CHAPTER 20

GUNDODHARAN’S ADVENTURES

Gundodharan jumped off his steed, walked swiftly towards Aayanar, who still stood in the middle of the road—and threw himself at the Master Sculptor’s feet in a show of humility. “My master, I ask for your blessings here and now—for I freely acknowledge that I couldn’t have found you, were it not for your love and affection towards me!” he announced.

“Excellent, my dear Gundodhara,” answered Aayanar, recovering himself. “I’m glad you found your way to us—but your statements are slightly erroneous, young man. We didn’t leave you alone in the middle of the forest—rather, it was you who chose to abandon us, with no word about your intentions…where on earth did you vanish to?’

Gundodharan started on his response, eyes widened comically. “My master, what will you? You do remember Kannabiraan arriving at our home a few days ago, in his chariot, don’t you? Well, he brought me news from my grandmother, who’d arranged for me to be married to a young lady…he said that I should prepare to journey to my grandmother at once—naturally, I had to make towards Kanchi, post haste, to avoid a catastrophe, and tell her that I most certainly did not want to be married…I did try to inform you of my intentions, but the two of you were nowhere to be seen! I wondered if you might be wandering along the banks of the lotus-pond and hurried there…but you weren’t to be found there, either. This bikshu was the only one standing there, in fact…” Gundodharan’s voice trailed away, and he shot a look at Naganandhi.

“Are you sure, young man?” Naganandhi’s brows rose. “There’re hundreds of bikshus wandering all over the mighty Pallava Empire, my friend. You may have seen one of them, perhaps,” he commented.

“Pardon me Swami, but I know what I saw—and my memory, even if I do say so myself, is perfect. You were standing on the banks of the pond, reading an olai from a bunch of seven or eight palm-leaves…and you were seething like a King Cobra in all its fury…”

Sivakami, listening to this conversation, was aware of a sharp prick of memory. In her mind, unannounced, came the recollection of Maamallar’s palm-leaves that she had secreted within the Maghizha tree-hole—and which had gone missing, soon after…

Naganandhi directed a frown at Gundodharan. “You’re out of your mind, I think. How and why you’ve chosen to concoct this fantastic story about my reading palm-leaves beside a lotus-pond, I don’t know…”

Aayanar nodded in agreement. “I’m inclined to agree with you, Swami.” He turned towards Gundodharan. “You must’ve seen someone else, my boy. Tell us what happened next,” he urged.

Gundodharan shook his head, obstinate. “Master—it was this bikshu, and I’d swear to it on my life,” he spoke. “I remember what I saw—and d’you know what I thought when I saw his face, and the way he was seething at the palm-leaves?” He threw another glance at the monk. “On second thoughts, perhaps I’d better not. Our bikshu might lash out in fury, and take a bite out of me, or something.” He turned wide eyes on Aayanar again. “And I have a great objection to being bitten, you know.”

Naganandhi’s eyes were a sight to be seen, at that moment—for they were fairly glittering with tightly controlled anger, and looked to throw sparks of fury at Gundodharan himself.

For once, perception stood the friend of Aayanar—he took one look at the bikshu’s face, and understood the situation. “You see, don’t you, about what I have to put up with in my students?” He threw a humorous look at the irate bikshu. “Small wonder that I haven’t been able to get any work done on my projects, the past eight months. Be that as it may, Gundodhara, leave alone these details, and tell us what happened later,” he finished.

Gundodharan continued, at once. “Well, I went to my grandmother, and told her that I wasn’t in favour of marriage—I said, “Our Crown Prince Maamallar is unwilling to enter the married state, and is refusing all offers put forth by his father; my master Aayanar’s beloved daughter Sivakami is unwed, as yet. How may I enter into holy matrimony, when my betters are yet to do so?” I asked.” Gundodharan paused, and continued with a serious expression. “I said that if she wished so, she could get married again, and I would support her decision and find a suitable groom for her.”

This pronouncement naturally surprised a good-humoured laugh out of his audience, and they indulged in it for good measure. Sivakami’s aunt joined in their laughter, stopped, and turned to her niece. “What was the joke?”

Sivakami chuckled. “Gundodharan is getting married, apparently,” she replied.

Aayanar directed his attention to Gundodharan. “Yes, this is all very well…but how did you track us down and end up here?”

Gundodharan continued in his own, inimitable style: “Ah, well, when I‘d informed my grandmother of my intention to remain a bachelor for the present, I hurried back to our home—only to find it locked up, with not a soul around! Naturally, I was extremely upset, and I was convinced that you’d forsaken me…so I sat down underneath a tree, nearby, and fell asleep, asking for God’s guidance in the matter. And God did decide to aid me…for who should chance upon me at that moment but Kumara Chakravarthy and his commander Paranjyothi?”

Sivakami and Aayanar were surprised into exclamations at the same moment. “Who chanced upon you…?”

“Maamallar and Commander Paranjyothi—and they galloped towards me on their horses too. Horses…ah, now, those were magnificent stallions—”

“And then…?” questioned Aayanar.

“More horse-men followed them, of course. And there was Kannabiraan too, riding behind the whole contingent in the Royal Chariot…”

“Yes, well, what happened next?” urged Aayanar.

Sivakami felt the blood leaving her head in a rush, as she heard Gundodharan speak about the Crown Prince. The world seemed to tilt in a strange way, and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She shivered as though caught in the coldest winds of winter, and her lips quivered with suppressed emotion.

