CHAPTER 19

ALONG CAME GUNDODHARAN

Part 2

Naganandhi’s mouth quirked into a smile. “I’m talking about the East, of course. The illustrious Mahendra Pallavar may as well run to the sea, and ask for refuge from the Lord of the Oceans, don’t you think?”

The sculptor, however, appeared to have been finally roused to anger. “Swami,” he spoke, his voice rising with every word. “Are you implying that the Pallava Emperor must now enter the sea, and end his life in a pitiful and pathetic way, in the manner of cowards? When did your heart lose its compassion and become one of those hardened rocks, found only in the world’s driest deserts?”

“My dear friend…how could you even think that I would consider such an option? I’m appalled that you would consider me capable of such an inhuman thought. My intention was quite different, Aayanar. I merely wished to point out the Pallava Royalty’s unique connection to the sea—after all, the first King to assume the Pallava mantle was a gift of the oceans, was he not? My friend, when I said that Mahendra Pallavar could ask the sea for refuge, I meant that he could journey to Ilankai, perhaps, and escape—and not that he should throw himself into the water and die a watery death. Now that I think of it, however…travelling to Ilankai may not be such a good strategy. The little island-country’s King is Mahendra Pallavar’s ally and loyal vassal—but he too, has fallen on hard times…apparently, he’s facing threats about being deposed, before long. It would seem that the Pallava Emperor’s misfortunes surround his friends too…” The bikshu chortled derisively.

Though considerably more doubtful of his ground now, Aayanar refused to yield. “And why must Mahendra Pallavar be forced to leave for Ilankai? Surely Kanchi’s defences would provide more than enough protection,” he countered.

“Why yes, there is that, I suppose,” answered the bikshu slowly. “The fortress of Kanchi does exist—eight months ago, it offered refuge to the pathetic Crown Prince of Kanchi—I suppose it can offer equal protection to his pitiful father too. Of course, had the Vathapi army marched on, without a pause, all those months ago, Kanchi would have fallen like a ton of bricks…but it’s too late for that now, I suppose. Kanchi is now fortified—and the Pallava Emperor may take comfort, and derive some measure of protection, from its strength. I cannot help wondering, however, about what should keep the Vathapi army dawdling on the banks of Vada Pennai for the past six months…!”

Needless to say, Sivakami heard these cruel words with a sinking feeling—to her tortured mind, they had the effect of plunging a spear in her already bleeding heart.

“Oh dear God…” she murmured, in the secret fastnesses of her mind. “Why won’t you intervene, and put a stop to this smirking Bikshu, and his poisonous words?”

As far as the monk was concerned, Sivakami’s heart lurched from one extreme of emotion to another. Earlier in their acquaintance, she had acquired a disgust for him; her mind wavered in between nervousness and unease often, whenever her thoughts centred on him. His subsequent recital of Maamallar’s inequities had only served to increase her disquiet.

There were also reasons, on the other hand, for her to trust him. Not even the most prejudiced mind could deny his enormous knowledge of the word around, his grasp for details, and the weight which experience and a lifetime spent in foreign countries had granted him. The bikshu had, moreover, kindled the fire of accomplishment in her heart; he spoke so continuously of her prowess in classical dance, and of the incredible fame she would achieve as a dancer par excellence, that her heart yearned to believe him, and trust his assurances. Regardless of her creative fancies, Sivakami possessed a practical streak in her, and was well aware that she would need an experienced and worldly-wise guide to aid her in her endeavours; she could not hope for assistance from her unrealistic and naive father in this respect. She had therefore decided to bury her disgust, and resolved to cultivate as much of a friendship with the bikshu as she could.

Despite all her noble resolutions, however, the monk’s sharp comments about Maamallar, the Pallava Kings and their doings were proving to be very effective in banishing all friendly thoughts towards him.

Naganandhi’s callous comment about the Vathapi army dawdling on the banks of the Vada Pennai River roused her to an angry retort: “Swami, what have you got against the Pallava Emperor and his son? You appear to be almost angry at the Vathapi army’s procrastination—why, I think you’d almost drag them back here, to Kanchi’s boundaries, if you possibly could!”

