Sivagamiyin Sabadham

2011-11-03T23:30:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 53

BHARAVI’S INFERNO

Itis impossible to describe the joy and excitement that engulfed the mandapam,when Emperor Mahendra Pallavar entered it.

Fora while, all that could be heard was a confused din of shouts, exclamations andchants that praised everyone from the Emperor to Kanchi, and the Empire.

Maamallar,awash in relief and delight, sprang from his place and almost fell upon hisfather, enveloping him in a crushing embrace. Ministers and kottamofficials completely forgot both themselves and royal protocol, and surroundedthe Emperor, speaking at the top of their voices. The babble in the assemblyreached unimaginable proportions.

Theonly one to stand apart, instead of partaking in the celebrations, wasCommander Paranjyothi. A shadow of shame lurked in his eyes. I fell for ittoo, didn’t I, he thought, feeling the lash of self-blame a little tookeenly, perhaps. I know the Emperor – and yet, I believed him to beimprisoned. The bite of self-recrimination was a sharp one.

MahendraPallavar gave his agitated and plainly enthusiastic assembly some time to composeitself, and threw them all a comprehensive glance. “Well, well – we are all avery delighted lot here, it seems. One would think we had almost won the war,to see you all celebrate with such abandon.” He paused. “It appears that ourCommander is the only one to shy away from such things – he seems a trifledepressed.” This was the sign for the entire assembly to stare at Paranjyothi,who blushed harder than ever.

FirstMinister Saaranga Deva Battar took up the conversation. “Pallavendra, justmoments before you arrived, we had all unanimously decided to march the Pallavaarmies out, and commence war with Pulikesi. Perhaps the Commander isdisappointed that such a brilliant opportunity for battle has slipped away?”

“What?”The Emperor’s voice roared out, echoing in the mandapam. “Marching ourarmies out to meet Pulikesi? Who on earth came up with such a remarkablybrilliant notion? Senapathi, how could even think of disregarding my explicitorders? Even you lost faith in my tactical abilities, did you?”

SenapathiKalippagai’s voice went as low as it possibly could. “How could we stay withinthe protection of the fort, Sire, when we had received news of yourincarceration? What would be the point of an army, if it could not fight tosecure your rescue?”

“I!”exclaimed Mahendra Pallavar. “Imprisoned by enemies? Good god – how did such atale ever come about?”

Theastonishment of the assembly, it seemed, was complete.

SaarangaDeva Battar made haste to apprise His Majesty of the events that hadtranspired: from the messenger who had purported to be from the Emperorhimself, to the horrendous news he had carried, and their subsequent decision.

“Itappears that Naganandhi Adigal is even more resourceful than I ever gavehim credit for,” mused the Emperor, when the whole tale had been laid beforehim. “Had I arrived just a little late, all my plans would have crumbled todust!”

“ButSire – was everything the messenger said a lie, then?” asked SenapathiKalippagai. “Were you not imprisoned?”

“Never!”declared the Emperor, emphatically. “And even had I been taken prisoner by ourfoes, I should hardly expect you to march wholesale out of the fort and fightfor my freedom. I am well able to engineer my own means of escape, let me tellyou. But how could you possibly trust the word of a messenger you never knew?Didn’t Maamallan or Paranjyothi tell you that Naganandhi was a Chalukya spy?”

“Sire,the news that you’d been captured threw us all into confusion,” offeredParanjyothi. “Kumara Chakravarthy was overpowered by worry, as well.”

“Ifhe was truly a spy, how did he get his hands on a lion insignia?” argued theMinister.

“BecauseI gave it to him, of course,” answered the Emperor. “It was to capture thismost ingenious of spies that I ever journeyed down south, from the Northernfront.”

“ButSire – why did you ever give it to him, in the first place? Perhaps you did notknow that he was a Vathapi spy, when you did?”

“Onthe contrary – I was sure of his identity nine months ago. The first time thesuspicion entered my mind about him was when he arrived in Kanchi, Paranjyothiin tow. I was aware that Vathapi’s spies operated throughout the country withthe help of the Buddha sangams here – I let Naganandhi prowl around, to imprisonhis accomplices. I was determined to capture him, somehow, before the siegebegan. I finally ran him down to earth in Mandapapattu –”

“What?”Maamallar exclaimed, considerably startled.

“Indeed,Maamalla. I even met Aayanar and Sivakami there – they described in detail thedaring rescue you mounted, on their behalf. I might add that they were quitehappy to remain there, as well. Aayanar was busy making plans for rock-cuttemples when I left him, and I have made arrangements to help him out. Apparently,something good came out of my journey in search of Naganandhi …”

Maamallar’sheart, which had undergone a thousand agonies with the bikshu’s brutal barbsabout Aayanar and Sivakami, now rejoiced. His face glowed with the enthusiasmand relief he felt.

“Sire,does this mean that Vathapi’s spy has finally been captured?” SenapathiKalippagai asked in a worried tone. Fighting wars on battlefields, face-to-facewas his forte; strategies and hide-and-seek games such as these, frankly, madehis head ache.

“Wehave, Senapathi – and half the war is won.”

Maamallarjumped up from his seat, approached his father and folded his palms in respect.“Pallavendra, you’ve won half the war for us – now give me leave to completeyour work. Let me march our forces against those Vathapi demons and rout themout. Let my dear friend Paranjyothi accompany me on this mission, as well!”

MahendraPallavar rose, and folded his son in a warm embrace. “Child, I admire yourcourage – but do, please, listen to what I have to say.” He turned to face theassembly. “Ministers and kottam officials – I wish to tell you, now, thetrue reason for this war – the real motive behind such a terrible invasion.Listen carefully, and grant me your opinions about what must be done.”

Theassembly was cloaked in respectful silence. The Emperor continued.

“Asa youngster, I never knew what it was to fight wars, or suffer an invasion. Myfather Simha Vishnu was renowned through the length and breadth of the Southernkingdoms; even before my birth, he had annexed Eastern Chozha Nadu to ourdominions. The Uraiyur Chozhas faithfully paid their taxes to him; the Pandiyashad been cowed into submission as well. The Gangas in the North, and Kadambhasto the North-West acknowledged my father’s suzerainty, and stood in awe of him.The king of Vengi, in the North was my uncle – which meant that my childhoodwas a carefree one, unmarred by enemies or the threat of battle. My youth was avery agreeable one, spent immersed in the delightful worlds of art, sculpture,poetry, music and dance; I journeyed to far-flung lands or read as much as Icould about them, trying to understand and acquire the art-forms theypossessed. I brought as many as I could home, in an effort to help themflourish in the Pallava Empire.

“Itwas around this time that I received news of a Sanskrit poet who had newlyarrived at the court of Dhurvineedhan, the Gangaking. Known by the name Bharavi, he hailed from Asalapuram; he was also anintimate friend of Vathapi’s princes. He appears to have been in the company ofPulikesi and his brothers for a brief while, as they hid themselves away inforests, away from the fearsome Mangalesan. Later, Bharavi traveled to the Ganga court; he had arrived to facilitate a marriagebetween Dhurvineedhan’s daughter and Pulikesi’s young brother, Vishnuvardhan.His main purpose, it seemed, was to gather strength through alliances for theChalukya king.

“Everyonehere is aware of just how beholden Dhurvineedhan was, to my father. It wasinevitable that Kanchi should receive news, occasionally, of events inGangapadi – and when we heard of Bharavi’s arrival, it was only natural for meto wish to invite him here. My father gave way to my request and made arrangementsfor the poet to visit us. Bharavi arrived – and promptly fell in love withKanchi, the beauty! He was mesmerized by our fair city’s exquisitely builttemples, palaces, institutions, schools of art, vast avenues and flourishinggardens. Once Pulikesi ascended his throne, he and his brother Vishnuvardhanbombarded Bharavi with messages and palm-leaves – asking him to return, ofcourse, to Vathapi. Bharavi refused – he simply did not wish to leave Kanchi,and sent replies that he preferred to stay here. And when he did, he gave thereasons for his decision – that he found Kanchi irresistible. One of the verseshe wrote in his olai to Pulikesi ran thus:

“Pushpeshu Jaathi,

Purusheshu Vishnu

Naareshu Rambha,

Nagareshu Kanchi …”

[TheJaathi is the best of all flowers; Vishnu is the very model of manhood;the divine Rambha, the most beautiful of Indra’s celestial dancers – andKanchi, the most exquisitely loveliest, among all the cities in the world!”]

“Iwas flattered and pleased by such unstinting praise, of course, by one of ourgreatest poets – but little did I know that Bharavi’s very words of rapturewould prove to be our undoing. That it would light a fire that burnt like fury.An inferno that would lead to war. Pulikesi wrote to Bharavi that he would visitKanchi himself, one day; I shall know, then, if all your extravagant praiseswere true, he wrote. I was delighted at his words – I imagined ourselveswelcoming Vathapi’s Emperor with every grand gesture possible. But now, myfriends – now, I have been forced to shut the gates of Kanchi in Pulikesi’sface!”

Maamallar,who had, like the rest of the assembly, listened eagerly to this recital,jumped up. “Pallavendra, surely we may still extend Vathapi’s Emperor every bitof the grand welcome you foresaw? Our spears and swords would be more thansufficient to impress him, wouldn’t they?”

“Wewill. Pallava warriors will crowd upon the battlements of our fort and welcomeChalukya men with spears and javelins. And provide a delicious feast to thecrocodiles that infest our moat! But do let me finish what I was about to say –believe me, when I say that I saw the demon Pulikesi’s lust for Kanchi with myown eyes! Ah, if you could have seen the way his eyes shone, when I describedher to him –”

“Pardon?”gasped Saaranga Deva Battar. “Your Majesty saw Pulikesi with your own eyes –but when? And how?”

“Onthe banks of the River Vada Pennai, surrounded by his army,” replied MahendraPallavar – and the assembly erupted with cries of astonishment and horror.

“Sire,how could you subject yourself to such danger?” asked the First Minister. “Doyou not realize that Kanchi and this vast Empire depend on you, and you alone?”

2011-11-03T04:15:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 52

TERRIBLE TIDINGS

Themandapam lay submerged in stifling silence, when the Emperor’s messengerentered it.

Thenew entrant was a tall, almost gaunt man and looked to have arrived straightfrom a battlefield. Head and face were almost covered with bandages; hisclothes were spattered with red patches, bearing the impression that they were smearedliberally with blood.

Thesefacts appeared to have registered only on the periphery of those present; theirattention was wholly centred on the message he had brought, and the Emperor’spresent status. They stared at the messenger, their eyes fixing themselves almostrelentlessly on him.

Needlessto say, one of these was Commander Paranjyothi. True, he was as eager as anyoneelse to know the Emperor’s message – but there was something else that botheredhim: a nagging feeling that he had seen the man, before.

Themessenger’s eyes roved over the assembly. In the end, they rested on thecountenance of Kumara Chakravarthy – and stayed there. “Scion of the Pallavas,I bring you most important news from your father, the Emperor,” he announced.“Do I have your permission to reveal it in this assembly?”

Maamallarglanced at First Minister Saaranga Deva Battar, who took the hint at once.“Everyone assembled here is most desirous of knowing the Emperor’s message.Announce it to us, by all means.”

“Verywell, then,” the messenger acquiesced. “Be warned, though – the news I bear is aterrible one. Yet, I am bound to shareit with you: the Pallava Emperor has been captured!”

Itwas as though a bolt of thunder had crashed down to the earth without warning,from a clear blue sky.

“What?Impossible!” shouted some. Others jumped up from their seats, startled out oftheir wits. The rest simply stared at the messenger, mouths agape, too stunnedto utter a word.

Maamallaruttered a strangled laugh – a strange, eerie sound that set the hackles risingon those who heard it. “The Emperor – imprisoned?” His voice echoed through theassembly, harsh and strained. “How? When? By whom?” His hands crept to thesword strapped at his waist and unsheathed it, almost unconsciously.

“ByVathapi’s front-line regiment – just last evening! The Emperor was on his wayhere from the South, when he decided that he wished to inspect Vathapi’sforces, in the North. It appeared to be the stroke of greatest misfortune thathe was imprisoned by Vathapi warriors, there. Your Highness – here is themessage your father wished to give you: The time has arrived for Maamallanto display his extraordinary courage and bravery on the battlefield; it is theresponsibility of my valiant son to destroy the forces of Vathapi, and securemy freedom. Such a task is well within his means, and he possesses the strengthto accomplish it!” the messenger paused. “That is the sum of the messagefrom your father.”

Maamallartook the opportunity to glare at the entire assembly, eyes burning with barelycontrolled fury. “Senapathi – will you graciously grant me permission to takethe Pallava armies outside the fort at least now?” he bellowed, voiceringing with anger. “Will the revered and illustrious ministers condescend togive me their valued opinions? And pray, what do the kottam officialsthink?” he turned to take in the sight of Paranjyothi, who stood behind him,stock-still. “Why, Commander – even you seem to be struck dumb! What on earth’sthe matter with you?”

TheFirst Minister rose slowly, from his seat. “What is the proof of the veracityof this man’s statements?”

Themessenger raised his hand at once, displaying the lion insignia. “This shouldbe enough – not to mention the bruises and injuries that scar my face andbody.”

“Ha!The Emperor languishes in our enemy’s prison and here we stand, arguing aboutproof and the truth of his messages!” he turned to Paranjyothi again. “We’ve notime to waste – Commander, are you ready?”

Paranjyothi,however, seemed to have no inclination to move. He stared hard at themessenger, dwelling particularly on his bandaged face, apparently lost inconfusion.

“Hasanyone here ever seen this messenger before?” queried Saaranga Deva Battar.,before turning to the messenger. “Identify yourself!”

“Youwish to know who I am? Fair enough. I am Emperor Mahendra Pallavar’s mosttrusted spy, second-in-command to Sathrugnan. The Commander here has seen meoften – do you not recognize me, Paranjyothi? Do you not see that I amNaganandhi, the man who brought you to Kanchi? The Emperor bade me spy onAayanar and Sivakami, for he entertained doubts that they might be providingvaluable information to the Vathapi army – with or without their knowledge, whoknows? You took the olai Aayanar gave you, and journeyed to Nagarjuna Mountain to deliver it in to Pulikesi’shands. I informed the Emperor of this circumstance, and he snatched it awayfrom you, in the nick of time!” The messenger threw a majestic glance at theCommander. “Do tell me – am I not right?”

Paranjyothi’shead spun. Put together – it really did seem as though a few of the things themessenger had let fall might actually be true.

“Thatis not all,” the messenger continued, barely giving him time to think. “Thereis a Vathapi spy named Gundodharan – until recently, he was in Aayanar’scompany. He left to meet with the Chalukya armies yesterday, carrying a messagefrom Aayanar. The Emperor and I followed him, to put a stop to his nefariousactivities – and that was when those wretched warriors surrounded us andimprisoned the Emperor. I made my escape, thanks be to God. That is all. MahendraPallavar has entrusted several tasks to me; I must find Sathrugnan, to carrythem out. I have told you all that I know. What needs to be done next is inyour hands. Think well, my lords, and do as you please!”

Hewas gone almost upon his words; no one in the assembly even thought to stop orinterrogate him further.

Everyoneseemed, in fact, to be turned to stone.

Athousand scorpions sank their vicious barbs in Maamallar’s heart; he writhedunder their pain. Ha! Were Aayanar and his precious daughter truly Vathapi’sspies? Were these the sort of people he had risked his life in the floods tosave? And Sivakami – had he truly pledged his heart and boundless love to sucha woman? The Emperor was now the prisoner of the Chalukyas, because of them!

Ofall the men gathered in the assembly, Commander Paranjyothi was, perhaps, theonly one who had even a glimmering of Maamallar’s agony. Swiftly, he grabbedhold of the prince’s hands. “There’s no more time to waste,” he said urgently.“We must be on our way to the battlefield – we will destroy those Vathapidemons and rescue the Emperor! My Lord – pull yourself together – remember thebattle at Pullalur!”

Thewords seemed to shake Senapathi Kalippagai as well, from his stupor. “Yes, ofcourse – the Commander is right. There is no more time to waste – I shall givethe orders to rally our forces at once,” he murmured, and rose.

Thisseemed to be the signal for the rest of the Council to rise. “Long live EmperorMahendra Pallavar!” shouts rent the air. “Death to the demon Pulikesi!” cameother, rousing, valiant declarations.

Butstay – sounds of pandemonium began to meander through the stirring chantswithin the mandapam. Vague and confusing noises began to reach thoseinside: of horses stomping about, men moving around, spears and swords clashing,a commanding voice that rose above the others, and the sound of running feet.

Somethingindeed was taking place in front of the mandapam, at the very moment –something momentous. Having delivered the terrible news of the Emperor’simprisonment, the messenger had exited the assembly – only to meet the Emperorhimself, riding his magnificent steed.

MahendraPallavar’s orders to the sentries guarding the mandapam’s entrance wereimmediate. “Arrest him!”

Thenext instant, guards surrounded the messenger on all sides.

2011-11-01T23:24:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 51

THE EMPEROR’S MESSENGER

KumaraChakravarthy threw a comprehensive glance that took in every member of theassembly, at one stroke. “Well? Does my plan meet with the Council’s approval?”

Perplexedconsternation was the only expression writ large on the faces of thoseassembled. Silence reigned, for a while.

Intruth – none of those assembled had had the intention of voicing any opinionabout war, or taking the offensive. All they had wanted to know was EmperorMahendra Pallavar’s opinion on the imminent invasion and his commands, if any,upon it.

Whenhe left for battle nine months ago on the Northern front, such had been theirintention, and they had carried out a unanimous resolution that allowed theEmperor complete authority to make decisions as he chose, and promised to abideby them. It was with the same creditable impulse that they had assembled thistime as well.

Exceptthat Maamallar had chosen to overturn the whole situation by putting forth apreposterous solution – and a dangerous one too. None of them had expected tobe told that they were to go to war, or prepare for the consequences. Stunned,they offered silence as their only reply.

Maamallarcast his eyes on them again, considerably surprised. “But what is it that Ihave said?” he asked, proud bearing evident in his stance. “Have I suggestedsomething that brings dishonour to our clan and Empire? Why is everyonesilent?”

Toolate, the assembly realized what an impossible situation they were caught in,and how uncomfortable, the position of its members. Absolute quiet reigned, andit was their only answer.

“Verywell – I shall take your silence as approval for my plans.” Maamallar focusedhis attention on Senapathi Kalippagai. “Isn’t that so, Senapathi?”

“Asa servant of his Majesty, I am bound to carry out any orders KumaraChakravarthy may place upon me,” replied the Senapathi, as he rose, indeference to his superior. “And yet – I cannot find it in my heart to agree towar. Such was not, I believe, the intention of the Emperor. Our armies havere-entered the city with great difficulty; I know, for a fact, the enormous obstaclesMahendra Pallavar faced in bringing them in. Our Emperor is no coward; he does not, and hasnever feared war. I do not believe that we ought to attempt anything thatcountermands his wishes,” he finished heavily.

Maamallar’sface, raging with fury, was a sight to see. “Do you believe, even for a moment,that I would call my courageous father a coward? Or that he is afraid of war? Imight as well cut my tongue off! My father’s war tactics are different frommine, and I’m well within my rights to propose strategies, in any situation, asI think fit. Senapathi, prepare the Pallava armies for war by dawn tomorrow!”

SenapathiKalippagai tempered his tone with an effort. “What Kumara Chakravarthy suggestsis not, I am afraid, a war tactic – but a perfect ruse to commit mass suicide.The Vathapi army boasts of five hundred thousand warriors; ours don’t numbereven a fifth of that –”

Maamallarintercepted him, eyes spitting sparks of anger. “Senapathi, do you know thenumber of Pallava warriors who fought valiantly against the Gangapadi men?Haven’t you heard yet of the valour of our ten thousand men, who vanquishedfifty thousand with ease? Isn’t it courage that matters on the battlefield, andnot mere numbers? Each of our men is equal to nine of the Chalukyas – doesn’tthe revered Senapathi know this?”

“Itis not just the fact that the Vathapi army has five hundred thousand men – theypossess fifteen thousand elephants as well,” countered the Senapathi.

“Goodgod – what does that matter? Possibly the Senapathi isn’t aware of thestrength in the hands of our brave Commander Paranjyothi – doesn’t he know thetale of how he threw his spear at a crazy elephant, and sent it careeningthrough the streets of Kanchi? With more than a hundred thousand lions such ashim in our army, what reason do we have to fear Vathapi’s pathetic elephants?”

Withthe argument threatening to descend into an acrimonious dispute, First MinisterSaaranga Deva Battar rose, worry twisting his countenance.

Maamallar’svoice died away.

“Thereis something that everyone here wishes to know,” the minister began, in hiscalm voice. “There is still time for the Emperor to return to us, is there not?Have the warriors guarding Kanchi’s gates been informed of this circumstance? Arethey in readiness to welcome him, should he arrive tonight? Have they beenbriefed of the present situation?”

“Indeedthey have,” replied Commander Paranjyothi. “I have commanded them to oldthemselves in readiness at any moment, for the Emperor’s arrival. Should hechoose to send a messenger, they have been prepared for that eventuality, aswell –”

Oneof the guards posted at the mandapam entrance hurried in at this precisemoment, even before the Commander could finish describing the arrangementsmade. “A messenger has arrived with the Emperor’s olai!” he announced.“He bears the lion insignia!”

Maamallarstared at the guard, stunned.

Therest of the assembly heaved a huge sigh of relief. A way to escape the current,precarious situation had just been shown to them by divine circumstance – andthey were quick to grasp it with enthusiasm.

2011-10-31T09:05:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 50

THE COUNCIL OF WAR

One and a half jaamamsinto the night, a message arrived from the War Council: the Pallava ministersand officials had foregathered, and awaited Maamallar’s arrival. Never to wastea moment, the Crown Prince bid his mother farewell, and set out.

Obviously, it was the Emperor’smessage from Pullalur that had prompted such a Council; ministers,office-bearers and various important kottam officials had been invited,and taken their places. They rose dutifully, paid their respects when Maamallarentered the mandapam, Paranjyothi trailing in his wake, and resumedtheir seats.

The Chakravarthy’s lion-crestedthrone stood vacant, in the midst of the assembly; Maamallar looked around, andfinally seated himself on a similar throne beside the Emperor’s. Paranjyothitook his place behind the Crown Prince, electing to stand; for some reason, he couldnot bring himself to sit down. A strange restlessness had seized him; somethingunexpected was about to happen, and overthrow the entire congregation – hisheart warned him of it, and his face reflected his inner turmoil.

***

First Minister Saaranga DevaBattar rose, and announced the official commencement of the Council, as of thatmoment.

“We have gathered here, in mandhiralosanai,subsequent to orders received from His Majesty, Emperor Mahendra Pallavar, infavour of convening such an assembly. And yet, we find that the Emperor has notyet graced us with his presence. Perhaps he has been unavoidably detained byofficial engagements? Or has he been forced to deal with some obstacle unknownto us? We are not aware of the precise circumstances that prevent his arrival,which brings us to yet another dilemma: do we postpone this assembly to a laterdate, or continue under the aegis of Kumara Chakravarthy? When Emperor MahendraPallavar left for the battlefield, nine months ago, he entrusted our CrownPrince with the sacred charge of ruling over this country in his stead. Ibelieve, therefore, that it would not be amiss to continue the Council underMaamallar’s guidance.” He paused. “I hope we do not have cause to seek analternate arrangement? Do the respected members of this assembly concur?”

The answer was overwhelmingly infavour of the First Minister’s suggestion. “We do!”

This, apparently, seemed to bethe sign for Chief Minister Ranadheera Pallavarayar to rise, and address thegathering in his turn: “It is true that at the moment, we are not in a positionto postpone this Council until the Emperor returns to our midst. Vathapi’s forces,as we well know, have arrived to within two kaathams of Kanchi. We desire,at this juncture, to know Maamallar’s opinion about a future course of action,as well as the Emperor’s commands, to us. We also wish Senapathi Kalippagai,who has lately returned our armies safely from the Northern front, to give ushis view upon matters, as they stand.”

“News of the Emperor would bevery welcome, first,” put in Sadaiyappa Singan, the Chieftain of Senji Fort.“It was our belief, all this time, that the Emperor was at the Northern frontwith the Pallava army, in company of the Senapathi. Why, then, did he leave hiscamp, and where did he go? May the Senapathi enlighten us?”

“The Emperor set off from ourNorthern encampment about ten days ago, accompanied by two thousand soldiers,”answered Senapathi Kalippagai. “He commanded me to return to Kanchi with therest of our army; of what transpired later, I know nothing. I supposed him tobe leaving for the Pullalur battlefield, with his men – those soldiers who wereunder his command and who returned to Kanchi later, confirmed it.”