She would not speak anymore after asking Gundodharan about who had visited him—but oh, how she wished to know, desperately. It roused her irritation that that young man was rambling along about other, extremely irrelevant issues, and it was all she could do to guard her tongue from lashing out at him.

Gundodharan continued, apparently oblivious of the effect his statements were having on his audience. “Master, I did tell you that I was angry when I saw your home locked up, didn’t I? And so I was…but my anger was nothing when compared to what Kumara Chakravarthy felt, when he saw the house locked too! Good Lord…you ought to have seen the way his face changed, and the speed with which he reined his horse, and went galloping across the forest. I’ve never seen anything like it, sir—I had no idea that he was capable of such strong emotions…and you should have heard the rest of his contingent try to turn away—they had such difficulty, trying to match his speed and his dexterity in turning about their steeds…and there was such uproar all the time too. However, they were quick to gallop away as soon as they saw the locked house—they were gone before I could wake up properly, rub my eyes, and try to understand what was going on…they’d vanished like the wind before I’d reached the front door.”

Sivakami’s heart was a maelstrom of emotions—delight, fear, anger and anxiety swept their way through her, much like roaring, tumultuous waves whipped up by a wind of cyclonic proportions.

Happiness because Maamallar had actually tried to visit her; fear at the signs of anger he had evidently felt at her absence; anger at Naganandhi, for having made them clamber out of their homes post haste, and locking it up after themselves…and finally, worry at the degree of damage that had been done, and about how she might reasonably expect to rectify the wrongs.

Through it all however, her heart ached to clarify one thing—one piece of information she had to know, if she wished to set her errant mind at reasonable peace.

She gathered her courage, cleared her throat, and spoke, finally. “Appa…I’m afraid I don’t believe Gundodharan’s’ tale—it seems to me to be a fantastic story, and entirely a product of his imagination. Kumara Chakravarthy, to visit us…! How can such a thing even be contemplated? Isn’t he huddled up within Kanchi, too cowardly to even face war?”

Aayanar gaped at her, quite unable to answer her queries—and turned to Gundodharan, with a look of mute appeal.

His student, it appeared, was more than eager to supply the information his daughter craved. “Master!” he shrieked, throwing at Aayanar a look of absolute incredulity. “Have I suddenly been afflicted by some of hearing complaint…or did I really such words as these from Lady Sivakami’s lips? Maamallar, a coward…! Our Crown Prince, braver and more courageous than any warrior in the country, to huddle within the fortress, too afraid to come out…! Who, I ask you, who has been spouting such nonsense into my lady’s ears? Kumara Chakravarthy stayed inside Kanchi on Emperor Mahendra Pallavar’s orders…and has now ventured out to the battlefield, upon receiving his command from the Emperor himself…! That is the truth, and I shall swear to it anywhere…”

“Battlefield…?” Aayanar echoed, considerably confused by this new, and completely contradictory information. “He’s going to a battlefield? Which one?”

Gundodharan raised his eye-brows in astonishment. “Master, surely you know his destination…the whole country has been aware of it, and has been talking about nothing else for the past few days…you don’t? Aren’t you aware of the fact that the Ganga King Dhurvineethan, emboldened by Mahendra Pallavar’s predicament in being tied up on the bank of Vada Pennai, is marching towards Kanchi, with the intention of invading our city? And that our Crown Prince is now journeying with his own legion of warriors from Thirukazhukundram, with the express intention of routing out that …rat? Surely you saw an army marching through this very road, a few moments ago—that was the contingent encamped on the banks of the Then Pennai. It is now marching on its way towards Maamallar’s army, to join forces with his own…did you really know nothing of any of this?” asked Gundodharan in undisguised astonishment.

To see the normally taciturn, and—to tell the truth, rather dull-headed Gundodharan turn into such an eloquent orator infused Aayanar with such perplexity, that he could hardly contain himself. The news he had just heard prompted him to question his student further…until Naganandhi, with a look of apprehension on his face, intercepted the conversation. “Aayanar, my friend, it has grown dark, already—mustn’t we resume our journey to Ashokapuram before it is too late? Gundodharan appears to have fallen in with us, anyway—surely you can talk to him about what has transpired to your heart’s content, along the way,” he said.

Darkness had truly fallen around them as he spoke, and it was a good thing it had—or the travellers would have had occasion to notice—and to become fearful at what a gruesome expression Naganandhi’s habitually ghastly features had assumed, within the space of a few minutes.

Aayanar threw a glance at Sivakami. “My child, the bikshu speaks truly. You’d better climb unto the cart—we may listen to Gundodharan’s adventures as we go along,” he said.

In truth, Sivakami’s heart was overwhelmed with questions…but there was one query which she particularly wished to address to Gundodharan, and receive an answer to. She wished to know how her father’s rather witless student had come by his horse—if he had been bestowed upon with a steed by Maamallar, whose anger had somehow, mysteriously died down, and who had charged the student with the mission of bringing them back. The distinct yearning to have this suspicion voiced—and verified—wriggled its way through her thoughts continuously.

She therefore, made no move to climb into the cart. “Perhaps my aunt would prefer to journey in the cart, appa—I must confess I prefer to walk with you, for a while,” she murmured.