The bikshu did not appear fazed in the least, by her anger. “I’ve got nothing against the entire Pallava clan, Sivakami,” he answered in a calm voice. “My only grievance is that their inefficiency is causing trouble—that it is preventing us from travelling down to Chidambaram, and thence, further south towards Keezhai Chozha Nadu. I’d even planned to escort you so far as Nagappattinam, where the Buddha Maha Sangam is due to convene…but now, it appears that the Pandiya Army is marching from down south—the very same Keezhai Chozha Nadu, to be exact. I’m now wondering about the efficacy of our going down south, after all…”

“What, then, do you suggest that we do, Swami?” enquired Aayanar.

“I know of a peaceful refuge on the banks of the River Kedila…a place that abounds in rocks and boulders—it should even satisfy your thirst for sculpture. I’m of the opinion, my friend, that you could make this refuge your home, until this war, and all the confusion that attends it, ceases.”

Aayanar, in whose mind, suspicion of the bikshu’s activities had already taken root, chose to give a non-committal answer. “We shall see, Swami.”

Having conversed in the above manner about wars, battles and movements of armies for two whole days, Aayanar and Sivakami, not surprisingly, on encountering the army that approached them, came to the immediate conclusion that it was the Pandiya Force marching towards them.

Soon, however, the flag flying aloft the soldier’s heads served to banish their apprehensions—for it held the Rishaba emblem—the insignia of the Pallava Armies. The chants delivered in loud voices by the marching soldiers themselves, helped to vanquish all remnants of suspicion.

“Destruction to Vathapi!”

“Victory to Thalakkad!”

“Annihilate Pulikesi!”

“Death to Dhurvineethan!”

More enthusiastic yells followed these superior proclamations. “May Kanchi prosper!”, “Long live Mahendra Pallavar!” “Victory to Maamallar, the bravest warrior in the Empire!” were some of those that gained a rapid momentum, as the soldiers walked along the highway, heads held high and proud. Brief bursts of sound, emitted by trumpets and conches blaring in anticipation of a glorious victory interspersed these chants, echoing in all directions and causing a tingle in the minds of those who heard it.

It was a fortunate circumstance that none chanced to see Naganandhi’s face during these moments, concealed as he was behind a large tree, face barely visible. Had they seen it, they would have been reminded forcibly of a King Cobra, spreading its hood, its cold, reptilian eyes blazing with a hatred unmatched by human eyes.

The contingent was a small one; perhaps forty or fifty horse-men, with two thousand men forming the infantry, was the entire extent of it. In less than half a naazhigai, therefore, the soldiers had passed our travellers, and within minutes the roads were as silent and empty as they had been some time ago—something akin to the quietness that ascends, when one moves to a dark, still forest, from the confines of a noisy city.

Sivakami’s heart was fluttering under a torrent of emotions ranging from exhilaration to vindication—and all had root in the various chants yelled by the soldiers who had passed them, those dealing with Maamallar in particular.

They called him the bravest warrior in Kanchi, the thoughts swirled in her head. Would they do so if he were truly a coward?

“Aayanar, shall we proceed?” came the bikshu’s voice. “Ashokapuram is still a naazhigai away…”

“By all means, Swami,” Aayanar answered. “Sivakami, get into the bullock-cart, please. Ask your aunt to climb in, as well.”

Sivakami hesitated, still standing by the bullock-cart, making no effort to follow Aayanar’s orders. “Appa, where’s this contingent bound for?”

“I’ve no idea, my dear,’ commented Aayanar. “It appears to me that they’re going to war—to tell the truth, I felt an inclination to follow them. Their chants made me want to drop my chisels, and take to battle at once—I’m even ashamed that we’re running away, of sorts, when we should be standing fast, by rights, and doing our duty as citizens of Kanchi.”

“Why, Aayanar…this is a remarkable change in sentiment—a few moment ago, you were professing your eternal allegiance to Lord Buddha and his message of peace…what’s happened between then and now, to cause such a shift in opinion?” enquired the bikshu.

Almost at the same moment, the distinct clicking sound of horse’s hooves on the dusty road could be heard. A lone horse, appearing after an entire Pallava contingent had passed. Our travellers stilled at once, eager to know the identity of this solitary horseman.

The horse approached…and Aayanar and Sivakami could not contain their amazement as their eyes rested on the man seated on the steed—and identified him. For he was none other than Gundodharan—Aayanar’s erstwhile student, who had left their forest dwelling unceremoniously, the day Commander Paranjyothi had arrived to visit them.

Gundodharan clip-clopped into their presence and reined in his horse. “My master…!” he wailed, as soon as he set eyes on Aayanar. “What crime did I commit, that you must leave me alone, and journey out of Kanchi all by yourself?”