Book 2 - Chapter 1

THE NORTHERN GATES

One evening, well into the rainy season, the sun sank behind the walls of the well-guarded fortress of the city of Kanchi. Dark clouds looming in the northern horizon, brilliantly lit until a few moments ago with the rays of the sinking sun, steadily lost their brightness, while the sun speedily retracted its long beams of light, ushering in the night. Lazy clouds, lumbering across the sky, shed their lightness and absorbed a dark blue hue, reminiscent of the complexion of Lord Vishnu.

Trees and foliage seemed to shudder, as a strong wind rose up from the north-west, spreading its chilly fingers through the land.

Numerous birds, nesting inside the comfortable crevices afforded by the fortress walls, the gopurams, towers and the spacious buildings of Kanchi ruffled their feathers and flew out into the twilight, seeking their homes for the night.

The imposing northern gates of the city of Kanchi stood in complete silence, their peace and quiet complementing a particularly beautiful evening.

Closed shut, barred and locked with heavy steel bars and locks, after the departure of Emperor Mahendra Pallavar to the battlefield, eight months ago, those gates had never been opened since. Two sentries guarded the entrance, their spears over their shoulders, their swords hung at their hips, while conches hung on slender chains around their necks. The wide high-way, leading away from the fortress wound its way, snake-like, lost in the distant mists of the horizon.

No one could be seen on the road at that moment, it was true—but judging by the way the guards peered into the distance every so often, it can be supposed that with every passing minute, they were expecting the arrival of someone.

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Quite suddenly, a cloud of dust rose in the far horizon. The sound of horse hooves pounding into the distance reached the two guards faintly, who stiffened at once.

Huge drums, set in an enclosure right above the gates of the fortress for the purpose of warning the city of new entrants, began to boom out a resounding beat.

‘DHIN, DHIN, DHIN…’

The sound of horse hooves, enveloped in a huge cloud of dust could be heard nearing the gates every minute, and to be sure, within a few seconds, the faint silhouette of the steeds could be seen, outlined in the dim evening light.

Two soldiers right in the front of the approaching cavalcade held aloft two flags, emblazoned with the Rishaba* insignia of the Pallava forces.

A young warrior, fully clothed in the armour required for the battlefield came next, seated elegantly on a high-bred stallion, while a small contingent of soldiers brought up the rear.

The entire cavalcade stopped abruptly, a few paces away from the gates of the city, on the other side of the moat guarding the entrance.

The first soldier heading the contingent and holding aloft a flag, yelled into the still air of twilight:

“Commander Paranjyothi, most illustrious guardian of the noble city of Kanchi has arrived! May the gates of the city OPEN!”

The second guard echoed the pronouncement of the first.

Joyful cries joined together and rent the air. “Long Live Commander Paranjyothi! Praise be to the guardian of Kanchi!!”

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The guards at the entrance to the city walked forward swiftly, approached the warrior seated on the stallion and bowed, their manner full of reverence and respect.

Yes, my dear reader—the warrior seated gracefully on that elegant black stallion was indeed our friend of old, Paranjyothi himself.

The past eight months seemed to have wrought a considerable difference in him

When he first entered the portals of Kanchi, Paranjyothi had been an innocent boy, unaware of the world or the mysterious ways in which it worked. His soft, youthful face had portrayed the simplicity of his life and his emotions, and his heart had been untouched by complicated experiences.

Now, however, with his body covered with numerous scars from the warfront, his eyes betrayed the maturity that comes of long hours and countless experiences obtained in innumerable battlefields, and his face shone with the knowledge he had attained through his sojourn into the world outside.

Therefore you and I, dear reader, are bound to accord the respect that is due to the current status of Commander Paranjyothi, and address him with politeness and reverence.

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As soon as the sentries guarding the gates approached him and bowed respectfully, the Commander drew out an insignia from the folds of his clothing— one that bore the crest of the lion, the symbol of the Pallava dynasty, and presented it to them with justifiable pride.

