be fully worked over.

So Zhang Zhao could not return to Huwen City right away, because once October passed, the Khyber Pass would be sealed by heavy snow and would not open to travel until April of the following year. He would have to stay in India for at least half a year, so of course he could not start looting now.

At this time on the Indian subcontinent, the wealthiest region was not simply the Ganges River basin, as most people assumed.

In fact, the economy of the lower Ganges was still not much to speak of. Cities like Mumbai did not even exist yet, and the Ganges Delta was still full of gaping crocodiles.

In the India of this era, the wealthiest regions were the Indus River basin and the middle and upper Ganges — that is, the later Punjab Province of the Baba Yang and the Punjab State, Haryana, Uttar Pradesh, and part of Bihar of the Third Brother.

This area was the core region of all India, rich in rice, sugarcane, spices, wheat, and millet, with an estimated population of over twenty-seven or twenty-eight million.

And at this time, according to later related statistics, the entire Indian subcontinent had at least sixty million people or more. Truly wealthy!

Part of this belonged to the Hindu Shahi kingdom, part to the Parihara kingdom, also called the Gurjara-Pratihara kingdom, and another part to the Pala kingdom.

So Zhang Zhao now needed to make a proper plan. How should he divide and strike at the local natives? How many people and how much wealth should he plunder from where? And how could he avoid plundering too harshly and damaging his own small cycle?

At the same time, who could be won over? Who were the targets for plunder and exploitation? Who could be utterly destroyed? And who could become the protector of the trade routes' prosperity after he left? All of this had to be arranged properly as well.

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