CHAPTER 13

SATHRUGNAN’S TALE

The Rishaba flag atop the royal tent fluttered merrily on the sharp winds carried by the Babagini River, adding to the existing tumult of the Pallava encampment on its banks. Mahendra Pallavar was seated inside, and Sathrugnan, his most trusted spy, stood at attention in his presence.

The spy looked weary, and his body dripped with perspiration, indicating that he had travelled many miles. His appearance was considerably altered—no one would recognize in him the well-built man in the Pallava Emperor’s retinue, eight months ago.

Mahendra Pallavar cast a keen glance at his subject. “Is that you, Sathrugna?”

“It is indeed, Pallavendra.”

“You look quite…different.”

“Possibly, my Lord. I enjoy extraordinary good health, no matter how difficult a commission your Majesty charges me with.”

“On the contrary—that remark wasn’t in the nature of a compliment. You look haggard and weary.” The Emperor paused a moment. “I believe I entrusted you with an important assignment, eight months ago…do you happen to remember it?”

“I do, my Lord. Indeed, I have scarcely allowed myself to forget it,” replied Sathrugnan.

“I’m afraid, though, that I’m guilty of having done so. Would you re-kindle my memory?”

“Certainly, sire. You desired me to follow the bikshu.”

“Indeed. And…?”

“You also wished me to keep an eye on Aayanar.”

“Was that all?”

“You…assigned another, harsher task to me, sire. You commanded me to watch the Crown Prince’s movements.”

“Of course…I remember, now.”

“You bade me dispatch messages through a reliable envoy, if anything came up—and to deliver them myself, if it were too important to trust to outsiders.”

“By that statement, I infer you’ve brought me very important news indeed.”

“Yes, your Majesty. Far too important to submit into the hands of a courier-which is why I wished to deliver it to you in person.”

“Well…do so, then.”

Sathrugnan commenced by detailing Naganandhi’s movements in the past few months. The sum of his recital was as follows:

Having despatched Paranjyothi to Nagarjuna Malai with his olai, Naganandhi journeyed southwards, where Sathrugnan followed him. He reached the banks of the River Kedila, on the woody and mountainous banks of which he made a short stay of a few days, in a small Viharam. He assigned messages to a few monks, who dispersed in various directions to deliver them. One of them, apparently, went to Uraiyur, while the other travelled towards Thalaikkaadu, the capital city of the Ganga Kingdom.

Naganandhi then travelled further down south. Having crossed the Kollidam and Kaveri, he visited Nagapattinam, and thereon to Madurai, where Sathrugnan, too, dogged his footsteps. Their arrival in the famed temple-city coincided with a rather unfortunate circumstance—Madurai’s ruler, Maaravarma Pandiyan was on his deathbed, and all visitors to the city were imprisoned on the command of the ruler-to-be, young Pandiyan.

Naganandhi and Sathrugnan found themselves in the same cell, and the latter took this opportunity to strike a tentative friendship with the bikshu. While they were languishing in prison, Maaravarma Pandiyan met his end, and Sadaya Varma Pandiyan ascended the throne, upon which they attained freedom. Naganandhi had a private audience with the new king, and these sessions were prolonged over the next few days. Meanwhile, messengers sent to Kanchi regarding Maamallar’s nuptials returned to Madurai—whereupon Naganandhi was engaged in a few more private sessions with Sadaya Varma Pandiyan. At the end of these private conferences, the new Pandiyan ruler announced a message to rally the armed forces of Madurai.

Soon afterwards, Naganandhi left Madurai, and journeyed northwards, and Sathrugnan followed faithfully. The bikshu appeared to be deep in thought as he crossed the Kollidam, Kaveri, and soon, both bikshu and spy found themselves in the Viharam on the banks of the Kedila River.

