The Warriors Of Shambhala. Sergii Sheludchenko

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      A strong gust of wind from the mountains tore off the veil of the morning fog, revealing a landscape of hidden glaciers of high plateaus and a river. Alexander, reined in his horse at the water's edge, and beckoned to Hephaestion, who was slightly behind the king. The Commander worried about the upcoming crossing. The army was exhausted by long marches and heavy fighting and had lost its former stability. Great Conquerors dreamed to reach the borders of Oecumene,[1] which were becoming increasingly an illusion. According to rumors, a rich country was lying beyond the river, which was unknown of before the bloody wars and numerous natural disasters. It was the last mythical frontier of the World.

      The king dismounted near the masters, who had constructed some rafts. A minute after watching their precise coordinated work, he headed downstream. After a few steps, he saw Aristander, the soothsayer, who accompanied the army on the march. The old man was animatedly discussing something with a man dressed in a strange yellow garment. Seeing the approach of the king, the parties respectfully bowed. The strangers had little slanted eyes. They were dispassionately looking at the young commander. Alexander felt somehow insecure and wanted to hide his confusion, so he turned to Aristander:

      ‘I hope you received the blessing of the gods, didn’t you?’ The Prophet started talking instead of the stranger. He was a master of the Macedonian native tongue. It was a smooth and melodic voice that did not naturally go together with the strange appearance of the guest.

      ‘Great king, I have come from a distant country, behind the high mountains. It is called China. Sages who sent me know about your intentions to reach the Eastern Ocean. They were asked to tell you that when you were reaching its shores, but you will not reach the edge of the earth. The land is spreading over the waters of the Eastern Ocean again. And if the sky be favorable to the traveler, who went on a long journey, having made many thousands of steps, he will return again to the place where his journey began. It will take many years to overcome this distance. The land of the Great Mahatma, known as the Roof of the World was forty thousand stades[2] away in the east, surrounded by mountains. It is the country of higher knowledge, giving birth to the gods. Not one mortal can reach its borders. And while your way lies on the side of its borders, the Great Teachers patronize the land where you are going. And what gardener will destroy what he nurtured? Only the impunity of the trees could do this. What kind of farmer will allow the trampling of his crops?’

      ‘Barbarous nations that you conquered lived in ignorance and vice. Heaven bestow on thee a victory over them as a punishment. Then there is no way. Come home. You won’t cross the river. The land begins behind the river that is not subject to the force of arms. Death is waiting for you there. That's all that the sages were asked to convey to you.’ The words of the stranger shocked Alexander. Apparently, the king of kings was a barbarian for the ragged tramp. Mahatma, country of gods, governors of the world! These were undoubtedly some ravings of a madman.

      ‘Kill him!’

      The lifeless body of the messenger collapsed at the king’s feet.

      ‘Let’s start the crossing immediately! The detachment of Hephaestion will go first!’

      The rafts were launched onto the water. The patrols of mounted archers were sent up and down the river. Alexander, Ptolemy, Seleucus and Kenos were attentively watching the movement of troops. The army of many thousands began moving.

      The morning fog had finally cleared. Twelve people were dressed in white, wearing woven threads of pure mountain snow clothing, stood on the opposite bank of the river. The wind ruffled their head wraps, hearing the sound from a distance. Is it any wonder that in the mist before dawn they merged with the river mist? It seemed as though they had been carved out from stone statues of the Olympian gods, majestic and silent, suddenly emerging from the haze.

      Soldiers, who were preparing for the crossing, finally noticed the strange visitors. An unimaginable noise began, whistling and howling through the roses. In rafts they cluttered, which interrupted the loading of the advanced detachment. Alexander sent Ptolemy to restore order immediately. Hephaestion appeared at the raised platform.

      ‘Alexander, do you see people on the other side?’

      ‘I do!’

      ‘Maybe they are ambassadors, aren't they? I thought you'd like to talk to them.’

      ‘Occupy the crossing!’

      ‘They are unarmed, most likely they come in peace.’

      Alexander thought for a moment. Hephaestion was right, you can try to negotiate and avoid bloodshed with the peace embassy.

      ‘Seleucus, deliver these people to me! If they will resist, kill them!’

      Seleucus went to the raft, accompanied by ten hoplites.[3] As soon as the Macedonians pushed off from the shore with long poles, one of those who stood on the opposite side came forward. He raised his hands to the sky, and then stretched in a forward direction. The fact that the Macedonians saw in the next moment, shocked even the experienced warriors. A gust of strong windswept hoplites of Seleucus came from the raft, throwing them into the water. Then the man, dressed in white robes, pointed his finger at the river, while the raft was floating away, a tree broke in two as if it had been burnt. Exclamations of surprise and fear burst from the soldiers, who had come to the shore.

      ‘Hit them with arrows!’ Alexander was now raging.

      The detachment of mounted archers-Bactrians[4] rushed to the crossing. A man in a white robe raised his hands again. Horses shied back, as if they were running into an invisible barrier. A rider flew into sharp coastal rocks, which, however, did not stop the Bactrians, who were hardened in battle. A moment later, the arrows whistled through the air. Hitting the target at a distance was very easy for these tight Bactrian bows. But the arrows, magically, changed the trajectory and speed of flight.

      Alexander stood in a daze. Aristander touched the hand of the king:

      ‘We can’t cross the river. The messenger did not lie to you. There is a Celestial warrior of the country, who gave birth to the gods. Stop, Alexander!

      With the force the commander clenched the old man, gazing into the eyes of the soothsayer.

      ‘Ptolemy, take the warriors! We will not cross.’ This was the last phrase Alexander said quietly to himself.

      People on the other side lined up in a row again. As soon as the last warrior retired to a distance of five yards СКАЧАТЬ