| Specifications |
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Publisher: Harper Collins Publishers |
| Author Amish Tripathi | |
| Language: English | |
| Pages: 473 | |
| Cover: PAPERBACK | |
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8.5x5.5 Inch |
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Weight 340 gm |
| Edition: 2025 | |
| ISBN: 9789369896097 | |
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HBX171 |
| Delivery and Return Policies |
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Ships in 1-3 days |
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Returns and Exchanges accepted within 7 days |
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Free Delivery |
1025 CE,
INDIA. Mahmud of Ghazni believes he has crushed the spirit of Bhaarat - the
Shiva Linga at the Somnath Temple lies shattered and thousands are dead. But
among the ashes of destruction, an oath is taken. Five people-a Tamil warrior,
a Gujarati merchant, a devotee of Lord Ayyappan, a scholar-emperor from Malwa
and the most powerful man on Earth, Emperor Rajendra Chola-resolve to undertake
a perilous quest and strike at the heart of the invader's kingdom. From the
grandeur of the Chola empire to the shadows of Ghazni's bloodstained court, The
Chola Tigers is the scintillating story of a fierce retaliation. A story of
unity forged through pain, of courage born from despair and of vengeance that
becomes Dharma.
Somnath,
India, end 1025 СЕ The sun slid beyond the shimmering
horizon of the Arabian Sea. Twilight gave way to night as the almost-cloudless
sky glowed in vibrant shades of red, orange and purple. The rippling waves
crept lovingly up the beach and gently cuddled the sands, almost like the
water, serene and compassionate, was trying to soothe the tortured land. At
many places the sand was unusually red, as if the ground was bleeding. The
water washed off some of the red, and retreated, as though shrinking from the
macabre vision. And yet, undeterred, like a lover refusing to give up on her
suffering beloved, the sea returned to the shore. Again and again. Trying to
wash the blood away. The first step in healing is washing the wounds. But no
matter how hard the sea tried, the red remained. There was too much blood. Too
many dead bodies. A scream pierced the deathly still air. A Turkic soldier,
pointing ahead, shouted, 'Stop, thief!' Turks. Very different in looks and
physique from the large-eyed, brown-skinned Indians. By any expert's analysis,
the Indians should have defeated the Turks. The Indians were taller, healthier,
with better nutrition and finer weapons. The Turks were fairer, shorter,
leaner. They didn't look like they could be the most vicious killers the world
had ever seen. But looks can be deceptive. Turks. To Indians, they looked a
little like the Chinese, with roundish faces and narrow eyes. They weren't from
China, though; they were from farther north. Even the Chinese were afraid of
these ruthless invaders from Central Asia, the vast rolling grasslands of the
Steppes. They had been slave soldiers of their cousin tribe, the Mongols,
earlier, but now they were conquerors in their own right. Turks. Ferocious
invaders known to massacre all in their path. Looting, raping, making pyramids
of skulls. Revelling in their barbarism. 'Stop, you ba**ard!' shouted another
Turkic soldier. There were two Turks, one of whom was a dwarf. They were
chasing an Indian who was dressed like a priest. Shaved head, with a knotted
tuft of hair at the crown. Thin and wiry. Dark-skinned. Clad in a saffron
dhoti. Tears were streaming down his grief-stricken face. He was running hard,
negotiating the obstacles of dead bodies strewn all over the bloodstained sandy
beach. The bodies of Indian soldiers who had perished in the battle that had
just been fought. The Brahmin was holding something in his hands as he ran.
Something immeasurably precious, wrapped tightly in a saffron-coloured cloth. 'Stop!'
one of the Turkic soldiers yelled again. 'Stop, you son-of-a-bi**h!'
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