Making a pact with the southern rebel groups was easy. King Indranil and the rebel groups had the same common goal, the fall of Rakhtaprastha and the head of its tyrant king, Shaktidev. The day before, Indra had met with one in a neutral territory, amid the golden fields of paddy, ripe for harvest. The emissary was none other than the leader of the group, who drew out his dagger and slashed it over his thumb to give Indra his blood oath. King Indra returned the gesture.
Now, Indra sat inside his tent, camped on his way to one of the last tribes he planned to meet, and appeal to for assistance. Three rebel group envoys just took their leave from his tent, the entrance flaps still swaying. It only took mere hours to come to an agreement with those envoys from the rebel groups.
"It will take two more days to reach the Beed tribe, my king," High Minister Chakrayu observed, staring at the map laid out in front of them. "My Lady says this is a long travel."