The words Pullalur battlefieldseemed to have a magical effect on the assembly; their collective attentioncentred around Maamallar, at once. He felt the weight of their observation andunderstanding their tacit request, rose to speak. “Senapathi Kalippagai’sassumption is correct – Father did come to Pullalur, with his forces. But I amas amazed as you that he hasn’t arrived in Kanchi yet. When I arrived at thegates, I expected to hear that Appa awaited me in the Royal Palace– certainly, the palm-leaves he sent my beloved friend Paranjyothi, led us tobelieve so. You may imagine my intense disappointment, when I didn’t find himhere.” He turned to Paranjyothi. “Commander – would you care to acquainteveryone of what you know?”

Commander Paranjyothi cameforward to fulfill his request, and recounted his experiences in a concisefashion: the battle at Pullalur; Dhurvineedhan’s hasty retreat; Paranjyothi andMaamallar’s vigorous pursuit of their foe; the sudden arrival down south ofEmperor Mahendrar upon the scene; Maamallar’s difficulties in the floods, andhis subsequent adventures as he was washed upon the shores of Mandapapattu;Paranjyothi’s own attempts to seek out Maamallar and lastly, the Emperor’ssuccessful imprisonment of Dhurvineedhan, and the olai he had sentParanjyothi, informing him of it.

Of Aayanar, Sivakami, and theirpart in the events above, he was careful to say nothing.

Once Paranjyothi’s recital cameto an end, Saaranga Deva Battar rose again. “In the absence of the Emperor’sguiding hand, responsibility towards our country increases a thousand-fold.Today, Southern Thamizh Nadu is forced to face the biggest threat it has everknown – and we wish to know Kumara Chakravarthy’s opinion, on the action to betaken. The various kottam officials assembled here desire to know hiscommands as well. Should Kanchi decide to submit itself to a siege, they mustreturn to their respective kottams with all possible speed, shouldn’t they?”

Maamallar had been listening tothese speeches – but did not vouchsafe a reply, at once. If anything, he seemedto be lost in deep reflections.

Ranadheera Pallavarayar was keento notice his abstraction. “Perhaps it would prove beneficial to have SenapathiKalippagai’s opinion, as he has lately returned to us from the Northern front,”he offered. “He must, as a matter of course, know the Emperor’s mind, regardingthis Council.”

The Senapathi rose, in his turn.“It is true that the Emperor called for this Council with the siege of Kanchiin mind. In his estimate, it appears that the siege might last well up to ayear – and in this period, all communication would be at an end between thosewithout and within the fort. No olai shall be exchanged between anyone,either. The Emperor wished to deliver certain important instruction to each ofthe kottam officials as well, regarding the siege – but I know not whatthese may have been.”

“I should like to submit aquestion to the Senapathi,” put in a kottam official. “What, in hisestimate, is the time of arrival of Vathapi’s armies at Kanchi’s gates?”

“By sunrise, tomorrow, perhaps.In fact, they may even surround the entire fort, by dusk.”

“Shouldn’t those who wish toleave Kanchi, do so before dawn, tomorrow, then?”

“In the eventuality of theEmperor not arriving in Kanchi tonight – certainly, it would be best for the kottamofficials to return to their respective homes. It is possible that theChakravarthy’s instruction will reach them, later.”

Silence fell, a heavy curtain,amongst the assembled members of the Council. Now, more than ever, did theirattention dwell on Maamallar.

“We await Kumara Chakravarthy’scommands,” declared the Chief Minister.

Maamallar rose to his fullheight, a majestic sight amongst the warriors present, and cast a keen glanceat his audience. “When the Emperor left Kanchi ten months ago, he desired me totake charge of this Empire, and to be in a position of authority, with theright to carry out my duties as his representative. I hope the respectedmembers of the Council are mindful of his orders?”

“We are,” murmured some; otherschose to nod, signifying their assent.

Some remained silent,apprehensive – as though disaster of unimaginable proportions was about to befallthem.

“The Emperor hasn’t returned toour midst yet. Does this Council agree that I may continue to exercise myrights as Kanchi’s protector in his stead? I assume that I have your approvalin this regard, as well?”

“We approve!” The voices echoedas one, in the mandapam.

The Chief Minister rose. “Scionof the Pallavas! Hitherto, we have always tendered our opinions, when theEmperor asked us of it. We shall do the same, at your request as well. Whateveryour decision, it shall be our command. We may offer our suggestions – butyours, ultimately, is the right to decide our fates.”

“Excellent. Proffer yoursuggestions by all means – I have every intention of listening to them. Mymind, however, is made up. Ministers, kottam officials – hark! I have neverconsidered hiding within our fort an exemplary war tactic – such practicesserve no purpose but to bring unimaginable dishonour and humiliation on ourheads. Must I have the terrible misfortune of watching the Pallava dynasty,descended from the illustrious Thondaiman Ilanthiraiyan, submit to theignominy of a siege? Never – not in my lifetime! A hundred thousand Pallavawarriors stand within the walls of Kanchi this very moment, yearning to go towar and prove themselves. I propose to range them all under my command, marchthem towards the Vathapi armies tomorrow at dawn, and meet our enemies face toface. Commander Paranjyothi shall accompany me to war; I propose to leaveSenapathi Kalippagai in charge of Kanchi’s defenses. Once I have youracceptance to this plan of action, I shall deliver my messages to the various kottamofficials.”

It was as though a storm had justended within the Council, the thunder and lightning crashing away into silence.Ministers and Officials stared at each other, stupefied.

None of them could think of anythingto say.

Kalki's Note:

At the time of this story, the Pallava Empire's administration comprised of both a Mandhiri Mandalam and Amaichar Kuzhu/Amaathiyar; the first were charged with providing advice to the Emperor regarding matters of state; the second was charged with executing decisions taken by the Emperor. The Empire was divided into various kottams or sections; during times of crisis, the chief of each was invited to the Council of War, and their opinions were considered before taking action.

Glossary:

Senji Fort: Today's Senjikkottai (also known as Chenji or Jinji), in the Villupuram District.

2011-10-27T06:50:00.001-07:00

CHAPTER 49

CELEBRATIONS INKANCHI

Maamallar and CommanderParanjyothi, who had started out from the banks of the VarahaRiver at almost midnight, were soon ontheir swift way towards the city of Kanchi.Once in every two kaathams along the rajapattai, horses werestabled in readiness, as well as meals and comfortable rooms made available atstrategically located royal viduthis. In addition, a hundred soldiers awaitedtheir commands at each rest-house; this facilitated the dropping off of thesoldiers already accompanying Maamallar during the previous leg of the journey,and replacing them with a new group for the next.

Such forethought for his comfortand safety was an enormous surprise to the Crown Prince. Of course – who butthe Emperor could have conceived of, and carried out such an excellent plan?Not for the first time, pride filled his heart at his forebear’s excellent strategy,and he could not help but lavish praise about it, to Paranjyothi.

“But what, then, is so surprisingabout it?” countered the Commander. “One may plumb the depths of the greatestoceans in the world – but gauging the depth of our illustrious Sathru Mallar’sstratagems! Ah, that’s an impossible task indeed. I had the felicity oflearning a great deal about his tactics when I accompanied him everywhere foreight months. That, Your Highness,” he said meditatively, “is why I’ve neverfelt the least inclination to go against any of the Emperor’s orders.”

The Commander went on toelaborate the dazzling war tactics and ruses used by the Emperor during thePallava army’s eight-month sojourn on the banks of the Vada Pennai, to keep thehungry hordes of Vathapi at bay.

For some reason, though, thesefound no favour with Maamallar.

“No matter how you extol suchtactics, Commander – I find nothing praiseworthy in stalling our enemies,fooling them into dithering about and then making strategic retreats, as youcall them,” Maamallar said derisively.

“There are moments when one mustretreat, Your Highness – but there are also times when launching a blisteringattack is the right move,” explained Paranjyothi. “Did you notice something?The Emperor commanded you to stop pursuing Dhurvineedhan beyond Then Pennai;I remember that you were extremely depressed at his orders. But Dhurvineedhandidn’t make his escape, did he? The Emperor had made arrangements for thateventuality too. He gave commands for Thirukkovilur’s Kottam Chief, AnandhaMazhavarayan to cut the traitor off on the other side of the Then Pennai,didn’t he? Not all of Dhurvineedhan’s efforts to hide away inside a Jain monasterycould save his sorry hide – he now languishes in the Mazhavarayan fort, as aprisoner. My Lord, history tells us of kings who won great victories withenormous armies at their disposal – but I have never yet heard of any ruler whomanaged to emerge victorious, with forces as meager as ours!”

“Indeed, how could anyone doubtthe valour of our men? Each Pallava warrior is equal to at least ten Chalukyas,aren’t they?” declared Maamallar. “The Pullalur battle was an excellentexample.”

But it was extremely galling tothe Crown Prince that his father chose to fight his battles, not by dint ofsheer bravery, but with so-called strategies and ruses – and no argument theCommander placed in its favour could reconcile him to it, or make him think ofit as commendable.

The friends traveled ceaselesslyfor half a night and a day, and reached Kanchi’s gates as the sun sank in afiery ball to the west.

Paranjyothi remembered an autumnevening, nine months ago, when he reached these very gates in the company ofNaganandhi. On that occasion, Paranjyothi had wriggled into the city courtesy asmall opening in the enormous fortress gates; this time, though, such an entrywas unnecessary.

The moment they arrived, it wasas though the place suddenly came to life. Trumpets blared out in welcome, fromthe large alcoves within the fortress walls; conches blew their victorioussongs in jubilation; humans raised their voices in ecstatic celebration fromwithin the fortress walls.

The gates were thrown open with athunderous crash.

Inside – an extraordinary sightmet the new arrivals.

Soldiers stood to attention inorderly ranks along the wide avenues of Kanchi, as far as the eye could see. Alongthe sides of the streets stood the city’s residents, jostling for view. Youngwomen leaned over the richly carved balustrades and pillars, decked out intheir best ornaments and attire. Beside them stood large baskets, overflowingwith fragrant blossoms of jasmine, mullai and konrai: do we evenneed to explain why they stood in readiness, with handfuls of flowers and widesmiles of welcome?

The Crown Prince was being givena rapturous welcome, upon his victory in the recent battle, of course.

There were two reasons forKanchi’s elation: Senapathi Kalippagai’s men had just returned from battle inthe north; the city, which had seen an exodus of people in the recent weeks andbegun to seem deserted, suddenly wore a festive look as its numbers swelledwith the influx of a hundred thousand men. The second was news of Maamallar’sdazzling victory in the Pullalur battle, and the mood, as a result, waseuphoric. Such a warrior, and their Prince was returning to the city at last; whatcould be more important to every last resident of Kanchi than giving him atriumphant welcome?

The moment the huge draw-bridgewas let down, Maamallar rode over it into the city; Paranjyothi and his menfollowed. The minute they were within, the drawbridge was raised, and the gatesclosed.

The instant Maamallar set hishorse’s hoof within the city’s precincts, warriors who had hitherto held theirrishaba flags low, suddenly raised them into the sky – and the simultaneousaction, throughout the city, was a magical sight. To the waiting population, itcould mean only one thing: that Kumara Chakravarthy had entered the city, atlast. News of his arrival spread like wildfire as people shared it amongthemselves, and the city echoed with a din like several oceans, their wavesrising up and crashing onto the shore.

Senapathi Kalippagai waited atthe city gates to welcome the Prince, along with Kanchi’s ministers, theministerial cabinet and various other officials. Maamallar and Paranjyothidescended from their horses, whereupon the chief minister placed a garland ofexquisitely woven, golden konrai flowers, around the Prince’s neck.

“Vaazhga!” pronounced Kalippagai,with enthusiasm. “Long live the warrior who forced Dhurvineedhan’s retreat inPullalur! Long live our valiant Maamallar!”

Instantly, a thousand voices tookup the jubilant chant, and sent it heavenwards. “Vaazhga! May victoryalways be ours! Jaya Vijayi Bhava!”

By rights, such euphoria should have gladdened Maamallar’s heart – but his face did not show a hint of delight. A strange emptiness seemed to have taken residencewithin him – a vacuum that he could not really identify. Obviously, the Emperorhad been behind all of these celebrations; he had sent word ahead of his son’sarrival and arranged for such a welcome.

To tell the truth, such anuproarious reception when the enemy was almost at Kanchi’s gates, seemed sadlyout of place. What was the necessity for all this?

A sudden urge took hold ofMaamallar’s heart – he had to see his father at once. Prince and Commander settheir horses galloping towards the royal palace.

Upon entering the palace andcrossing the front rooms and nila mutram, he encountered BhuvanaMahadevi with her aides and attendants, at the entrance of the Queen’sChambers, standing in readiness to greet him. Her face bloomed at the sight ofher brave son, returned victoriously from the battlefield; she set aboutwelcoming him with the traditional aarathi, and a speedy ritual to castoff the evil eye from his beloved person. “Child, my heart is filled tooverflowing with pride at your exploits – and so are the people of Kanchi! But you seem strangely unhappy,” she said, when these were done. “You seem out ofspirits – perhaps the long journey has exhausted you?”

“It has, yes,” acknowledgedMaamallar. “But that isn’t the only reason. To tell you the truth, Amma, I’mnot happy with these celebratory antics – the battle at Pullalur is hardlyworthy of such merit. The Ganga hordes were amere pond, when compared to the vast, massive ocean that’s the Vathapi army.And even then, I wasn’t completely responsible for our victory there – myfather played a great part in it. Speaking of whom – where is he, Amma?”

“But, my child – I was hoping toask you,” responded the Pallava Empress. “And here you are, asking meabout him. Have you not met your father? I believed he was accompanying you!”

The realization dawned uponMaamallar that Mahendra Pallavar was not in Kanchi, at all.

Why had the Emperor, who set outbefore him, not yet arrived? What if he was delayed by unforeseencircumstances? What danger had befallen him? And what if Vathapi’s colossalforces surrounded Kanchi before the Emperor came home? Wouldn’t the enormousresponsibility of the Empire devolve upon Maamallar? Not to mention taking charge of,and leading the war against Pulikesi?

Maamallar’s heart seethed withvarious conjectures that rose one after the other.

Bhuvana Mahadevi’s news mighthave perplexed Maamallar, but it did not seem to have had the same effect onParanjyothi. If anything, it seemed that the Commander of the Pallava armieshad been expecting such tidings.

2011-10-23T00:58:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 48

MAHENDRAPALLAVAR’S DEFEAT

Sivakami glared at the dagger,eyes spitting fire and fury. When she spoke to Vichithra Siddhar, hervoice shook, throat convulsing with emotion.

“Pallavendra, if you please –whose was the traitorous hand that dared to even think about plunging thisdagger in Maamallar’s back? Tell me! If such a thing truly did happen on myaccount –”

The Emperor intervened before shecould finish her tirade. “Kindly do not give in to anger and declare a vow, mydear. Now is hardly the time for it. Yes, you were the reason for this danger –but it was not your fault; you were unaware of it. Do you truly not realize whomight be the owner of such a poisonous instrument?”

“I have never even seen such athing, Your Majesty.”

“And do you not know of someonewho possesses a snake in his very name, Amma?”

“Naganandhi Adigal?”Astonishment and fear mingled in Sivakami’s voice.

“Indeed.”

“Ayyo! Why would he wishto kill Maamallar? I can scarcely believe it!”

“But why not? Surely you haveheard of hatred and the urge to kill, in far harsher ways than what we seenow?”

“Why would Naganandhi nurse anyhatred towards Maamallar? A saffron-clothed monk too –”

“Sivakami, what does it matter ifhe is a monk, saffron-clothed or otherwise? Would a man’s head and heart neverbe turned by a beautiful woman? Have we not heard of the stern sage Viswamitra’spenance, destroyed by the exquisitely lovely Menakai? If Buddha Sangamsthese days are haunts of vice and villainy – such a thing is hardly surprising,is it?”

“I still don’t understand – whywould Naganandhi wish to kill Maamallar?”

“Your extraordinary beauty wentto his head, my dear. What else could it be? Your exquisite lovelinessattracted the attention of the hardened bikshu; it also captivated Maamallan’sinnocent heart. You, however, chose to honour Maamallan with your love – andthat is the reason for the bikshu’s hatred. Even as you and Maamallan sattalking on this boulder last night, the monk stayed concealed behind it, aimingthis dagger. He followed you as you walked back to the temple in Mandapapattu. Itwas God’s boundless grace and Gundodharan’s extreme watchfulness that preventedMaamallan from becoming a corpse, that night –”

“Gundodharan? How was it that hesaved Maamallar, Sire?”

“It was he who followed thebikshu, as the monk followed you, my dear. When Naganandhi climbed over thetemple’s madhil, this poisoned dagger fell out of his grasp. Gundodharantook and it, locked the bikshu within the madaippalli of the temple, returnedto us and reported the events. But when we unlocked the door of the madaippalli,the bikshu was gone.”

Sivakami’s expressive faceunderwent a myriad of lightning-quick changes, at the above recital – a factthat the Emperor did not fail to notice.

In truth, the moment Naganandhiwas mentioned, her mind had flown back to the bikshu inside the monastery; halfher attention was still on him. Her thoughts kept flashing back to thehalf-hidden figure behind a pillar in the room. Would he still be there? If hewas – she would grab the dagger from the Emperor this very moment, and run itthrough his treacherous heart with her own hands! “Pallavendra, where is myfather?” she asked, haste colouring her words. “I must return to the maddamat once!”

“Amma, you haven’tlistened to my request yet. You haven’t granted me the boon I crave.”

“Why torment me with such words,Sire? You have every right to command this poor sculptor’s daughter.”

“Never that, my dear. I can neverask you anything except as a request. And that, not for my sake, but for thatof the Pallava Empire. You and you alone, possess the power of saving thisentire realm, at the moment.”

“I? But what must I do?”

“Write an olai toMaamallan.”

Sivakami looked at him,terrified. “What kind of an olai?”

“That you release Maamallan fromyour heart, and from his obligations to you. That you wish him to forget you.”

“Sire, why do you subject me tosuch terrible pain? I, to release Maamallar? How can I even write such a thing?And if I did accept, my hands would never betray me so!”

“Sivakami, Vathapi’s forces havearrived to within three kaathams of Kanchi – yet here I am, in thisforsaken village, begging and pleading with you. Surely you realize howimportant my mission is, now? Very well, my girl – since you obviously do not,I shall make matters as plain as I can. Listen! As of now, the Pallava Empiredoes not possess man-power enough to battle Vathapi’s enormous forces. As ifthat were not enough, we have the Pandiya armies advancing upon us, from thesouth. They would join forces with us in a moment – if only you relented just alittle, and granted me my boon. Should the Pandiyas join us, defeating Vathapiwould be child’s play. Now, do you understand? Will you lend the PallavaEmpire this enormous aid, Sivakami?”

“What do I have to do with thePandiya invasion, Sire? What kind of aid can a simple sculptor’s daughterrender this great Empire?”

“I did not wish to inflict anymore pain upon you – but it looks like you will just not let things be.Sivakami, the Pandiyas sent messages, wishing for closer relations with us – inother words, they desired to give their princess in marriage to Maamallan. TheCrown Prince did not accept their offer – which is why they have chosen tomarch upon us. All that is required is to accept their offer of marriage; thePandiya army will swell our ranks at once. Grant Maamallan his freedom,Sivakami – and I shall persuade him to accept the Pandiya princess’s hand.Well, my daughter?” The Emperor cajoled, his voice clearly pleading. “Will you breathelife into this faltering Empire, Amma?”

“No, no, not on my life!”Abruptly, Sivakami crumpled to the ground. “I cannot!” she screamed. “Pallavendra,kindly do me a favour – plunge that dagger into my heart, and your troubleswill be at an end,” she sobbed. “Your son will gain his freedom, and the Empirewill be saved. What does a poor girl’s life matter, when an Empire is at stake?Do it, Sire – or if you cannot gather your courage, give it to me. I shallplunge it into my heart myself!”

“Sivakami …” the Emperor sighed.“You have won. I am defeated.”

***

A naazhigai after theabove-mentioned conversation by the boulders, Sivakami and Aayanar returned toMandapapattu. Sivakami’s haste increased as they neared the monastery, and shewas the first to hurry into the maddam. The bikshu was nowhere to beseen, in the back-room. In fact, he did not appear to be anywhere within themonastery at all.

A vague suspicion enteredSivakami’s heart; she hastened to her elaborately carved box, opened it, andrifled through her trinkets and ornaments. She felt the corners of the box withher hands, and shook all her dresses out.

It was no use. No matter how hardshe searched, no trace of the Emperor’s much prized lion insignia could befound.

***

Almost at that precise moment,the bikshu Naganandhi stood on the opposite banks of the Varaha River,confronting Kannabiraan with the lion insignia. Kannabiraan should take him upin the chariot, the bikshu argued, and escort him to Kanchi.

A little further away, theEmperor and the Sathrugnan stood in concealment, behind a few strategicallyplaced trees. They watched Kannabiraan, obviously unwilling, sign to thebhikshu to get in to the chariot. Even as Sathrugnan sprang forward to stay thecharioteer, the Emperor’s strong fingers clamped around his fist, clearlyforbidding him.

They watched without a word, asthe bikshu settled himself within the chariot, the accompanying soldiersprepared to follow him. Kannabiraan set his horses trotting forward, loathingwrit large, on his face.

Sathrugnan’s face burned withbarely concealed fury.

As for the Emperor? A knowingsmile graced his distinguished features.

Glossary:

Vichithra Siddhar: Denotesa multi-faceted personality; in this instance, Emperor Mahendra Pallavar, whohad a swift mind, multiple talents, and expertise in different fields of artand literature.

Viswamitra and Menakai:Known for the extremely powerful Gayathri Mantra, Viswamitra is said to beamong the most revered of sages in

India

. As much as he was veneratedfor his great powers, he was known for his explosive anger as well – and forhis brief tryst with the celestial Menakai, one of the four lovely dancers whoadorned Indra’s heavenly abode. Legend goes that she flaunted her considerablebeauty to the sage; her intentions were to destroy his incredible penances, onIndra’s orders. True to her tactics, the sage was overwhelmed by her seduction;together they had a child, Shakuntala, who was unfortunately abandoned, whenViswamitra realized the enormity of his actions. Menakai having to leave forthe heavens. Shakuntala was left to the tender mercies of the sage Kanva, whoraised her as his own. Her story forms part of the Adi Parva of the Mahabharata.

2011-10-22T07:08:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 47

RAIN AND LIGHTNING

When Sivakami regainedconsciousness, she found herself on the earthen floor, leaning against a largeboulder, and the Emperor seated nearby, doing his best to soothe her frazzlednerves.

Respect for the king and anatural bashfulness forced her to try and rise suddenly, when Mahendra Pallavarremonstrated, with his hand on hers. “Don’t.”

She glanced at the Emperor, eyesclearly pleading with him to tell her if what she had just heard was indeedtrue – or a figment of her imagination.

“Truly, your love for Maamallaris boundless, my child,” he said. “When I said that you were the reason for theCrown Prince almost losing his life, you lost possession of your senses. And I– I am in the terrible position of wounding you even more, Sivakami.”

“Ayyo, what more?”Sivakami sobbed.

“Something else remains to besaid, my child – something I have not mentioned, as yet. I require a promisefrom you, Sivakami. You must give it to me – for Maamallan’s sake.”

Somewhere, in the muddled depthsof Sivakami’s turbulent heart, light began to filter through. Doubts crowdedinto her confused heart – doubts that she had managed to push far away, intothe dark recesses of her mind. The Emperor is trying to make me submit tosomething I do not wish to, she thought. I must be careful.

Now that she thought about it,even the idea that she, Sivakami, might have been responsible for the dangerssurrounding Maamallar seemed far from believable. Why was the Emperor secludingher, and then giving her all this information? What were his motives, really?

“Pallavendra, I can barelyunderstand your words,” she stammered finally, head bowed. “You said that I hadbeen the reason for Maamallar’s danger. Why?”

“I refrained from giving you thedetails, my child, for I believed you would be much too hurt by them. But sinceyou ask, yourself – do you remember the time I visited your forest home, twodays after your arangetram in Kanchi? I spoke to your father then; youwere listening to our conversation as well. I believe I said that your dancewas divine, your talent so great that it was meant for God himself. Do yourecall it?”

Sivakami did. She wondered why hewas bringing up such a long-forgotten topic, and nodded, head still lowered. “Ido, Sire.”

“My child – what else butcatastrophe can occur, if a mere human covets a treasure meant for a deity?That Maamallan escaped assassination and still survives, is the great goodfortune of the Pallava Empire!”

Abruptly, Sivakami raised herhead and stared at the Emperor, eyes glistening with unshed tears.“Pallavendra, you couch your words so mysteriously that they make no sense tome. I am, after all a mere sculptor’s daughter – I possess no learning, nogreat intelligence,” she sobbed. “Don’t torment me so!”

