CHAPTER 27

“WHERE IS MAAMALLAR?”

Our readers would have guessed, by now, the identity of the mysterious man who shouted a warning to Gundodharan, and swept by on his steed. He, who was a connoisseur of fine arts such as music, sculpture and art-forms, was also an expert in the arts of war, and in donning disguises that baffled even the most intelligent of enemies. He, who had succeeded in halting the humongous armies of Vathapi on the banks of the Banks of the Vada Pennai, for the past eight months.

Mahendra Varma Pallavar, Emperor of Kanchi.

Ever since he had marched the Pallava forces out of Kanchi in a bid to stop Pulikesi, he had adopted a variety of strategies and tactics of war that might fill not just one book such as this, but would serve to write many, many more such histories.

His keen intelligence had shown him that Naganandhi, disguised as the wily Buddhist bikshu was in fact a spy, a close confidante of Pulikesi. More proof was availed from Paranjyothi’s olai that he had intercepted. Naganandhi’s hand and insignia were now well-known to him; as such, they were useful to him in more ways than one. One of those uses were what made the Ganga king Dhurvineethan, stationed for a while on the outskirts of Kanchi, proceed swiftly towards the Pallava capital.

Retreating gradually before the onslaught of Pulikesi’s advancing forces, Mahendra Pallavar decided that his countrymen needed the cheer and enthusiasm of a huge victory, before he secured himself within the Pallava capital’s fortress. It would also serve, he determined, to provide an outlet for the Crown Prince, Kumara Chakravarthy, who had been barely able to contain himself all these months, straining against an invisible leash, eager to prove his talent in the battlefield.

Accordingly, he wrote an olai to Dhurvineethan in Naganandhi’s hand, urging him to march towards Kanchi at once. It was in answer to this that the Ganga king proceeded towards the capital city, his small army in tow.

Our readers would have noted Naganandhi’s enormous astonishment as he read the olai given to him by Gundodharan. Not to be wondered at, considering that Dhurvineethan had written to the bikshu, informing him that he was proceeding to Kanchi, acting as per the monk’s instructions. Well aware that he had written no olai of any kind to that effect, Naganandhi immediately suspected mischief. At once, he reached the Pullalur battlefield, astride Gundodharan’s horse. The Ganga hordes had tasted defeat by this time, and retreating from the battlefield, scattering in all directions. Realizing that the only option he had left at this moment was to save Dhurvineethan’s life, the bikshu herded the king to safety, fleeing southwards.

Mahendra Pallavar had not left the fate of the Pullalur battle entirely in the hands of Paranjyothi and Maamallar; putting together a strong, compact force of thousand cavalry men, he arrived at the battlefield and the Ganga hordes, panicking at this sudden attack from an unexpected angle, began to scatter and flee. Maamallar, meeting Vajrabahu, the captain of this cavalry party, was swift to understand that it was none other than his father. His anger, already simmering just under the surface, exploded into full flame; he immediately engaged in a short but furious spat with his father, demanding why the Emperor would not grant him the satisfaction of leading his army to victory even in the small battle. Having done with this, however, he asked his father for permission to gather his forces and hunt out the fleeing Ganga warriors. The Emperor sanctioned this request, but on one condition: Maamallar could chase his enemies up to the River Thenpennai; after this point, he must not go after them.

In the previous chapter, we saw that Mahendra Pallavar had not returned to his base after sending Maamallar southwards. One couldn’t possibly shift all of the enormous responsibility of beating the treacherous spy Naganandhi into young Maamallar’s inexperienced hands, can one?

Having warned Gundodharan, Mahendra Pallavar set off towards the southeast, disregarding the rising gales and driving rain. He reached the banks of the Thenpennai when it needed just one more jaamam for sunrise. The searing rain had abated in force; clouds had withdrawn their hold over the sky and even a few stars were visible, twinkling faintly.

It would be impossible to describe the sight the riverside presented, in the unearthly half-light just before dawn: swollen with the waters of the rains that night, the river rushed along, the sound slamming onto the ears with a huge roar, cresting with foam. The floodwaters wouldn’t have been visible yesterday or the day before, but they were clearly visible now, due to one factor: the trees lining the riverbanks had all been uprooted in the gale.

A horse trotted out of the trees laid waste along the banks, as soon as Mahendra Pallavar reached the riverside. The newcomer was Sathrugnan.

“Sire…” sighed Sathrugnan. “I’ve never felt as much unease as I felt last night, when I let you out in this cyclone all alone. I’ve been worried all these hours—how on earth did you find your way here in all this wind and rain?”

“I’ve seen many stormy nights, Sathrugna… but nothing matches the horrors of what I’ve seen tonight. Be that as it may—did your wait here accomplish its purpose?”

“Yes, Sire. They crossed the river here,” replied Sathrugnan.

“Was Dhurvineethan among the party? Did you see him?”

