The Battle at the Hydaspes Begins

Eratosthenes, you’d cast your scroll—
“Which tale is true? Who played what role?
First mountains shift, then horses die—
Is this not praise dressed up as lie?”

Listen, skeptic. Here’s the knot:
Alexander landed, wet and hot,
With horse and foot in ordered might,
And all the river at his back.

“Charge,” he said. “Do not delay.
We break them now, or hold the way.
If they run, we ride them down;
If they stand, we seize the crown.”

But what of Porus’ son? Some say
He came with chariots in poor array,
Too late, too weak, too rash to bind
The crossing won by sharper mind.

Others say a stronger band
Came hard upon the river strand,
And blows were traded, wounds were dealt,
And Bucephalas himself was felled.

Yet Ptolemy, steadier than song,
Tells it plainer, spare and strong:
The prince arrived when all was done—
Too late to break what had been won.

Three stories drift upon one tide.
Which is truth? The river hides.
Yet this is certain: the king got through.
This too is certain: the danger grew.

So doubt the cave, Eratosthenes.
Doubt the mountain and fantasies.
But battle begun beyond that flood,
On a shore won first by rain and mud—
That is no tale that flattery weaves.
It is what remains when the river recedes.

Prose:
Alexander had crossed with roughly 5,000 cavalry and nearly 6,000 infantry and chose to act at once, trusting speed before the enemy could fully gather. Ancient accounts differ over the role of Porus’s son and the size of the force he brought forward, but the clearest tradition holds that he arrived too late to prevent the crossing. Whatever the details, the essential fact remains: Alexander had secured the far bank and now moved quickly to turn a successful passage into the opening advantage of battle.