Mahendra Pallavar strokedSivakami’s hair, flowing in a vast swath down her back, gently. When he spoke,there was a wealth of tenderness in his voice. “My dear, I have no intention oftormenting you. Do you not know the depth of the friendship that exists betweenyour father and myself? His daughter is mine, Sivakami – I would never harm ahair on your head. Your father is far and away the best sculptor this countrypossesses; you, my dear, are similarly gifted in Bharathanatyam. All I wish isthat you attain the fame and renown you so richly deserve, throughout BharathaKandam. Nothing must be an obstacle to such an ambition; no one must hindersuch an opportunity to attain greatness. Be it my own son, Sivakami – I shallthink nothing of removing him from your path to glory.”

Sivakami sat up, startled. Shelooked at Mahendra Pallavar, disbelief plain in her eyes.

“Patience, my child. Listen towhat I have to say, before you come to any decision. A while ago, you said thatI couched my words in a mysterious fashion. You were right. I believed yourintelligence to be superior, Sivakami – that you were capable of understandingmy meaning. Not so. You are confused; your mind is in an uproar withconflicting emotions. Perhaps that obstructs your senses. I shall make mymeaning clear – in the bluntest way possible. Understand that I am doing thisfor your own good.” The Emperor heaved a great sigh. His face hardened, asthough he were about to embark on a difficult, distasteful task. ”If what I amabout to say is painful to you – I beg your pardon.”

Sivakami lowered her head again,staring at the ground. Some great disaster was about to befall her; she knew.Her heart stuttered with nervousness. A tear or two fell from her eyes,drenching the earth.

“Listen, Sivakami. Your fathersculpts the most life-like figurines from mere rocks and boulders. Brahma, Lordof creation, gives life to creatures on Earth the same way – by breathing lifeinto mud and soil. But when he creates extraordinarily beautiful women – they saythat he gathers the tears from his eyes from each of his four heads, and addsthem to his work. Perhaps he knew the catastrophes that would occur, when womenof such unearthly beauty wandered the earth! It is said that his tears were inanticipation of the sorrow that followed in the wake of such women. My child, Ihave sometimes wondered if Brahma wept floods of tears as he created you – yourform is filled with such enchanting beauty. As though that were not enough, youpossess an extraordinary gift as well. A gift that is the embodiment of graceand perfection!

“My dear – such things neveroccurred to me when you were a child. Like your father, I too, held you on myknees and in my lap as a child. I delighted in carrying you upon my shoulders.But as you grew older, Sivakami – I was filled with dread. Often, I would lookat your divinely beautiful face, and pray to every deity I knew: Ayyo,may no terrible fate befall us, as a result of such loveliness!

“Two years ago, I saw the firstsigns of such a terrible affliction. I observed you and Maamallan – it wasborne in on me that the pure, untainted affection that had existed betweenyourselves as children, had now grown into love. As I wondered how to separateyou without hurting of you, how to make sure that this romance never attainedfruition, war came upon us. I had to leave for the battlefield. Do you know whyI forbade Maamallan from meeting our enemy, shoulder to shoulder with me? Doyou know why I ordered him to stay within the fortress at all costs?” MahendraPallavar paused. “Because I did not wish him to meet you …”

Abruptly, Sivakami raised herhead and stared at the Emperor, eyes bright with anger in spite of herself.

Fury lit up her tear-filled eyes;they flashed fire, like streaks of lightning on a stormy night, pouring withrain.

The Emperor glanced at her andhesitated, for a moment. Then, he continued. “It was not with the intention oftearing your love apart, that I gave such an order, Sivakami. I did anticipate,in fact, that it would grow with every hint of opposition – much like a firethat rages higher with every gust of the wind. No, I had another motive – Ifeared for your safety. My instinct told me that should you and Maamallan meetin my absence, terrible dangers would befall you. Have you heard the sayings:Demons guard treasures; King Cobras guard the Jewel of Life? I believed thatsome brutal force, an unseen enemy was eager to destroy you, the greatest andrarest jewel of the Pallava Empire that I strove to protect. And so, I badeMaamallan to never leave the fort, to never meet you. And much as I expected,the love between you grew as never before, fostered by the separation youunderwent.” The Emperor paused again. “I learnt this through the palm-leavesMaamallan sent you.”

“What ?” Sivakami staredat the Emperor, astonishment and disgust warring in her eyes.

“Yes, my dear. The palm-leavesMaamallan wrote you – the ones you secreted with so much care within a tree –were eventually entrusted to my care. I had to commit such a repulsive act,Sivakami; all for the sake of the Empire, which I am sworn to protect. My child– the rules that govern an ordinary human are not the same as the ones thatgovern royalty. Your father is aware of this unfathomable chasm. Were Maamallana merchant’s son, or a mere sculptor’s son himself, I would never dream oftearing you apart. I shall, in fact, rejoice at the divine bond that existsbetween you; my hart would be filled with joy. As it stands now – I cannot.This Empire, and my duty towards it, demand that I perform the heinous task ofseparating you.”

Sivakami hardly knew how – but inthat instant, she was filled with a courage that was astounding in its power.“You may have tried to separate us, Sire,” she said, in a voice that fairlythrobbed with newfound pride, and an expression that bristled with confidence.“But the fates conspired to accomplish what the King of Kings could not. Itbroke the banks of a lake, created a flood, and brought us together in thisvillage!”

“True, Sivakami. The same fates,however, informed me that I had been right to take all the precautions I did.This, is my proof of it.”

Mahendra Pallavar raised his handand displayed its contents to Sivakami. In it, once again, glinted the deadly, poisoneddagger.

2011-10-17T21:51:00.001-07:00

CHAPTER 46

THE THRIMURTHI TEMPLE

Had anyone expected the Emperor to talk about the Crown Prince, or the narrow escape he had had in Mandapapattu, on the way to the rocks, they were sorely mistaken. All he and Aayanar would talk about was sculpting, the ways and means to bring about that divine-art form onto rock – and promptly lost their entire selves in it.

This happy situation continued even after they had reached the boulder-strewn river banks. Let’s make this one an elephant, shall we? And that one shall be a lion. The boulder over there could be a chariot, and the one farther off could be a beautiful vasantha mandapam. Such were the elaborate and enthusiastic plans being made – and in the end, they congregated in front of a large rock-face, debating about what could be carved in it. In the end, it was decided that it would become a temple, and that work in Mandapapattu would start with it.

“We shall make this a temple for three deities, Aayanar. You may carve three garbagrihams, in it,” said the Emperor.

“Sire, would it not be better if we carved three different temples for each of the three religions?” inquired Aayanar. “Would that not keep everyone safe from disputes, and allow for peaceful worship?”

“When did I ever mention anything about three religions? Whom did you think I was talking about?”

“You did mean Siva Peruman, Lord Buddha, and Rishaba Devar, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely not. My choices were Lord Shiva, Lord Vishnu, and Lord Brahma – the trinity.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Kindly do not talk to me about Buddhists and Jains for a while, Aayanar. My heart is sore from what I have endured, from them.”

“Ah – have they managed to bring pain upon even your gracious self? But what did they do?”

“Well may you ask, Aayanar. Ah, what did I not do for these monks, once! There was nothing within my power that I did not do, no resource that I would not squander, on them. And yet – look at how my efforts have been repaid. Who gave Dhurvineedhan a refuge, in the Patalipuram Jain Monastery? Our Pallava forces had to raze the whole monastery down to get at that traitor, who was huddling down in the dungeons. Do you know what those monks will do, now? Go all over the country and spread terrible tales about “That bigot Mahendra Pallavan, who destroyed a Jain Monastery for his own ends!” Never mind. I do not have much time, Aayanar, and must take my leave. When I return after the war, I hope to see the temple complete. Sathrugna, where did we leave our pot-raft? Do find out.” He turned to the sculptor. “You too, Aayanar. It would be so much more convenient if you could aid Sathrugnan in his search. The pot-raft is just somewhere along the banks, I am sure. Two heads are always better than one, are they not?”

Aayanar assented, and left with the Pallava spy.

Sivakami, all this while, had spent her time with Rathi, caressing the deer, murmuring soothing words now and then in some language known only to herself.

The Emperor approached her slowly, and sat down on a boulder nearby. “I should like to speak to you for a while, my dear. Would you sit down on one of these rocks?”

Some instinct warned Sivakami that they were not about to converse on a happy subject. She stood in her place, head bowed.

“Sivakami? Do raise your eyes, and look at this dagger.”

She did.

“Do you remember what I said about it a while ago?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Sivakami’s lips mumbled. The thought that it had almost taken Maamallar’s life was excruciating.

“That was a lie, my girl.”

Sivakami looked up, startled. Confusion reigned in her heart – mixed in equal parts with relief, delight, and a certain sense of disappointment. Nothing made any sense: why would the Emperor lie to her about the dagger – and why would he admit, now, that he had lied about it?

“You look perplexed – I do not wonder at it. You see, I did not want to tell even your father the truth, which is why I sent him with Sathrugnan, to look for our pot-raft.” The Emperor paused. “But you, Sivakami, deserve to know it, I think.”

Sivakami’s puzzlement increased. What sort of truth was the Emperor talking about? And why must she be the only one to know it?

“Sivakami – this dagger was dipped in poison, even as the steel used to forge it was shaped in the furnaces. It was about to be plunged in Maamallan’s unsuspecting back. And the person who was the cause of this great danger – do you know who that was?”

“But Sire – you said that was a lie,” Sivakami faltered, tongue twisting on itself.

“A lie? Oh no, my dear – this dagger was certainly meant for Maamallan. The Pallava Empire was to have suffered the greatest loss it had ever known, that night. But when I said that that catastrophe had been averted by you – that was a lie. Sivakami, you are unlike other, cowardly girls your age – I shall tell you the truth, because you possess a courageous heart. Maamallan, scion of the illustrious Pallava dynasty, Crown Prince of this land – was to have been killed by this dagger, last night. His lifeless corpse would have lain uncared for, underneath this tree. If such a terrible fate never came to pass, it was only because of the endless grace of Lord Shiva, who swallowed the aalakaala poison to save and nurture the word. It was he who saved Maamallan, and the Pallava dynasty from complete annihilation …”

Last night, Sivakami remembered, had been one of the happiest of her life, when Maamallar had sat under this very tree, uttering honeyed words of such love and tenderness that she had been floating in heaven. Her head began to whirl.

“Listen to me, Sivakami. Never, until now, has the Pallava dynasty ever had the good fortune of possessing a warrior such as Maamallan. Never has any Empire depended on its son as much as the Pallava Empire depends on its Crown Prince. And he – such a man – was supposed to have died last night, the victim of a poisoned dagger. I would have lost my son, my only son, for whose birth I prayed to every god in heaven. This Empire would have become defenseless. Kanchi, the beauty that every king lusts after, would have become a widow, colourless, and without a sign of life. Who do you think was responsible for such a heinous thing to come to pass?” Mahendra Pallavar paused, and heaved a great sigh.

“None other than the daughter of my dearest friend, the man whose companionship I value more than life itself. It is you, Sivakami!”

Lightning struck her mind with such force that Sivakami reeled, under its onslaught. A thousand glittering, dazzling beams of light sprang forth, blasting her surroundings in a terrifying wave of sorrow.

2011-10-16T07:17:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 45

THE BIKSHU’SCHANGE OF HEART

Sivakami stood at the front doorof the monastery as Mahendra Pallavar, Aayanar and Sathrugnan made preparationsfor a tour around the rock-strewn landscape of Mandapapattu.

The Emperor happened to glance ather, as though by accident. “Why don’t you come with us, Sivakami?”

As she hesitated, Aayanar pressedforward. “Do come with us, child. There isn’t much you can do here, all alone.”

Swayed by this explanation,Sivakami assented, and set off with the others. Rathi the deer, and SukabrahmaRishi, her parrot, followed her.

***

There was reason enough forSivakami’s wish to stay behind.

When Sivakami rose, havingstashed the insignia within the box, a flicker of saffron caught her eye.Someone stood behind the pillar in the room – and she realized that it was thebikshu.

He had visited the monastery veryearly that morning, staying to speak to them for a while, and leaving only whenvoices were heard outside. “I shall leave by the back door,” he said, and vanished.

Why had he returned now, wonderedSivakami, puzzled. And why stay concealed behind a pillar, anyway?

Had the same incident occurred aday ago, she would have screamed the place down.

But now – now, everything hadchanged, it seemed. Ever since this morning, when she had engaged inconversation with him, her sentiments towards him had seen a swift reversal.Now, her thoughts, when she dwelt on him, were inclined to be much in hisfavour.

There was reason for this changeas well. The bikshu’s heart had, he said, undergone a complete transformation,with regard to the Crown Prince.

“It was an error in judgment,” headmitted. “I listened to people I should not have, believed in senseless talkand branded Maamallar a coward, a man afraid of his own shadow. Now, I feellike I would like to cut my own tongue off, for spouting such nonsense! I sawit all, myself, Sivakami – ah, such valour! They say that Arjuna is the mostcourageous of warriors – but surely that title is more suited to Maamallan, henceforth!How brave, how valiant was he, as he stood alone among a thousand soldiers andwielded his sword so magnificently! He is truly a god among warriors!”

Having praised Maamallar’s skillsin battle, the bikshu went on to shower accolades on his character as well. Notonly had he been mistaken about Maamallar’s bravery, but about his so-calledroving-eye, as well. Nothing could be further from the truth! Maamallar was, infact, a man who never even looked at women, so pure was his heart. He wonderedwho the fortunate princess would be, who would eventually capture thiswarrior’s fancy. As he went on and on, indescribable pleasure coursed throughSivakami. She indeed, was the lucky woman who was now Maamallar’s beloved! Thebikshu was an excellent man, after all. She felt an uncommon amount of goodwilland friendliness towards him.

Aayanar put forth a question, inhis turn: Why had the bikshu vanished without a trace, from Ashokapuram?

“Ah, why do you ask me about sucha sordid tale?” sighed the bikshu. “I claim some little acquaintance withDhurvineedhan of the Ganga country; a staunchBuddhist, you see, and devoted to me as well. Do you remember the olaiGundodharan brought me, that day? It carried the news that Dhurvineedhan wasabout to march towards Kanchi – and I was horrified. How could I let such aterrible thing come to pass? And so I set off at once from the Viharamto put a stop to his mad plans; I even borrowed Gundodharan’s horse for thatvery reason. But I failed in my mission. The Battle at Pullalur had already begun, andDhurvineedhan, the fool, was defeated by brave Maamallan. Who knows where heran away to, or indeed, his present fate?”

The more the bikshu laudedMaamallar’s fair deeds, the more did Sivakami’s delight increase. She was nowin a fair way to think of the bikshu as kindness incarnate. “Swami,couldn’t you possibly stay with us, in Mandapapattu?”

“Impossible, my dear,” answeredthe bikshu. “It is against my very dharma to stay in one place. Besides,southern Thamizh Nadu is no longer an ideal place of residence for Buddhistmonks such as I. The Pandiya king advances with his armies from the South; theChalukyas march from the North, keen on invading this country. All I worriedabout was securing your protection. This little village seems to be as safe aplace as any. Should the beneficent Lord Buddha so will it, I shall see youagain, once this war is over and done with. Aayanar, when next I visit, itshall be with the secret of Ajantha’s paintings. Sivakami – I would giveanything to stay here and spend my days, watching your wonderful dance – butone must be fortunate to be blessed with such good fortune …” the bikshu’svoice trailed away, and the affection in it well nigh melted Sivakami’s heart.

It was around this time thatGundodharan banged on the monastery’s front door. The bikshu rose at once.“Aayanar, it appears that your disciple Gundodharan harbours some sort ofgrudge against me – I hardly know why. He finds the flimsiest of excuse to dragme into some sort of quarrel. You seem to have other visitors, as well. I shallleave by the back-door, shall I?” He turned to Sivakami, and his voice was evenmore tender than usual. “My dear, I wonder when I shall ever see you again? Nomatter. Whatever I do, wherever I go, I shall never forget you. And even if Ido, certainly not your brilliant dance!” He left the next instant.

It astonished Sivakami that theman who had left then, in such hurry, should be back now, hiding behind apillar. Perhaps he wished to speak to her a little more? Whatever his reason,Sivakami thought, it would have to wait until the Emperor left. When sheentered the front room, it must be said that her mood was largely cheerful, andeven delighted, that the bikshu had returned.

The bikshu’s presence within themonastery was, in fact, the real reason for Sivakami’s hesitation in accompanyingthe Emperor. When Aayanar added his pleas, however, she could find no reason torefuse, and set off with them.

The thought lingered in her mindthat the bikshu Naganandhi might stay in the monastery, until she returned.

2011-10-15T21:52:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 44

THE LION INSIGNIA

Mandapapattu did not present quite so festive an appearance, the next day. Despite the well advanced hour, two jaamams past the sun beginning his journey across the skies, not many people could be seen on the streets. Two days of endless merry-making, feasts and adventures, not to mention sleepless nights due to the tumultuous emotions brought upon by its esteemed visitors meant a very jaded set of villagers, post the celebrations. Most homes still had their front doors locked, that morning; the Naavukkarasar monastery was no different.

And yet – one could hear voices from within.

Gundodharan, Sathrugnan and Vajrabahu made their way towards the monastery’s entrance. The younger man banged on the door, and the voices ceased at once.

Sounds of movement within reached them, along with that of doors being opened and closed.

Finally, the door opened, and Aayanar walked out. “Is it you, Gundodhara? Where were you all night? To think we trusted –” He caught sight of Sathrugnan and Vajrabahu. “Who are these?”

“Didn’t I tell you, Master, of two men I met yesterday, who were interested in sculpture and art? I searched for them all night and stumbled upon them at dawn. They wished very much to see you – so here they are,” replied Gundodharan.

“Is that so? You are very welcome, then. Sivakami, my dear, do set the manai out, will you?” called out Aayanar.

Sivakami, who stood just behind Aayanar, hastened to carry out his request. The visitors entered and sat down, along with Aayanar; Sivakami, also pressed to take a seat, steadfastly refused. She much preferred, instead, to gaze at the newcomers avidly.

“Gundodharan did mention your interest in art and sculpture,” Aayanar began, formally. “Where do you hail from?”

“Master, do you really not recognize me?” asked Sathrugnan.

“I am afraid not, my man. Were you my student, at any time?”

“Certainly, Sir. Perhaps you could ask Lady Sivakami? I am sure she remembers me.”

“I do, Appa,” Sivakami volunteered. “He was your student for two or three days, I believe.”

“I seem to bring misfortune upon my own head, often,” mourned Sathrugnan. “You left for Maamallapuram within days of my arrival –”

“And within days of my arrival at Maamallapuram, all work ground to a halt. I do not know why this wretched war ever began, or when it will ever end!” declared Aayanar, with a huge sigh.

“Just a little patience, Aayanar. Everything will be over soon, and you shall take residence, once again, in your beautiful forest home,” assured Vajrabahu.

His voice startled Aayanar. “Who might you be, Ayya?” he queried, staring hard at the man.

“Do you really not recognize me, Aayanar?”

“You do look familiar, but –”

Sivakami chose this moment to approach her father, and whisper into his ear. “It’s the Emperor, Appa. Don’t you recognize him?”

Aayanar listened to her words, struck with amazement, and gazed keenly at Vajrabahu’s face. The next instant, he had risen from his seat. “My Liege – what sort of a disguise is this? Why, I never knew it was you!”

“Indeed, Aayanar, only now do I feel any contentment about my ability
to don a disguise,” said Mahendra Pallavar. “Not even standing in front of Pulikesi and delivering a message to his face afforded me such satisfaction.”

“Pallavendra, when Gundodharan mentioned two men who had looked at the boulders in this village and talked about rock-cut temples, you were the first person who came to my mind,” poured out Aayanar. “No one else except our beloved Emperor, I thought, could even conceive of such glorious things. And it is you! Did you truly come here just to see this poor sculptor? How long it has been, since our last meeting – as though aeons have passed!”

“Aayanar, I may have come to you in disguise – but I have no wish to lie, as well. I came here, not to visit you, but in search of my son Maamallan.”

Sivakami lowered her head, suddenly overcome by bashfulness.

Aayanar stammered a little, at this revelation. “But, Pallavendra, Maamallar left the village last night! Didn’t Gundodharan tell you?”

“Maamallan and Paranjyothi are, doubtless, on their swift way to Kanchi, by now. I merely thought I would pay you a visit, and offer my gratitude for saving my son,” said the Emperor.

“Sire, far from it. We did not save The Crown Prince – rather, it was he who arrived at the right moment, and saved us from drowning in a terrible flood!”

“True – I do know it. But it is also true that you saved him. And when I say you, I mean your daughter, specifically. Here, look at this dagger.” And the Emperor held out the snake-handled knife.

Aayanar and his daughter stared at the murderous instrument, struck by a strange, unexplained sense of terror.

“This dagger was to have been plunged into Maamallan’s unsuspecting back, Aayanar. He escaped such a terrible fate only because Sivakami was by his side.”

Sivakami shuddered. The thought that this evil dagger was to have been thrust into the Lord of her heart was a severe blow; it was as though someone had plunged the dagger into her own heart. That she had been the means of saving him! Exhilaration coursed through her veins. But how had she been the instrument that saved him? The thought puzzled her no end.

“Sire, what is this that you say? Was this dagger meant to kill Maamallar? Good god, who would dare to commit such a heinous act? Why would they? And how did Sivakami save him from it? This is all very mysterious – Sivakami, do you know anything of this?” Aayanar pelted the Emperor with questions.

“It would be quite pointless to ask Sivakami anything – she is unaware of the circumstances. I shall reveal all, when the time comes. In any case, all danger is now past; Maamallan is probably well on his way towards Kanchi – and it is time I made my farewells, as well,” said the Emperor. “Aayanar, you are quite satisfied with Mandapapattu, aren’t you? You would like to stay here until the war ends, wouldn’t you?”

“That is my intention, Sire. The people of this village appear to be extremely interested in the arts. They are kind-hearted as well, and have promised to help me in carving rock-cut temples.”

“I shall do my part as well. I believe I will instruct the Thirukkovilur Kottam Officers to supply you with all the resources, men and tools that you may need, for your work.”

“Would it be possible for you to stay here at least a day, Pallavendra? I should like so much to tour the rock-faces and boulders here, to determine the kind of temples and figurines they would make.”

Mahendra Pallavar gave vent to a laugh. “Aayanar, Vathapi’s forces are within three kaathams of Kanchi, it seems. I must reach the city before them.”

“Is that so?” enquired Aayanar, looking worried. “But isn’t Kanchi more than seven kaathams from here? How will you arrive in time, Sire?”

“That does not worry me. Kannabiraan awaits with my chariot, across the river.”

Sivakami glanced at Aayanar, at this. “I would like to know about Kamali’s health, Appa. Could you ask him?”

“Kamali is very well, my dear. Kannabiraan was very desirous of delivering news about her to you, but it was I who forbade him to do so.”

Sivakami glanced at her father again. “Appa, ask him to send us news once Kamali’s child is born.” Shyness overcame her; for some reason, she found it difficult to even look up into the Emperor’s face.

“As you wish, Sivakami. I shall make arrangements to send you the news. Aayanar – it is time I left? Shall we take a look at your famous rocks and boulders on our way? Would you be able to accompany me?”

“Indeed I shall, Sire,” assented Aayanar. “What else could be more important?”

“Ah, I seem to have forgotten something important,” the Emperor said, and took out a hexagonal insignia, from his shoulder-bag. He displayed it to Aayanar. “Do you recognize this?”

“I do, Sire. It is a Lion Insignia.”

“Yes – and as of now, there are only eleven pieces existent, in the Pallava Empire. I am giving the twelfth piece to you. Keep this in your possession and display it as needed; every officer in the Pallava country will jump to obey your every command when they see it. Any and every fort will open its gates to you. With this, you have the right to meet me and Maamallan at any time you choose. I am entrusting you with this insignia, that it may prove useful to you during these war-torn times. Be very careful indeed – do not use it unless the situation is dire,” warned the Emperor, and handed over the insignia.

Aayanar hesitated. “Sire, why do I, a poor sculptor, need such a thing?”

“Aayanar – there is no wealth that I cherish more, in this Empire, than you and your daughter. Who knows? This insignia might prove useful to you, sometime. Guard it very carefully,” and the Emperor handed it over.

Aayanar, who could find no reason to refuse it after this, received it reverently. “Sivakami, my dear, lock this away in our case, would you?”

Sivakami duly took it, and entered the backroom, to where their belongings were placed. The women of some of the village’s richer families had come together and given her a beautifully decorated box to store her dresses and ornaments; Sivakami opened it and stowed the insignia safely into it.

