News?

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.

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 Ayanar,” 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 of 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.”

***

Ayanar’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.

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, Aiya. 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. “Aiya, 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, Aiya. 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!”

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.

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’s 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.”

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’s gone,” 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.

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.