CHAPTER 28

SUKARISHI’S WELCOME

While horrifying events were taking place throughout that fateful night, let us take a look at what was happening in the Vihara at Ashokapuram.

The old Bikshu who had been residing in the Viharam all by himself sought to speak with Aayanar, almost immediately after his conference with Naganandhi. The subject of the speech was that they must remove themselves from the Viharam as soon as possible. Aayanar deferred his decision to Sivakami, who refused categorically to accompany them out of the Viharam at any cost. The Bikshu’s warning that a battle might take place there only served to fuel her eagerness to stay; a strange yearning rose within her heart to actually watch this battle, if it did take place here, at close quarters.

This yearning, of course, had its root in her desire to see Mamallar in action, in a battlefield. The Prince rose magnificently, in her mind’s eyes; scenes of him valiantly standing up to hordes of enemy soldiers marching against him in full force, of him holding his sword and cleaving their heads neatly, standing amongst them all alone, the victorious warrior, filled her with delight and shivering anticipation. The next instant, however, the blood and gore of her imagined battlefield would sicken her and she would shut her eyes tight with revulsion, trying to banish it.

The Bikshu came running to them, a jaamam after night had set in. “Danger!” he shrieked. “Danger, Aayanar! We must leave here at once – or we won’t survive,” he said in a breathless, loud voice.

Aayanar looked at him sceptically. “What new danger are we going to be caught in now?”

“I told you that we might be caught in the middle of battle, because I was afraid you might not believe me. Then, I heard rumours that Lake Thiruppaarkkadal had broken its banks—that’s why I insisted on all of us moving away. Now I hear that the lake truly has broken barriers … we must leave at once!”

“Well, and what if it does?” queried Sivakami calmly. “Why must we leave if a lake breaks its banks?”

“You wouldn’t speak so, if you knew the dimensions of that lake. All of this area will be submerged by floods, this time tomorrow!”

Sivakami turned to Aayanar. “Appa, I’ve never seen a flood before. Let’s stay behind and watch, shall we? The Bikshu may leave, if he chooses.”

“My girl, you’re out of your mind! It won’t be entertaining to watch the floods when they’re sweeping in huge waves the height of a palm tree—and they’ll cut down this Viharam and Chaithya under water within minutes … how do you think you can watch anything?”

“You seem so certain that it will happen exactly as you say, Swami,” interrupted Aayanar. “How would you know?”

“Ten years ago, this area was submerged by a massive flood, spurred by the broken banks of Lake Thiruppaarkkadal; I’ve seen the damage it caused, then. Thousands perished in this very river valley, at that time. The rest fled the region, fearing another such massive flooding, and have taken residence on higher ground. Why do you think Ashokapuram wears a wasted look, now? It is a ghost town because of what happened all those years ago!”

For the first time, Aayanar and Sivakami felt the twinges of anxiety. Yet, they did not wish to start at night; moreover, a fierce gale and drizzling rain had begun their assault just a few moments ago.

“Appa,” began Sivakami, on an impulse. “Appa, Gundodharan came this evening; now he’s vanished. Where do you think he’s caught, in this rain and wind?” her voice sounded worried.

“Everything that he’s done so far seems very strange to me,” replied Aayanar.

“Listen!” barked the Bikshu.

A sound reached them, then; a sound they had not heard, until this moment.

Aayanar and Sivakami looked at each other, apprehensive. “Swami,” said Sivakami hesitantly. “What is that noise?”

“The lake has broken its banks. The whole region will be flooded by dawn, tomorrow,” predicted the Bikshu.

“Will the streets be full of water?” asked Sivakami. “Will water enter the Viharam too?”

“The water won’t just enter our Viharam; it’ll flood it, and rise even above it!”

“Swami, what do you advice now? Asked Aayanar, worried.

“What use would it be, even if I did suggest anything?” mourned the monk. “I begged and pleaded with you to leave last evening; you wouldn’t heed my pleas. Very well, I shall scout around in the neighbouring villages and see if I can procure a pot-raft, if I can. The two of you must stay here, until I return. If we do manage an escape out of here, then it would be due to Lord Buddha’s grace, and nothing else. Ah, why must Naganandhi saddle me with such a burden as this?” He shook his head sorrowfully and walked out into the night, disregarding the seething wind and rain.

The waters of the Thiruppaarkkadal reached Ashokapuram some time after his departure, just as the monk had predicted.