Someone stood behind a pillar in the room, minutely watching Sivakami put away the insignia in her box.

It was Naganandhi.

2011-10-13T22:54:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 43

“WHO IS THE BIKSHU?”

Even the Emperor’s sharp commandto tell him the whereabouts of the bikshu could not quite keep Gundodharan fromshivering from the scare of the poisoned dagger.

“I – I locked him inside thetemple’s madaippalli, Sire,” he stammered.

“Excellent. We should be on ourway, then. Come, lead us to the village,” answered the Emperor.

“Sire, must we?” observedSathrugnan, his voice filled with worry. “Our work here is done, after all.Gundodharan can take care of the bikshu the way he should be. We would dobetter to be on our way.”

“Not really, Sathrugna. Something else needs to be done, something that is far moreimportant than just halting the Vathapi invasion,” the Emperor countered.“Imprisoning the traitor Dhurvineedhan was no great task – but capturingNaganandhi is. If we accomplish this, we would have almost won the war.”

“If that was truly the case,Sire, why wait so long to capture him? We could have done this at Aayanar’shome!”

“There were certain tasks that Ineeded accomplished; it was necessary for the bikshu to have his freedom allthis while. Leaving him out and about anymore would lead to disaster.”

“Sire, consign the bikshu to us;Gundodharan and I will take care of him. Please leave right away. Kannabiraanawaits your arrival, with your chariot on the opposite shore.”

“I am afraid not, Sathrugna. Thisis a task of such delicacy that I dare not entrust it even to your capablehands,” said the Emperor. “Gundodhara, lead the way!”

Sathrugnan said no more. The triomade their way swiftly across the boulder-strewn landscape; by the time dawnbroke over the heavens, they had breached Mandapapattu’s boundaries, andtouched upon the temple walls. Jumping inside the sacred precincts was an easytask, and they approached the madaippalli without difficulty.

It was with some pride thatGundodharan walked to the door, and unlocked it. The three men entered the room– to find it empty.

They looked into every corner,but found nothing. When they directed their gazes upwards, they found a fewstrategically placed tiles removed from the roof. Obviously, this was how thebikshu had made his escape.

“I suspected as much,” commentedMahendra Pallavar. “Now do you see why I did not trust you with the taskof imprisoning the bikshu?”

“Did you listen to the Emperor’swords, Gundodhara? You’ve brought down unimaginable disgrace on the heads ofall Pallava Spies,” Sathrugnan voiced his displeasure.

“Master, I shall make sure that Iatone for it, completely. Please entrust the snake-handled dagger to me. Thebikshu ought to still be within the village. Should I not find him within thespace of a day and thrust this dagger in his treacherous heart, I shall plungeit into myself, and end my life!” vowed Gundodharan.

Even as Sathrugnan made as if tohand the knife to Gundodharan, Mahendra Pallavar intervened, and tookpossession of it.

“Kindly do not make such sillypledges in the future, Gundodhara,” the Emperor admonished. “You could notpossibly plunge this dagger into the bikshu. His body is as hard as vajram– all you would accomplish is perhaps denting it. And if, by some miracle, youdid thrust it into him, it would have no effect. The poison in this blade isincapable of affecting him.”

“But – how could that possiblybe, Sire?” queried Sathrugnan. “Is the bikshu a magician, perhaps? Is itpossible that even you have begun to believe in such tricks?”

“Magic and sleight-of-hand?Absolutely not. But poison cannot counter, poison, can it? The blood that runsin the bikshu’s veins is tainted with venom. That great man has spent yearsingesting so many poisonous herbs, that his very body is now a fatal object!”

“Ayyo, how horrible!”exclaimed Sathrugnan.

“The moment the bikshu arrives atany place, poisonous snakes will slither away in fear, at his mere presence.”

“I have seen such things too,”Gundodharan shuddered. “Only now do I know the reason for it!”

“Do you remember the terrible,snake-infested cave we found on the banks of the Kedila River,Sathrugna?”

“Indeed, Sire, how could Iforget?”

“Did you ever discover itssecret?”

“I tried very hard, Sire – butno, I could not.”

“I shall unveil its terriblemotive. Should it prove impossible to take the city by force, its purpose wouldbe to release poison into Kanchi’s drinking-water canals.”

“Good god – such vengeance, suchfury!” said Sathrugnan, clearly horrified. “And all this in the name of LordBuddha, who is graciousness personified. I can scarcely believe it!”

“Unbelievable, yes – but then,the bikshu is not really one, is he? The monk merely happens to be an excellentspy, wearing saffron-clothes and using Buddhist sangams for his ownnefarious purposes.”

“And yet, you ordered us not tokill such a rogue, a traitor who would stop at nothing to achieve his ends.”

“No purpose would be served inkilling him. If we could imprison him, however – ah, he would prove to be anexcellent bargaining tool, in our war against Pulikesi.”

“Sire, who is the bikshu?”asked Sathrugnan.

“I have my suspicions, but more Icannot tell you – not until I can confirm certain facts for myself. Sathrugna,you and your disciple have done a great many things for this Empire – but whatI am about to trust you to do, is far greater than what you have everaccomplished. Should you carry out my instructions to the letter, we shallemerge victorious. What do you say?”

“Your wish is our command, YourMajesty. We shall be honoured to do so.”

Dawn spread her bright, sunlitfingers over the skies. Panneer flowers, blossoming on the tree branches,unfurled their soft petals, their delicate perfume filling the air.

The moon, thus far a golden orb,had lost his brilliance, and assumed the hue of a white, translucent lotus, andwas sinking fast to the west.

In the light of an early sun, anda fresh, pleasant morning, Mahendra Pallavar sat down on the steps of the temple madaippalli,and bade Sathrugnan and Gundodharan take their places beside him.

He began to describe his plansfor them – and the spies gave all their attention to him.

2011-10-12T10:39:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 42

THE POISONED DAGGER

“Careful, Sathrugna!”

The sudden warning stopped the spy in his tracks, as he stretched out a hand to take the knife. “Handle the blade with great caution,” warned Mahendra Pallavar, still in the guise as Vajrabahu. “How careless of you, Gundodhara, to carry it about in our waistband! That thing need not enter your heart to kill – all that is needed is a pin-prick from its tip. The poison would have entered your bloodstream, and you would have been dead in the space of a muhurtham.”

“Ayyo!” exclaimed Gundodharan.

“Be that it as it may – tell me quickly, where did you leave the bikshu?”

“God be praised,” Gundodharan shuddered, not answering the Emperor’s question.

“God be praised indeed!” barked Sathrugnan, looking furious. “His Grace is the reason your deplorable tardiness hasn’t compromised our mission. By rights, we ought to have been halfway to Kanchi, by now. Answer Pallavendrar without wasting any more of his time!”

Gundodharan, it seemed, had not quite recovered from his recent scare, yet. “What – what must I tell him?” he quavered. His body still shook.

“Damn it all – what has come over you today, Gundodhara? Answer the Emperor at once, or this dagger enters your chest!” Sathrugnan raised his hand.

“Master, it hardly matters if I, an insignificant human, die of a knife-attack,” answered Gundodharan. “But truly, it is the Grace of the Lord with the Blue Throat that the Crown Prince escaped its poison!”

“What!” Even Mahendra Pallavar, the man with the heart of a lion, was badly shaken at this pronouncement. “Was this poisoned dagger meant for Maamallan?”

“Yes, My Liege. I spied the bikshu take aim at our Prince’s back at least five or six times, with this very knife – yet I stayed silent, because of your command. Or else –” and Gundodharan ground his teeth with barely controlled fury.

***

Indeed, it is the bounty of an eternity of penances done by Thamizhagam, the result of God’s Grace, that Prince Narasimha Varmar did not fall prey to a poisoned blade, that night.

Even as Maamallar and Sivakami sat under the Magizham tree, lost in the exchange of hearts through honeyed Thamizh words and soft, velvety glances, the bikshu stood concealed behind their boulder, aiming the poisoned dagger at the Prince. However, hesitation crept over him. Perhaps it was the sight of Sivakami, beside the Prince, that stayed him? Was it the thought of the knife inadvertently piercing her, that stopped him from throwing it?

That was when a cobra, the ornament most favoured by Lord Shiva, slithered over the rocks. Sivakami and Maamallar left their shadowed seats, and sat down on boulders that were completely in the open, drenched by the light of a pearly moon.

The bikshu promptly sought another hiding place, and concealed himself.

Gundodharan, watching the scene unfold from behind another boulder, felt the unquenchable urge to creep up behind the bikshu, and strangle him to a slow, torturous death. He throttled down this desire and stayed in his place – in obedience to Emperor Mahendra Pallavar’s strict orders.

That evening, as the Emperor, Sathrugnan and Gundodharan crossed the Varaha River in their make-shift raft, they had spotted the bikshu standing atop a boulder on the opposite banks, peering around the area.

The Emperor turned to Gundodharan. “I am now about to entrust to you, a mission that is more important than anything you have carried out, so far. Listen very carefully. There is no room for even the smallest error. Follow this bikshu every single moment, Gundodhara. Never let him out of your sight. Never let him suspect that you are his shadow. Sathrugnan and I have something that needs to be done on the opposite bank; we will return to this spot when we are done, and wait for you. Meet us here when the moon is directly overhead, and inform us what you learnt about the bikshu’s movements. Remember: you must never let him suspect that you are following him; never appear in his eyesight –”

The Emperor paused. “Understood, Gundodhara? Will you carry out my instructions faithfully?”

“I will, Sire,” promised the younger man, and set his sights on the bikshu.

This was why Gundodharan had not acted upon his desire to throttle the bikshu, and tamped down on his anger.

When Aayanar, Sivakami and Maamallar had left the boulder-strewn area, and walked back to the village, the bikshu followed them, concealing himself behind bushes and trees on the path. Unbeknownst to him, so did Gundodharan.

Didn’t we see Aayanar offer to learn about the men thronging the temple, when the trio reached the village? The few minutes alone offered Sivakami and Maamallar another opportunity to exchange sweet glances, and renew their pledge to each other. The couple stood under a tree, very near a corner of the temple wall. At the other end stood the bikshu, concealed – and had another opportunity to aim the dagger. He did not, however, have an opportunity to actually throw it. The reason? Sivakami was in his line of sight, and Maamallar stood beyond her. The bikshu waited for the moment they would change places.

Gundodharan watched the scene unfold, from within a small, fenced garden that lay directly opposite the temple. Every instinct in him yearned to stop the bikshu as he saw the monk aim his dagger again and again.

Just as he decided that he could wait no more and was about to spring on the bikshu, a sudden movement stopped him. Commander Paranjyothi and his men had seen the Crown Prince, and were even now hastening towards him.

The bikshu slunk back.

Gundodharan watched as Paranjyothi towed the Prince away, and Aayanar and Sivakami as they followed. A while later, he also caught sight of the bikshu approach the temple wall slowly, and stand underneath it. And then, the monk did something completely unexpected.

He grabbed hold of the tree branches that spread over the wall, heaved himself up on it, and jumped into the temple precincts.

The next instant, Gundodharan stood under the tree, by the temple wall, where the bikshu had been a moment ago. He cast his eyes around – and his heart leapt into his mouth.

A little distance away, a small snake seemed to be slithering away.

Gundodharan jumped back in alarm, and stared at the snake. Surprise filled him, for it had not moved at all. He looked keenly at it – and then gave a relieved chuckle. For it was not a snake at all, but a small dagger, with a handle intricately carved to resemble a cobra. Gundodharan swiftly secreted it into the folds of his waistband, and craned his neck above, searching for a way up the wall.

The rustle of tree branches from beyond the wall reached him. A sudden suspicion darted in Gundodharan’s mind, and he slipped back into the darkness. The next moment, the bikshu’s head appeared above the wall. It did not take long for the bikshu to scale it, and jump lightly down to the ground. At once, he bent down and peered around him, as though searching for something.

Gundodharan, who had a good idea of what the bikshu was looking for, took the opportunity to clamber stealthily over the wall, and jump down on the other side. He found that he had landed beside the madaippalli, the temple’s kitchens. He slid behind the building, concealing himself.

A while later, the bikshu climbed into the temple again, and began to search the ground underneath the panneer tree, by the wall.

The search was obviously fruitless; the bikshu stood straight, exhaling sharply. It sounded like the hiss of a fearsome cobra in the silent night. Even the usually intrepid Gundodharan shuddered at the sound.

The bikshu spent some time alternating between standing under the panneer tree, and pacing the stone-paved corridor. From time to time, he looked out as well.

Shouts of jubilation, war cries and assorted snatches of loud conversation from the assembled villagers combined to form an uproar beyond the wall, rising and falling by turns.

It was almost midnight, by the time the commotion subsided, and the doors guarding the sanctum sanctorum were firmly locked and barred. The bikshu Naganandhi rose from his place under the tree, and began pacing the long praharam.

The monk noted that the madaippalli’s doors stood open; Gundodharan saw him slip inside.

He made his decision in an instant. He slipped on silent feet towards the madaippalli, closed the door, locked and barred it from the outside as quietly as he could.

His job done, Gundodharan clambered over the temple wall outside, and hastened towards the Varaha River, where boats waited in readiness to take Maamallar and Paranjyothi to the opposite banks.

We saw, in the previous episode, that he reached the banks just in time to see the Prince and his company leave Mandapapattu.

2011-10-09T23:45:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 41

A MIRACLE OF SURVIVAL

As Sivakami stood on the banks of the river, eyes firmly fixed on the boats rowing away, Aayanar’s ears caught the sound of someone huffing and grunting towards him. He turned. “Gundodhara, my boy! Where were you, all this time?”

“Don’t even ask me, Ayya! I began my journey here immediately after I’d informed Commander Paranjyothi and his men of Prince Maamallar’s whereabouts. I fully intended to reach here before the Commander could get a few boats for his journey. But when I came to the banks – I couldn’t find the pot-raft I came in! In the dim evening light, I could see a shadowy figure guiding it over the river, to the opposite bank. I guessed it must be a Buddhist monk, from his shaven head and saffron robes. I wondered if it was our Naganandhi, and even called out to him, but he didn’t answer. I was furious! I gathered every ounce of strength I had and began yelling every abuse I could find at all the saffron-clothed monks in the world. I was so loud that two men, walking by, even stopped to ask me what the matter was. I told them about my mishap – and it turned out that they too, were searching for Naganandhi. The three of us found what sticks, vines and planks we could, built a make-shift raft and somehow, rowed ourselves to the opposite shore. I ran to the monastery as soon as I set foot on land, but I found that Maamallar had just left, and that you had accompanied him to send him off. When I scrambled to reach the shore, I found that they’d all gotten into boats and rowed away moments ago! Ayya, no matter what you do, never trust royals! After everything I’ve done for him, he left without a word to me! Did he even think about how I would feel? Is this the way you treat a man you’ve taken as your bosom friend, for three whole days?”

“How true,” muttered Sivakami, who had been listening to this breathless speech with half an ear. “Never trust royals, indeed.”

Aayanar interjected, at this point. “Be that as it may, Gundodhara – do you really mean to say that Naganandhi came to this little village? Why did I never catch sight of him?”

“Does a cobra ever show itself to others? It probably slinks away into a hole in the ground,” offered Gundodharan.

“Don’t say such things about your elders and betters,” chided Aayanar. “Naganandhi is a great man, a visionary. If it were true that he did come here, I would be very happy, indeed. He would give me excellent suggestions to carve up the rocks here.” He paused. “You said two other men were in search of him too, didn’t you? Who were they?”

“Gurunatha, it appeared that they were intensely interested in sculptures as well! We landed in our makeshift raft at the same place out pot-raft crashed, a few days ago. Do you know what one of the men said, when he saw these boulders? “What wonderful temples could be carved from these rock-faces!” he exclaimed, just as you did. I was taken aback by surprise. I mentioned that my teacher had said the same thing. He asked who my guru was, and when I said your name, he was intensely surprised. It seems he knew you quite well, Master!”

“Who might he be? As far as I know, there is only person who could think of temples when he saw rock-faces – and there is no chance of him being here,” wondered Aayanar. “Who else would think the same way?”

“They’re probably resting at some place along these very banks. I shall rout them out and bring them to you,” promised Gundodharan. “Please go ahead, Master!”

By this time, the boats had crossed more than halfway across the Varaha river, and Mandapapattu’s villagers began to murmur amongst themselves. “Shall we leave, then?" and began the trek homewards. Aayanar and Sivakami walked abreast of them.

Many were the admiring conversations that fell on Sivakami’s eager ears, centred around Maamallar’s excellent characteristics, his bravery, humility, and the deep friendship that existed between him and Paranjyothi, on the return home. To a heart parched and arid, upon the separation of her beloved, these snatches of talk proved to be welcome raindrops on a sun-bleached desert.

***

Gundodharan, who had soon parted ways with Aayanar and the villagers on their way back to the village, wandered along, peering intently here and there, in the pale light of the moon. His progress slowed when he neared a profusion of boulders, as he looked carefully, in front and behind him.

Abruptly, two men appeared from behind a boulder. Gundodharan stopped, amazed. Once he recognized them, he folded his hands in respect.

“Where on earth have you been, Gundodhara? You left us waiting here for hours! We wondered if you were even alive, or had made an abrupt journey to Yamalokham,” exclaimed the Espionage Chief, Sathrugnan.

“Master, you speak truly. If I am alive, it is because of some good deed you performed, on my behalf. By rights, I should indeed be a resident of Yamalokham, this day!” replied Gundodharan. He extended his hand.

In it lay a small dagger, glinting in the moonlight. Its handle was an intricately carved snake.

Glossary:

Yamalokham: The abode of Yama, the God of Death, according to Hindu mythology.

2011-10-08T00:11:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 40

AN ARGUMENT

The moon shone its pearly-white rays onto the earth, turning midnight into bright day. The boats rowed across the river and reached the opposite banks.

Maamallar did not speak a word during this journey. Over-flowing with the satisfaction of a love fulfilled, his heart preferred to wander in a perfect dream-world.

Once the war was at an end – once he had destroyed the venomous Vathapi forces and worn the vaagai garland on his shoulders, a sign of his victory – he would spend many, many happy days in Kanchi, with his beloved Sivakami by his side. On a radiant, moonlit night such as this, he would take her with him on the river Paalaaru in a boat, and their days would be filled with the delight of love and companionship.

The boat landed on shore with a thud – and Maamallar, too, arrived on earth from his fantasy world. His eyes fell on the rishaba flag at a little distance, fluttering in the breeze, and the Pallava army gathered around it. A great many of the soldiers who had accompanied him at first were now part of the contingent, and his heart swelled with delight at the sight of them.

Suddenly, he was reminded of someone he had not seen, for a while. “Commander, where is Kannabiraan?” he asked, as he climbed out of the boat. “Didn’t he want to come with you?”

“Of course he did,” affirmed Commander Paranjyothi. “But I told him to stay here and feed the horses. We’ll have to travel six kaadhams at a stretch, won’t we?”

As they approached the Pallava forces, jubilant shouts of “Long live the Crown Prince!” and “Long live Maamallar the Valiant!” rose from a thousand throats and echoed around them.

One warrior among those present, stepped forward.

“Varathunga, what news?” asked Paranjyothi.

“Sometime after you left the camp, two soldiers arrived on horseback. They took Kannabiraan and his chariot with them along with ten soldiers, and left –”

“What?” exclaimed Paranjyothi, in consternation. “They took Kannabiraan with them?”

“Yes, Commander. They said that they were on an urgent mission to Kanchi –”

“And who were these soldiers?”

Varathungan hesitated. “One of them gave his name as Vajrabahu. The other was the Espionage Chief of the Pallavas, Sathrugnan. I sent Kannabiraan and the soldiers they needed because they showed me the lion insignia. Here is the videl-vidugu they gave me, to be shown to the Commander.” He handed a palm-leaf to Paranjyothi.

At the mention of “Vajrabahu,” Paranjyothi and Maamallar shared a covert glance. Both realized that the Pallava Emperor had just paid the camp a visit.

Paranjyothi received the palm-leaf in a hurry and read it under the moonlight. It carried the following message:

“To the Pallava Commander Paranjyothi, from Mahendra Potharaiyan: I am well. Dhurvineedhan has been imprisoned in the Mazhavarayar Fort. I hear that the Vathapi forces have progressed beyond Thirupathi. Depart for Kanchi with Maamallan, without a moment’s pause. Should Maamallan refuse to accompany you, show him this message, imprison him, and bring him to Kanchi.”

A vidai-vel insignia was etched underneath these words. Below, the message continued:

“If, by some mischance, the fortress gates are closed at the time of your arrival, kindly meditate upon the endless grace and bounty of Lord Buddha.”

When Paranjyothi finished reading, he passed the palm-leaves to Maamallar, who read it in his turn, and returned them to the Commander.

“Well, Scion of the Pallava dynasty? Prepared to come with us without protest?” asked Paranjyothi gaily. “Or must I give an order to imprison you?”

“Indeed you must,” said Maamallar, removing the ornaments around his neck, and throwing away the sword strapped to his waist. “Far better to be your prisoner in this country, where warriors stay within the fort and avoid their enemies like cowards.”

Instantly, Paranjyothi threw his head-dress and sword to the ground as well. “I too, refuse to continue as Commander of the Pallava forces. Why would I wish to fight for the honour of a Prince who leaves his men in the lurch, and follows a dancing-girl, pleading for her love? I may as well chant Nama Parvathi Pathaye! Hara Hara Mahadeva! and go on a pilgrimage in the country. I’m leaving right away. You and your precious armies may drown themselves, for all I care!”

Maamallar stared at the ground for long minutes. He looked up at the sky for a few more.

“Let us leave right away, Commander. This is not the time to quarrel amongst ourselves, after all,” he said, finally. “Our enemies are approaching Kanchi by the second. If we can’t defend her, what’s the point of our being called warriors, holding weapons in our hands? I shall petition my father not to close the fortress doors, and to meet our foes in battle outside the city. You’ll support me, won’t you?”

Paranjyothi spent a moment in thought. “My Lord – Emperor Mahendra Pallavar is your beloved father. You may ask, cajole or fight with him over anything. You are his son, and you have the right to do so. But the Pallavendra isn’t just my father, my Emperor and Commander – he’s my God. His will is my command. I can’t say or do anything to countermand his wishes – I don’t wish to, either. But if you do gain your father’s permission to fight our enemies outside the city, then know that I will be a step ahead of you. As long as my body holds a spark of life, I swear that I shall never renege on this promise!”

The two friends climbed horses that stood saddled and ready for travel, and galloped away to Kalviyil Karaiyillaa Kanchi, the peerless City of Learning.

Glossary:

Videl-Vidugu: A combination of three Thamizh words: Vidai (Rishaba, or Bull) – Vel (Spear) and Vidugu (Missive). These were usually used on high-profile missions in the Pallava Empire, to convey information to those in positions of authority.

Kalviyil Karaiyilla Kanchi: A phrase that is used to describe the endless avenues of learning that Kanchipuram possessed. Literally, “A city that has no end to learning.”

How Vathapi's Ganapathi came to Thamizh Nadu

2011-09-02T21:23:00.000-07:00

Vinayakar Chathurthi might be two days past, but the Elephant-God and Kalki are subjects that cam be discussed and explored at all times of the year. As a Festival Special, I bring to you this excerpt from Sivagamiyin Sabadham, Volume 4, and Paranjyothi’s first meeting with Vathapi’s illustrious Lord Ganapathi. This is Kalki’s imaginative account of how Ganapathi might have travelled from the Chalukya capital Vathapi to Thamizh Nadu.

A nandri to Vijay Kumar, fellow Kalki and history enthusiast, who suggested posting it.

Chapter 35

Vathapi Ganapathi

[The Pallava Army has camped outside the fortress walls of Vathapi. Commander Paranjyothi and Emperor Narasimha Pallavar’s great friendship has undergone tremendous strain; the Emperor is not really impressed with Paranjyothi’s tactic of waiting for three days and planning strategies for an assault. Paranjyothi, however, has his reasons. Still, he is disconsolate at the idea that the Emperor no longer sees him as a close friend, and has begun favouring the Ilangai King. He is wandering around the Vathapi fort on horseback, reflecting sorrowfully about these things, when he makes the acquaintance of an important personage.]

Lost in his thoughts, Paranjyothi cantered slowly around the fort, on his horse. He stopped, at the noise emanating from behind the fort walls. Hitherto, the interior of the fort had always been clothed in deep silence, which made the present noise surprising. Feeling the tumult in his heart rise, Paranjyothi trotted back to the front entrance of the fort, and halted.

If the Pallava forces were to make any headway in the invasion of Vathapi, this, the fort’s front entrance was where they would have to strike hard. This was the only way a thousand Pallava soldiers could enter the fort at the same time. Every single decision had been made and strategy worked out; yet Paranjyothi wished to survey the entrance one last time before the command could be given to the Pallava war elephants to batter down the gates. Accordingly, he climbed down from his horse and approached them.