By this time, Sathrugnan was assailed by a suspicion—that the bikshu had guessed Sathrugnan’s true identity, and knew him to be spying on behalf of the Pallava Empire. There was moreover, another unexpected visitor at the Viharam—the younger monk who had earlier been residing at the Raja Viharam of Kanchi. The young bikshu threw keen glances at Sathrugnan often, which only served to confirm the latter’s suspicion. The spy decided that he would have to determine the younger bikshu’s train of thought, and during the day, threw a few pieces of the food given to him by the younger bikshu into the river, before he partook of it. He watched the fish swallow the food eagerly—and float in the water, blue-skinned and belly-up, within seconds. His suspicions had been correct—the food had been poisoned.

Sathrugnan spent that night wandering around the Viharam and its surrounding hillocks, and in the process, made an important discovery—the hillocks cleverly concealed a number of caves, not easily accessible to wayfarers…and all of them were stocked with weapons of every conceivable variety.

He had completed a particularly arduous detour of a hillock, and was walking along a path, when he heard a sound that nearly gave him a heart attack—the sound of a large number of vicious snakes, hissing. He searched around for a long time, trying to find the source of the sound—to no avail.

The bikshu left the Viharam early next morning, passing through an enormous lake called the Thiruppaarkadal* on account of its size, as he travelled northwards. Sathrugnan followed him, doing so without attracting the monk’s notice, and tracked him down to Aayanar’s residence.

During his absence, Sathrugnan had charged his subordinate, Gundodharan, with keeping an eye on Aayanar’s home. Gundodharan had duly taken up the role of a student learning sculpting and arts under Aayanar, and had discharged his duty well—but he could offer no news of a startling variety, for Aayanar had had no visitors aside from Kannabiraan and his wife, Kamali.

In Kanchi, Sathrugnan had designated the task of following Narasimhar’s movements to Kannabiraan’s father—and received news that Narasimhar had taken his father’s orders to heart, and had discharged them perfectly. He had not stepped out of the confines of Kanchi in the past eight months, and had spent those days in considerably strengthening the city’s defences.

Sathrugnan came to the end of his narrative, and stood before the Emperor, silent.

Mahendra Pallavar looked into the face of the Pallava Empire’s most intelligent spy. “Sathrugna…you’ve carried out my orders perfectly, and brought me satisfactory news. Is that all…or do you have something else to tell me? You look as if you do.”

“I do, sire. Certain palm-leaves fell into my hands—and I decided that they ought to be seen by you, and no one else.”

“Palm-leaves?” The Emperor raised one eye-brow, and put out his hand. “What’re they? Give them to me.”

“I may have erred in bringing them to you, Pallavendra, but—”

“You dumb idiot!” The Emperor stood up, his face flushed with anger and consternation. “Have you, by any unfortunate chance, intercepted the olai sent by Pulikesi to Durvineethan? Have you?” The question roared out at Sathrugnan.

“No, sire. Forgive me, but these palm-leaves do not pertain to the ongoing war, at all.”

“Well, that’s a relief, at any rate,” breathed the Emperor, regaining his composure. “I was afraid you’d broken through Pulikesi’s messengers, and bungled up your assignment. What’re these palm-leaves about, anyway?”

‘They’re…love letters, sire.”

“What…?” Mahendra Pallavar sat up, suddenly. His brows furrowed, and a frown appeared on his forehead. “Love letters, did you say…? Give them to me, please.”

Sathrugnan pulled off his turban, and carefully extricated a bundle of eight palm-leaves, rolled up tightly. He hesitated a moment, before handing them to the Emperor.

Mahendra Pallavar received the bundle and sat still for a few minutes, the palm-leaves in his hand. Finally, he gave a sigh.

“Sathrugna,” he said, throwing a sorrowful glance at his faithful henchman. “There’s nothing quite as difficult as ruling an Empire, I think…I shudder to think of the cruelties I’ll have to inflict on people—all in the name of protecting the subjects of my country…”

He stared at the palm-leaves. “I’m now forced to go a step further, and commit a most heinous crime…I’m going to inflict pain and misery in Narasimhan’s young, innocent heart—by tearing it open !”


Glossary:

*Thiruppaarkadal: The milky sea on which Lord Vishnu resides, according to Hindu Mythology. A literal translation would mean, ‘A Sea of Milk’. The lake was named so, because of its dimensions.