At first, it trickled in; as the minutes passed, it began to gush in through the door hinges, nooks and crevices; then, as the hours wore on, waters broke through the doors themselves and flooded the Viharam.

As soon as the water levels increased, Aayanar and the others walked out to the front of the Viharam and stationed themselves on the thinnai. Not that they could do this for very long: the rising wind and rain lashing down mercilessly made it impossible for them to stand about in the open for more than a few minutes. They went inside, and seated themselves on the slightly raised platforms within. As the water reached their platforms, they climbed the stairway leading to the first floor, and crouched down on them.

Despite all these attempts to escape the flood, the waters pursued them relentlessly, as they crept about from one place to another.

"Appa," mourned Sivakami, twining her arms around her father's neck. "All this is my fault – you've been stranded here because of my thoughtlessness, haven't you?" She looked at her pets and caressed them lovingly. "Oh, why did I have to make these poor animals share my terrible fate?" Her pet deer and parrot had sensed that a horrible fate had befallen them and edged closer to her, obviously frightened.

"What could you have done, my child?" Aayanar comforted her, rubbing her back and shoulders. "If it is destined that we must die and ascend the divine Kailasam, caught in these floods, then that can hardly be avoided, can it? We're suffering the result of listening to Naganandhi's words, my dear."

"Not Naganandhi's fault, Appa; it's Mamallar who's to be blamed for all these mishaps!" was Sivakami's vehement answer.

Sivakami's heart had been venturing oftener towards Mamallar than usual, that night. Anger bloomed within her whenever she remembered how he had glanced at her the Viharam's entrance, and then had galloped away without a single word to her. Would this catastrophe have occurred if he'd stopped and taken them along with him, she thought furiously.

Considering his behaviour, it was much better that she was going to drown in the floodwaters. Mamallar had seen her here, after all; news of her awful and gruesome death would certainly reach him, some day. And then, he would drown in sorrow himself, wouldn't he? He would think of her and her terrible fate and blame himself for it, every single day of his existence, wouldn't he? He would regret with every fibre of his being that he hadn't spoken a few words with her, wouldn’t he? Well may he suffer! He had a heart of stone, truly; his punishment must torture him beyond measure. He must and would pay for callousness. In fact, it was much better that she die in these floods, if the heartless Mamallar would grieve for her all his life, blaming himself bitterly for her death.

But oh! – Why must Father and Rathi and poor Sukhabrahma Rishi pay for my sins, as well? Dear God, why couldn't a miracle occur just now, and all the rest be saved from this chaos, leaving me alone to my death? Couldn't I be the only one to die? Why must others, my near and dear ones suffer my ills?

She knew not how many hours had passed, caught in dark and fearsome thoughts. The storm and rain seemed to have abated a little; it was decided that they would all ascend to the floor above and take stock of the situation.

Once above, they saw that the rains truly had given them a reprieve it had all but stopped, barring a lazy drizzle. A faint light touched the eastern sky, indicating that dawn was almost upon them.

In that mellow, unearthly glow of morning's light, Aayanar and the others saw a sight seldom before seen in their lives.

There was water, all around them. Water touched the rooftops of a few huts a little distance away from them; water whirled around their Viharam; huge trees, uprooted in the storm, haystacks and the roofs of houses floated along with the currents.

For a moment, just for a moment, there appeared a strange whim in Sivakami's heart: wouldn't Mamallar find some way of coming to them, and rescue them all from this disaster?

How stupid, she told herself the next instant. It could never happen.

But … but what was this? Was she dreaming? Had she turned insane, perhaps? – the impossible was happening – her wildest dreams were coming true! Wasn't that Mamallar who was wading through the floodwaters towards them, holding precariously onto his horse? Oh, let not my eyes betray me, let not my sight pay tricks on me – be still, my beating heart. Be still …

Yes, yes, yes, it was him, it was him, without a doubt. It was him … My Lord Nataraja, guard his path – Goddess Parasakthi, you to whom I've prayed endlessly, save him, save him from the floods, let him cross carefully, let nothing happen to him – Appa, do you see? Do you see who's coming, Appa? Aunt, do you see who our visitor is? – Rathi, my dearest, you see him too, don't you? Don't you? Sukhabrahma Rishi, my little parrot, why are you silent? Have you been struck dumb too?

In truth, Sukhabrahma Rishi was not silent at all; he was, in fact, far from it. Sivakami's little parrot twisted its neck this way and that twice, looked at its surrounding through beady, intelligent eyes, and screeched a hearty welcome:

"Mamalla!"