The closer he came, the more did the marvelously carved sculptures on the fort walls entice him. One of them was a sculpture of Lord Ganapathi.

Paranjyothi stood in front of the deity, folded his hands and prayed. “Lord Vinayaka! He Who Destroys all Obstacles! Grant that our mission to Vathapi is successful. That Lady Sivakami, Aayanr’s daughter is safe, and that we may return her to her father without any harm to her. Grant me this boon, Lord, and I will make sure that when we storm this fort, you are unharmed. I shall take you back to my village, install you there in a temple, and make sure you are worshipped with pomp and glory every single day.”

The moment he finished, he noticed the Pallava warriors stationed a little further from the gates caught up in a flurry of excitement. They were gazing at something above the fort’s walls, right at the top, and shouting at it. As Paranjyothi glanced at the warriors in puzzlement, one of them shouted back: “Commander – the white flag has been taken down!”

[The war begins.]

***

Chapter 47

Siruthondar

[The invasion of Vathapi has been successful. At the Pallava camp, discussions are in progress about how the loot from Vathapi will be distributed amongst those who were instrumental in bringing it about.]

Finally, Emperor Narasimha Pallavar turned to Paranjyothi. “My friend, Kanchi owes this magnificent victory to you – so it’s only fair that the riches collected from this invasion come to you as well. We have managed to amass 30,000 elephants, 60,000 horses, so many precious gems that even Kanchi’s fortress cannot hold them all, gold and silver, and so much more. You must take at least a portion of this wealth. I insist. I have decided that you must have at least 5000 elephants, 10,000 horses and all the gold and gems they can hold –”

Paranjyothi interrupted him. “Forgive me, Pallavendra, but what I require the most is just a place in your heart. I wish for only one more thing – and it too, happens to be something from Vathapi.”

“Indeed?” Maamallar looked at him in astonishment. “And what would that be?”

“Here it is,” Paranjyothi said, as four soldiers arrived, bearing a covered palanquin, and set it down. Within, was the Vinayaka statuette we saw, earlier.

Paranjyothi explained about his prayer to the Remover of Obstacles, and how he had promised to install the deity in his hometown of Thiruchettaangudi, once the war was over. This was the only gift he desired, and nothing else.

There was no choice left to Maamallar but to give him his own way. He did insist however, on sending 2 elephants, 12 horses and 100 warriors, as his erstwhile commander left on his tour of holy lands, an offer which Paranjyothi accepted.

[It is here that Paranjyothi renounces his position as Kanchi's Commander, and takes on the robes of a devotee of Siva. From this point, he is known as Siruthondar.]

Notes:

1. Here's a link to a YouTube video on the Thiruchengattankudi Temple. It covers a lot of some kind of homam/poojai, but you can see Ganapathi himself, too.

2. Found this interesting post which, I think, is a translation of parts of Deivathin Kural, which deal specifically with Siruthondar, Vathapi Ganapathi and Thiruchengattankudi Temple.

2011-08-28T01:59:00.000-07:00

Note to Self: Must. Not. Be. Late. Next. Time.

CHAPTER 39

“LAUNCH THE BOAT!”

Commander Paranjyothi pushed the crowding men behind him, and hastened towards the Crown Prince, folding his hands in respect. “My Lord, what’s this that you have done? We were frantic with worry!”

Maamallar stepped forward and folded his friend in an eager embrace. “I have worried you, haven’t I? What happened to you? Did the floods cause much distress among our armies?” he asked, worried.

“By the grace of the Lord who wields the soolam, we were warned in time. There was no loss of life,” Paranjyothi answered. “But there is much that I must discuss with you. Shall we go into this temple for a while?”

As the two men linked arms and entered the sacred precincts with a spring in their steps, through its entrance under the main gopuram, armed guards formed a line behind them, pushing back eager villagers who tried to follow the duo into the temple, or jostled forward to get a glimpse of them.

From a distance, Sivakami watched Prince and Commander, as they fell into enthusiastic conversation and moved away. She stood under the deep shadows of the tree; no one had noticed her presence.

Distress filled her heart, suffocating in its intensity.

Aayanar, Rathi and Sukar were the only ones to return to her. Sivakami caressed the parrot and deer, as though affirming that they were her only real friends.

They waited until the uproar around the temple abated a little, and retreated towards the monastery. Their path took them slightly near the temple entrance, and Sivakami could not help but overhear some of the villagers’ conversations.

“The Crown Prince really took us in, didn’t he?”

“I did tell you right away that his face practically shone with a royal glow! Did you really think him a common sculptor?”

“Like father, like son. Both seem to excel at disguising themselves, don’t they?”

“Is it true that he was caught in the floods, trying to save Aayanar and his family?”

“I call that taking things too far. He might think a great deal of them, but to risk a drowning just to save them –! That’s too much. What if something had happened to him? What would become of the Pallava Empire, then?”

“Is it true that Commander Paranjyothi is a greater warrior than Maamallar?”

“Absolutely not. They’re equals!”

“Who says so? There is no one to equal Maamallar in the battlefield, let me tell you. Paranjyothi has gained a reputation only because the Emperor took him with to battle. But Maamallar’s first taste of war was at Pullalur, wasn’t it? Where was Paranjyothi’s valour then? Didn’t Maamallar throw him completely into the shade?”

“They’re such close friends that no one brings up the differences between them. Why should we?”

“No matter – they shouldn’t leave, either of them, without a feast at our village!”

Unimaginable pride and inexplicable misery filled Sivakami’s heart, by turns, at these speeches. Slowly, she walked back to the monastery.

Maamallar and Paranjyothi acceded graciously to the villager’s fervent requests, and sat down, with their men, to a feast hastily prepared in their honour. By the time the festivities came to an end, the hour had advanced far beyond midnight. The villagers pressed their guests to stay until at least dawn – to no avail. It was deemed absolutely necessary to start at once.

Maamallar returned to the monastery before he set out, to take his leave of Aayanar and his daughter.

“Aayanar, it breaks my heart to leave you – but there seems to be nothing I can do,” explained the Crown Prince. “Pulikesi’s armies are fast approaching Kanchi. The Emperor has sent for us at once.”

Aayanar, who cherished enormous affection and admiration for the young Prince, remonstrated at once. “It is a sign of your regard for us that you have stayed here so long, Your Highness. More, we cannot hope for – and it would not fair to you, either. Go, with our wishes. May we accompany you as far as the river banks?”

“Not necessary at all, Aayanar. But if you wish to, please do,” replied Maamallar. He looked at Sivakami as he spoke. Her gaze, however, appeared to be settled elsewhere.

A strange and intractable curtain seemed to have descended between the unique lovers.

***

The night had progressed well into the third jaamam; the moon glowed palely, sunk to the edge of the horizon. Paranjyothi and Maamallar climbed into boats that floated on the waters of the River Varaha, prepared for journey.

Aayanar, Sivakami and the rest of the village stood on its banks. Gundodharan, who had vanished for hours on some hitherto undisclosed errand, had hald-run, half-walked towards the village and now stood behind them.

It meant, of course, that Maamallar and Sivakami would have no opportunity to take their leave of each other on the banks either. Once he had climbed into the boat, the Crown Prince directed a keen glance at Sivakami.

She looked up at him at that precise moment, eyes brimming with eagerness.

Countless emotions bubbled up from within Maamallar’s heart. His lips trembled with the desire to speak – but not a word came out.

Commander Paranjyothi’s voice rang out. “Launch the boats!”

Sivakami watched the boats rowing away.

To her, it seemed as though they carried every drop of her life's happiness, far, far away.

2011-07-04T04:33:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 38

“AS THE MOON IS MY WITNESS …”

When, well into the night, Maamallar, Aayanar and Sivakami finally returned to the village proper, they found a large crowd gathered in front of the Naavukkarasar monastery.

Something gleamed dully in the pearly-white radiance of the moon, amidst the milling crowd. Swords, javelins and spears.

The three immediately pressed themselves by the side of the temple wall, at the edge of the street, feeling vaguely uneasy. Who on earth could be the soldiers who had suddenly entered the village?

Maamallar and Gundodharan had indulged in a minor argument that morning. Now that the flood-waters had receded, the Prince was of the firm opinion that everything needed to be set in motion again. They would require a pot-raft; Gundodharan must row him across to the opposite bank and return. He, Maamallar, would journey to Kanchi, while Gundodharan himself would stay behind in Mandapapattu, as companion and general factotum to both Sivakami and Aayanar.

Gundodharan disagreed vehemently. He would journey to the opposite bank in Maamallar’s stead, he argued, and learn about the Pallava army’s fate; they would then decide upon a future course of action.

Maamallar agreed. He would, after all, have the opportunity of spending another day in Sivakami’s company.

Still, his mind seethed with conjectures and confusion all through the day. As evening drew closer, his heart was seized with nervousness. Why hadn’t Gundodharan returned yet? How many more days must he idle here, doing nothing?

Even as he sat on Mandapapattu’s boulders, conversing with Sivakami, drenched in the beautifully radiant moonlight, his thoughts kept wandering to his army, Gundodharan, and whatever news he might have brought with him.

***

Watching swords and spears glittering in the moonlight by Mandapapattu’s temple wall, Maamallar’s mind resounded with questions: Who were these men? Were they enemies? Or did they belong to the Pallava army? If so, did they know of Maamallar’s presence in the village – and was that why they were here? But then, they would set up a jubilant shout if they saw him, wouldn’t they? And then the villagers would know his true identity …

Aayanar, who had divined Maamallar’ state of mind more or less, came forward. “My Lord, please stay here with Sivakami. I shall find out who these men are, and their purpose here.” He walked forward.

Sivakami and Maamallar withdrew under the sprawling branches of the Mandhara tree, reaching out skywards from within the precincts of the temple. The Prince sharpened his ears, listening to the chattering men. Commander Paranjyothi’s clear, bell-like tones dominated the rest of the clamouring voices. The villagers, it seemed, were all answering him at the same time. And squawking shrilly amongst them all was the parrot Sukabrahma Rishi: “Maamalla! Maamalla!”

In an instant, the Crown Prince’s hesitation vanished. “Why, it’s our Paranjyothi! All must be well, then. Come, Sivakami, let’s join him!”

He began to step out with enthusiasm from under the tree, when Sivakami placed her hand gently, on his. “My Lord?”

In the light of the milky-white moonbeams that dappled the ground, between the branches of the Mandhara tree, Maamallar noticed teardrops, glistening like pearls, hovering on Sivakami’s lashes.

“My dearest,” he drew in a harsh breath. “What is this?” He shook out the folds of his angavasthram, and wiped her eyes gently.

“The moment you heard the voice of your Commander, I became unimportant, didn’t I?” Sivakami sobbed.

Since this had been the last thought on Maamallar’s mind, her words, not unnaturally, stupefied him. “My heart, why do you say such things? Weren’t you the one who said that I was meant to be a warrior, and promised to send me to the battlefield like a true, brave warrior-wife? How will I ever find the courage to go to battle, if you shed tears every time I leave?” He placed a hand under her chin and raised it gently towards him. The moon’s rays fell directly on Sivakami’s face, turning her naturally golden complexion into delicate, translucent ivory.

She removed his hand from her chin, folded it within her own and held it to her eyes, drenching it with her tears. “I don’t – somehow, My Lord, my heart is seized with great fear. I’m afraid that the happiest days of my life are behind me – that I shall never experience this contentment, again. My Lord – you won’t forget me, will you? Not when you’re destroying your foes in the battlefield, seated on your magnificent elephant? Not when you’re seated on your bejeweled throne, holding sway as the Pallava Emperor? You will spare a thought for this poor little sculptor’s daughter, won’t you?”

Maamallar raised a hand to the full moon. “Sivakami – as the beautiful moon sailing in the heavens is my witness, hear my words: I see no point in swearing that I will never forget you – that would be an impossible task, even if I did wish to. There can be only one reason for why you’re seized with this unknown terror – perhaps I shall lose my life in battle –”

“Ayyo! Don’t – don’t say that!” Sivakami half-sobbed. “That will never happen!”

“If it doesn’t, then there’s no question of my ever forgetting you,” Maamallar soothed. “When this war is over, Sivakami, and I take my place, at last, on the mighty throne of the Pallava Empire, you too, shall be my side. But when I leave for the battlefield, I can hope for but one of two ends: death, or victory. And if I must lose my life in battle, Sivakami – what of it? Our love isn’t just the fleeting attraction of just this life, is it? Certainly not! If I’m mortally wounded in war, my dear, and I’m still aware of myself as I’m dying, I shall pray, one last time, to the Lord who holds the moon in his tresses: Grant me this wish, that I may be born in this very land again, in my next birth – this virtuous country that has the bountiful rivers Paalaaru and Kaveri, flowing like nectar through its length. And I shall be born here again, and shall wander through every village and town it possesses. I shall look in every corner, in every direction for the woman I fell in love with – the celestial being with a beauty that challenges gods and goddesses, the most beautiful of divine sculptures ever to be made, but filled with the spirit of life. And I shall find you again, on a Karthigai evening such as this, with the moon’s brilliant rays showering upon the earth. I shall look upon your luminous face, but I shall not wonder at its unearthly beauty. I shall think, This woman’s loveliness is not hers alone – it is but the power of my own love for her, over centuries, in many lives, that lends her such charm. In your eyes, I shall see my soul, blazing with the spirit of our love. And when you smile, I shall feel the fire that burns me, slowly dying down. Here is Sivakami! Here is the woman who claimed my heart and hand centuries ago, the one who shed light in my soul in each of my lives. Hers is the radiant face I delighted in, during the bewitching twilight hours of the sarathkala moon. She is the woman who completes me, who has twined herself so well with my soul that we are together, even when we are apart. These exquisite eyes are the delicate karunguvalai flowers my eyes drown into with greed, like bees drawn to nectar. I shall look at you, and know all these in an instant. Sivakami – are you satisfied, now? Will this pledge do?”

This veritable avalanche of Maamallar’s poetic words, drenched in feeling and the urge to reassure, had struck Sivakami dumb, for the time being. Her body thrilled at his love; her skin rose in goose-pimples at the intense emotion. Exhilaration coursed through her veins. So enervated did she feel that she barely knew if she stood on earth, or floated on air.

Suddenly, jubilant shouts rent the air. “There – there is Maamallar! Look – there is the Crown Prince!” Soon, more voices joined the celebratory tones: “Long live Maamalla Pallavendra! Long life to our Prince!”

And Sivakami finally came down to earth.

“I am completely reassured, My Lord. Now go, join your men, before they find us here,” she said.

Glossary:

Karunguvalai: Water Hyacinth. A beautiful, lavender-coloured flower that is often likened to a woman's large eyes, because of the shape of its petals.

2011-06-18T06:47:00.000-07:00

Part II of Chapter 37. More romance. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 37

“ … AND WHO SHALL SACRIFICE THE MORE?”

PART II

“Not in a thousand life-times!” Sivakami declared decisively.

She paused, and then continued. “I’ve read in many stories, My Lord – heard of them even – that many women were so courageous, and loved their husbands so much that they stood beside them in battle shoulder to shoulder, and performed as many valorous deeds as the men themselves. I have heard that Kaikeyi was King Dasaratha’s charioteer in war, as was the lady Subadhra for her lord, Arjuna. Alas – I wasn’t born for such things. I cannot journey to battlefields. The sight of blood makes me faint. I am but a naïve girl, meant only to sing, dance and stay inside the protected confines of my home. But that doesn’t mean that I shall subject you to the same fate. Never will I let you, My Lord, born to be an Emperor seated on his jeweled throne, and vanquish enemies with your sword, slave away in my father’s hut with a measly chisel. Hands that hold a javelin with such spirit and valour, to beat the rhythms for my dances! I shall never allow it, Swami. Don’t ever say that you will renounce your Empire and throne. If you do, I shall know that I’m the reason for your terrible decision and kill myself!”

“Sivakami, it isn’t just the blood of a sculptor that runs in your veins, but the fire and pride of all the courageous Tamil women who have lived and died here. You possess the valiant heart of young women who were brave enough to send their new husbands into battle straight from their marriage fires. In truth, Sivakami – you have every quality that embodies the strong, spirited mother and wife! You needn’t come with me to the battlefield, or drive my chariot for me. And do you know why? Because whenever I leave for battle, you shall always be in my heart. The words you uttered now will forever be ringing in my ears. Your love for me shall give me endless strength and determination!”

“Swami, you were born into the valiant Pallava clan, defeated the land’s most valorous wrestlers before you were eighteen and earned the title Maamallan – why would you require my words to give you strength? Was it my memory that gave you the courage to shred your enemies into pieces during battle? I’m a pathetic creature who shivers at the sight of an eight-legged spider! Do you remember, My Lord – once, when we playing hide and seek as children in my father’s home, I hid myself behind a huge statue. I saw a cockroach behind it and screamed the house down. You ran out from where you were hiding, embraced me and tried to calm me down. You asked me what had frightened me, but I was so ashamed of myself that I didn’t dare answer. And when I finally did, you wouldn’t believe me! Afraid of a cockroach? Not on your life! This was your ruse to get me out of my hiding-place, you laughed. But My Lord – I truly was terrified of the cockroach, then. I felt the same terror a few moments ago when I saw the snake. Look at how my body trembles, even now!”

Maamallar did not need an excuse to wrap his strong arms around her once again, and pull her into an embrace. “Come, now, Sivakami. What silliness is this? Why do you shiver so?”

“I don’t know, Swami. Lately, I’ve been seized by constant fear. For some time, now, I’ve had this horrible feeling, this premonition – that a great catastrophe is going to befall me. I must tell you something – something I haven’t even told my father, yet …”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember the time I danced to Naavukkarasar’s hymns in his Kanchi monastery and fell unconscious? Once I had woken up, our eyes met. You took your leave of me with your heart, through the language that only you and I can speak. A little later, my father and I left for Kamali’s home. Just as we stepped out, Naavukkarasar stopped my father and spoke a few words to him in a very low voice: Your daughter is blessed with a divine gift. She will attain great heights – but I am seized with sorrow whenever I see her. I fear that some great disaster is about to befall her. Take great care of her! I heard his warning clearly. Ever since then …”

“Indeed, he’s a great seer, Sivakami, and what he said did come true, didn’t it? You were caught in this dangerous flood – could there be anything more disastrous than this? And you escaped, by God’s grace! Nothing terrible will befall you, ever,” Maamallar said firmly.

“My Lord, this flood was the means of bringing us together for three, glorious, heavenly days – how could I ever consider this a disaster? That’s why I fear that a more terrible fate awaits me. But what of it now? Or indeed, ever? I know now that I hold a small place in your large heart. That thought will give me the strength and enthusiasm to live each day. I shall wait here gladly, until you emerge victorious in the war, and come here to claim me, with your father’s permission. No catastrophe shall shake me, as long as I’m protected by the armour of you heart.”

“Mandapapattu is that fortunate, is it? You’re going to stay here, then?” Maamallar’s tone made it obvious that this was his wish as well.

“Yes, My Lord. I don’t believe I can be as happy anywhere else. I shall have very fond memories of this little village, their temple, these boulders and the Varaha River. Father too, has fallen in love with this place – he’s been talking of carving temples and sculptures. I believe he will be happy here, too. There’s only one thing that worries me – I hope to goodness that that evil Naganandhi never comes here!” said Sivakami.

“Never fear, Sivakami. He won’t,” consoled Maamallar, having heard of the bikshu’s fate from Gundodharan.

At that very instant, a lean figure from behind the boulder on which the couple were seated, rose and slunk away into the darkness.

It was Naganandhi.

2011-06-17T19:49:00.001-07:00

Translator's Note: Posting this chapter in two parts as its big. Also, lots of romance dialogues. :)

CHAPTER 37

“ … AND WHO SHALL SACRIFICE THE MORE?”

PART 1

The snake paused for a moment, startled at Sivakami’s scream. Then, it slithered its way into the darkness, and vanished.

“Sivakami!” From somewhere beyond the boulders, Aayanar called out. “Did you call for me?”

“No, Appa!” Sivakami called back.

Exactly just how exhilarated and grateful Maamallar felt at her words she found out, through the meaningful grip of his arms around her.

The moon shone as bright as day. The couple moved away from under the Magizham tree, and seated themselves on one of the many boulders strewn around.

“You said you wanted my forgiveness, Sivakami,” Maamallar began. “Why?”

“For having listened to vicious words attacking you, and stayed silent. For having believed them!”

“Is that all? Very well, I forgive you. Now, who’s been directing these verbal attacks against me?”

“We were talking about the bikshu Naganandhi, weren’t we? He was the one who called you the “Cowardly Crown Prince.” He said you were cowering inside the Kanchi fortress, afraid to venture out for fear of the war. He said so many other awful, terrible things –”

Maamallar listened to her without interruption. “I’m not really surprised that Naganandhi spouted such venom. And it’s not him I’m furious at,” he said, at last. “It’s my father. Why wouldn’t people call me a coward if I stay safe inside the fort, when war comes knocking on our doors? I’m not concerned about what others think – but how could you believe them, Sivakami?”

“I’m afraid I did, My Lord. My heartache at being away from you made me want to believe such horrible accusations. I took some comfort in thinking, It would be no great loss, if I were not the beloved of such a spineless man. But while my mind wanted to believe these horrible things, my heart didn’t. It kept telling me that all this was false. Maamallar is a great warrior; you do not deserve his love. That is why you wish to believe the worst of him – because yours is an evil heart! That is what my subconscious kept battering into me. My Lord, will you forgive me?”

“You haven’t committed any crime that needs my forgiveness. I’m the one who should apologize, if anything, for having caused you such distress. But you won’t believe such things of me in the future, will you?”

“Never, My Lord. And if I ever see that bikshu again, I shan’t leave him alone!” Sivakami declared. Then, she turned to him as though she had suddenly remembered something. “My Lord – do you believe in spirits traveling from one body to another?” she asked hesitantly.

“Do I believe in what …?”

“I wondered if it was possible for a spirit to move from one body and into another. Could a man turn into a snake, do you think?” Sivakami trembled.

Maamallar noticed her state. Instantly, he took her into her arms, enveloping her to his chest in a close embrace. “Come, come, Sivakami. What sort of a fear is this? How on earth can a man take a snake’s form? But even if he could, and tried to attack you, I would take the form of an eagle, the Garuda and shred him to pieces. I shall pull his poisonous fangs apart with my sharp talons. Why would you be afraid when I’m right by you?”

“But, My Lord – will you always be my side, and keep me from harm?” asked Sivakami. “Protecting me is not your only purpose in life, is it? Doesn’t Rajyalakshmi, the Goddess who guards your crown and Empire, await your attention always?”

“Say the word, Sivakami – I shall throw that blessed Empire to the winds and fly to you. No kingdom is worth more to me than you –”

“I am not quite that selfish, My Lord – it isn’t my wish to shackle you to me, at all times. You are the scion of the Pallava royal family, the heir to the throne of a dynasty that has ruled our lands for generations, like a lush plantain that births new offspring for centuries. Thousands of men and women live in this country, placing their faith in you, hoping that you sword and javelin will protect them from enemies. You and you alone, have the responsibility of justifying their beliefs; your broad shoulders alone have the power to carry out this duty. And it is indeed the result of some great good I’ve done in my previous births, that such shoulders now shield me from harm. But I haven’t grown conceited by that thought, My Lord. I am not lost to all reason. I shall never, ever ask that the Pallava dynasty’s only heir’s strength, valour and courage be spent only in taking care of this sculptor’s pathetic little daughter. Never ask you to make such a sacrifice for me, either. My Lord, do you know how my heart swelled with pride, when the people of this village praised your courageous deeds on the Pullalur battlefield?”

“Sivakami, my feelings were much the same when the villagers sang such paeons about your brilliant dance. My heart was near bursting with delight and happiness. To tell the truth – I’m almost ashamed at such incredible selfishness.”

“I see nothing selfish in you, My Lord.”

“You wouldn’t. You see me through the shroud of golden perfection you’ve settled on me, Sivakami. Your sight is coloured with your love – it blinds you to my imperfections. I, however, am more than aware of my faults. God has given you an incredible gift, Sivakami – but I’m trying to keep it all to myself. How much more selfish could a man be? My father always said that your talent was a divine gift, meant only for the appreciation of the gods, not for the enjoyment of mere mortals. I realized the truth of his words only yesterday, when I saw you dance at the temple. I even wondered if I wasn’t committing a great crime in stealing you away, when your talent clearly meant that you deserved a better fate –”

Sivakami stood up, walked up to Maamallar and bent in front of him. He understood her intentions at once but before he could move to stop her, she had bent down, touched his feet and placed her palms to her eyes. Then, she sat down beside him. “My Lord – if it be that my talents are to be dedicated to God himself, then you are my Lord, my deity, the one who reigns in my heart. The only reason I learnt Bharathanatyam with such interest in my childhood was to dance for you, whenever you visited us. Your love mellowed my heart. It was the reason my dancing skills grew and reached completion. When I dance and lose myself in an ecstasy of feeling, it’s because, deep in my heart, I know that I’m the one you love. I may sing Appar’s beautiful, heart-wrenching hymns as I dance, My Lord, but you are the only one to whom I shall dedicate my talent and the fame it brings me. No one else deserves to receive it. All the talent I possess is no greater than you, Swami. Say the word, and I shall renounce it with a dip in these very waters.”