“As close as I could approach him—yes, I saw them, Sire. Dhurvineethan was on his elephant; the others were on their horses. They crossed the river in a few boats—the storm hadn’t begun then. It began in full force just as they reached the opposite banks, and they were able to scramble onto the banks at the last minute. There wasn’t much water in the river at that time.”

“They must have gone to that place you mentioned—they didn’t leave behind any boats, did they?”

“They did leave behind a boat; I formed a plan about you and I taking it and leaving the bikshu in the lurch… but the storm decided to strand us by pushing it away in the river.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, Sathrugna. There’s no need to follow Dhurvineethan now; something else’s come up that’s a great deal more important. You know where Maamallan and Paranjyothi have made camp, don’t you?”

“They’re half a kaatham away east, on the banks of this very river, Sire. Ah! I wonder how they suffered in tonight’s storm…”

“We must go there at once. Cross the Thenpennai before the sun comes up—is your horse up to it, Sathrugna? I fear my horse is spent.”

“Mine will go on for a while more, Sire. You may take mine; I’ll stay back, here.”

“No, we must both leave…”

“But if the bikshu comes here…?”

“No, he won’t. Not for a few days at least, Sathrugna.”

“Why not, Sire?”

“Your disciple Gundodharan has thrown him into breached banks of Lake Thiruppaarkkadal.”

“What?!”

“Listen…do you hear that roar?”

Sathrugnan pricked up his ears. “Yes, Sire…like an ocean crashing on the shores. Is it the rain again?”

“No, not the rain—rain wouldn’t sound like that. That’s the Thiruppaarkkadal; it’s broken its banks. By dawn, next morning, the whole of the region between the Thenpennai and Varaha River would have been flooded.”

“Good God!” exclaimed Sathrugnan. “Maamallar—”

“Come, time to leave—we have to warn Maamallan and Paranjyothi,” answered Mahendrar.

“Sire, what of Gundodharan?”

“He was trying to bridge the gap caused by the Thiruppaarkkadal breach. That was an impossible task; I told him to hasten to Aayanar and Sivakami and save them … I wonder what he did?”

“Ah…! So they’re caught in this storm too, are they? Tonight truly is a horrible night, then,” Sathrugnan goaded his horse into moving.

“A horrible night it might be, Sathrugna, but it’s had its uses,” remarked the Emperor. “I found a new weapon to defeat Pulikesi.”

“Sire…” Sathrugnan looked at his King in some awe. “Truly, you are a Vichithra Sithar!”

The two horses sped towards the east, on the river banks, towards their destination. Fallen trees and broken branches barred their way all through; they cleared their path as much as they could and galloped relentlessly. By dawn, as the first light touched the heavens, they reached the Pallava encampment. Filled with uproar and tumult until that moment, the Pallava warriors broke into a joyous shout once they recognized that their early visitor was none other than Emperor Mahendra Pallavar himself.

The moment he saw Paranjyothi, Mahendra Pallavar began to fire away instructions to him, barely giving the young man time to speak. “Commander, we must start at once. We have to cross the Thenpennai within a naazhigai—those who can swim can do so, and those who can’t will have to manage by clinging to wooden pole, or whatever they can find. Drive all our horses and elephants into the waters; it doesn’t matter if our weapons and other paraphernalia are all lost, it’s the men that matter!”

Paranjyothi stood still, amazed at such a peremptory command. Mahendra Pallavar looked at him sharply. “Ah, you require an explanation for this sudden upheaval, do you? Well, you can have it: the Thiruppaarkkadal has breached its banks; listen, listen to that roar, sounding like an ocean—the floodwaters will reach us in another jaamam!”

Paranjyothi’s face blanched; a look of horror flickered in his eyes. “Your Majesty—Sire…” he stammered.

Mahendra Pallavar listened as the young man’s voice trailed away. “Well? What is it, Commander? Where is Maamallan?”

“He left for Ashokapuram after sunset, last evening, Sire,” Paranjyothi spoke haltingly. “There—he—I…”

“Ah, I understand, Commander. Aayanar is in Ashokapuram; I expect the Prince of Kanchi went to visit the King of sculpting … excellent. We’re absolved the responsibility of guarding him; that will have to rest in Lord Ekambareswarar’s hands. We’ll try and save the rest of our men!”

Our readers, at least, may entertain no qualms about Maamallar’s whereabouts; we will put their fears to rest by informing them about where exactly he was.

As dawn began to light the sky, spreading its gentle tendrils across the heavens, Maamallar’s steed was wading through the floodwaters rushing towards Ashokapuram’s Buddha Vihara, its owner perched tenaciously on it, struggling to push through the tugging currents. Aayanar, Sivakami, and her aunt were perched on the one of the ledges on the upper floors of the Vihara, looking down with great worry and eagerness at the newcomer. Rathi and Sukabrahmma Rishi too, were with them. Gundodharan too was paddling his way towards the Vihara at that very moment, circling it on a makeshift raft constructed with mud-pots.

The waters swirled and gurgled around the walls of the Vihara, drowning out every other sound with their mad rushing, the levels rising higher and higher with every passing minute.