The Cambridge History of India, Vol. I: Ancient India v1.c25.83

v1.c25.83

The difficulty was that movement in the opposite camp seemed perpetual. Over and over again there were concentrations at this point or that, as if an immediate attack were to be made, and then, when the nerves of the defenders were strung up to the highest pitch of expectancy, nothing happened. Was the dreadful foe really brought to a standstill by an obstacle such as he had never yet encountered? Or were these abortive movements purposed feints to throw the defenders off their guard? For the foreigners at any rate it must make things worse when rain storms came on¹—tropical deluges such as they could never have experienced before, with only such shelter as a camp allows—and the swollen river swelled yet higher. Some indications seemed to show that this state of suspense might be protracted for months, that the Yavanas had given up the thought of attempting to cross in the present state of the river, and were going to wait for the winter when it would become fordable. It was certain from the reports of spies that great stores of provisions were being brought up, as if for a long halt². Then alarms at night began. In the intervals of the rain the noise of cavalry mustering could be heard on the further bank, the shoutings of words of command, the songs which the Yavanas sang in battle to their own gods; and at the sound of it, on the left bank the great elephants would swing through the darkness to their stations, and the lines of Indians stand ready with sword and bow. And still nothing happened. The night alarm became almost a piece of routine.