Lips like the unfurled, delicate pink petals of a pomegranate flower were slightly parted with emotion; Maamallar reached out and gently placed his hand on them, silencing her. “The more you talk this way, Sivakami, the more unsettled I feel. One day, you may really have to give up this divine gift of yours – my heart clenches when I even think of it! Even you must know that it wouldn’t exactly be in the best of tastes for the Pallava Empress to hold public dance performances. Times like these, I wonder why I couldn’t have really been one of your father’s students. We could have been happy all our lives, couldn’t we – just as we’ve been, these three days? Why do I need an Empire? Why must I bother myself with wars, blood and violence? Sivakami, I shall write to my father that I want no part of a royal life. I shall renounce my birth and my lineage. You and I shall travel with your father in a boat – we’ll take Rathi and Suga Rishi with us as well. We shall find a lonely island of some sort in the middle of the ocean, and settle down, there. The rest of our lives will be spent in splendid isolation and utter happiness. Say the word, Sivakami!”

2011-06-01T19:56:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 36

A NEW BIRTH

Three days after they first washed onto the shores of Mandapapattu, Aayanar, Sivakami and Maamallar walked outside the village’s confines for a stroll. After a while, they arrived where their pot-raft had shattered, sinking into the waters of the ocean.

There was not quite as much water, now. Boulders that had been submerged by the floods were now exposed to the sun; trees that had once been battered by swirling currents were now more visible, the waters corroding the soil underneath their roots. The rock-strewn area now looked pristine and clean, after the vigorous scrubbing of the previous days.

Aayanar seemed to derive great joy in wandering among the boulders, observing them keenly. His imaginative mind carved the rocks and stones into richly defined deities and temples that would awe spectators.

Sivakami and Maamallar, in the meantime, seemed to be extraordinarily eager in seating themselves underneath the Magizham tree and staying studiously silent.

Twilight was falling. Light and darkness blended together, casting an unearthly, beautiful glow over the surroundings. “Shall we leave, Sivakami?” Aayanar asked, half-heartedly.

“Appa, the moon rises two naazhigais after dark, doesn’t it?” asked Sivakami. “Why don’t we leave later?”

“Indeed we will,” said the sculptor, and sat down beside them.

Silence reigned for a few minutes.

“I do not believe that I shall be able to leave this village at all,” sighed Aayanar.

“The villagers were right when they said that this place was blessed,” put in Maamallar.

“Why do you like it here so much, Appa?” queried Sivakami.

“I am tempted by the boulders and rock-faces here, Sivakami. My fingers fairly itch to take up a chisel and

carve them all up into divine temples.”

“There are so many other towns and villages with such boulders.”

“The people of this village are true connoisseurs, my dear. Remember how much they appreciated your dance, yesterday?”

“Sir, do you mean to say that Kanchi is full of people who cannot appreciate art?” Maamallar asked in mock anger.

“Can a city that claims Mahendra Pallavar and his son as its residents be devoid of connoisseurs, My Lord? That was not what I meant. We began our journey towards a destination, but God turned us around and brought us to this village. It almost seems like our presence here is divine will!”

“Appa, remember the bikshu Naganandhi, who left the day of the floods?” asked Sivakami. “I wonder what became of him?”

“Ayyo, the poor man – who knows his fate? For that matter, no one knows what became of the old bikshu either.”

Abruptly, thoughts of the army he had left behind assaulted Maamallar. What was their fate now? And what of Gundodharan, who had left that morning, promising to bring back a raft? Why hadn’t he returned yet?

Time flowed gently. The moon rose over the horizon. The sea’s glittering surface reflected his pearl-white rays, glowing like a milky-white ocean, the thiruppaarkkadal, ready to yield divine nectar to the Devas. Chandran hung above the dazzling waters, very like a golden vessel carrying ambrosia.

For a while, they spoke of nothing but the beautiful moon and his radiance. Then, Aayanar rose, restless. “I shall look at the boulders once more in moonlight, shall I?” he murmured, and wandered away.

***

Maamallar and Sivakami sat in silence for a very long time. Neither uttered a single word – but their hands, in direct contradiction, were woven together, engaged in intimate conversation.

The rich fragrance of Magizham flowers hung about them, almost smothering them with their sweetness.

Delirious joy brimmed in their hearts, almost suffocating them with their intensity.

A little while later, the earth below them slipped away in a whisper, leaving them floating in space.

Above them – the skies, the moon and glittering array of stars vanished.

Somewhere, somehow, somewhere they floated, carried away by a current of nothingness. There was no sense of time, nor space. Such things simply did not exist. They were beyond mere mundane considerations.

Who knew if just a few moments had passed – or a few aeons on this wonderful journey? And still they floated, beyond the silken threads of time.

A gentle breeze rustled. Cool flowers, softened by the moon’s glow, fell upon them.

Maamallar and Sivakami descended to earth with a sudden thud – and discovered that they were still seated on the rock-strewn shores of Mandapapattu after all, under a Magizham tree.

“Sivakami?” Maamallar’s voice sounded very far away. “What were you thinking about, just now?”

“My Lord – please don’t let go of me! I feel as though I’m falling!”

“What on earth – you’re shivering! Is it too cold?”

“No, My Lord. I’m not cold. Feel how hot my hands are,” Sivakami’s voice shook.

“Then why –”

“I don’t – I am so afraid. Am I really alive?”

“What sort of a question is this? How else could you be talking to me?”

“A minute ago – I felt as though I was traveling in space. Somewhere, very far away, I could hear divine music flowing around me. My soul danced to it in ecstasy, as it traveled through the heavens. My Lord, none of that was real, was it? I didn’t die, did I?”

“Sivakami, in a way, you are right. We died, the two of us – but we came to life again. This is a new birth. A new destiny. Three days ago, when we first washed upon the shores of this village, we were two bodies and two souls. You are no longer the same Sivakami; nor am I the old Narasimha Varman. You are now a part of me, of my heart and soul for eternity – and we are one. Sivakami, we have entered a new life, the two of us. Together. In just three days!”

“Truly, My Lord? Has it been only three days? I can hardly believe it. It seems to me that years and years must have passed …”

“That’s true, as well. These weren’t just three days, Sivakami. We were born aeons ago; met each other, fell in love, left, and met again in previous births. We simply experienced the weight of all those lives in these three days.”

“And – does it all end, here?”

“End? Of course not! How can a journey that’s lasted over so many births end in this one?”

“I do not ask about future births, My lord – just this one. Will it always be the same, in this life?”

“Will what always be the same?”

“Your love for me, of course.”

Maamallar gathered the Magizham flowers scattered around, them on the boulders, and placed them in Sivakami’s hands.

“Sivakami – my love is not like a jasmine flower, fragrant one day, dry as dust the next. It is like the sweet scent of the Magizham flower – deepening with each day. And even if, some day, the flower dries up, its fragrance will always remain strong, gladdening hearts. Do you remember the pledge you asked of me that day, on the banks of the lotus pond?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still ask it of me?”

“No, My Lord – I don’t. All I need is your forgiveness!”

“What on earth for?”

“For losing faith in you,” Sivakami answered. “For believing the poisoned words of a wretched, vicious snake!”

Abruptly, the leaves in the foliage rustled. Sivakami glanced around, startled. Tree branches played hide and seek with the moonlight, while vague shadows moved menacingly on the rock-floor. Something slithered in the darkness.

“Ayyo!” screamed Sivakami. “Appa, a snake!”

Maamallar jumped up. “Don’t be afraid, Sivakami!” he clasped her hands, and pulled her into a protective embrace. “What’s there to fear, as long as I’m here?”

2011-05-19T00:46:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 35

“A THIEF, ARE YOU?”

Mandapapattu’s Sivan Temple was a glorious sight, the next day. The front entrance to the complex was richly decorated with lush, green plantain trees, while elaborately embellished curtains hung from strategic points.

The villagers had taken great pains to decorate the outer gopuram and praharas with a magnificent awning that provided ample shade; tender, young ivory-covered coconut fronds hung delicately from the edges, while beautiful, rose-tinted lotus buds hung in between them.

In those days, every one of Tamil Nadu’s villages possessed ponds brimming with water and fragrant lotuses; so well covered would their surfaces be, with lotus leaves and flowers that one could hardly see the water for the blooms. Villagers and temples priests were often in the habit of adorning the deity with flowers, buds, and using the rest to decorate the temple itself.

By the time the sun set, the temple was bursting at the seams with villagers. Every last woman and even child had crammed themselves into the area, trying to find the best seats and vantage points within the first few rows.

As twilight began to creep in, small agal lamps, placed in alcoves and niches were lit; their soft glow brightened the precincts with an otherworldly radiance. The moon rose with majesty in the heavens at that very moment, as though to witness the Lady Sivakami’s dance, himself.

When Sivakami and Aayanar entered the temple, a wave of murmurs swept through the waiting crowd.

Sivakami made her way into the make-shift stage towards the south of the awning. As she arrived at its centre, a hush fell over the audience. Women ceased their chatter; wailing children fell silent.

They had never, ever seen such dazzling beauty in their closeted lives.

Sivakami’s beautiful Bharathanatyam attire; the way she had made herself up exquisitely; the ornaments that decorated her person – these were sights the villagers had never before been privileged to see. Together with the almost divine glow that suffused her countenance and the ecstasy that seemed to light her up from inside, Sivakami seemed a celestial being.

Once the first moments of astonished rapture had passed, eager exclamations broke out.

“The dancers of Indra Logam, Ramba, Urvasi and others might have been like this, perhaps,” exclaimed one.

“Absolutely not,” declared another. “They could never have been so beautiful!”

“It is blasphemy to compare this divine young lady to those nymphs,” put forth another. “Why, it is as though the Goddess consort of Lord Siva had herself come down to earth from Thillaiyambalam, to dance here in human form!”

“Naavukkarasar’s praises were certainly not in vain,” sighed another, devout spectator.

And then, a sudden hush descended over the gathering.

Sivakami began to dance.

Matching her steps in perfect synchronization to Aayanar’s hand, beating a steady rhythm, and his rendering of a classical swarajathi, she spun around the stage, captivating the audience.

One of the villagers had doubled up as the percussionist, and was now having the time of his life, banging away at his mathalam with enthusiasm.

And Sivakami danced, her anklets tinkling gal, gal as the mathalam boomed through the gathering, goom, goom!

Her nrutham held all the intricate nuances of the speed of lightning, a young deer’s enthusiasm and a peacock’s sublime grace.

At times, it seemed like she danced on the ground; at others, on the radiant, pearl-white beams of the moon.

Even the brilliant stars in the velvety night sky seemed to provide a stage for her lively performance.

And when she spun around, giving herself wholly over to her performance, her audience spun with her; their eyes followed her graceful moves; the very stage and agal lamps seemed to be caught up in her dance. The temple spun; so did the gopurams; the large, richly carved alcoves and gold columns, the sky above, the earth below, the moon and glittering constellations spun with Sivakami.

Sivakami danced away, displaying her consummate skill with different songs, set in varying metres, to rhythms that changed at a minute’s notice, in nruthas and jathis that made her audience dizzy with awe.

When she stopped after a while and moved to the back of the stage for a well-earned rest, the gathering erupted in thunderous applause.

Gundodharan, who, despite having been Aayanar’s student for eight months, had never once had the privilege of watching Sivakami’s performance, was as dazzled as the rest. Even with the recital at a temporary halt, he had not quite recovered from the frenzy it had whipped up. Still awed, he turned to Maamallar. “My Lord –”

Maamallar might have been captivated by Sivakami’s brilliant performance too, but he, at any rate, had not forgotten himself or his surroundings. At Gundodharan’s words, he turned to the spy and gave him a rough shake. By this time, five or six of the people around Gundodharan had turned their attention to him.

Abruptly regaining his senses at Maamallar’s swift treatment, Gundodharan turned towards the deity’s sanctum. “My Lord,” he said in a voice husky with devotion. “You alone deserve such a divine performance!”

“Of course! Can there be any doubt about it?” assented his rapt audience.

***

Refreshed, Sivakami returned to the stage and resumed her performance. When she began an enthusiastic recital of

“VadivEru thirisoolam thOnRum thOnRum

Valarsadai Mel Ilamathiyum thOnRum thOnRum …”

her audience believed that it was Lord Shiva himself in front of them, performing the cosmic dance, and almost drowned in a sea of delight. They expected her to perform the famed verse “Munnam Avanudaiya Naamam Kettaal,” but Sivakami chose the following hymn and began to dance to it:

“Vellaneer Sadaiyanaar thaam vinavuvaar pOlavanthen

uLlame pugunthu ninraarkku uRangunaan pudaikal pOnthu

kaLLarO puguntheer ennak kalanthuthaan nOkkinakku

veLLarOm enRu ninraar viLangilam piraiyanaare!”

He who wears the gushing River Ganga on his matted tresses enters the closely guarded confines of a young woman’s heart, in a naïve fashion, as though asking for directions. The young woman, who has been asleep, awakes, startled. She sits up, rubbing her eyes at the sight of a stranger in front of her. “Who are you? A thief, perhaps, who has broken into my home?” she asks. Her unknown visitor does not vouchsafe an answer. Instead, he looks deep into her eyes. Then, he laughs gently. “A thief? I? My heart is pure; pure as the sacred ash smeared on my body. Don’t you see it?” he answers, amusement colouring his voice. Why – it was the divine Lord Shiva himself – He who stole the moon from the heavens and wore it as an embellishment! Ah, where shall I find words to describe the moon’s radiant beauty? Or the divine visitor’s mischievous eyes? Or the way He entered my heart like a thief, yet acted as though he were an innocent?

Sivakami’s sensitive face expressed all the above emotions with consummate ease; her limbs moved with exquisite beauty to capture the events; her fingers positioned themselves in precise mudhras to convey the ecstasy that flowed through the song.

Her dance and the verse itself produced plenty of appreciative exclamations from the audience. Several murmured an awed “Aha!” at her mastery over abhinaya. And yet – many seemed to be expecting something more; they were not quite contented with the fare so far, excellent though it had been. One of them, more daring than the rest, walked to the stage and whispered into Aayanar’s ear.

Sivakami too, overheard the villager’s message. With visible hesitation, she began to dance to the following pathigam:

“Munnam Avanudaiya naamam Kettaal …”

She sang the verse and began to unfold the story, displaying her skill in portraying abhinaya with ease. With feeling that could only come from experience, Sivakami brought the heart-wrenching sorrow of a lovelorn young woman who is prepared to sacrifice everything for her beloved, to life.

By the time the song and dance came to an end, many in the gathering were seized by a divine frenzy themselves.

One particularly decrepit old man rose, bent a leg and began to dance himself: “Nataraja! Nataraja! Narthana Sundara Nataraja!” he yelled the lord’s name, caught in ecstasy, completely forgetful of the crowd around him.

“Good Lord! Such beauty, such feeling! No one on earth can ever have seen such a wonderful and heart-warming performance,” whispered the delighted audience to one another. “No one is likely to, ever again!”

Three people in the gathering, however, were well aware that the day’s performance was nowhere near as emotional as what it had been, in Naavukkarasar’s monastery, in Kanchi. They were Aayanar, Maamallar and Sivakami herself, of course.

And unlike that day, Sivakami did not crumple into an unconscious heap either, at the end of the pathigam.

Back Again!

2011-05-13T21:21:00.000-07:00

Hola there.

I have no idea how many of you are checking into this blog - or even if anyone is checking in, considering the years its been silent.

But to everyone who did, my profound thanks. This only shows how much you love Kalki, and one of the best of his works.

I just popped in to tell you that I'm continuing with the translation. For your reading pleasure.

So, yeah. Hope you're still around for the ride, fellow Kalki-lovers.

Chapter 35 of Volume II coming up. Enjoy.

News?

2008-04-16T00:37:00.000-07:00

Hi there.
Yes, its been aeons since I updated. There were reasons - work and health being two of them. To all of you who kept checking in - apologies, and my gratitude.
News for you: Part 1 of Sivagamiyin Sabadham, which was supposed to be published by Katha, has been dropped. They had some technical difficulties, and felt the book was too big for them to publish.
So.
As of now, SS isn't going to be published. Not unless, by some publishing miracle it manages to get out of the online version. :) A friend of mine and a fan of SS has been doing his bit to get publishers and collect funds - but you know what a long-drawn out process this is. So far, we've had no luck.
I'll still be translating SS, and God-willing, posting them here. So keep checking in.

Love ya,

Pavithra.

2007-06-05T02:41:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 34

THE NANDHI MEDAI

As the second jaamam crept on, deepening the night, Mamallar and Gundodharan stood talking at the entrance to the Naavukarasar monastery. The sky was clear, shorn of clouds even by evening. The moon shone lustrously, its sharathkala brilliance transforming the little village into gandharvalokham, a land of unearthly beauty. The village temple’s golden stupi dazzled in the moonlight from its thunganai maadam, a little distance away. A gentle night breeze rustled through; moonbeams danced on the coconut tree’s leaves, turning them into molten gold one instant, and black sheaves the next. Nature’s performance outshone a talented magician’s, as the leaves turned from silver to green-black and silver again, within moments.

“My Lord – to think that you, whose exalted person must rest upon silken sheets, surrounded by life’s every luxury, within a royal palace, must lie down upon a barren thinnai in this god-forsaken monastery like an orphan, a vagabond with no place to call home?” Gundodharan’s voice was full of anguish. “I cannot bear the thought!”

“Gundodhara, I’ve just finished arguing with Aayanar,” Mamallar sounded weary. “Must I go through it all with you as well?” When Gundodharan opened his mouth to speak, he interjected. “My father didn’t raise me in royal palaces all my life, Gundodhara. I’ve lain on silk sheets strewn with jasmine flowers – but I’m used to bare forest floors with naught but a tree-root for a headrest as well. In comparison, this monastery’s thinnai looks smooth and soft, doesn’t it?”

“My Lord, it pleases you to be flippant, but I cannot help but feel terrible. To think that I’m the reason you’re being subjected to such difficulties – if I’d just mentioned your identity to one of these villagers …?

“Gundodhara, I’ve known people who’ve made wrong decisions and then regretted it bitterly – but this is the first I’ve seen someone do something right – something perfect – and then bemoan it so. Do you know how I’ve longed to go among my people, without being recognized as the Emperor’s son? And now, finally, I have such an opportunity within my grasp, all due to you. Ah! Do you know the delight that fills me at such widespread knowledge of Sivakami’s prowess in dancing?”

“My Lord, it is not just news of Sivakami Devi’s excellent proficiency in dance that has reached this little village – but the valour and spirit of the Pullalur battle as well!”

“Truly, Gundodhara?”

“Yes, my Lord. News of the brave and courageous Prince Narasimha Varmar’s exploits in battle have trickled into this little rural retreat as well – and the villagers have been pestering me to share some of the details with them. I’ve promised them that I will satisfy their thirst for knowledge this evening. They’ll be waiting for me in the temple precincts by now … would you like to join me?”

“I will – but careful; make no mischief such as revealing my true identity or some such thing.”

***

Aayanar’s two ‘disciples’ were seated on the steps that led down from the Nandhi medai; the villagers ranged themselves around them on the clean, freshly brushed brick-laid floor surrounding the elevated Nandhi medai. Gundodharan had launched into a remarkably detailed description, giving a blow-by-blow account of what exactly had transpired on the battlefield. In particular did he dwell on Mamallar’s exploits during the battle.

“Do you know how he fought? One instant you’d spot him in a section of the battlefield; the next he’d be found beyond the high walls, right at the other end! You could find out his location in the battlefield at any given point – his sword flashed like Lord Vishnu’s dazzling discus, glinting in the sun … and that was how you knew where the Crown prince fought, lopping off the heads of enemies in a heap that grew with each minute. Why, who else could possibly cut through the enemy hordes with such speed, such valour, such excellent precision? Indeed, Lord Yama had taken residence in prince Narasimha Varmar’s sword, that day. When he swung his weapon through those milling vermin, enemies dropped off like flies in their tens, hundreds, thousands …!”

“Ah – but these are just like Prince Abhimanyu’s valourous tales in battle!” exclaimed someone in the audience. For quite some time, the villagers, just like many throughout the Pallava Empire, had been listening to daily renderings of the Mahabharata, that great epic that sets out every aspect of valour and wisdom in the ancient world. It was not surprising, therefore, that everyone was caught in recollections of the courageous Arjuna and his warrior son, Abhimanyu.

“Indeed, Mamallar’s bravery was like that of Abhimanyu – but there’s a difference: Abhimanyu lost his life in battle … while here, it was the enemy hordes that could not meet Mamallar’s sword and ran helter-skelter from the battlefield. And the one that scampered away before everyone else was the Ganga king, Dhurvineethan!”

“Where did Dhurvineethan run to, I wonder?” enquired one interested villager.

“Towards the south, or so I’ve heard. In fact, I’ve heard too that Mamallar and Commander Paranjyothi followed hot on his heels right up to the banks of the River Then Pennai,” drawled Gundodharan, and then turned abruptly towards Mamallar, seemingly irritated. “And why do you pinch me, sir?”

A spark of outrage glittered in Mamallar’s eyes. Meanwhile, someone in the crowd called out: “All this is very well, but how came you to know about Mamallar’s exploits? What was Ayanar’s disciple doing in a battlefield?”

“Now that’s a very good question …” Gundodharan murmured as he got up from Mamallar’s side, and began to edge away from the Prince. “And it looks as though I cannot escape answering it!”

Standing well away from Mamallar, he pointed a finger at the Prince. “See him? Well, he … I mean, he’s really the – well, he’s truly – why do you stare at me so, sir? Listen, all of you: he’s the real disciple of the sculptor Ayanar. In truth, I am a soldier in the Pallava army; when Mamallar went in pursuit of Dhurvineethan, I followed his forces. My horse fell lame on the way, and I had to lag behind. Then I was caught in the terrible floods, climbed into the pot-raft with these people … and here I am!”

The next instant, excited whispers and exclamations swept through the gathering. Everyone poked each other’s ribs, waggled hands and used sundry other gestures to garner the other’s attention, murmuring furiously. Many swore that they had guessed that Gundodharan could not possibly be Ayanar’s disciple. “Has Mamallar too, been caught in these floods, do you think?” wondered one.

“I’m worried about that as well,” confided the erstwhile disciple of Ayanar.

“Why, he might even land up here, washed up by the floods!” quipped another.

“Indeed he might!” chimed in Gundodharan.

2007-03-22T01:42:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 33

A WELCOME

Ayanar and Sivakami's athai approached closer as they heard the noise and hullabaloo of conches, trumpets and the roaring multitude of people. A large throng of men and women were drawing nearer with every minute. When they were still some distance away, one figure detached itself from the human mass and strode swiftly towards them. We needn't have any doubt as to who this was, need we? It was Gundodharan, of course.

The Crown Prince's face grew hot with anger. Ah, what had this idiot done, now? He'd probably announced to the whole village: Kumara Chakravarthy has landed here, washed ashore from the terrible floods! Here I am, hoping to spend a few precious hours with Sivakami, and now he’s poured cold water over all my plans! And there is so much that I must share with her, confide to her - besides, what would the villagers think to see me stranded here with just Ayanar and Sivakami, bereft of my army? Ha, what a predicament Gundodharan has thrown me into!

But there was no point in growing furious with him. What was done was done; all that was left was to determine how best to contain the damage already wrought. How was he going to handle this situation?

As he trailed behind on the path, deep in thought, he saw Gundodharan go to Ayanar instead of him, and speak a few words. Ayanar, in turn, murmured something into Sivakami’s ears. Then, the two of them turned to look at him, and smiled.

By this time, the crowd was almost upon them. Two men who were obviously the leaders, came forward, carrying a salver holding fragrant flowers and a poorna kumbam, a sacred symbol of faith. Gundodharan stretched a hand towards Ayanar.

“They say that some good comes out of every catastrophe,” said one of the leaders. “The breaching of Lake Thirupparkkadal’s banks have served the same purpose – the waters have brought us the greatest sculptor in the world, Ayanar, and the queen of classical dance, Sivakami Devi. Welcome, Ayya. Welcome, my lady! We shall provide you and your disciples with every convenience at our disposal. We would like you to our make home with us for as long as possible.”