The moment the soldiers clapped their eyes on the above mentioned insignia, they bowed again and stepped back at once. Approaching the drawbridge that spanned the moat surrounding the walls of the fortress, they took up the conches slung on their shoulders, and blew them deafeningly.

“BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!”

The next instant, a small door set into the vast gates opened, and a face peeped out. The guards at the gate answered certain questions put to them by the owner of that face, upon which certain events unfolded in quick succession.

The bolts and locks securing the huge, heavy gates of Kanchi were drawn back with great speed and energy, and the doors slowly opened wide, rattling and groaning their welcome to the new arrivals.

Commander Paranjyothi crossed the moat and approached the gates first, having left his flag-bearers behind him.

A distance of two hundred feet, approximately, divided the front entrance to the city, from a smaller, second entrance. Roughly hewn stones were set in a circle in the ground that separated the two entrances, and here, soldiers had arranged themselves in neat lines, all armed with spears, some holding aloft brightly lit torches.

An elaborately ornamented chariot stood in the middle of this orderly group, while a huge flag, emblazoned with the royal Pallava symbol, the Rishaba, stood high in the air, held aloft by a cluster of soldiers. Air whipped trough the open gates of the fortress, and the flag rippled and fluttered in the evening breeze, as if in welcome to the newest commander of the city of Kanchi.

The Crown Prince of the Pallava Empire, Kumara Chakravarthy, Maamalla Narasimhar was seated in a graceful posture inside the chariot, while his charioteer Kannabiraan stood outside, his hands holding the reins tightly.

No sooner did Commander Paranjyothi enter the gates, than the Crown Prince leapt down from his chariot, and raised his hands towards the group of soldiers surrounding him.

The next moment, as if on a signal, one of the men raised his voice into a bellow: “We welcome Commander Paranjyothi, who battled the demonic hordes of the Chalukya Pulikesi, and sent them in hasty retreat! Welcome, Oh illustrious and noble Commander! Welcome!”

Thousands of voices echoed the soldier’s words in a roaring chant: “Welcome, Commander Paranjyothi! Welcome!”

Conches, cymbals, drums and trumpets blared and beat deafeningly within the confines of the fortress. The walls reverberated with the echoes of so many instruments, and the soldiers quivered with the excitement of it all.

Judging by Paranjyothi’s expression, it was obvious that he hadn’t expected such an uproarious welcome. He descended from his horse swiftly, approached Kumara Chakravarthy, who was standing beside his chariot, and bent at the latter’s feet with the intention of paying his respects.

The Crown Prince understood the commander’s purpose, and interceded by enveloping Paranjyothi in a warm embrace.

Silence enveloped the two of them for a while as they stood within an arm’s length of each other, overwhelmed with emotion. Kumara Chakravarthy regained his voice first.

“It’s obvious, commander, that you’ve had a long and hard journey; you can’t even speak for weariness.”

“My Lord, it’s not weariness that ties my tongue; rather your affection for me that made you receive me at the gates of the city! I didn’t expect such a tumultuous welcome…”

“Commander, I would’ve welcomed you at least a kaatham outside the fort, if my father hadn’t bidden me to stay within the city. Oh, how I’ve longed to meet you, every day of the past eight months! You have no idea, no idea at all…”

The Crown Prince ascended his chariot, and bade Paranjyothi seat himself beside him, while Kannabiraan leapt nimbly to his place in the front.

“Commander, where do you wish to go? Would you like to visit the Royal Palace first?” enquired Maamallar.

“My Lord, I’d like to tour around the city on the way to the palace; there’s absolutely no time to waste. We’d better send away our soldiers first, shall we?”

Maamallar issued a few crisp instructions to the men around him, and the warriors who had arrived with Paranjyothi marched out quickly, escorted by the Crown Prince’s soldiers.

Kannabiraan gave his reins a practised tug, and the chariot leapt forward.

The gates of the city closed; the tumult and uproar of a few moments ago died down. The Northern gates stood as before in the evening sun, serene and silent.

Glossary:

*Rishaba: The bull.