“My friends,” began Ayanar. “We are grateful for your offer of friendship and shelter. It certainly appears that until the waters drain, we shall have to remain here as your guests.” He and the villagers began to walk back in the general direction of the village.

Mamallar, standing far behind the crowd, was sunk fathoms deep in astonishment. Nothing was happening the way he had expected it to! Barring Sivakami, who threw mischievious smiles through the corner of her eyes now and then, no one else seemed to have acknowledged his presence. Needless to say, his surprise contained unmixed glee as well.

I shouldn’t have been so quick to pronounce judgment on Gundodharan, he mused, contrite. The fellow’s quite intelligent, after all.

“Prabhu – my lord!” came Gundodharan’s voice near his ear. “Why wait here? Let’s join them.”

“But they didn’t invite me,” protested Mamallar. “How can I go where I am not wanted?”

“Not invite you? Of course they did!” announced Gundodharan. “They did say that they would provide every comfort to Ayanar’s disciples, didn’t they? You and I are the sculptor’s disciples, my lord.”

Mamallar smiled. “Were all Sathrugnan’s men as sharp of mind as you are, we needn’t fear invasions by a thousand Pulikesis, Gundodhara!”

Ayanar’s Disciples fell behind the crowd dutifully, straggling along. In the best interests of truth, though, it must be mentioned Mamallar did not fall back so far behind that he could not catch Sivakami’s eyes when he wished to.

With every step that they took approaching the village, the crowds swelled. It seemed as though an entire township had gathered here. Colourful, intricate kolams decorated the front doors of many houses; women frequently stopped the moving cavalcade, taking an auspicious aarthi around Sivakami. Eventually, they reached the Siva Temple that the village boasted of – a small one, but extremely clean and picturesque.

Beyond the spruce brick-walled outer mathil that lined the perimeter of the Temple grounds, the group stepped into the broad, spacious prahaaram, which shone without a hint of grass or unruly weeds. They went past the Balipeedam, Dhwajasthambam and Nandhi Medai – all integral parts of the classic South Indian Temple – and reached the Arthamandapam, where devotees usually assembled to worship the deity. The garbagriham lay beyond the tiled roof. Above was a still fairly new form of architecture in Southern Tamil Nadu, gaining swift prominence – a pretty Thoonganai Maadam, a little alcove.

Even as they entered the Temple’s precincts, they were assailed by the fragrances one always associated with temples: shenbaga flowers, sandalwood, the enticing scents of lotuses, parijatham and panneer. The smoky tang of nei-lamps pervaded the corridors, accompanied by that of broken coconuts, peeled banana skins, naartham fruit juices and sugarcane essence. The very atmosphere felt calm, soothing – as though one had stepped into a sacred, pure world.

The ritual deeparathanai was performed to the lord, when Ayanar, Sivakami and the disciples were assembled. The archagar, the priest, presented them with the holy abhisheka water and viboothi ash. It was the same in the Ambigai’s sanctum as well.

Ritual obligations at an end, the Village’s headman began: “Ayanar, we have heard a great deal about your gracious daughter’s remarkable proficiency in classical dance,” he spoke, respectfully. “The gods have chosen to let you walk in our midst, today – and we are truly grateful. We do not wish to disturb you now … but it would please us greatly if your daughter would perform for us in our temple, tomorrow.”

Ayanar did not quite know what to say. He glanced at Sivakami. Her expression raised a cloud of misgiving in him.

Sivakami had been peering around the Arthamandapam, and had noted, accurately, where Mamallar stood among the crowd. Thus far, she had taken great care never to glance in his direction. Now, though, her eyes alighted precisely on Mamallar’s countenance. Her glance asked him a question; his face bloomed into a smile, assuring her of his answer.

The next instant, Sivakami turned to her father. “As you wish, Appa,” she said in a low voice.

“Ayanar, we heard your beloved daughter’s reply as well. We are truly grateful,” exulted the Gramadhikari, the headman.

By this time, news had spread around the Arthamandapam that Sivakami had agreed to an impromptu dance performance. The excited murmurs swelled to a full-throated roar of approval as it reached the outer walls.

Ayanar turned to the headman midst the crowding voices. “Ayya, Sivakami hasn’t danced in seven or eight months … but it matters not. I am not surprised that she agreed to perform tomorrow; evidently, your affectionate welcome has captivated her. What does astonish me is how you came to know of her prowess at all. Has my disciple Gundodharan anything to do with it?” Ayanar glanced at the burly young man.

“No, Ayya. We have known about your daughter for quite some time. It was the saint Thirunavukkarasar who must take the credit for that.”

“Ha! Was the great man here as well? How truly fortunate you are,” said Ayanar.

“Indeed, we are fortunate. Saint Navukkarasar journeyed here about six months ago, and visited our blessed little temple. He took a small uzhavarappadai in his hands and cleaned the premises, overgrown with weeds. We joined him as well. That evening, his disciples gathered in this very sannidhi, and sang beautiful verses on our lord, sweet as nectar. One of them was: Munnam avaludaiya naamam kettal … and tears poured down Navukkarasar’s face as it was sung …”

Ayanar, Sivakami and Mamallar felt a thrill of emotion course through them.

“It was then that Navukkarasar spoke of your visit to his monastery in Kanchi, Sivakami Devi’s excellent performance as she danced to these very verses. He also spoke about her loss of consciousness when she finished … but we certainly didn’t expect the great favour of welcoming you to our little village so soon afterwards – not even in our wildest dreams!”

“We are fortunate to have even been in Vakeesar’s thoughts,” murmured Ayanar.

“We constructed a small monastery, a madaalayam in the name of Vakeesar, when he left,” continued the headman. “You and your daughter shall be our first guests there. This too, is a stroke of immense good fortune!”

2006-10-15T07:57:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 32

… AND A LOTUS BLOOMS

A beautiful lotus bud rose above the surface of the water, waving gently in the breeze. Fragrance filled its delicate little petals, caught within. All through the long, long night, the scent had tried to find release, some means of escape from its soft and constricting prison, bubbling and writhing in desperation; its ache not assuaged by its fragile constraints, fighting and thudding against the petals. The soft little bud suffered in agony, as the pain increased with each passing hour.

The fragrance fought within the bud even more as the hour of sunrise approached, with a force that was borne of a desperate need.

The pale fingers of dawn touched the darkness of the horizon. The rays of the morning sun meandered through the tall trees in the forest, and touched the bud with all the gentleness of a feather-soft brush.

The bud shivered with pleasure and delight. The petals burst forth, blooming, blooming with a beauty unseen, in the forest. And the fragrance, the lotus’s scent that had been imprisoned all those hours within, spilled into the open. It filled the pond, the banks, swirling through the crevices in the air, enriching the sky and the earth.

Sivakami’s heart too, experienced such a glorious liberation.

Her thoughts and fantasies, worries and fears and surging emotions, that had lain within, fighting and seeking a way out, now burst forth, secure in the thought that Mamallar was a willing audience to her hopes and dreams – like a lake that has broken its banks, tearing through the constraints that held its fury all this while. It was only when the narration reached the part of Mamallar’s first visit to the forest dwelling did the flow and rush of words abate, somewhat.

Mamallar was quick to seize upon this lull in her speech. “Yes, I do remember that particular day very well. When I and the Emperor visited your home for the first time, you were among those divine sculptures of your father – dancing. Ayanar was singing notes, beating a taalam as he sang. He stopped when he saw us … and so did you. Your beautiful, large eyes widened even more as you stared at us. My father waved his hand, saying, “Don’t let the recital stop on our account; please continue.” He insisted on it, and Ayanar began to sing again. You began to dance, once more. When you came to the end of your performance, I applauded like anything! And you looked at me, your face and eyes brimming with delight and joy.” He paused. “There wasn’t a jot of bashfulness in that forthright gaze of yours, I remember …”

“All that you say is true, My lord. I was twelve years old, then – I had no idea about the world outside, or even of life. I forgot – I didn’t know … that you were the sun that lights the heavens so brilliantly, and I, just a humble little dewdrop, shivering at the tip of a blade of grass. My ignorance was bliss – and that is why I could look up at you so fearlessly. I didn’t know that soon, I would be forced to lower my head, not having the strength to gaze at a sun’s radiance …”

“Sivakami, I’m no sun, and you’re certainly not a simple dewdrop, hanging for dear life onto grass. You’re a beautiful lamp that illumines the dark; I’m just a blind insect, fluttering around you, desperate …”

“My lord, it was presumptuous of me to talk about something else, instead of what I began to say. Forgive me. You applauded me when I’d finished dancing. I was so happy I could hardly stand still. Your father turned to you and he said, “Play with Sivakami for a while; I shall come for after I’ve spoken with Ayanar.” You walked up to me. We linked our hands together and skipped away into the forest.

"I took you on a tour of all the places I loved to visit; all the little hideouts and plants and shrubs and trees I’d marked as my own favourite. Then I took you inside and showed you my pet parrots and doves. I began to show you around the stone figurines my father had sculpted. You looked at the various dancing statuettes and you said, “I want to learn dancing too!” and then you tried to strike a pose like one of those figurines. I laughed out loud at your performance. Our fathers smiled at our antics. “The children have grown fast friends,” they commented.

"From that day on, I began to look forward to your visits eagerly. My heart leapt with joy whenever I heard the sound of a chariot’s wheels or horse hooves – I thought you’d come to see me. I met you, I spoke to you, and when I was with you, I experienced the same joy I’d known when I saw the brilliant sun in the sky, the beautiful moon, soft flowers, the chirping birds and fluttering butterflies. I couldn’t speak to the sun and moon and the butterflies … but you, I could speak to. And so, whenever I met you, I would chatter on and on and on, without a pause …”

“Very true, Sivakami. When I met you, during those days, you seemed very much like one of those beautiful, perfectly lifelike figurines your father sculpted – I was delighted with your company. Stone statues couldn’t talk; but you could and did. There was as much sense in your words as any you could find in a bird’s prattle – that was what I thought, then. I couldn’t really understand what you said, but I was prepared to listen to anything you said …”

“Our friendship was like my prattle too – there wasn’t much sense in it. Soon, you left with your father on a long journey … and for three long years, you were absent. Sometimes, I wondered if I’d ever see you again. I wished desperately, that I would. I consoled myself that you would certainly come to see me here, in my forest dwelling. I resolved to myself that I would master every nuance that classical dance had to offer; I would astonish you with my superb performance when you returned. I tried to imagine what you’d look like when you did come back, finally – but everything was very vague, and try as I might, I could never see any form in my mind’s eyes.

And then, one day, you came! And you were a person I’d never imagined you to be …”

“You were changed too, Sivakami! You weren’t the girl I’d left behind all those years ago. You’d changed in appearance – even in character. You didn’t run to meet me with arms outstretched, when you saw me, didn’t pull me into your home with your usual eagerness. You concealed yourself behind a pillar, and peeped out at me shyly. Instead of your laughter ringing in a merry peal, all I received was a bashful smile of welcome.

And oh, Sivakami – those looks and smiles of yours tortured me to death …”

“I couldn’t run out to you and give you the welcome I’d once given … something stopped me. I couldn’t move forward – I simply stood where I was. I wanted to speak … but my tongue wouldn’t obey me either. I chided myself; I asked, “Sivakami, what’s come over you?” And at that exact moment, Appa too, turned towards me. “Sivakami, why do you hide behind the pillar that way? Step up here and make your respects to the Emperor. See, the Pallava prince is here too and oh, how he’s grown!” I came up to you , hesitating all the while and paid my respects. And then the Emperor took a look at me. “Ayanar, Sivakami has grown as well,” he said. “I didn’t know it was her, at first – I thought you’d taken to sculpting gold figurines, along with your stone ones!” I positively cringed with shyness. I stood there for awhile, wondering what to say, and hardly daring to say anything even if I thought of something. Then, I slipped away from the house into the forest. I sat down on the banks of the lotus pond, and wondered what had come over me.

A few moments later, I heard the sound of stealthy footsteps behind me. I didn’t turn to see who was approaching, though. You came up, and closed my eyes. Had you done this three years ago – and you often did – I would scream out your name, push your hands away and look at you, laughing. But now … now, when your hands closed my eyes, my body froze. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. My senses stilled … but my heart shivered and tossed. Thousands and thousands of thoughts and feelings rose and swept away, within me.

“You came closer. You sat down by me, and pulled my hand into yours, like the olden days. I sat still, unable to move an inch. “Sivakami, are you very angry with me?” you asked. I turned to look at you silently. “Very angry, I think,” you smiled. And then you began to talk about your journey, all the places you’d visited, the cities you’d seen … oh, so many things. Things I heard nothing about. I heard nothing at all. All I knew what that you were beside me, and that our hands were linked together. That was all I knew. That was all I understood. And I … I flew up into the heavens, with just that thought. I floated on a sea of bliss. Among the wispy clouds that sped through the skies. So light was I, that I could walk onto the slender lotus leaves that skimmed the surface of the pond. I was consumed by feelings of such intensity that I was pulled into the dark, seething waters, down, down and down where I couldn’t breathe …”

“You made a fool of me, it seems. Here was I, rattling on, and on, firmly entrenched in the belief that you were a willing and wonderful audience to all my tales of travel – but you didn’t listen to a word, did you?”

“Finally, when you took your leave, you said that you’d come back soon. And after that … well, for days after that, my feet hardly touched the sordid earth – I was walking on air. On a cushion that shielded me from every kind of unhappiness. I was in a state of pure, sheer ecstasy. I believed I’d received a marvelous gift – a wonderful, rare gift that no girl on this earth had ever been privileged to receive. The world changed in front of my eyes. The sky and earth showed me a myriad of miracles – miracles I’d never seen before, in all my life. Jasmine and shenbaga flowers – I’d known them all my life, but now … now, they seemed filled with such a rich, luscious scent that it sent me into a spiral of delight. The sky was a piercing, brilliant blue; the birds sang in sweet tunes that set my senses tingling. I thought, once, that the sound of bamboo trees nuzzling in the wind was the most mournful sound in the universe … now, they were music to my ears. All the shrubs and plants and trees in the forest, all my friends who’d known me for years, seemed to whisper, in a kind voice: “Sivakami, there’s no girl in the whole world who’s as fortunate as you are!”

The stars of the night sky seemed to twinkle more lustrously than ever, these days. And on nights when the moon’s rays bathed the earth, when I ventured out on my journeys among the stars, gently wending my way as I rode on the moon … I wasn’t alone. Not anymore. For … you were with me! When I wandered on my journeys through life, cradled in the boat that was my heart, caught in the tangled web of emotions that was my mind – you were beside me. A song was always on my lips. Enthusiasm coloured every minute of my dance rehearsals. My father was struck dumb with my remarkably swift progress …”

“So were the Emperor and I. My father often marveled at your extraordinary mastery over dance – he would exclaim that you excelled in the subtlest nuances that even Bharatha Munivar, the enlightened one who wrote the Bharatha Shastra, couldn’t have thought of. My father was the one who insisted on holding your Arangetram in Kanchi’s Royal Palace.”

“I’m amazed when I think of the change that had come over me by then – for changed I had, by the time the Arangetram was held. All the happiness and exhilaration of your return had worn off, within a few days of your arrival. These days, memories of you made my heart twist in misery, instead of bringing joy. Hate and dislike began to take root in me – everything I saw pushed me into a mire of depression. The stars and moon did not delight me anymore. When the sun cast its first rays over the sky, I loathed it; I wondered why there was such a thing as dawn at all. I couldn’t see why night fell. I crushed flowers when In saw them. Sleep left me forever. Hate consumed me when I saw my pets, my deer and parrot. I lost interest in dance too. What was the point of pursuing such things, I wondered. And that was when the Arangetram happened. When it was halted so suddenly, as inauspicious as that was, it only brought me a sense of satisfaction …”

“I remember … when I met you on the banks of the lotus pond after the Arangetram, you seemed listless and depressed. Your words were puzzling – you even asked me to pledge my devotion! I was perplexed by the change in you.”

“News about your marriage fell on my ears, My lord. I was already unhappy; this was like adding oil to a blazing inferno. I believed you to be my very own in every way possible … I couldn’t bear to be away from you an instant. My father came to Kanchi for an audience with Navukkarasar because I plagued him to go. And you know what happened there …”

“It wasn’t just what occurred in the monastery, Sivakami … that was the day I learnt what was truly concealed in your heart of hearts. And that was why I sent Kannabiraan with that olai to your home, the very next day.”

“I learnt from your olai that you hadn’t liked my visit to Kanchi at all. Oh those, eight months that I lived through, without once seeing you … those were eight, long aeons. My spirits sank with every day. My heart was sore with pain. I would perk up for two or three days after your latest olai … and then I would sink into depression again. I knew that I would never see you again. I knew that all my hopes and dreams for the future were going to be razed to the ground. I wondered why I must live at all. Far better, I thought, to end this miserable, hateful existence … I really believed, during those days, that I was going slowly, but surely, mad. Now, do you understand? Do you see why I came away from my forest home? Do you see why I disobeyed your express instructions and started on a journey?”

“Yes, I do. I see it all very clearly indeed. We had to get caught in these swirling floodwaters, hadn’t we? And we ought to be marooned on a perfect little island that hasn’t a soul about. Oh, don’t I see the reason for whatever’s happened?” At that very instant, as though to prove Mamallar’s words wrong, the blaring sound of trumpets and conches roared through the foliage, mingling with a chorus of loud human voices.

Mamallar and Sivakami stood up hastily, concern and worry writ large on their faces.

2006-09-21T07:56:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 31

UNDER THE MAGIZHA TREE

For a while, there was no sound except the roaring of the floodwaters round and about.

Mamallar sat gazing at Sivakami’s face, without taking a pause to blink. Sivakami looked at the ground for some time; then at the floodwaters swirling around them and the sky. And in between, her dark, expressive eyes, so very like the fluttering bees in a garden, would alight briefly on the beautiful lotus that was the Crown Prince’s countenance, before fluttering away.

Silence settled on them like the lull before a particularly loud storm, and even Sukarishi the parrot kept silent, darting surreptitious glances at Sivakami and Mamallar. After a few long minutes, the parrot seemed to lose interest and flapped his wings noisily, as if to say, There is nothing I can do with a couple of silent idiots, and winged away from them.

It seemed as though the parrot’s departure was the signal for Mamallar to break the oppressive silence. “Sivakami …” he asked. “What are you thinking about?”

Sivakami turned to look at him. “I almost drowned in that water just now, didn’t I? I was just wondering why I ever had the misfortune to clamber up the shore – why I couldn’t have just been washed away in the flood!”

“Which means that I was foolish to ever come searching for you and rescuing you, in the bargain. It isn’t too late now, you know. The waters are rushing by just a few feet away.”

“True – the waters are very close …” Sivakami’s eyes glistened, brimming with unshed tears. “But I can’t bring myself to throw myself into the flood, after everything that’s happened, can I … and with you beside me, too?

Mamallar looked pained. “I come here, wondering if you’d like to talk about something cheerful – and here you are, insisting on such depressing speeches.”

“My lord, I’ve never been quite so happy at any time, as I am today. That’s why I wish I’d died the day I was the happiest!”

“Strange, the way you choose to celebrate happiness.”

“You wouldn’t say such things if you’d known how unhappy and miserable I’ve been, how unwell, for the past year.”

“Unwell? Why, you haven’t dropped a word about this! What was the matter? How long were you unwell? Have you been treated by a physician? Why didn’t you send word to me?”

“There was nothing wrong with my physical health, my lord. My body ate, slept, wore ornaments and paraded itself in every way it possibly could. It was my heart that had to go through such suffering and heartbreak.”

“Ah! Why would suffering and heartbreak plague you? Who dared to cause you such pain, Sivakami? What was your father Ayanar doing, allowing you to suffer such torment?”

In truth, the Crown Prince was only too aware of what she was referring to … but a part of him wished Sivakami to speak about it, herself, and he spoke in a way that was calculated to wring the words out of her.

“No one has caused me anything,” Sivakami countered. “My lord, I’m just a silly girl, brought up in a forest with nothing but my pets for friends … I am unlearned in the art of putting my thoughts into words. I …” her voice faltered. “I – the reason I was – I was so unhappy because – I couldn’t forget you!” Tears coursed down her cheeks.

Mamallar gazed at her, eagerness evident in his eyes. “Is that all, Sivakami? Why must you shed tears about this? As you suffered, with your thoughts upon me, so did I, caught in thoughts of you. You did read the palm leaves I sent, didn’t you?”

“Every olai you sent is branded in my memory, my lord – so many times have I read them, again and again. I’ve read out each olai to Rathi. I would be filled with such happiness when I read it … and then, with each passing moment, I would be consumed with so much distress that I wouldn’t be able to bear it – and I would be so angry with you …”

“Sivakami, you, at least, could be furious with me – but I haven’t had that luxury either, have I? Whose misery was greater, do you think?”

“Weren’t you angry with me, then? If that was true, why didn’t you stop to speak with me as you passed by the Buddha Vihara at Ashokapuram? Why did you just gallop away? Did you love me so much that you couldn’t bear to stop by?”

“Well, yes, Sivakami. I was quite angry that you hadn’t listened to my instructions to stay in your forest dwelling until I came by … but I did come to you that same night, didn’t I, braving the gales and the fierce stormy rains? I threw all my duties and responsibilities to the winds to come after you, didn’t I? In fact, I’m still in the dark about whatever’s happened at my camp, in my absence. I’ve tried to put away all that, and am waiting here, at your beck and call, anxious for a golden smile to bloom on your beautiful face. And you … you’re weeping as though the world has come to an end, turning me into a nervous wreck!”

“You are the reason for all that. I wasn’t this way two or three years ago – I was a cheerful girl, filled with laughter and happiness. I was just like a deer in the forest, gambolling about the trees. Appa kept trying to tell me to curb my spirits, he warned me so very often, “Sivakami, don’t laugh so; it was Panjali’s laughter that caused the Mahabharata massacre. Women oughtn’t to laugh quite so much …” Where is all the laughter now, my lord? Where have my spirits gone? Where have my enthusiasm and cheer vanished? I’m puzzled about it, myself …”

“Sivakami, tell me about those joyful times; about those times when you were happy and cheerful. Those days when you were as free as the wind, with not a care. I’m eager to know about your childhood …”

Finally, after a few more moments of Narasimhar cajoling her, Sivakami began.

“I was my father’s darling, when I was a child. Appa’s forest house was my palace, and I reigned as its supreme queen. My father’s students, who learnt sculpting under him, were my willing subjects. All I had to do was throw a glance at them … and they would all coming running to do my bidding: “How may we serve you, my lady?” That is how they were! And I went from one day to another, without a care in the world. Worry and anxiety did not touch me; I knew not what sorrow was …

“Everything I saw interested me; all the world was new and wonderful, full of strange and delightful sights and sounds. I would wake up, early in the morning, and look at the beautiful golden orb that was the sun, speechless. I would gaze at the newest, tender shoots of the mango trees, marveling at their gleaming green shades, entranced. All the flowers of the forest, their colours, their textures, their fragrances … everything fascinated me. I would run among the bushes and shrubs, trying to catch the little butterflies that fluttered among the greenery – and I would laugh in delight when they slipped away from my fingers, flying away in the wind. I would listen, almost drunk with happiness when the bees hummed within the forest, drunk on the nectar of flowers, themselves. And I would shout for joy when birds chirped and twittered, in the trees above me.

“At night, all the stars in the velvety sky above me would twinkle and glitter at me … as though asking me to float up and join them. And I would climb up into my chariot, my heavenly chariot that will lift me to the stars – and I would go to them. The moon would be as a bird, sometimes; like a beautiful swan, wings spread out. And I would climb onto its back and wander amidst the stars. And sometimes, I would think of it a boat; a small canoe, perhaps. And I would waft gently through the ocean that is the blue sky, settled on the moon. And I would spread out my arms, gather the little twinkling stars that came my way, and bundle them all in my lap.

“And so, when life went on, thus, like a happy dream – my father began to give me my first lessons in classical dance. I was caught in the frenzy that is dance; all day long, and even at night, I dreamt of nothing but Bharathanatyam. When I went to the forest, I would skip along in one of the steps Appa taught me; my feet would assume classical dance postures when I went down to the lotus pond to bathe. All the world and the sky were a huge stage for me, in those days.

“I believed the lovely lotus flowers, swaying gently in the breeze, to be dancing to music that couldn’t be heard by human ears. When I watched the stars winking in the night sky, I thought them following some unheard melody following the rhythm that is the universe, swirling round and round.

“And as I was spending my days this way, living my life in glorious innocence and delight … a visitor arrived, unannounced to my home, to my little forest dwelling, with his father,” stopped Sivakami.

“You.”

2006-08-14T09:16:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 30

MAMALLAR’S SPECULATION

Just as the pot raft was about to smash into smithereens on the rocky shore, Sivakami tried to stand up in it, staggering to keep her balance, screaming. The next instant, she was thrown off the pot raft, and into the foaming water.

A thousand brilliant flashes of lightning dazzled her, before darkness swept in. There was a strange ngoiii sound that insisted on buzzing in her ear for an eternity. Vaguely, for the first time in what seemed to her like hours, the faintest sensation touched her. Her feet seemed to scrape on sand. Memory rushed in within seconds: the pot raft they had been bobbing in, on the floodwaters, the imminent crash of the raft on the shores … at that instant, she remembered that she was still in the water, struggling to breathe.

Ah!

A thought flashed through her mind with the speed of lightning. Mamallar was with me too, wasn’t he? Wouldn’t he have drowned like me, too? We fell into the water together … couldn’t we have died, holding onto each others hands?

At that very instant, a hand seemed to touch her own. The next moment, it gripped her fingers tight. Ah … that was Mamallar – there could be no doubt about it.

I am truly fortunate, she thought. It seems my last wish is going to come true …am I really going to leave behind this horrible world filled with treachery and betrayal? Will I be holding onto Mamallar’s hand when we finally enter the gates of heaven? But – what’s this? There’s something underneath my feet … like stones. Pebbles. I can stand. And there’s light …

The water came down and down: it came to her neck, then to her chest … and finally, to her waist. But its force hadn’t abated yet; it still crashed through them all, trying to throw them off their feet. Sivakami flailed about, trying to keep her balance in the rushing waters. Something else caused her a great deal of discomfort too – water kept pouring off her nose and mouth, and she gasped, struggling to breathe Through it all, however, she was aware of Mamallar holding her hand in a firm grip, standing in the rushing floodwaters; she could see Ayanar, her aunt and Gundodharan a little further away, trying in vain to keep above the water. She saw her parrot Sukarishi fluttering above them, madly screeching in consternation, while Rathi, having, somehow, swum out to the edge of the shore, now had its head on the ground, but couldn’t seem to be able to push itself out of the swirling waters.

The floor underneath where the pot-raft had crashed had been hollowed out by sheer force of the floodwaters … but almost nearby, the floor flattened out and the waters were left behind, as the land rose in a gentle slope. This made it easy for the dishevelled survivors to clamber onto the shore, and safety.

The moment they were all on dry land, Gundodharan set up a yell. “Good god! It’s all gone!”

The others stared at him, horrified. “What?” asked Ayanar, finally. “What’s gone?”

“The aval bundle,” said Gundodharan, mournfully.

A shout of laughter greeted this doleful announcement. Then, the men and women separated, to squeeze the water out of their wet and soggy clothes. Mamallar grabbed the opportunity to speak to Gundodharan, as they sought some privacy. “You’re so worried about losing your bundle of aval,” he whispered urgently. “But what are we going to do now? We’ve lost our pot-raft, haven’t we?”

“To tell the truth, my lord, I’m rather glad we were wrecked here, of all places” answered Gundodharan. “If we’d just floated on, we’d have been washed away into the sea, wouldn’t we?”

“All the same, we could have saved the raft. If you’d just paddled a little harder …”

“If a pot-raft is what you require, surely we can make arrangements for a few pots at that village I see in the distance? But why do we even need one, now? Far better that we stay here, until the waters go down.”

“Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing to do, now. Do talk sense! I’ve left my army miles away and got myself stranded here, in the middle of nowhere – and you want me to stay here for an eternity, is that it? I was hoping to help these people to somewhere safe, and then join my men in that raft we all came in …”

“What would be the use of that, my lord? Where would you go in this roaring flood and harsh weather? What would you do? Are you sure your army would still be where you left them? I’m sure the banks of the river Thenpennai must be underwater, by now.”

“All the more reason why I should leave. For God’s sake, what must Paranjyothi and the others think …?”

“Think? They’d think about your safety, of course. They’d be hoping and praying that you’re safe and sound. You needn’t worry about them at all – by now, they’d have received news about the lake breaking its banks.”

As their clothes aired, Gundodharan managed to give Mamallar a detailed account of everything that had befallen him. He began from the day Emperor Mahendra Pallavar had had his suspicions about Naganandhi in Ayanar’s house and bade Sathrugnan watch over the sculptor’s residence, and related events right until the brawl he himself had had with the Buddhist monk on the banks of the Thiruppaarkkadal, the night before. He narrated about how he’d heard a commanding voice ring out, and all about how he’d pushed the old monk off, taken the pot raft, and come to them.

Narasimhar listened to all that Gundodharan had to tell … and felt his respect for his father’s judgement and enormous presence of mind, increase manifold. He lauded Gundodharan’s quick thinking as well.

“Only one thing you did bothers me no end,” the prince objected. “You oughtn’t to have pushed that old monk from the raft …why did you commit such a sin?”

“Sin? That wasn’t a sin – I did a really good deed, for once in my life. He isn’t a Buddhist monk at all – he used to be a soldier at Kanchi’s southern gates, my lord. Naganandhi’s poisoned words made him don useless disguises and come to this end… I shouldn’t have stopped with just pushing him into the water; I ought to have thrown the biggest boulder I could find at his head!”

“If that was your intention, why didn’t you just kill Naganandhi as well?”

“My lord … I would have. I fully intended to bash that foul monk’s head in – but that voice I heard … that voice commanded me to stop fighting, and I couldn’t ignore it. That’s why I settled for pushing the man into the broken embankment. For all you know,” Gundodharan said hopefully, “that Bikshu might have just fallen in and drowned, couldn’t he?”

“No, Gundodhara, no! That monk doesn’t deserve such a kind fate. Have you forgotten that Sivakami and Ayanar owe every danger they were in to him …?”

“My lord, forgive me, but a word of warning: it would be much better if we didn’t talk to them about the Bikshu or his machinations. They wouldn’t understand anything, and would be saddened without cause.”

Mamallar assented to this. “Couldn’t you guess who commanded you to stop fighting on the banks of the lake?”

“I did, my Lord.” And Gundodharan darted a look at Mamallar from underneath his lashes. “But I’m afraid I don’t possess courage enough to tell you. Pardon me.”

Suspicion had taken root in Mamallar’s mind that the voice had belonged to Emperor Mahendra Pallavar; Gundodharan’s hesitation confirmed it. Realization dawned on him that the other man harboured the same suspicion.

Delight, shame and agony pricked his heart with excruciating sharpness. If it had indeed been Mahendra Pallavar who had warned Gundodharan, then there need be no fear of Mamallar’s army; they would have been taken to safety. On the other hand … this move on the Emperor’s part indicated a decided lack of trust towards his son – and hadn’t he, Mamallar, behaved in a way calculated to confirm that distrust? Hadn’t he, in fact, left his men in the lurch and come haring after others, and getting caught in the floods, to boot? How would he ever face the Emperor, now?

At the same time, another thought raced through his mind: What did it matter, anyway? He could bear any discomfort, all the harsh words in the world; any disappointment and despair … anything. Anything at all. For this single day, these moments of exquisite happiness, he could put up with anything. He would spend all his years just basking in the pleasure these memories brought him, wouldn’t he?

Wouldn’t that be more than enough to compensate every misfortune that befell him?

Gundodharan took a look at the prince’s face, lost in thought. “My lord,” he began gently, shaking Mamallar from his reverie. “What’s happened has happened – there’s no sense in dwelling on the past.”

“What else can I think of? There’s nothing to dwell on but our plight, Gundodhara. We’re caught in this flood; now we’ve got to find a way to escape …”

“My lord, let’s find shelter, first. We can’t very well spend the night in the open, can we? What if we’re caught in the rain, again?”

“Where do you think we can stay?”

“I see a village in the distance – I shall go and make enquiries, shall I?”

Mamallar nodded. “Do so.”

“Mamalla! Mamalla!” Sukarishi’s screech reached his ears. The prince followed the bird’s voice, and saw Sivakami seated under a Maghizha tree, alone.

He sat down beside her.

2006-03-15T19:19:00.000-08:00

The Floodwaters rose higher and higher. Mamallar found himself unable to reign his horse, and felt himself pulled away by the waters. He looked at Sivakami beseechingly.

She felt as though her heart had been ripped away. "Ayyo!" she screamed. "Save him, someone!"

I'm sorely tempted to continue with that, and take the story my own way. After all, Mona Baker (Egyptian translator) did warm us at length about the power of the translator. {evil grin}

But I shall take pity on you and continue with Kalki’s own story:

***

CHAPTER 29

IN A POT-RAFT …

A hint of a smile appeared on Mamallar's face, as he heard Sukarishi's screech of welcome. Sivakami raised her hand to swat away the offending bird, but the wily parrot was much too clever to be caught – he fluttered away out of her reach, flapping his wings, flew around in a few dizzying circles and finally alighted on her slender shoulders.

Mamallar's countenance brightened even more, at this spectacle.

It was at this precise moment that the Crown Prince saw Gundodharan paddling around the Viharam, in a pot-raft of his own. He raised a hand, signalling to him: Stop!

Sivakami bent down, at that instant. "Appa!" she called out, clapping her hands in glee. "Appa, Gundodharan's here too. And he's brought around a pot-raft for us!" All the worry and terror she had undergone throughout the night had vanished into thin air, it seemed; she was now as happy and carefree as a child being entertained enormously.

Gundodharan maneuvered the raft expertly, taking care that it didn't dash against any of the Viharam's old pillars, and swung towards Mamallar and his struggling horse. "Get into the raft, my lord!"

"Who are you, my dear fellow? You seem familiar, somehow," said Mamallar.

"I am one of Sathrugnan's men, my lord," replied Gundodharan respectfully, pulling off his turban and showing him the Pallava insignia normally carried by the King's men.

"How on earth did you land up here?"

"My master's command, my lord. I've been with these people for the past eight months."

"How did you find a raft, though?"

"An old Bikshu was blundering around in the waters with this raft – I pushed him into the waters and took his raft for myself."

"You what ? – Did you actually push an old monk into the waters, you … you heartless wretch? Why?"

"There wasn't space enough for him, my lord. I counted heads, including your highness, and decided that the raft wouldn't hold all of us, and Bikshu too."

"You … but how did you know that I might be here?"

"If I didn't know even that, my lord, there wouldn't be much sense in my being part of the Pallava Intelligence force, would it?"

Mamallar gathered his strength and leaped off his steed, making a graceful landing into the raft. Then he turned towards his struggling horse, and caressed its mane lovingly. "Make your escape, Dhananjeya," he whispered. "And may God keep you."

Dhananjeyan seemed to understand his instructions perfectly, as the animal turned at once towards the rows of trees indicating the road, rising above the floodwaters, and began to swim strongly towards them.

***

Gundodharan and Mamallar paddled gently towards the Viharam, moving the craft as close to the building as possible. Getting the people who stood clustered on its top floor into the raft proved to be much more difficult than they could have imagine – Sivakami, in particular, decided to be as uncooperative as possible, and was at her recalcitrant best. She, who had prepared herself for a watery death by drowning in the floodwaters just a few moments ago, now seemed to be terrified of the rising flood and petrified that she might fall in and begin to flounder for her life.

The dispute began right from the beginning, with a clamour about who would get into the raft first. They tried to lift Rathi into the raft, but the deer stubbornly refused to do anything of the sort.

Upon Aayanar's persuasion and repeated entreaties, Sivakami agreed to get into the raft first. Supported by her father and aunt from the Viharam, with Mamallar clasping her as she came down, she was bodily lifted down into the vessel. The small raft was buffeted by the waves as she climbed in; she screamed, terrified, and Mamallar had to hold her tightly to himself as he sat her down in a corner, whispering reassurances to her all the while.

The raft rocked even more when Aayanar and Athai got into it, causing Sivakami to suffer a few more spasms of terror and panic.

Sukarishi the parrot, who had been fluttering around in great excitement as everyone clambered into the raft, flew in a circle for the last time, before flapping down to a corner of the raft. "Rathi!" he screeched. "Rathi!"

The raft moved away a little from the Viharam. "Rathi!" screamed Sivakami. "We're leaving her behind!"

Rathi chose this moment to make a flying leap into the raft from the Viharam, but the force of her leap placed only her forelegs into the vessel, and she half fell into the water. "Ayyo!" Sivakami shrieked, again.

When everyone had seated themselves, and order seemed to have restored itself within the raft, Gundodharan spoke up. "Could you wait a few moments, my lord? I'll be back soon." He leapt off the raft into the waters, and swam into the Viharam.

Worry seized Sivakami that some disaster might befall that worthy spy, and with every passing minute her terror increased.

When, at last, Gundodharan appeared, shouting, "I'll be there in a moment," he had a bundle in his hands. He handed down the bundle into the raft, and then got down himself.

"What's in the bundle?" asked Aayanar.

Sivakami's aunt felt the bundle. "Puffed rice!" she pronounced.

"He hasn't forgotten to bring sustenance even in the middle of a disaster," laughed Sivakami.

"You know me, my lady. I can stand anything – but I can't stand hunger," answered Gundodharan.

"Excellent forethought," said Mamallar.

"Our Gundodharan always comes through, when the need arises – he's a true Samaya Sanjeevi. How did you know that the Bikshu had stashed away a bundle of aval, my boy?"

When everyone was done praising Gundodharan's efforts in this fashion, he and Mamallar seated themselves in opposite corners of the raft, and proceeded to paddle them all to safety.

The pot-raft floated along easily, in the swift currents of the floodwaters. Nevertheless, a good deal of caution and careful maneuvering had to be exerted, to keep the small craft from dashing itself against huge tree trucks and other debris floating about.

Dark clouds scudded across the lowering sky, still. It was true that the raging winds had abated, but sharp little gusts still blew, chilling one's skin. Little drops of water tumbled about and landed on everyone, dropping on them like little chips of ice.

Sivakami's terror abandoned her after a while; she began to talk and laugh as usual.

"How long shall we travel, like this?" she questioned Mamallar.

"Why? You're tired out, are you?" he said.

"No, I'm worried that our little raft escapade will come to an end too soon," she replied.

"You don't want it to end, then?"

"No, I don't. What will happen if we go on floating, like this?"

"Your wish just might come true, you know. The floodwaters will rush towards the sea, and if our raft reaches the sea too …"

"We can float forever. I'm plagued by just one doubt, though."

"And what would that be, Sivakami?"

"Is this a dream, or is all this true?"

"Why do you think it might be a dream?"

"I've dreamt often, you see, of the same thing: sitting in a raft and floating on the water, away, away, forever … that's why I wonder if this might be a dream too."

"I've never dreamt that such a thing might happen, someday … so I wonder if all this might be a dream as well."

"But there's a difference between my dream, and what's really happening. In my dreams, you see, there's always only one other person with me, in my raft. But here, we're many."

"And who might that other person be?"

"Shan't tell you!"

***

At sunset, when twilight began to set in, land finally appeared. Rocky boulders and a cluster of trees loomed in the distance. Even Sivakami, who had expressed a wish to float away in a raft forever, was considerably cheered by this sight.

Each of the floodwater survivors expressed his or her happiness in some way; Gundodharan alone remained distinctly morose and without cheer.

"Gundodhara, do you know what this place is? We can land here, can't we?" asked Mamallar.

"Yes, my lord, we'd do well to land here … but the currents are very fierce just along the shore, and there're rocks about too," informed Gundodharan.

They didn't really need to paddle the raft towards shore; the raft went along willingly, carried along by the water currents. With each passing moment, its speed increased.

Small boulders dotting the landscape suddenly loomed up as huge mountains, in the eyes of those in the raft.

Mamallar and Gundodharan tried their very best to steer the raft away from the treacherous rocks and towards safety, but the raft, it seemed possessed a will of its own, and appeared intent on ramming itself onto the sharp boulders.

Those in the pot-raft decided that their life was at an end. Sukhabrahma Rishi flitted away from the raft, screeching in terror.

The raft crashed onto the boulders. The deafening sound of the pots at the base splintering echoed around them. Bamboo poles, lashed together to hold the raft broke apart with a sickening noise.

The raft swung around once in the roaring waters, and began to sink swiftly.

2006-03-13T03:15:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER 28

SUKARISHI’S WELCOME

While horrifying events were taking place throughout that fateful night, let us take a look at what was happening in the Vihara at Ashokapuram.

The old Bikshu who had been residing in the Viharam all by himself sought to speak with Aayanar, almost immediately after his conference with Naganandhi. The subject of the speech was that they must remove themselves from the Viharam as soon as possible. Aayanar deferred his decision to Sivakami, who refused categorically to accompany them out of the Viharam at any cost. The Bikshu’s warning that a battle might take place there only served to fuel her eagerness to stay; a strange yearning rose within her heart to actually watch this battle, if it did take place here, at close quarters.

This yearning, of course, had its root in her desire to see Mamallar in action, in a battlefield. The Prince rose magnificently, in her mind’s eyes; scenes of him valiantly standing up to hordes of enemy soldiers marching against him in full force, of him holding his sword and cleaving their heads neatly, standing amongst them all alone, the victorious warrior, filled her with delight and shivering anticipation. The next instant, however, the blood and gore of her imagined battlefield would sicken her and she would shut her eyes tight with revulsion, trying to banish it.

The Bikshu came running to them, a jaamam after night had set in. “Danger!” he shrieked. “Danger, Aayanar! We must leave here at once – or we won’t survive,” he said in a breathless, loud voice.

Aayanar looked at him sceptically. “What new danger are we going to be caught in now?”

“I told you that we might be caught in the middle of battle, because I was afraid you might not believe me. Then, I heard rumours that Lake Thiruppaarkkadal had broken its banks—that’s why I insisted on all of us moving away. Now I hear that the lake truly has broken barriers … we must leave at once!”

“Well, and what if it does?” queried Sivakami calmly. “Why must we leave if a lake breaks its banks?”

“You wouldn’t speak so, if you knew the dimensions of that lake. All of this area will be submerged by floods, this time tomorrow!”

Sivakami turned to Aayanar. “Appa, I’ve never seen a flood before. Let’s stay behind and watch, shall we? The Bikshu may leave, if he chooses.”

“My girl, you’re out of your mind! It won’t be entertaining to watch the floods when they’re sweeping in huge waves the height of a palm tree—and they’ll cut down this Viharam and Chaithya under water within minutes … how do you think you can watch anything?”

“You seem so certain that it will happen exactly as you say, Swami,” interrupted Aayanar. “How would you know?”

“Ten years ago, this area was submerged by a massive flood, spurred by the broken banks of Lake Thiruppaarkkadal; I’ve seen the damage it caused, then. Thousands perished in this very river valley, at that time. The rest fled the region, fearing another such massive flooding, and have taken residence on higher ground. Why do you think Ashokapuram wears a wasted look, now? It is a ghost town because of what happened all those years ago!”

For the first time, Aayanar and Sivakami felt the twinges of anxiety. Yet, they did not wish to start at night; moreover, a fierce gale and drizzling rain had begun their assault just a few moments ago.

“Appa,” began Sivakami, on an impulse. “Appa, Gundodharan came this evening; now he’s vanished. Where do you think he’s caught, in this rain and wind?” her voice sounded worried.

“Everything that he’s done so far seems very strange to me,” replied Aayanar.

“Listen!” barked the Bikshu.

A sound reached them, then; a sound they had not heard, until this moment.

Aayanar and Sivakami looked at each other, apprehensive. “Swami,” said Sivakami hesitantly. “What is that noise?”

“The lake has broken its banks. The whole region will be flooded by dawn, tomorrow,” predicted the Bikshu.

“Will the streets be full of water?” asked Sivakami. “Will water enter the Viharam too?”

“The water won’t just enter our Viharam; it’ll flood it, and rise even above it!”

“Swami, what do you advice now? Asked Aayanar, worried.

“What use would it be, even if I did suggest anything?” mourned the monk. “I begged and pleaded with you to leave last evening; you wouldn’t heed my pleas. Very well, I shall scout around in the neighbouring villages and see if I can procure a pot-raft, if I can. The two of you must stay here, until I return. If we do manage an escape out of here, then it would be due to Lord Buddha’s grace, and nothing else. Ah, why must Naganandhi saddle me with such a burden as this?” He shook his head sorrowfully and walked out into the night, disregarding the seething wind and rain.

The waters of the Thiruppaarkkadal reached Ashokapuram some time after his departure, just as the monk had predicted.

At first, it trickled in; as the minutes passed, it began to gush in through the door hinges, nooks and crevices; then, as the hours wore on, waters broke through the doors themselves and flooded the Viharam.

As soon as the water levels increased, Aayanar and the others walked out to the front of the Viharam and stationed themselves on the thinnai. Not that they could do this for very long: the rising wind and rain lashing down mercilessly made it impossible for them to stand about in the open for more than a few minutes. They went inside, and seated themselves on the slightly raised platforms within. As the water reached their platforms, they climbed the stairway leading to the first floor, and crouched down on them.

Despite all these attempts to escape the flood, the waters pursued them relentlessly, as they crept about from one place to another.

"Appa," mourned Sivakami, twining her arms around her father's neck. "All this is my fault – you've been stranded here because of my thoughtlessness, haven't you?" She looked at her pets and caressed them lovingly. "Oh, why did I have to make these poor animals share my terrible fate?" Her pet deer and parrot had sensed that a horrible fate had befallen them and edged closer to her, obviously frightened.

"What could you have done, my child?" Aayanar comforted her, rubbing her back and shoulders. "If it is destined that we must die and ascend the divine Kailasam, caught in these floods, then that can hardly be avoided, can it? We're suffering the result of listening to Naganandhi's words, my dear."

"Not Naganandhi's fault, Appa; it's Mamallar who's to be blamed for all these mishaps!" was Sivakami's vehement answer.

Sivakami's heart had been venturing oftener towards Mamallar than usual, that night. Anger bloomed within her whenever she remembered how he had glanced at her the Viharam's entrance, and then had galloped away without a single word to her. Would this catastrophe have occurred if he'd stopped and taken them along with him, she thought furiously.

Considering his behaviour, it was much better that she was going to drown in the floodwaters. Mamallar had seen her here, after all; news of her awful and gruesome death would certainly reach him, some day. And then, he would drown in sorrow himself, wouldn't he? He would think of her and her terrible fate and blame himself for it, every single day of his existence, wouldn't he? He would regret with every fibre of his being that he hadn't spoken a few words with her, wouldn’t he? Well may he suffer! He had a heart of stone, truly; his punishment must torture him beyond measure. He must and would pay for callousness. In fact, it was much better that she die in these floods, if the heartless Mamallar would grieve for her all his life, blaming himself bitterly for her death.

But oh! – Why must Father and Rathi and poor Sukhabrahma Rishi pay for my sins, as well? Dear God, why couldn't a miracle occur just now, and all the rest be saved from this chaos, leaving me alone to my death? Couldn't I be the only one to die? Why must others, my near and dear ones suffer my ills?

She knew not how many hours had passed, caught in dark and fearsome thoughts. The storm and rain seemed to have abated a little; it was decided that they would all ascend to the floor above and take stock of the situation.

Once above, they saw that the rains truly had given them a reprieve it had all but stopped, barring a lazy drizzle. A faint light touched the eastern sky, indicating that dawn was almost upon them.

In that mellow, unearthly glow of morning's light, Aayanar and the others saw a sight seldom before seen in their lives.

There was water, all around them. Water touched the rooftops of a few huts a little distance away from them; water whirled around their Viharam; huge trees, uprooted in the storm, haystacks and the roofs of houses floated along with the currents.

For a moment, just for a moment, there appeared a strange whim in Sivakami's heart: wouldn't Mamallar find some way of coming to them, and rescue them all from this disaster?

How stupid, she told herself the next instant. It could never happen.

But … but what was this? Was she dreaming? Had she turned insane, perhaps? – the impossible was happening – her wildest dreams were coming true! Wasn't that Mamallar who was wading through the floodwaters towards them, holding precariously onto his horse? Oh, let not my eyes betray me, let not my sight pay tricks on me – be still, my beating heart. Be still …

Yes, yes, yes, it was him, it was him, without a doubt. It was him … My Lord Nataraja, guard his path – Goddess Parasakthi, you to whom I've prayed endlessly, save him, save him from the floods, let him cross carefully, let nothing happen to him – Appa, do you see? Do you see who's coming, Appa? Aunt, do you see who our visitor is? – Rathi, my dearest, you see him too, don't you? Don't you? Sukhabrahma Rishi, my little parrot, why are you silent? Have you been struck dumb too?

In truth, Sukhabrahma Rishi was not silent at all; he was, in fact, far from it. Sivakami's little parrot twisted its neck this way and that twice, looked at its surrounding through beady, intelligent eyes, and screeched a hearty welcome:

"Mamalla!"